[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring Read online

I really didn't know. I had no idea what I might find in the cabin.

  Then we heard voices behind us and turned to see a group approaching. It was McLain's voice that called out to us.

  "Thought we might as well unload that there wagon tonight and save ya the trouble in the mornin'. Then ya won't need to fuss with the team ag'in."

  It was a thoughtful offer, and I was sure Wynn appreciated it. I should have appreciated it, too, but I had wanted to enter our new home in privacy-just the two of us. Now we were to be ushered in by the Hudson's Bay trader and a host of local trappers. I felt disappointment wash over me. If only Wynn would quickly send them all away and tell them the load could wait until morning. He didn't. He withdrew his arm, climbed down from the wagon, and turned to help me down. "Appreciate that," he responded. "Shouldn't take long at all with the good help you've brought along." I blinked away tears in the semidarkness and knew instinctively that Wynn would not understand how I, as a woman, felt about the intrusion. He would consider the practical fact that the wagon loaded with heavy trunks and crates needed unloading. I sentimentally thought that a man and his wife deserved to walk into their first home alone and together. Perhaps foolishly, I realized now, I had had visions of being carried over the threshold.

  By the time my feet were firmly planted on the ground, the men were already bustling about the wagon.

  "Perhaps you'd like to go in and show them where you would like things put," Wynn suggested.

  I wanted to sputter that I would prefer things left right where they were, but I knew that was foolish and would be misunderstood; so I walked numbly to the door as Mr. McLain, who had taken the first crate forward, stood aside to let me get the door for him. How romantic!

  The door was stuck, and I had to put both hands on the knob and pull hard. It finally gave and, in the process, skinned my knuckles. The injured hand stung smartly, and the tears in my eyes multiplied and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

  The house was dark. I had no idea where to find light. It was quite dark outside by now and the few small windows let in very little light. I hesitated. McLain shuffled his feet. He was waiting for me to make up my mind so he could rid himself of the heavy load he carried.

  "Just set it down against that wall," I told him.

  I guess he realized I was a little at a loss, for he volunteered, "I'll see if I can find the lamp." He soon had it lit and placed where it could bring the most benefit to the men who were unloading our belongings.

  In and out they went. Men I had never seen before were clumping in and out of my new home, never stopping to wipe their feet. One of them even spit on my floor. Wynn did not enter himself. He was far too busy overseeing the unloading. I stood dumbly in the middle of the room, wondering what I should do; and then I remembered I did indeed have a responsibility: I was to tell the men where to put things. How did I know where to put things? I still didn't even know what rooms we had to furnish. So I just pointed a finger, which they prob ably couldn't see anyway from behind their big loads, and said, "Over there," until one wall was stacked high with our belongings.

  Finally the stream of groaning, heaving men stopped. There was only the sound of their voices from the yard. Wynn was talking to the men before they returned to their own homes. I tapped my foot impatiently. Why did he take so long? Why didn't he just thank them and send them away?

  I noticed a soft hum, which was soon a whine. Then another and another, and I realized we had given the mosquitoes a wonderful welcome. The open door, with the lamp burning in the room to light their way in, had not been ignored. Already our cabin must be filled with hundreds of them. With an angry little cry, I rushed over and slammed the door shut.

  Wynn was still talking to the men. I turned dejectedly to the stack of our belongings and wondered just where I might find some blankets to make a bed. Picking up the lamp, I went over and began to check the pile. Labels of contents didn't help me much. All the crates on the top seemed to be things for Wynn's use as northern-law-enforcer and area-medical-supplier.

  How would I ever make a bed? The past few nights on the trail I had promised myself that I would need to endure sleeping in such makeshift ways only for a few nights, and then I would be in my own home and sleeping in my own clean and fresh-smelling bed. And now I couldn't find my bedding. As a matter of fact, I didn't even know if there was a bed. Just as I was leaving the room, lamp held high, to find out if there was a bed in the cabin, Wynn poked his head in the door. I sighed with relief until I heard his words, "I'm going to take the team over, Elizabeth. I shouldn't be long. You make yourself at home."

  I don't suppose he could have chosen any words that would have upset me more. Make yourself at home. This was home? Piled boxes. No husband. No blankets for my bed. And me, bone-weary. All I wanted was a warm bath to remove the messy trail dirt and a clean bed to crawl into. Then I might have been able to make myself at home. And Wynn. I wanted Wynn-my husband. After all, it was because of him that I had come to this strange, faraway land.

  I let the tears flow freely then. Wiping my eyes and sniffing dejectedly, I stumbled into another room with the lamp held before me. There was a table, a stove, some rough shelves, and a cot-but no bed, at least not one that would hold two people.

  I did not stop to look further but went on through another door. This room had pegs along- one wall, a dilapidated stand with drawers and, yes, a double bed. It even had a mattress rather than spruce boughs-at least it was a mattress of sorts. It wasn't very clean, and it was rather lumpy; but it was a mattress. There was no bedding. I looked around for a shelf and found one, but there was no bedding on it either.

  Going back to the other room again, I looked all around but still found nothing that would provide bedding for the night. There were three chairs I had missed before. Two of them were wooden and the third an overstuffed chair sitting in front of a fireplace. I was pleased with the fireplace, and then I realized it was probably more functional than anything else. It was likely the only source of heat in the cabin. I flashed the lamp around the room once more. It was quite bare-and not too clean. And then I spotted something I had missed in my first perusal. Over the fireplace hung a large fur that had been tanned and used as decoration or heat-retainer-I wasn't sure which. I put my lamp down and walked over to it. I gave it a pull. The fur was firmly attached. I pulled again. It still stayed in place. I grasped it in both my hands and put all my strength into the pull. With a tearing sound and a billow of dust, it came tumbling down from the wall and I went tumbling down to the floor.

  I pushed the heavy fur off and got to my feet. It'felt rather unyielding and bristly, not soft like the furs I was used to seeing. I pulled it to the bedroom and worked it through the door. I then went back for the lamp. I did finally manage to get the fur up on the bed and spread out in some way.

  I looked around me. This was my new home! It was bare and dirty and had a lumpy bed, with no sheets, no blankets, and a smelly fur hide. There were no curtains, no soft rugs, no shiny windows-nothing. Even the chimney of the sputtering lamp was dirty with soot. But, worst of all, I was alone! That thought brought the tears streaming down my face again. I carried the lamp back out to the other room and set it on the table-I'm afraid it was more to coax the mosquitoes out of the bedroom than to provide a safe and welcome light for Wynn. Then I walked back to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, crawled under the awkward animal skin, and began to cry in earnest. I didn't even have my evening talk with God. I was so miserable I thought He'd rather not hear from me. And in my present state, I really didn't want to hear from Him. I was very weary, so I did not cry for long. Sleep mercifully claimed me.

  FIFTEEN

  Lka~zihy a Yfome

  When I awoke the next morning, it took me several minutes to sort out where I was. With the knowledge came some of the hurt of the night before, but it wasn't as painful as it had been then. I looked down at myself. I was now covered with blankets. The fur I had struggled with was spread out on the
floor by the bed, looking soft and even inviting. I was still in my clothes, my skirt and blouse now wrinkled as well as travel-stained. I knew my hair must be a sight-I had not even removed the pins the night before. They had worked loose in the night, so now part of my hair hung wildly about my face while part of it was still caught up with one pin or another. I removed the last pins and let my hair all tumble about my shoulders, combing my fingers through it to make some order out of the mess.

  At my faintest stirring, Wynn was there, concern and pain in his face.

  "Are you-?" But he didn't finish. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and held me so tightly I had to fight for air. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth," he whispered, and there was a tremble in his voice.

  I looked up at him then and saw his eyes were misted with unshed tears. It brought my tears again. I clung to Wynn and cried away all the feelings I had bottled up the night before. He let me cry.

  When the tears finally stopped, Wynn tipped my head and looked deeply into my eyes. Perhaps he was looking for answers to some unspoken questions. I wasn't quite ready to smile yet, but I was ready to carry on. I avoided his eyes by shutting mine. He kissed me softly and then let me go.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked. It wasdt until then that I smelled coffee. Surprisingly, I realized I was hungry. I looked again at my clothes and my hands.

  "I'm not sure what I need the most," I said, "food or a bath."

  "How about the food first? Then we'll look after that bath."

  I slipped into my shoes and futiley smoothed my skirt. Then I looked at Wynn. "Where do I go here?" I asked him.

  He understood my question. "Out," he answered.

  "Just-out?„

  He nodded.

  "You mean they don't even have any-any-outbuilding here in the village?"

  "We're a quarter of a mile from the village."

  "Still-"

  "I'll make arrangements as soon as possible," Wynn stated and turned away to return to whatever he had been doing before I awakened. The pain was in his eyes again. I thought he might be thinking that he had been right-a girl like me didn't belong in the north country. I blinked back some new tears that stung my eyes and went out.

  The day was filled with sunshine. A large flock of birds chattered in the nearby trees where they were already gathering, making their plans to return to lands where winter snow would not blow. In the village, a quarter of a mile away, I heard distant voices and barking dogs. I breathed deeply of the morning air. The hillsides were covered with evergreens and scattered with poplar and birch trees.

  It was beautiful country. I would make it. I would! I would fix the house and-and-clean myself up, and I'd prove to Wynn that I could be happy here-as long as he was with me. A nagging fear gripped me then. What about all the times Wynn's duties would take him elsewhere? Like last night? He had to care for the borrowed team. He couldn't just turn them over to the Hudson's Bay trader. That man had his own responsibilities. Wynn had done only what needed to be done, and yet ... It was going to take a lot of resolve on my part to create a home, a happy home, in Wynn's wilderness. I couldn't crumble like I had last night every time I faced difficulties, every time modern conveniences were not at my disposal. I wanted to be happy here. Most of all, I wanted to make Wynn happy. I was going to need help. I knew of only one true source readily available to me. I stopped for a few moments of prayer.

  By the time I returned to the cabin, I had myself in hand again. Wynn was busy with the crates. He had carried my trunk to the bedroom and placed it beside the wall under the one lone window. I opened the lid, hoping to find a more suitable skirt and blouse in which to be seen at breakfast; but the ones I lifted from the trunk were just as wrinkled as those I wore. I gave up and went to see if I could find a basin to wash my hands. Wynn had already set one out, and a towel was hanging on a peg beside it.

  I washed and moved on to the stove. The coffeepot was sending out a delightful aroma and Wynn had made a batch of pancakes that needed only to be poured on the griddle. It was hot and ready, so I began to spoon out the batter. The sizzle and the good smell made my stomach beg for a taste. .

  Wynn was soon in the kitchen beside me. "Smells good," he said, his hands on my shoulder behind me. "I had a tough time waiting."

  "Why didn't you go ahead-or waken me?"

  "I thought you needed the rest. And I didn't want to start my first day without you."

  I swallowed hard and willed away the tears. That was all over now. I needed to put it firmly behind me.

  "So what do you think?" I said, in order to initiate conversation.

  "Think?" asked Wynn.

  "About the cabin," I went on.

  "It's bigger than I had dared to hope." Wynn sounded pleased, and I realized for the first time that he was right. I had seen three rooms in the darkness. I had been hoping for at least two. I had not even thought till now to be thankful.

  I smiled at Wynn now. "That's right. I had hoped for a private bedroom, and it has a private living area as well." I looked around me. It wasn't much, this living area, but it had possibilities. There was the fireplace, with one small chunk of the fur I had yanked down the night before still dangling over it. There was a window looking out to the east and the village. There was the cot with the hard-looking covering, the, well-the easy chair. Nearer at hand were the stove, some makeshift cupboards, the table and two chairs, and a stand where the basin and two large pails of water rested.

  "Where'd they come from?" I asked Wynn. I had not noticed the pails the night before, and they weren't the ones from the teacherage that I had given Wynn to pack for our use.

  "I borrowed them," he answered simply. "I thought you'd be aching for a bath last night so I asked McLain for them. It took us awhile to heat that much water-I guess I would have been wiser to have hurried back instead of waiting on it."

  I looked at the heavy pails. They were filled almost to the brim. Wynn had carried them full of hot water the night before-for a quarter of a mile-hurrying and stumbling through the dark so I might have a bath. And what had he found? A childish woman who had cried herself to sleep under a musty old hide.

  I crossed to Wynn, the pancake turner still in my hand. I reached my arms up and tightened them around his neck. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

  He held me and kissed me. We didn't speak. I guess we were both busy sorting out thoughts. The smell of burning pancakes pulled me back to reality. Fortunately, they weren't so burned we couldn't eat them. In fact, after the dried and canned trail fare, they tasted good.

  Wynn helped unpack our crates and trunks. It took us all morning to sort through our things and get them into the rooms where they would be used. After a light lunch, Wynn had some things to attend to at the store. I assured him I would be just fine. I was going to be very busy with a scrub brush and hot, soapy water.

  I was scrubbing out the shelves which would be our kitchen cupboards when I heard men's voices. I expected a knock on our door, but after several minutes when none came I went to the window and cautiously looked out. Two men, with a team of horses and a dilapidated old wagon piled with rough lumber, were busily studying a large sheet of paper and arguing over the right way to go about their assigned task. They must have figured something out, for soon shovels, hammers and saws were industriously put to work. I was puzzled at first; and then as the small building began to take shape in the late afternoon, I realized Wynn had lost no time in keeping his promise. There was to be a private outbuilding-and soon. I felt a pang at having caused Wynn this additional problem, but at the same time I was greatly relieved. I couldn't imagine living for very long without some kind of accommodation.

  I kept scrubbing and cleaning, and the men outside continued pounding. My back began to ache and my arms cramp. Still I kept on. I was determined to have a clean house by nightfall.

  I did the cupboards, the windows, the floors. I wiped off the mattress of the bed and managed to drag it outside for a bit of air and sunshine. I pulled the hard seat cove
ring of the cot out into the sun, too. Then I washed all our dishes and pots and pans and put them on the newly scrubbed shelves. I arranged tins and cans of food on the remainder of the shelves, stacking some things on the floor. There just wasn't room for everything to be put away. Certain items, like the dishpan, the frying pan, and some of the utensils, I hung on the pegs on the wall.

  It didn't make a particularly tidy-looking kitchen, but it was clean, and I was pleased. I put away the thought of asking Wynn for doors on my cupboards to conceal all the clutter. It was enough that I was getting the little outbuilding and, as I considered it the far more important of the two, I would just do without the cupboard doors-or I would think of some way to conceal the shelves myself.

  It was getting late in the afternoon when I went out to retrieve the mattress from the stumps where I had propped it in the sun. It was even harder to drag back in than it had been to get it out; but after much tugging and yanking, I finally managed to get it back in on the bed. I made up the bed then with clean sheets and blankets. How good it would be to have our own clean bed to sleep in again. I took my clothes from the trunk and hung them on the pegs in the wall. They were still wrinkled, but I would have to wait to get to that. I couldn't do everything in one day.

  By the time Wynn arrived home, the house was in quite good order-that is, the two rooms which we considered our house. The large room that was to be Wynn's office still needed to be arranged, but Wynn had told me to leave that to him. We had been delighted and surprised at the discovery of a storage room off the bedroom. Our crates, boxes, and supplies could all be kept there, out of our living accommodations. Wynn had placed the crates in the little room as we had emptied them that morning.

  Our supper that night came from tins of North West Mounted Police rations. I had no other meat and no vegetables of any kind. It was a simple meal, but we ate with a deep feeling of satisfaction. We were where we belonged, doing what we felt called to do. We had a home, and we had one another. True, there was much more that needed to be done before we were settled, but we had made a good start. I forgot my tired arms and back and chatted with Wynn about all the possibilities the little cabin held. I looked out of my window to the rough little shanty with its crooked door and crude shingles and felt more thankful for it than for the fanciest bathroom. "Thanks, Wynn," I said, "for having that little building built so soon. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."