When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) Page 4

  “They have to wait in the rain anyway,” Wynn explained. “They can’t all fit in our living room at once.”

  Realizing he was right, I returned to my kitchen and took a few moments to pray that the rain would stop.

  Ian came back, a large ledger in his hand. The Indians had been told to wait for the sound of the crude gong before lining up for more supplies. Those of the previous night had been given out at no charge, with deep thankfulness that God had seen us through. Now the books would need to be kept. Each man in the village had his winter’s catch of furs, and the tally would be kept on account until the day that McLain could take in the furs to settle the accounts. First he would need to construct his new trading post.

  As soon as Ian pounded on the drum with the hammer, the line began to form. Though it had not stopped raining, it had slowed down considerably. I thanked God for that.

  Today there was happy chatter among the women who stood in the line. They could finally believe that the supplies were really here, enough for each day’s need rather than just a fleeting dream of relief.

  As Wynn distributed supplies to them, one by one, Mr. McLain busily entered the items to each one’s account. Now the women were given a choice of purchase. Yesterday they all had been allotted the same items to prepare a meal.

  It was getting dark before the last of the line was waited on. Wynn closed the window and turned to Ian.

  “Is this going to work?” he asked him.

  “Perfect,” exulted Ian. “I’m glad you thought of the shelf. Nimmie will be settled by tomorrow, and she will be able to take your place. We know you can’t spend all of your time dishing out store supplies.”

  “I’m glad to help until you are settled a bit, but I do need to get back on the trail again. There are a number of people I should check on as quickly as possible.”

  “We understand,” Ian assured him. “Nimmie and I should be quite able to handle this from now on.”

  “But how about the building of the new store?” asked Wynn.

  Ian pondered. It was true. He was going to be more than busy. His building skills and direction were needed on the project. Even though there were a number of men who would be happy to work for Ian, they could not proceed without supervision. Ian would need to be available every part of every day.

  “We’ll have to work out something,” Ian was saying when I broke in hesitantly from the doorway. “I’ll help Nimmie if you’ll just show me what you want done.”

  Both of the men swung to look at me.

  Wynn broke the silence. “There you are,” he said to Ian with a grin.

  Mr. McLain looked relieved. “You mean that?” he asked me.

  “Of course. I’d be glad to.”

  “How about keeping the ledger?”

  “The ledger?”

  “Recording what is given to each family. Nimmie will tell you what to write.”

  “That would be fine,” I stammered out. “I’m sure—sure I could handle that.”

  “I’m sure you could, too,” said McLain confidently. “Then Nimmie could work with the people. It would be a bit easier for her, some of the people not knowing much English and you not understanding much of their language yet.”

  I liked his reasoning. Nimmie could wait on the customers and I could work along with her and keep the accounts. I was going to have her around after all!

  In the meantime I hoped that the building project would go quickly. I was thankful for the supplies for the people. I would also be thankful to reclaim my home. I looked around at the stacked-up supplies. Our house looked so much better than it had just that morning, though Wynn’s small office was not free for his use, and many things were still piled along the walls in our living quarters. Yes, I hoped with all of my heart that the building of the new trading post would go well.

  SIX

  Routine

  Early the next morning the clouds began to break up and the heavy rain that had fallen during the night gradually diminished to a drizzle. I began to be hopeful that the rain might actually stop.

  By midafternoon the sun was actually peeping out from among the clouds now and then. I got out my washtub so I could launder the wet, dirty clothes of the preceding days and get them on the line.

  I worked quickly, for I knew there wasn’t much time until Nimmie would arrive and clang the drum for the evening supply line.

  I had just hung the last item on the line, thrown out my wash water and returned to my kitchen when I glanced out the window to see Nimmie coming up the path, dry and in her own clothing for the first time since she had returned to the settlement. Her feet were not free of the cumbersome mud, however. She looked like she was wearing brown snowshoes as she plodded along, carefully lifting one mud-packed foot after the other as she made her way up to our door.

  I called for her to come in as I pushed the kettle forward onto the heat for a cup of tea before beginning our store duties. She didn’t enter but called back to me from the doorway, “Could you bring me some water, please, so that I might wash my feet?”

  I poured warm water into the basin, threw a towel over my arm and went to the door.

  Nimmie had not bothered to wear anything on her feet. Knowing that the mud would cake as she walked, she came barefoot. It was much easier to clean feet than to clean shoes. She sat on the step and washed her feet in the basin. She refused the clean towel. “They’re not clean enough for that,” she protested. “Just give me an old rag.” She dried her feet on a rag I found, swished out the basin and came in, shutting the door behind her.

  “Isn’t it great to see the sun again?” she exclaimed as she settled in a chair. I agreed as I poured our tea.

  When we had emptied our teacups, we went to the storage room. Nimmie showed me how to record the items under each family’s name in the ledger and then went out to call the villagers while I opened the window for our first customers.

  At first it was novel and rather fun, but by the time we had measured and served, recorded and changed, argued and pleased each of our customers, I think both of us were ready to call it a day.

  Wynn had gone to make some of his calls. He had no idea when he would be back so could not give me a time for the evening meal. I would have it ready and try to keep it as warm and palatable as possible, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late.

  Nimmie left in the semi-dusk to prepare a meal for Ian. He along with several other men had left for the woods that morning to mark out trees for felling. Nimmie did not know the hour for her evening meal either.

  One thing we did know: We were both glad that it was no longer raining.

  The days that followed were much like that first one. I hurried through my housework so I could accomplish what needed to be done for the day. I am sure that Nimmie did the same.

  Each day the paths became a little drier, so the rutted pathway up to our door was no longer slippery with mud. I even tried to smooth out the ruts in the path, much to Nimmie’s amusement.

  The settlement teemed with new life and busyness. The women searched through the woods for edible spring growth for the cooking pots. Some of the men, under Ian’s direction, felled trees while others cleared away the debris left from the fire at the old trading post. Stakes in the ground marked where the new post would stand, a bit larger than the first one. The living quarters at the back would be for Nimmie and Ian and the children they were anxiously looking forward to having. There would be no living quarters needed for Katherine. She had decided to go back to teaching in the Edmonton area.

  Each day Wynn again took to the trail. Because the paths were free of the winter’s snow, the dog team was not usable now, so Wynn’s trips were even harder than normal. Swollen rivers and streams made journeys by canoes risky. With the return of the sun, the mosquitoes hatched in great numbers. The trail was not a pleasant place to be, but it was part of his job; and so without complaint, Wynn shouldered the pack with his emergency supplies and his noon lunch and left each morning at sunris
e.

  Nimmie and I soon established a daily routine. She would arrive promptly at three, we would have an afternoon cup of tea or coffee, and then we would bang on the drum and signal the ladies that the settlement “store” was open for business.

  The sun shone on some days, the rain fell on others. Gradually a framework was taking shape in the settlement as the men worked under Ian’s direction. Wynn helped when his duties did not call him elsewhere.

  Wynn had found a few trappers who really had needed help, men who lived alone and did not come into the village after the winter’s trapping was over. One man had been sick for over two weeks; he finally had become so weak he was unable to care for himself. Wynn traveled out to his cabin every other day to prepare food and give him medicine. Another man also had been sick, but by the time Wynn found him he was too far gone to recover. Though Wynn nursed him for several days, giving him the medicine he had available, he sorrowfully turned from being doctor to undertaker and parson, finally committing the man to the earth he had been so close to for so many years.

  The mosquitoes and blackflies swooped around in droves. It was hard to remember they had been just as miserable the year before. I had to get used to them all over again.

  Nimmie and I planted our gardens with seeds she had brought back. I could hardly wait for them to sprout and the tender plants to make their appearance. Nimmie was far more patient than I.

  Nimmie’s delivery time was drawing nearer. She didn’t seem to feel anything other than anticipation, but for some reason, I felt alarm.

  What if something goes wrong? What will we do if we need a doctor? For the first time I began to feel just a little thankful that I wasn’t the one waiting for the arrival of a baby. I had not shared my prayers with Wynn, but for some weeks I had been praying nightly that God would see fit to grant my desire for a family—and soon. We had already been married for almost a year and it seemed like God should be answering my prayer by now.

  Still, as I looked at Nimmie, daily becoming larger and heavier, I felt the shiver of fear run through me. Perhaps it would be easier if I were facing the birth myself, I thought, instead of knowing that my dear friend is the one who will be going through the birth pains. At any rate, I found myself thinking more and more about Nimmie’s impending delivery time. I prayed more earnestly for her and the baby than I had ever prayed for anything in my entire life.

  “Please, dear God,” I pleaded daily, almost hourly, “please let everything be all right.”

  SEVEN

  Life Goes On

  By now the new trading post was far enough along for the supplies to be taken over and arranged inside the empty shell. Mr. McLain knew that Wynn needed his one-room office and that I was anxious to have my living quarters back.

  The men again tracked through my house to load the wagons with everything that belonged to the store owner. I was relieved to see it go, and yet a little sadness tugged at me too. I had enjoyed the feeling of being needed in the little settlement.

  I felt better when we decided that Nimmie and I would continue the distribution; instead of Nimmie coming to my house, now I would make the daily trek into the village.

  I had not been there much in the past weeks, simply having no reason to go. Nimmie had come to my house daily, and I saw almost every woman of the village on a regular basis when they came for supplies. And our supplies for the next several months were stored in our own storage room.

  Though I had not really missed the little excursions into the village, Kip had. He was restless. I tried to take him for a walk each morning as soon as I had finished my household chores, but he continued to whine at the door.

  I had no time to romp with him like I used to and I was afraid to let him out on his own. I was sure he would head for the village and the other dogs, and even though he was no longer a pup, I still did not relish the prospect of a fight. I was sure one would occur if Kip were allowed to run free. I was especially determined to keep him away from Buck, the village fighter, for just as long as possible—my preference was “forever.” But at least I wanted to be sure Kip was full grown so he might have some chance of holding his own. Buck was an experienced fighter and he was mean. No way did I want Kip tangling with him.

  So I ran down wooded paths and trails by the river whenever I could work it into my morning schedule, just to make sure Kip’s muscles got some exercise, and in the afternoons when Nimmie and I were busy as storekeepers, I kept him in.

  Then even those runs were cut back.

  Nimmie and I had been missing our Bible studies together, so we decided that even though we were busy, we would try to work one in each week on Wednesdays. That meant our other duties had to be crowded into the rest of the mornings of the week.

  Both the gardens were doing well. We were proud and excited about the growing vegetables. I could hardly wait until they would be big enough to serve. But the garden, too, took work. Though plants grew quickly in the summer sun, the weeds seemed to do even better. It was a big job to keep up with them.

  So the summer was a busy one, each day bringing us closer to the first of August. From then on, I wondered if I would be able to sleep for thinking of Nimmie and the coming baby.

  One afternoon as I left the house to go to the settlement for the afternoon store hours, my thoughts were busy with Nimmie and the little one she was expecting. When I moved to the door, Kip was there by my side, pushing against me to get out, his eyes pleading as he looked at me and whined. It had been several days since his last run.

  He looked so pitiful, his big blue eyes turned to mine.

  “All right,” I said, “you can come. But you’ve got to be good. You’ll have to lie quietly in the corner while I do my work.”

  Kip’s tail began to wag as he recognized the consent in my voice.

  We walked the short distance to the settlement together, Kip managing to get in quite a few side trips. When we reached the store, Kip obediently lay down in the corner I pointed out to him and stayed there.

  With the noise of the hammers and hand saws all around us, Nimmie and I often had to raise our voices to one another to get our instructions understood.

  The customers did not need to come as often now. The women had organized their households to the point where they had the basics, and many of them were now taking daily trips to the woods for fresh foods. I’m sure they welcomed the additions to their diets as joyfully as I had done.

  Nimmie urged me to leave a little early, saying she would stay for a while in case any others came. I called Kip to heel and we started out for our cabin.

  I was not paying much attention to Kip as we walked toward home through the late afternoon sunshine. My thoughts were again with Nimmie. She hadn’t said anything, but I thought I noticed weariness about her eyes and slower movements than usual. Was I only imagining it?

  As I walked through the settlement, the dogs barked and growled at me, straining at their leashes. I’m sure what provoked them most was seeing Kip invading their territory. I still respected their turf and made sure I detoured a good distance from their tethered ground, but I did not have the fear I once had.

  Since there was now plenty of food for the village dogs, they had become round and fluffy again rather than looking mangy and shaggy as they had through the difficult winter months. I decided there was really no reason for their being so aggressive and nasty, so I paid little attention to them. In choosing to ignore the dogs, I tried not to antagonize them. There was no love lost between them and me as they bared their fangs and growled whenever they felt Kip and me getting too close.

  Kip ran along beside me, heeling whenever I commanded. We were as yet not far enough out of the village to allow him his side trips. He was still the prettiest dog in the settlement. Wynn said he was now his full height, though he might still put on a few pounds. He was soft and fluffy with the beautiful silver tip to his fur. The children loved him, and even those who had been viciously bitten by a village dog in the past had lea
rned that it was safe to reach out a hand to Kip. Many of the children would wrap their arms around his neck or have a friendly tussle with him on the floor of our cabin.

  We were just reaching the last village cabin and I was about to let Kip run free when I saw the hackles raise on his neck. It was not often that Kip responded in this way and I hesitated, wondering what was wrong. My first thought was that some small wild animal had strayed into the village—perhaps a nasty smelling skunk.

  And then I saw him. Rushing toward us was Buck, lips curled back and teeth exposed. His hackles were up, too, and I knew that this time Kip would take the challenge. With a flash I remembered the long-ago day when Buck had rushed at Kip, then hardly more than an overgrown pup. He had backed off that time in submission to the older dog. But Kip’s pose was not one of submission now. He was a full-grown dog, and he had his pride.

  Buck stopped a few feet short of Kip. I called Kip to heel again, but he acted like he had never heard my voice before nor learned what the word meant. He stepped sideways as though to feel out his ground and make sure of his footing.

  I watched in fascinated horror as Buck came in closer and Kip did not back away. His own teeth bared in a snarl and I heard a rumble from deep in his throat.

  Slowly they began to circle one another, eyes blazing, throats voicing challenges and threats; and then there was a sudden lunge forward. I don’t know which dog made the first move. I only know they met in midair and shrieked out their rage as bodies clashed and teeth tore.

  Both dogs had the protection of a heavy coat. Knowing that, they aimed for throat, for eyes, for face, each time they came together. They struck with lightning fury and then tumbled in the dust of the path, rolling over and over, with grunts and snarls and sharp yips of rage or pain.

  I stood rooted to the spot, wanting to stop them, wanting to run, wanting to scream for someone to do something! But I did nothing, only lifted my hands to my face and prayed that it would soon be over.