08 Heart of the Wilderness Read online

  Still Kendra’s face did not relax or her eyes lose their look of fear.

  “He won’t be at the cabin when we get there, you know,” her grandfather reminded her. “I left all the dogs with old Two Tooth.”

  Kendra remembered. She was sorry she’d have to wait, but she knew that her grandfather could not have left the dogs at home with no one to care for them.

  “When will we get them?” she asked softly.

  “I’ll go for them first thing in the morning,” he promised.

  She sighed. It would have to do. Then she turned and let one hand trail in the cold river water. She was very tired. It had been a long, long trip—but she would be so glad—so glad to be home.

  True to his promise, George left early the next morning to go for the dogs. He was gone long before the sun had stirred itself from the night’s repose. Nonie silently entered the cabin and crossed to the bed. She stood and watched the child as she slept. She was so pale and thin. Nonie’s thoughts went to her medicine baskets. She knew the very thing to get Kendra well and strong again. She would make up the herbal tonics that night and bring them with her in the morning. She would be sure to put some in the stew and porridge each time she cooked. Soon Kendra would be running and smiling again.

  Nonie let the two big tears that rolled down her withered cheeks go unheeded. To interfere with one’s tears might make the rain gods feel they had been slighted. Next spring they might hold back the rain. Nonie did not wish to risk their wrath.

  Nonie crossed to the rocking chair near the fire and eased her body into its wooden embrace. The warmth from the open fire felt good on her chilled bones. It would not do to stir about. She would sit quietly while Kendra slept. The girl needed her rest.

  Oscar bounded into the cabin, seeming to be well aware that Kendra had returned even before he reached her little corner bed with its mattress of fresh moss and spruce boughs. With an excited yip he pushed his nose against her and rooted at the covers that partially hid her face.

  Before her eyes were even open, Kendra’s hand came up to clasp a handful of the long, silvery coat. Oscar licked at her cheek and her eyes opened wide.

  “Oscar,” she squealed and bounded up to hug him and bury her face in his long hair.

  Nonie rose from her chair. It was time to stir now. Time to put on the breakfast porridge. Time to carry on with life. Things were back to what they should be.

  It took several days for the old way of life to be reestablished. George had to return to his traplines, and Nonie came to stay with Kendra. She was always there when Kendra awoke in the mornings and they spent their days together, sometimes chatting, sometimes silent, often taking their baskets and heading for the woods. Gradually a feeling of security and peace began to steal over the young girl. She began to eat again and put on the weight she had lost. She romped in the out-of-doors with Oscar or helped Nonie with the chores. The late autumn sun and cold fresh air flushed her cheeks and added vitality to her body. Kendra was at home again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Plans

  “I’m going to build onto the cabin,” George announced one morning while they shared their breakfast porridge.

  Kendra lifted her head.

  “You need your own room,” he went on. “On which side of the cabin would you like us to build?”

  Kendra couldn’t keep the shine from her eyes.

  “My very own room?” she asked him.

  They were crowded in the small cabin. Especially since Kendra had so many books and school supplies to spread about.

  “Your very own. This makeshift curtain stuff doesn’t work too well.”

  It sounded too good to be true. Kendra took her time thinking about it. She wasn’t sure where the best place would be. If her room was to the east of the cabin, she could watch the morning sun, while on the west of the cabin, she could watch the sun set beyond the mountain range. The east was closer to the stream. On warm summer nights she would be able to open her window and listen to its laughter. Yet the west was closer to the groves of forest trees. The birds would be so close it would seem that their singing was with her in her room.

  “I’ll—I’ll check,” said Kendra, going outside to walk slowly around the cabin.

  At length she made up her mind. Her room would be built on the east. It was not a large room, but it was plenty big enough, with its own fireplace and two windows. Two windows, Kendra exulted. One that looked to the east and another that looked to the south. She could hardly believe her good fortune.

  George made a built-in bunk, and Nonie and Kendra gathered the spruce boughs and soft moss for the mattress. George also built a simple table-desk close to the fireplace and put a number of shelves along one wall.

  Kendra moved in all her books and lined them up so she could read the titles. It was so much nicer than having them in stacks on the floor.

  Nonie gave her a large bearskin rug that she placed in front of the fireplace. She could picture herself curled up there on long winter evenings, her head bent over the pages of one of her books. It made a nice picture. Kendra felt contentment wash over her.

  When Kendra was totally moved in and settled, she heaved a deep sigh, then turned to her grandfather, who stood studying the work of their hands. “You can visit me sometimes, Papa Mac,” she informed him generously.

  He laughed heartily. “I’ll just be beyond the door,” he informed her.

  Secure and happy, Kendra felt a world apart in her own place.

  The year that Kendra turned eleven included a cold, damp summer. The garden did not produce as it should have. Even the berry trees in the nearby woods had been caught by a late frost so were producing little fruit. Nonie and Kendra tramped the trails gathering herbs and roots, but Kendra often saw Nonie lift her face toward the sky, fear filling her voice as she uttered words of pleading.

  Nonie had ceased telling Kendra Indian tales. In a way she missed them. At times it had been frightening, knowing that one’s life was in the hands of the unseen spirits. Spirits that seemed so difficult to please. But Kendra knew her grandfather did not approve of the stories. He dismissed them as fairy tales and informed Kendra that they had no foundation of truth.

  There were so many mysteries. So many unanswered questions. Something deep within Kendra longed for answers.

  “If the Old One didn’t make the world, how did it all get here?” Kendra dared to ask her grandfather.

  “There are theories,” he answered vaguely. Personally, George McMannus didn’t put much more stock in some of the usual theories than he did in the Indian tales. They didn’t quite add up to logical conclusions.

  “What theories?” asked Kendra.

  “I’ll get you a book on it the next time I am in the city,” the man replied. Kendra was impatient to study about the theories. Would they answer her burning questions? It was hard for her to wait. She knew that grandfather might not go to the city again for many months—or even years.

  She nodded. She would have to accept her grandfather’s answer.

  “What would you like for your birthday?” Her grandfather surprised her with his sudden change.

  Kendra did not hesitate. She had been thinking of what she wanted. “I want to go with you on the trapline,” she said quickly.

  “You want to—? Why?”

  Kendra did not back down. “So I can learn to help you—with the traps and the skinning and the caring for the pelts.”

  He looked thoughtful. He shook his head slowly. “The trapline is no place for a child,” he said, his voice soft.

  “But I’m getting big now,” protested Kendra.

  He smiled. She was getting tall for her age. But she was still a child.

  “It gets pretty cold and stormy sometimes,” he went on.

  “I won’t go on those days. Just the nice ones,” put in Kendra.

  He thought for a moment longer. “We’ll see,” he said slowly.

  “That isn’t a birthday gift,” protested Kendra.
“ ‘We’ll see’ means maybe. A birthday gift has to be real.”

  George chuckled softly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you—at least— at least three times. How’s that?”

  It wasn’t all that Kendra had hoped for, but it had to be enough for now.

  Word came from Maggie that Henry had passed away. George mourned his friend, but he was not able to make the long trip out for the funeral. He knew that the news should bring relief. Henry would not be suffering any longer. Maggie would not be driven to exhaustion caring for an invalid. But even so, even with his reason telling him that things were better now, he could not help but grieve. Maggie was going to be so lonely in the days ahead. He sat down and wrote her a long, long letter.

  George chose the first of Kendra’s trips on the trapline carefully. The sky was clear, the day bright, and the temperature moderate for a winter’s day in the area. Even so, he had misgivings. He had not forgotten the words of a very young Kendra when she had turned from him, pain in her eyes and screamed, “I hate you. I hate you.”

  How would Kendra respond to seeing animals caught in the traps? It was not a pretty sight.

  But Kendra surprised him. She turned her eyes from the first animal, an otter, curled and frozen, his head resting on the very trap that held him prisoner on the red-stained snow.

  From then on, Kendra spoke of the animals in terms of the price of the pelt. Her knowledge surprised George. He had not realized just how much she had learned about the worth of furs and how to tell a fair skin from a superior one.

  He took her again the next day. It was fun to have her company on the trail. George lost count of their trips after their third time out together. From then on, she went often. Kendra was soon more than company. She was actually a great help.

  A storm moved in, dropping the temperature and swirling snow about the cabin.

  “I don’t think you’d better come with me today,” George announced firmly. Kendra looked out on the storm. It was one of the worst she had seen in her few winters.

  “I don’t think you should go either,” she told him.

  “I have to,” he answered without even giving it thought. “The traps need to be checked every day.”

  Kendra knew that George always traveled the line each day when he had the traps out.

  “Why?” she asked now, surprising her grandfather. “The animals won’t stir about in this weather anyway.”

  “But there may be something in a trap already.”

  “You can get them when the storm is over,” said Kendra.

  “I don’t want them to suffer needlessly,” put in her grandfather.

  Kendra looked up, her eyes big. “They’re dead,” she reminded him frankly.

  Her words caught George totally by surprise. Yes. They were dead. Any trapped animal would be dead in a very short time in the frigid temperatures. But what if—what if—? No, he wouldn’t take that chance. He would not have an animal suffering through a storm.

  Nonie no longer made her trips to the cabin when George was away from home. Kendra did not need child care. But the girl missed Nonie. Often on the days that she didn’t go with George to check the traps, she paid a call on Nonie in the settlement. The elderly woman always welcomed her with smiles and soft words. Kendra knew she was loved.

  The years were telling on Nonie. She seemed to much prefer the fireside to stirring about outside in the cold.

  George made sure the elderly woman had a constant supply of wood. He often wished he could stack the fireplace logs up beside her door and then be done with it. But he knew that wouldn’t work. Any of the other residents would feel quite free to use from the pile as well, and Nonie would soon be out of fuel for her fire.

  So every other day George had to take Nonie another load, which he placed in her cabin. The time cut dreadfully into his workday, but he feared that Nonie would go cold if he didn’t care for her.

  Kendra also helped, gathering wood from the nearby forests and carrying it in her arms to the old woman’s cabin. It was a chore that kept both George and Kendra busy over the winter months.

  When Kendra was thirteen, one of George’s team members produced a summer litter. Kendra spent much of her time playing with the puppies. By the time they had been weaned, she had made her picks. “I want this one and this one and this one . . .” she told her grandfather. She didn’t stop until she had pointed out five of the eight puppies.

  “What are you planning to do with all those dogs? They do need to be fed, you know.”

  “I’ll make them work for their keep,” Kendra said confidently.

  “Work. How?”

  “I’ll use the old sled,” said Kendra. “I can haul the firewood to Nonie and get supplies from the trading post and—and—”

  “Whoa,” laughed her grandfather. “I get the picture. But are you sure? A dog team is a lot of work.”

  “I know,” replied Kendra. “But they are a lot of help too.”

  Kendra got her pups and could hardly wait until they were big enough to start training for the sled.

  Kendra sat at the table close to the crackling fire. The night was cold again. She could hear the wind moaning outside the log frame, but she paid little attention to its mournful song. Her nose was buried in a book. George had sent for a new supply by mail. Kendra drank in the information, but it never seemed to be quite enough. She had so many unanswered questions. If Nonie’s stories were just myth, then how did things really come to be? Kendra had studied nature enough to be dissatisfied with trite answers. There had to be a logical reason for the universe with all of its complexity and intrigue. There just had to.

  She lifted her head suddenly. Her eyes looked off into the distance, past the shadows of the flickering lamplight, her thoughts far away.

  “I want a trapline of my own,” she said suddenly, turning to her grandfather.

  The wish was out. She had dared to voice it.

  George looked up from the trap he was cleaning, surprised by her words. She had been working with him on the traplines now for three winters. She handled the snowshoes as if she had been born with them as an extension to her feet. She could mush the dogs and handle the sled. George had spent time with her in rifle practice until he had total confidence in her ability to wisely and accurately use the gun. She knew the rules of the trail, could read the signs, and knew the laws of survival. She had become skilled at skinning without damaging the pelts. She could work the skins carefully over the stretchers, putting on just the right pressure without causing rips or weak spots. Kendra was a real product of her wilderness setting and quite at home in her surroundings.

  Still George hesitated. Was he ready to let her have her own trapline? It didn’t seem the right place for a young girl. He knew the dangers. Many an experienced man had lost his life to the trapline.

  “Do you really think—?” he began, but Kendra stopped him.

  “You’ve been my teacher,” she said frankly. “And I think you’ve done it well. Nonie says I know as much as some of the village men.”

  George could not hide his smile. In his thinking, Kendra knew a good deal more than most of them.

  “I don’t know,” he said again. “Some of those traps—”

  “I won’t use the biggest ones. I’ll just go for the smaller game,” offered Kendra.

  “But the—the weather? The cold?” George thought of the bitter winds and the times when he had feared that he himself might perish in a storm.

  “I’ll be careful,” put in Kendra. “I’ll keep my line closer to the cabin.”

  “Of course—if it was really cold you could leave things go for a day or two,” her grandfather thought out loud. “Lots of trappers do.”

  “I—I wouldn’t want the animals to suffer,” Kendra echoed her grandfather’s own words. “I’ll be careful.”

  George nodded, still reluctant to let the young girl have her own traps. But he was the one who had raised her in the wilderness—taught her the only way of life
she knew. Was it fair of him to deny that she use what she had learned?

  “I’m going to save my money,” went on Kendra. “I’m going to go out to school.”

  George was caught off guard by her statement.

  “But you—you didn’t like school.”

  Kendra had said nothing about wanting more schooling. Had she been thinking about it? Longing for it? Why hadn’t she spoken? He would have sent her.

  But even as the thoughts raced through his mind, he felt a stab of fear follow them. If Kendra left, his own life would be so empty. So void of any meaning. He quickly chided himself. He had to think of the child—not his own selfish desires.

  Kendra looked at her grandfather, her eyes clear, her gaze steady. “I think I am ready now,” she said frankly.

  “But—but you will be—be older than all the other girls. They—” George was stroking his beard, his eyes intent on the face of his granddaughter.

  “Oh—I don’t plan to go to school school. I want to go to university. There is one in Edmonton—and they let girls attend. I read about the graduation exercises in that paper that came midsummer,” said Kendra. “If I study real hard, and read all the books I can find—then I think I can be ready for it. Maybe by the time I am seventeen—or eighteen.”

  George let out the breath he had been holding. Seventeen—or eighteen. That still gave them a little time. He wouldn’t have to face the thought of losing her for some time yet. He relaxed.

  Then his mind switched back to the traps. He supposed it would not be fair to refuse her request. After all, because of him she was who she was.

  “We’ll see,” he answered with a nod of his head.

  Kendra smiled to herself. When her grandfather responded in that fashion, she most always got what she wanted.