Charity (33 page)

Neighbors, alerted late last night by smoke and flames rising from the Kaiser family property in the northeastern part of Charity, gathered in front of the ice house and observed Julia Gareis in what Alvinia Torgerson described as “a long white nightgown, her hair undone and flying all about, and smiling sweetly,” standing in the door of the ice house holding a bundle to her breast. In the words of Mrs. Torgerson, who was first on the scene and first to alert the sleeping Kaiser family, “She could have walked right out. The ice house was afire, but she stood just inside the door and could have just stepped out. That’s why nobody ran in to get her. We assumed she’d just come out.” Several neighbors said that by the time they realized that Miss Gareis was not going to come out, Frederick Kaiser appeared in the crowd and ran into the ice house. All there believed he would pull his aunt out of the flames to safety. As the onlookers watched, horrified, Miss Gareis moved back away from the door, farther into the burning building and sat down in what appeared to be a rocking chair. Mr. Kaiser knelt before her and laid his head in her lap before the view of them was obstructed by smoke and flames. Again, by the time the shocked neighbors realized that the two were not coming out, it was too late, for the door frame collapsed and the entire structure exploded into a roaring inferno. Some neighbors reported hearing the strains of high singing just before the final crash of the front of the building.

The mystery of why Miss Gareis did not, when she so easily could have, save herself, and why Frederick Kaiser did not save them both, when he, too, could have done so is deepened by the reports that neighbors had oft times late at night for the past several months, thought they saw a pale light flickering through the chinks of the ice house and occasional high singing, as of a lullaby. No one reported these observances before since “no harm was being done” and “people mind their own business when they can,” said two neighbors who wished to remain un-named.

What was contained in the bundle that Miss Gareis was seen holding in the doorway also remains a mystery. Sheriff Dennis Sully and Deputy Fritz Mulky are investigating. None of the Kaiser family has been able to offer any explanation of these strange and terrible events.

The fire went out in the pot-bellied stove, and the cabin quickly became very cold. A gust of wind found a chink in the cabin wall, lifted a corner of the dry cowhide, and withdrew. The hide fell back against the wood planks with a slap. The old woman did not notice. She sat at the table, knowledge that something terrible had happened running in her veins, her bundle of memories laid out before her. She had arranged each precious object on the open blanket to her liking with the turtle shell closest to her.

She used to have some power of Turtle. She felt it most after her moon times stopped, but there had been seasons before when the Turtle medicine had flourished. To glean what power she could from those times, she closed her eyes and called back memories: under the buffalo robe for the first time with the young warrior Many Roads so many winters ago she had lost count;

the children who had made them proud: Willow—a quiet little beauty who showed signs early of inheriting some power from her mother; Little Shield—a strutting warrior-child who made his father’s eyes bright; and Pretty Hand—who couldn’t get enough of horses and was always missing, only to be found running and giggling among the grazing herds who tolerated her tugging their tails and disturbing their peace;

the winter that Turtle had no power against the white man’s sickness. Over half of her village died, among them Many Roads, Willow, Little Shield, and Pretty Hand;

Turtle medicine returned. She lived alone with her herbs and roots until Louis Butler, a white trapper who brought her meat and furs and taught her English. She cooked his meat, kept him in winter moccasins, and warmed his bed at night. She was content with Louis Butler. He was kind and did not drink too much. Louis Butler fell out of a tree and broke his neck. She never found out what he was doing up that tree. She missed Louis Butler, but she did not grieve for him as she had for Many Roads, Willow, Little Shield, and Pretty Hand;

many winters and summers when her people came to her for help. She could cure almost anything but the white man’s diseases. Against those terrible sicknesses, she could only comfort, and ease a little, the dying;

the night they came for her—two white women, shaking with fear—of her, of the night, for the child they told her about. Dorcas wrapped herself in her blanket, climbed into their wagon and went with them to the mission school. She followed them, creeping, up a narrow black stairway to the child with the bloody back—her back oozing blood and foul green and white matter that smelled of death. But Dorcas saw the power in her, prayed to the Great Mystery, and called to Turtle to add to the child’s own power. That night and every night for three moons, she anointed the little one’s back with ointments and made her drink cup after cup of the soups and brews she spent her days concocting. The child healed and called her Grandmother and made her heart rise again.

Now, the old woman had to summon Turtle once more. She had to ride Turtle’s back. It would not matter if she could not return. She only needed the strength to get there.

Without flinching, Gustie had watched Doc Moody remove the bullet. When the bandage lay white across Jordis dark forehead, he answered the question in Gustie’s eyes. “I don’t know. The bullet was deep, but not so deep as to...you know, I’ve seen people die from this kind of a wound, and I’ve seen them get up and walk away from it too.” He raised an open palm in a gesture of helplessness. “We have to wait and see. If she makes it through the night, she’s got a chance.” Doc Moody left the room.

If she makes it through the night.

Had Gustie been alone in the house she would have flung her head back and howled in rage. If she had been in her own house, she would have smashed every dish, every cup, ripped her papers, broken her pens, and torn apart her books. But she was not alone and she was in someone else’s house. The picture Lena saw when she came in later to check on Gustie was so disturbing that Lena ran back into the kitchen to sit alone with the dying light of the cold November afternoon, waiting for Will’s return.

In the last six months Lena had seen many things she would rather not have seen and would never be able to forget: her husband behind bars, Tori’s body hanging from a rope, the pale moon of Frederick’s face as he appeared in the barn only this morning, and Gustie holding Jordis, bleeding and still, in her arms. Now, here was another picture for Lena to hang in her gallery of sorrows: Gustie, her mouth open, teeth bared in a voiceless scream, her hands clenched into fists pounding—beating upon her thighs, as she sat, silent, and upright in her chair.

I am not dreaming, but I recognize this place as the place where dreams are born. This place is as real as any other. The landscape is different, that’s all, and different rules apply.

I see the face of Turtle in the rainbow that curves over this winter land. She beckons me with ancient eyes. I cannot get too comfortable here.

I do not know how to get back.

‘You did not know how to get here, but here you are.’ There is a smile in those ancient eyes.

I want to go back into the tipi of my mother and my grandmothers, eat soup and heart berries, and swap stories. I turn, but the tipi is gone. I turn again. The rainbow is gone and the face of Turtle, her ancient eyes smiling, is gone. I am alone and the snow is deep.

I know that even in the birthing place of dreams I will freeze to death if I do not move. So I begin. One direction is as good as any other in the trackless snow.

Thursday morning Lena woke before Will and started the coffee. She hoped that when she peeked into the bedroom, she would find Gustie asleep.

In three days Gustie had neither eaten nor slept. Her face was mere skin stretched over bone, the normal ruddy tones of her complexion were gone. She was now dead white with bluish gashes under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. Lena brought Gustie a cup of coffee that was half milk. It was the only nourishment she could get her to take.

Doc Moody came morning and evening to look at Jordis. Each time he said, “We just have to wait and see.”

Dennis had come on Tuesday to question Lena. He tried to speak to Gustie, as well, but she did not seem to hear him and would not respond to his questions, so he left her alone.

Lena felt nothing when she heard Frederick was dead. She was sad about Julia and blamed Ma for everything. Frederick had said right out that she killed Pa. Gertrude had wished her sister dead, and Lena told Dennis so. She didn’t understand why the sheriff didn’t arrest the old thing.

The Kaisers were as nothing to her anymore, except for Will, of course, and Mary who stopped in once a day and quietly made herself useful. She brought cooked food, did some of the washing up, and tidied the kitchen. She chatted a little with Lena and even sat for a while each day with Gustie and Jordis. Mary was not bothered, the way Lena was, that Gustie would not speak.

Once Lena went to Gustie’s house to get her a change of clothing and a pair of shoes. Gustie thanked her for the clothes. When Lena offered the shoes, Gustie looked down at her moccasins and said, “These are my shoes.”

Jordis’s breathing was so shallow, her pulse so weak, it was barely perceptible. Gustie put her mouth close to Jordis and breathed into her nostrils and tried to discern her breath coming back. She kissed Jordis lightly on the lips and left the room.

Will and Lena sitting at the kitchen table were surprised to see her out of the bedroom. “I’m going out to the barn,” she said. “Just to see how the horses are getting along.”

“I took care of ’em this morning,” Will assured her. “Don’t you worry.”

Gustie went out as if she hadn’t heard. She did not take her coat from where it hung in the shanty. She wore Jordis’s red shawl around her shoulders over her thin dress.

Will rose from the table to go after her but settled back into his chair when Lena said, “Just let her go, Will. It’s good to see her out of that bedroom. Let her go to the barn. She has no place else to go.”