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

  We still did not have a school. Nimmie and I had spent hours poring over books, both hers and mine. I was so anxious to get started; but she felt it was far more likely to succeed if we could convince the chief, or at least some of the elders, that it would be good for the children. This would take time, she assured me. As the chief of the band did not live in our village, but in a village farther west, we had no way to hurry our negotiations.

  One Wednesday morning, a swollen-faced Indian came to see Wynn. After a brief examination, Wynn came into the kitchen.

  "Got any hot water?" he asked me.

  I indicated the kettle on the stove, and Wynn pulled out a pan and put some simple instruments in it, then poured the water over them and set the whole thing over the heat.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, curious.

  "Reneau has a bad tooth. It's going to need to come out."

  "You're going to pull it?" I asked in astonishment.

  "There isn't anyone else," Wynn answered. Then he turned teasingly to me. "Unless, of course, you want the job?"

  "Count me out," I was quick to reply.

  Wynn became more serious.

  "In fact, Elizabeth, I was about to do just that," he said, turning the instruments over in the pan. "How would you like a little walk, for half-hour or so?"

  I must have looked puzzled.

  "I have no anesthesia. This man is going to hurt."

  I realized then that Wynn was giving me opportunity to get away from the house before he began his procedure.

  "I'll go to the store," I said quickly.

  It didn't take me long to be ready to leave the house. Wynn was still with the shaking Reneau. I wondered who was dreading the ordeal ahead more-Reneau or Wynn.

  There really wasn't anything I needed from the store, so I decided to drop in on Nimmie. She didn't answer my knock on her door. I turned to look around me, and then I spotted her in a little grove of poplar trees just beyond her garden. She had gathered about her a group of the village children. I hoped I wasn't interrupting things and approached quietly. Nimmie was telling a story, and all eyes were raptly focused on her face. She must be a good storyteller-not a child is moving! I marveled.

  I stopped and listened.

  "... the man was big, bigger than a black bear, bigger even than a grizzly. He carried a long hunting spear and a huge bow and arrow with tips dipped in the poison potion. Everyone feared him. They feared his anger, for he roared like the mighty thunder; they feared his spear, for it flashed as swiftly as the lightning. They feared his poison arrows, for they were as deadly as the jaws of a cornered wolverine. They all shook with fear. No one would go out to meet the enemy. They would all be his slaves. Each time they came from the trapline they would have to give to him their choicest furs. Each time they pulled in the nets, he would demand their fish. Each time they shot a bull elk, they would have to give him the meat. They hated him and the slavery, but they were all afraid to go out to fight him.

  'And then a young boy stepped forward. `I will go,' he said. `You cannot go,' the chiefs told him. `You do not have the magic headdress. You do not have the secret medicine. You are not prepared for battle.' `I can go,' said this young boy named David, because I take my God with me. He will fight for me."'

  I stood in awe as the story went on. I had never heard the story of David and Goliath told in this fashion before. I was surprised to hear Nimmie telling it now. Where had she heard it? She had not attended a mission school. And why was she telling it to the children in English? Few of them could understand all of the English words.

  I was puzzled but I was also intrigued. How often did Nimmie tell the local children stories, and how often were they taken from the Bible? Did she always interpret the stories with Indian concepts and customs?

  "'See,' said David, `I have here my own small bow and five tried arrows. God will direct the arrow. I am not afraid of the bearlike Goliath. He has spoken against my God and now He must be avenged.'

  "And so David picked up his small bow and his five true arrows and he marched out across the valley to the wicked enemy. Goliath laughed in scorn at David. `What are you doing,' he cried, `sending out a child instead of a brave? You have shamed me. I turn my head from you. I shall feed this little bit of meat to the ravens and foxes.'

  "But David called out to the man as tall as the pine tree, `I come not as a child, nor yet as a brave; but I come in the name of my God, whom you have insulted,' and he thrust one of the tried arrows in his bow, whispered a prayer that God would guide its flight on the wings of the wind, and pulled the bow with all of his strength.

  "The arrow found its mark. With a cry, the big warrior fell to the ground."

  If I for one moment had doubted that the children were able to follow the story, the shout that went up at the moment of Goliath's defeat would have convinced me otherwise. They cheered wildly for the victorious David.

  When the noise subsided, Nimmie went on, "And so David rushed forward and struck the warrior's head from his body and lifted his huge headdress onto his own head. He picked up the long spear and his big bow and arrows and carried them back to his own tribe. They would never be the slaves of the wicked man again. David had won the battle because he had gone to fight in the name of his God."

  Again there was a cheer.

  "And now you must go," said Nimmie, shooing them all away with her slim hands.

  "Just one more. Another one. Only one," pleaded a dozen voices.

  "You said that last time," laughed Nimmie, "and I gave you one more and you say it again. Off you go now."

  Reluctantly the children began to leave, and Nimmie turned. She had not been aware that I was standing there. A look of surprise crossed her face, but she did not appear to be disturbed or embarrassed.

  "What a bunch," she stated. "They would have one sitting all day telling stories.-Come in, Elizabeth. We will have some tea. Have you been waiting long?"

  "Not long, no. And I enjoyed it. Do you tell the children stories often?"

  "Often? Yes, I suppose so-though not often enough. I don't know who enjoys it more, the children or I. Though I try to make it sound like they are a nuisance."

  She laughed again and led the way to the house.

  "But you told it in English," I remarked. "Do they understand?"

  "They understand far more than you would think. Oh, they don't catch all the words, to be sure; but as they hear the stories again and again, they pick up more and more."

  "And you told a Bible story," I continued, still dumbfounded.

  "Yes, they like the Bible stories."

  I wanted to ask where she had learned the Bible stories but I didn't.

  "I love the Bible stories, too," she explained without being asked. "When I was learning to read English, the Bible was one of the books I read. At first it was one of the few books my new husband had on hand, so he taught me from it. I enjoyed the stories so much that, even now that I have many books, I still read from the Bible. They are such good stories."

  She opened the door and let me pass into her home.

  "I like the stories about Jesus best," she continued. "The children like them, too. I tell them often. The story about the little boy and his fish and bread; the story about the canoe that nearly was lost in the raging storm; the story about the blindman who could see when Jesus put the good medicine on his eyes. Ah, they are good stories," she concluded.

  "You know, Nimmie," I pointed out, "those aren't merely stories. Those are true reports of historical events. All those things really happened."

  She looked so surprised and bewildered that I said, "Didn't-didn't Ian tell you that that the Bible is a true book, that those events, those happenings-?"

  `Are they all true?" asked Nimmie incredulously.

  "Yes, all of them."

  "The ones about Jesus?"

  "Every one."

  "And those wicked people really did put Him to death-for no reason?"

  I nodded. "They did."


  There was silence. Nimmie looked from me to the Bible that lay on the little table, her eyes filled with wonder and then anger. "That's hateful!" she protested, her voice full of emotion. "How could they? Only a white man could do such a thing-destroy and slay one of his own! An Indian would never do such a shameful thing. I would spit on their graves. I would feed their carcasses to the dogs." Her dark eyes flashed and her nose flared.

  "It was terrible," I admitted, shocked at her intensity. "But it wasn't as simple as you think. The reason for Jesus' dying is far more complicated than that. We could read it together if you'd like. I'd be glad to study the story with you, right from the beginning, and show you why Jesus had to die."

  She began to calm herself.

  "He didn't stay dead, you know," I went on.

  "Is that true, too?" she asked in disbelief.

  "Yes, that's true, too."

  She was silent for a moment. "I might like to study that."

  I smiled. "Fine. Why don't we start tomorrow morning? At my house?"

  She nodded and rose to prepare the tea. She turned slightly. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry-sorry about what I said concerning the white man. It's only-only that sometimes-sometimes I cannot understand the things men do. The way they gnash and tear at one another-it's worse than wolves or foxes." This time she did not say white man, though I wondered if she still thought it.

  "I know," I agreed shamefacedly. "Sometimes I cannot understand it either. It isn't the way it was meant to be. It isn't the way Jesus wants it to be. It isn't the right way. The Bible tells us that God abhors it, too. He wants us to love and care for one another."

  "Does the white man know that?"

  "Some of them do."

  "Hasn't the white man had the Bible for many years?"

  "Yes, for many years."

  "Then why doesn't he read it and do what it says?"

  I shook my head. It was a troubling question. "I don't know," I finally admitted. "I really don't know."

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cy/U6//_0J_

  Our Bible studies together started the next day as planned. We did not meet together every day, but we did meet regularly. Ian did not seem to object, and Wynn was most encouraging.

  Nimmie was a good student; and as we began to piece together the whole plan of God for His creation, she became excited about it.

  "Katherine should be here! She needs to hear this," she insisted.

  I wondered about Katherine. I doubted that she would come out of her bitterness long enough to even listen, but Nimmie kept insisting.

  "Do you mind if I bring her?" she continued.

  "Well, no. I don't mind. I'm not sure-I'm not sure she'd come that's all. I've asked her to my house many times, and I've never been able to get her to come."

  "For Bible study?"

  "Well, no, not for Bible study necessarily. Just for tea. But if she won't come even for tea, I surely don't think she'll want to come for study."

  "She might," persisted Nimmie. "I'll ask her."

  When Nimmie arrived for the next study, she had Katherine with her. I never will know how she effected the miracle. I tried to keep the shock out of my face as I welcomed them both in.

  Katherine scowled as we opened our Bibles and began to read. She had brought a Bible of her own, but it didn't look as though it had received much use. She said nothing all morning long, even though Nimmie often stopped in the reading to comment or ask for an explanation. She was eager to know not just the words but the meaning of the words, now that she knew each of the stories was true.

  When the two ladies left that morning, I told them I would be looking forward to our next time together. Katherine frowned and informed me in unmistakable tones, "Don't expect me back. I came just to get this here woman off my back. There's nothing in this book that I don't already know. I'm not a heathen, you know-I was raised in church."

  "Then you must miss it," I said softly.

  She wheeled to look at me.

  "I was raised in church, too," I continued, "and if there is one thing about the North that I miss more than any other, it is not being able to go to church on Sunday."

  She snorted her disgust, pressed her lips together and marched out the door.

  Nimmie looked at me sadly and followed the other woman.

  I don't know how it came about; but the next time Nimmie came for her study, Katherine was reluctantly trudging along behind her, her Bible tucked under one arm.

  I made no comment except to welcome them both, and we proceeded with our reading and discussion.

  The weather was getting colder. Daily, large flocks of ducks and geese passed overhead as the birds sought warmer climates. Almost all the leaves were dancing on the ground rather than clinging to the nowbare branches. The animals' coats began to thicken; and men talked about a long, hard winter.

  Wynn hired some men to haul a good supply of wood for the fire, and we prepared ourselves as well as possible for the winter weather ahead.

  The inevitable day came. The north winds howled in, carrying subzero temperatures and swirling snow. We were in the midst of our first winter blizzard. I was so thankful that Wynn was home, safe and sound, instead of out someplace checking on a far-off trapper.

  In spite of the fire in the stove, the temperature in the cabin dropped steadily. Wynn lit the fireplace and hung some blankets over the windows to shut out the cold. Still the chill did not leave the air. We piled on the clothing to keep our body heat in.

  That night we banked our fires and retired early, hoping that the next day might bring a break in the storm. During the night, Wynn was up more than once to be sure the fire was still stoked with wood.

  "I do hope there are no casualties," Wynn said. "This is unusually severe for this time of year. Some folks might not have been prepared for it."

  I hoped, too, that there were no casualties. It would be terrible to be caught out in such a storm.

  When we awoke the next morning, we were disappointed to find the fury of the storm had not slackened. Still it raged about us.

  "Look," I said to Wynn when I found the water in the washstand basin frozen, "it really is cold in here!"

  I was about to empty the chunk of ice into the slop bucket when Wynn stopped me. "Don't throw it out," he instructed. "Heat it and reuse it."

  "Use this?"

  "Who knows when we might be able to get more water. We only have three quarters of a pail, and we will need that for drinking and cooking. We'll make the wash water last as long as possible."

  When I had finished the breakfast dishes, I did not throw out that water either. Instead, I left it in the dishpan at the back of the stove. It would have to serve for washing the dinner dishes and perhaps even the supper dishes as well.

  I was all set to enjoy a lovely day with Wynn in spite of what the weather was doing outside; but he came from the bedroom drawing on a heavy fur jacket.

  "Where are you going?" I questioned in alarm.

  "I need to go down to the Hudson's Bay Store and make sure there are no reports of trouble. I shouldn't be gone too long; but if something comes up and I don't get back right away, you're not to worry. There is plenty of wood. You shouldn't have any problem keeping warm and dry"

  He stopped to kiss me. "Don't go out, Elizabeth," he cautioned, "not for any reason. If something happens so I can't get back to you by nightfall, I'll send someone else."

  By nightfall? What a dreadful thought!

  Wynn slipped out into the swirling snow, and I was left standing at the window watching his.form disappear all too quickly.

  I don't remember any day that was longer. There was nothing to do but to tend to the fires. Even with both burning, the cabin was cold. I borrowed a pair of Wynn's heavy socks and put on my boots. Still my feet were cold.

  I walked around and around the small room, swinging my arms in an effort to keep warm and to prevent total boredom. The storm did not slacken. It was getting dark again. Not that it had ever been really light on this day
, but at least one had realized it was day and not night.

  I fixed some tea. I had quite forgotten to eat anything all day. I was sorry I had not thought of it. It could have helped to fill in a few of my minutes.

  It was well after I had lit the lamp and set it in the window that I heard approaching footsteps. I rushed to the door. It was Wynn. He was back safe and sound. I could have cried for joy.

  "Is everything all right?" I asked, hugging him, snowy jacket and all.

  "As far as we know," he replied, stamping the snow from his boots. "We had to go and get Mary. She had no fuel for a fire and wouldn't have made it through the storm, I'm sure."

  "Who's Mary?"

  "She's a woman who lives alone since she lost her husband and family three or four years ago. They call her Crazy Mary-maybe she is; maybe she isn't, I don't know. But she refuses to move into the settlement, and she has a tendency to rant and rave about things. She was mad at me tonight for bodily removing her from her cabin and bringing her to town."

  "Bodily?"

  He nodded. "She absolutely refused to go on her own."

  "What did she do? Did she fight?"

  "Oh, no. She didn't fight; she just wouldn't move, that's all. I carried her out and put her on the sled, and she rode into town like a good girl. But I had to pick her up and carry her into Lavoies' cabin as well."

  I smiled, thinking of this determined Indian lady. She certainly had gotten her point across.

  "Well, she should be all right now," said Wynn. "Mrs. Sam is sure she will stay put as long as the storm continues."

  I was glad Crazy Mary was safe. What is the real story behind her name? I wondered.

  TWENTY-THREE

  VIn1e/-

  With the coming of the winter, many of the men had to leave their warm cabins to go out to their traplines. The furs they trapped in winter were the most profitable because of their thickness, and each trapper had a designated area that was considered his. When I asked Wynn how they made the arrangements, he said it seemed to be by some kind of gentleman's agreement rather than by any legal contract. I did learn that trapping another's territory was considered a major offense.