08 Heart of the Wilderness Read online

  Many times during the day of paddling, he felt a strong urge to turn the canoe around and beat a hasty retreat back to the city. He wondered if he could face the pain that lay ahead in seeing Mary’s grave. It was too much. Too much to add to the pain of the past. The pain of losing Mary’s mother. He had to get away. He had to brace himself against all the anguish he was feeling. He had to get back to the mountainous wilderness where he was sure he could find some measure of calm and serenity and begin to heal again.

  But what of Kendra? He looked at the slight body, the pixie face, as she slept. She still clutched her worn rag doll that Mary had made for her. She had called him her trapper grandfather. She had also dubbed him with Mary’s pet name. They were linked together as surely as they would be if actual chains bound them. It brought him joy—and deep sorrow. What would he ever do about Kendra?

  The two stood, heads bowed, hands clasped tightly. Before them were two mounds of scarred earth. At the head of each a small cross stood, carved from the nakedness of a forest tree. No words were on the crosses, just simple initials. On one was carved M.M., on the other, S.M.

  The lump in his throat was so intense that he feared he would choke. He did not even dare let his gaze rest on the silent little figure beside him. She was so still—so quiet. Even in his own grief he was thankful that the child did not understand—could not possibly grasp the meaning of the two mounds.

  “Which one is Mama, Papa Mac?” a small, trembling voice whispered.

  His body gave a start. Perhaps she did understand. He swallowed, trying to gain control of his voice that he was sure wouldn’t work properly. “That one,” he managed to answer, fighting to keep his voice even.

  “Can I hug her?”

  “Hug her?” He did not understand.

  She pulled her small hand free, moved from him, and with one quick motion fell beside the mound, reaching out with little arms to embrace the dark, bare earth. Tears came then. Not just the tears of the little girl, but the tears of her grandfather as he dropped down beside her and gathered her close. They cried together for the mother, the daughter, they had lost. They cried until they were finally able to whisper a goodbye and move on to the next silent grave to cry and whisper again.

  When their tears were spent, he picked her up in his arms and cradled her close. She put her arms around his neck and held him tightly. At last he turned from the two graves and carried her down the hill the short distance to the small cabin that had been her home. They did not speak. He longed to say words of comfort. To ease her pain. But what could he say?

  He did not know what the little girl might be thinking. She could not share her thoughts of loneliness and sorrow with him. But he knew what he was thinking. They belonged together—the two of them. There was nothing that could change that. He should have known it from the first time he looked into her large green eyes. She was his. He was hers. There was no way he could ever turn his back and walk away from her. Not if he found the best home in the city. No, she would never be alone again if he could help it. She was going with him—back to the wilderness. Back where she could hear the song of the birds. Away from the “many houses and noise—and stuff.” He would teach her to identify the bird songs. He had taught her mother Mary.

  He held her tightly and wiped the final trace of tears from her cheeks.

  “We need to have our supper and get a good sleep,” he said softly to her. “We have a big trip to make tomorrow. And then—after that, we have to get ready for an even bigger trip.”

  Her eyes widened. “Where?” she asked him.

  “Home,” he said simply. “Home.”

  She looked at the little cabin they were about to enter.

  “A new home,” he hurried to tell her. “A new home—with me.”

  For one moment she looked at him and then her arms tightened about his neck. He couldn’t see her face, but he had the feeling that some of the pain had left the large green eyes.

  “Are you sure you are doing the right thing?” Maggie asked in a hushed tone. Kendra lay sleeping on a makeshift bed nearby. The days since their return from the trip upriver had been busy. There were always supplies that were needed when he visited the city, but now that Kendra was going home with him, there were so many more things he would need.

  They had gathered up her few possessions that had been left behind at the small cabin. The remainder of her clothing, her toys, and a few reminders of her mother and her father. It had made a cumbersome load for the little canoe on its return trip, but he would not have denied her anything that she had wished to take. She needed all that was available to keep her parents’ memories alive in her mind.

  As the mound of articles from his daily shopping trips grew and grew, he knew his trip back home was going to be slow and costly. He would need to hire another boat or two. There was no way the supplies could be contained in his own small craft when he reached the end of the freight line.

  But he did not worry about it. There were always trappers or Indians willing to make a little extra money by paddling freight upstream. He’d have no problem finding someone to share the load.

  So he continued to pile up supplies, and Kendra continued to chat excitedly about the long trip she would soon be making with her grandfather and the fact that she would be living with him in his wilderness home.

  He had feared that he might have to fight it out with Mrs. Weatherall. She did question him.

  “Do you think that is a good place to raise a child?” she had asked soberly.

  “No. No, likely not,” he answered honestly. “But her own folks gave her a good start in the wilderness. And I can’t abide the city— besides, my livelihood is out there.”

  “And Kendra—?”

  “I won’t leave her behind,” he said firmly. “She needs me.”

  He didn’t say what he could have said quite honestly. That he also felt a need for the little girl. He knew he would never be able to stand being separated from her now.

  “And her schooling?” asked the woman.

  “I bought books,” he replied. “I can teach her for the first years— and then—then she can come out to one of them girls’ schools.”

  The woman had not argued further. He was surprised at how easily he had won. “I’ll have her ready,” was all the matron had said.

  And she had kept her word. When the last of the purchases had been added to the collection and arrangements made for them to board the big paddle boat, George McMannus went for his small granddaughter and found her bag packed, ready for the trip ahead.

  “Goodbye, Kendra,” said Mrs. Weatherall, and she put her arms around the small girl and held her close. She did not say, “I will miss you.” She had far too many other small children who needed her love and attention. She did not say, “I hope you will be happy.” She seemed to know as she looked at the two of them together that the best way for Kendra to put her past behind and find a measure of security and happiness was with her grandfather. So she just said again, “Goodbye, Kendra. Whenever you return to the city, I would love to have you visit me.”

  “I will,” promised the little girl, then solemnly added, “but we might not come for a long, long time. Papa Mac doesn’t come very often to the city.”

  The good woman smiled. George McMannus held out his hand.

  He knew that his eyes were about to betray him again.

  “Words can’t say what I’m feeling,” he said. “But I do thank you for taking her in. Easing her pain. Hugging away some of the hurt.”

  The woman blinked hurriedly, not wishing to show the depth of her feelings.

  “That’s why we are here,” she said, her voice steady and her eyes direct. “I wish—I wish that all of our children had such a—such a happy ending to their days with us.”

  He gave her hand a slight squeeze and turned to pick up Kendra’s little suitcase.

  The long, long journey began with the paddle-boat trip up the broad river. Kendra’s excitement ran high. Her g
randfather, more accustomed to the quiet of his wilderness, was chatted at and led about until he felt exhausted. Relieved when it was time for her to be bedded for the night, he tucked the blankets around her and the rag doll she clutched to herself.

  After three days of river travel, they docked and hired a wagon to haul their belongings overland. This meant a four-day journey with frequent stops to rest the team, but the pauses only served to agitate the man. He was anxious to get back home. He had been away far too long.

  At last they reached their own river and the group of small shelters that had been built close to the stream.

  “Is this our city, Papa Mac?” Kendra asked him.

  “We don’t have a city,” he answered. “This is an Indian settlement.”

  She looked about with candid curiosity. Children ran back and forth on the riverbank, yelling at one another with strange-sounding words. Dogs barked and women peered shyly from behind draped doorways. In the shade a few men lolled and whittled, looking up now and then to study the wagons that had pulled up in front of the small outpost store.

  George McMannus reclaimed the canoe he had left behind with the man who ran the post and managed to find two fellows with sturdy canoes who were willing to move his freight upriver to his cabin home.

  “You go on ahead,” the big man called to the men in the other two loaded canoes. “I’ll only be a short while—then we’ll catch up.”

  “Why are we stopping here, Papa Mac?” Kendra asked, but there was no alarm in her voice, only interest.

  “We are going to see Nonie,” he answered, reaching for her hand.

  As they passed the village inhabitants, he called out greetings. Kendra had never heard the words before and did not understand them. Some of the men rose to their feet and answered him with strange words of their own. They often chatted for a few minutes before the pair moved on, Kendra’s hand held firmly in her grandfather’s.

  They came to a small, ramshackle home at the edge of the little settlement, and George McMannus called loudly, then stepped up to the door. Without a knock he bent his head and ducked under the tanned moose hide that had been pulled back to let the sun shine in.

  A voice from inside answered him softly and Kendra ducked her head just like her grandfather had done, though she was much too short to have necessitated such a move, and followed him into the dark, smoke-smelling room.

  A woman sat on the floor. She worked over a large bowl she held within her bent legs. She did not even lift her head but spoke rapidly in her own tongue.

  “Speak English, please,” George McMannus answered her. “So my granddaughter will understand.”

  The woman lifted her head slightly and took one brief peek at the small girl before her.

  “This is Kendra,” George said to the woman.

  “Kendra,” she repeated, her native tongue making the name sound strange yet appealing.

  “Kendra, this is Nonie,” the man went on.

  Kendra held back shyly. She wished to duck behind her grandfather’s long legs, but she wasn’t sure if that would be acceptable. Instead, she turned her face against him.

  “Say hello,” her grandfather bid her.

  “Hello,” she said shyly, still feeling uncomfortable in the unfamiliar house and in the presence of this person who was a stranger—and strange—to her.

  The woman on the floor chuckled softly, lifting her hand to hide the sound. She was no longer young, but her wrinkled face held serenity, her deep eyes soft merriment. Graying hair hung down over her shoulders in two neat braids.

  “Nonie, I need help,” the man went on without any preamble. “I need to pick up my dogs as quickly as possible, and I can’t leave Kendra alone. Can you stay with her?”

  Nonie lifted her head fully and looked from the man to the small girl. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

  “Good,” said the man. “I will look for you tomorrow—at first sun.”

  Nonie nodded again, then turned her eyes back to her bowl.

  Kendra felt a tug on her hand and realized that her grandfather was now leaving the cabin again. He said one last word in the strange language and the two made their way back to the canoe that bobbed up and down with each movement of the river.

  Though Kendra had not fully comprehended the exchange, the arrangements had been made. Nonie would be the one who would care for the child while her grandfather tended to some other duties.

  Chapter Five

  Nonie

  “Where’s Papa Mac?” A sleepy Kendra peeped out from a tangle of blond curls at the woman in deerskins who worked near the cabin fireplace. The woman did not lift her head at Kendra’s question.

  “Gone,” she said.

  Gone. The single word brought terror to the child’s heart. First her parents—now Papa Mac. Gone!

  For one moment she stood frozen—then with a cry she leaped forward and ran to the door of the cabin. Tearing at the door, cries lifting to the rafters of the small cabin, Kendra fought to get out. Fought to escape. Fought to run after Papa Mac.

  The woman watched her, silently, motionlessly, and then she slowly stood and brushed off the bits of swamp reed she had been weaving. She crossed to the child in silent steps and gently laid her hands on the small shoulders.

  “Tush,” she said gently. “Tush.”

  But Kendra paid no heed.

  “Tush,” the woman said again and gently but forcefully turned the little girl around to look into her face.

  “Tush,” she said again. “He come back. Tush.”

  When Kendra still wailed wildly and tried to turn back to the door, the woman firmly drew the child into her arms and held her tightly. Kendra had no choice but to weep against the smoky-smelling shoulder of deerskin.

  The woman’s hands gently soothed as they brushed at the head of tangled hair and patted the thin, shaking shoulders, then stroked the arms, now still.

  “Tush. Tush,” she said over and over, the word calm and soothing. “He come back. Soon. He come back.”

  When the words finally got through to the little girl, her struggling ceased, her tears lessened. At last she pushed back, brushed her hair away from her face, and took another look at the woman who held her. She remembered her from the day before. Papa Mac had said that she would be cared for by this woman. She remembered now. He had said he was going to get his dogs.

  With the memory of Papa Mac’s words, Kendra’s fears began to be alleviated, though her little body still trembled and her heart pounded within her. She had not really understood Papa Mac’s words. She had not expected to wake up to a stranger in the small cabin.

  “Hungry?” the woman asked her now.

  Kendra nodded her head.

  “First—” The woman pointed to the bunk where Kendra had slept. At the bottom of the bunk some of her garments had been laid out carefully. Kendra didn’t know if the woman had chosen them or if her grandfather had put them there before he left the cabin, but obediently she followed the pointing finger and slipped out of her flannel nightgown and into her simple garments.

  As soon as Kendra had finished, the woman beckoned her over so she could work on the tangled hair. As she combed and plaited, she clicked her tongue in strange sounds and chuckled. Soft, silvery laughter that almost made Kendra wish to join her.

  When the woman was finished and had laid the comb aside, she turned the small girl back to face her and looked deeply into her eyes. “Amo-chika,” she said softly. “Amo-chika.” She drew Kendra close against her and held her for a long time. For a reason that Kendra could not explain, she felt comforted. The strong, dark arms that held her promised such love. Such security. Kendra buried her face against the rough, skin garments and breathed deeply of the strange smell of woodsmoke.

  The woman held her back at arm’s length again and spoke softly, pointing at herself, “Nonie.”

  Kendra nodded. She remembered the name now. “Nonie,” she repeated, trying hard to give the name the same soft lilt that the wo
man had.

  The woman smiled.

  Then she pointed at the wee girl. “Kendra,” she said. “Amochika.”

  The name—her own name—sounded strange to the young girl. And the new Indian name sounded even stranger. But she liked the sound of it. She repeated it, trying to make it sound just like Nonie had said it. It was different to be practicing one’s own name. But she tried it again and again as Nonie led her to the small table by the room’s one window and sat her down, soon bringing her a dish of breakfast porridge.

  Kendra did not like the taste of the simple meal and would have refused it, but she was hungry and Nonie said “Eat,” so Kendra ate.

  After she was finished, they gathered up the few dishes from the morning’s meal and went to the small creek that ran close by. Nonie hiked her skirts, tucked them in, and bent over the fast-flowing water, washing the dishes in the cold stream. Then she set them in the warm morning sun. Kendra ran about on the shoreline, discovering pretty wild flowers hidden among the grasses.

  When the dishes were warm and dry, Nonie gathered them together and they returned to the cabin.

  “Now—we go,” said Nonie and she picked up a basket that was beside the door and reached for Kendra’s hand.

  They spent the entire morning out of doors. For Kendra it was a delightful day of exploration. For Nonie it was serious gathering. As they walked, her eyes were ever alert to plants that grew about their feet. Often she would stoop and search out hidden leaves with her fingers. She seemed to sense just where to look for them. Sometimes she took the leaves. At other times she cast the leaves aside and dug the roots for her basket.

  “Why do you do that? What do you want that for?” Kendra asked on more than one occasion, and she was always given an answer.

  “Good medicine,” Nonie would say, or “Makes good to eat.”

  “Can I pick some?” asked the child.