CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (15 page)
BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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“I stay here with her,” continued LaMeche, and I noticed Silver Star shyly dip her head. I smiled. Silver Star was an attractive young woman, and LaMeche certainly could do with the mellowing that a woman and children would bring to his life.
I stopped protesting and went toward the wagon.
The Indian men were not tired. They talked and laughed and visited in the shadows of the dancing campfires. Much of their conversation reached me where I lay in the darkness, clasping the few blankets close to my fully clothed body. Even in the press of many bodies, it was still cold. I shivered and moved closer to Kinook.
I was so tired I wanted only sleep. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sound of the voices. They went on and on, calling to one another across the distance of the campfires. Then someone decided that since the families had been spared from the fire, they should celebrate with a dance of thanksgiving, or the spirits might think their kindness had gone unnoticed. A few drums which had been saved from the fire were brought out and the beating began. These were enough to make the very earth pulsate with the vibration as the tempo picked up. I felt as if I were trying to sleep with my head on the throbbing heart of Mother Nature. The very ground seemed to rumble with the beating drums and the dancing feet.
Many of the women and children joined the men. Kinook and Kinnea were the first two to leave our shelter. Silently they crawled out, taking their blankets with them to wrap themselves against the chill of the night.
Small Woman left next, not nearly as quiet in her departure. Though she was small of stature, she was not light of foot. She tripped over the elderly Shinnoo, whose heavy snore was interrupted in mid-release and replaced by an angry growl.
Small Woman did not even stop to apologize. She hastened away in the shadows as Shinnoo rolled back over and was soon snoring again.
My whole being cried for sleep, but the beating drums and thumping feet would not allow it. As the night wore on, instead of tiring, the drummers and dancers seemed to get more frenzied. Shouts and laughter often mingled with the chants, and I lay shivering in my blankets, praying that there was no “fire water” in the camp.
It was almost morning before the dancing ceased. Kinnea and Kinook crept again into their places among the sleepers. Small Woman carelessly pushed aside bodies so she could reclaim her spot under the canvas. Soon her snores were joining those of Shinnoo. They made quite a duet. As her voice rose, his snore fell; then his gained volume, while hers decreased. Up and down, up and down, like I was in a rocking boat.
It was to the rise and fall of the snoring that I finally succumbed to sleep.
When morning came, far too early, I hated to crawl out from beneath my canvas security. The sun was already streaking across the eastern horizon. I thought of all the hungry people around my campfire and forced myself to pull free of the blankets.
Silver Star was already stirring a big, boiling pot of cornmeal at the fire. LaMeche was nowhere to be seen. All around were sleeping bodies. The revelers of the night before had not even crawled off to their crude shelters. Men, women and children lay huddled together on the ground against the cold of the night.
Most of the campfires had been neglected and allowed to burn out. Only a few women stirred cooking pots. I knew those who lay strewn around on the shore would be hungry when they awakened. I skirted around them, careful to avoid disturbing them, and after a walk and a wash in the chilly lake water, I went to my own campfire.
Silver Star smiled shyly at me as she continued to stir the pot.
“Did you get sleep?” I asked her, covering a yawn and wondering if she, too, had been in on the festivities.
She shook her head. “About as much as night owl in bush,” she said.
Turning back to her kettle of hot cornmeal, she asked, “You eat now?”
Since we did not have enough dishes to feed everyone at the same time, we took turns. Usually everyone was fed before I took my turn, but now with the others still sleeping and much to be done, I nodded to Silver Star.
“We both eat,” I told her, and realized I was hungry. “Where’s LaMeche? We should feed him, too.”
“He borrowed horse and gun and went out.”
He must have realized that we would have very little help from the men who had expended all their energies in the night of revelry. I hoped he would have some luck—we were going to need lots of meat.
As I looked around at the sleeping villagers, a heaviness pressed in upon me. If only Wynn would come. It was so hard to be responsible for all of them. I didn’t want the task. I had not asked for it, yet it had somehow fallen on my shoulders.
I heaved a heavy sigh and turned back to the fire. Silver Star was holding out a dish of the hot gruel. I was hungry, but my stomach had no appetite for tasteless cornmeal again. I took it with a rather reluctant hand and began to spoon it slowly to my mouth. How long would we have to live like this?
Dear Lord, help us,
I prayed. And then I remembered I hadn’t even thanked the Father for my breakfast. I looked at it. Could I be thankful? Yes, of course. We could be in this situation with nothing—nothing at all. I was thankful God had allowed us the time to get a few supplies from the trading post. At least we weren’t starving. I bowed my head and prayed again.
Dear Lord, help us,
I prayed. And then I remembered I hadn’t even thanked the Father for my breakfast. I looked at it. Could I be thankful? Yes, of course. We could be in this situation with nothing—nothing at all. I was thankful God had allowed us the time to get a few supplies from the trading post. At least we weren’t starving. I bowed my head and prayed again.
The children were the first to come looking for food. Because their parents still slept, Silver Star and I were kept busy trying to fill hungry tummies. We cooked cornmeal, served breakfast, washed dishes, cooked cornmeal, served breakfast, washed dishes—over and over again.
I could hear Wynn’s dog team over on the little island protesting that they had not been fed, but I had nothing to feed them. It was after the noon hour and still LaMeche had not returned. Very few of the Indian men had aroused. Those who had stirred looked for something to eat, and when they found nothing, returned to their blankets.
The women, too, were still not up. I began to worry that if they slept all day, they would be ready to dance again all night. I even considered awakening them and assigning them tasks in the hopes they would be tired at nightfall. But I was not quite brave enough to do that.
By the slant of the sun it was around two o’clock when the chief crawled from his blankets. Because none of his three wives were stirring a pot at his own fire, he came to ours. I sensed tenseness from Silver Star. She lowered her eyes and shifted her slender body uneasily.
The chief began the conversation with a grunt. I assumed that that was his way of announcing he was now ready to eat. I shifted nervously as well, but actually I was tired and put out with the whole lot of them.
Why should a few carry the whole load? And why should it be the women? Why couldn’t he get his braves off the ground and out on the trail for a buck?
I lowered my eyes as I was expected to do, but did not move forward to get a dish of food for the chief. Since Silver Star considered this “my fire,” she did not offer the chief food either.
When neither of us moved forward, the chief took a seat on a log and grunted again.
Still I did not move. I stood quietly, my eyes studying the unkempt toes of my only pair of shoes.
“Hungry now,” the chief stated in a rather unnecessarily loud voice.
I raised my eyes just a fraction. “Chief honors our fire,” I said and took a deep breath, “but Chief not know he is at wrong fire. Camp is broken up into campfires, and this humble place not where great Chief eats. His cooking pots at fire near tall pine trees, a fitting place for chief to eat.”
I stopped and waited to see what would happen. Silver Star had stopped her stirring, and I could almost feel her holding her breath. The chief looked at me with wonder in his eyes, then grunted again and stood up. He was going to leave our fire without a word. I breathed again.
Then he stopped and turned, one finger pointed to the pot of simmering vegetables.
“What in pot?” he asked me.
“Vegetables. Vegetables from my garden on island.”
He sniffed. Then stepped closer and sniffed again. He looked directly at me, and this time I did not lower my eyes. I had expressed enough submission to his authority. He was at my fire, he was questioning me, I was the wife of the lawman, not under his rule. I stood straight and kept my eyes level with his.
“You grow there?”
“Yes.”
“I am told island did not burn.”
“It did not.”
The chief studied me more closely, his dark, sharp eyes sending messages I did not understand.
“You make strong medicine,” he said.
“It not medicine,” I corrected him with a shake of my head. “It is food.”
“Make strong medicine,” he repeated, “to make food grow on cursed island and to make fire turn and run.”
And then he was gone, his stiff, straight back sending out signals even in his departure, that he was the chief of his people.
I turned back to Silver Star. She resumed stirring the cooking pot.
“What chief mean?” I asked her in a low voice.
It was not a mystery to Silver Star. She looked at me shyly and then explained, “Chief Crow Calls Loud says you have great power to make food to grow where evil curse had been. When one makes good to come from evil, then one has more power than evil that was there before.”
“But—but—” I stammered. “I have no powers—none.”
“Then why plants grow? Why Great One lead you from fire? Why you have wisdom to know what to do?”
“I ... do not ... Is this what all village thinks?”
Silver Star just dipped her head again, as though in the presence of one greater than she. I was confused and ashamed. How could these people be so—so superstitious as to believe I was some—some sorceress or something? I was greatly disturbed.
Oh, God, I prayed, Please send Wynn back soon.
The chief had roused one of his wives, who had in turn wakened some of his children. She turned to the pots, and the children scattered to find wood for the fire. I watched the proceedings, shivering uneasily over the awesome position they had bestowed upon me. Suddenly a new thought came to me. I squared my shoulders, swallowed a couple of times, brushed at the wrinkles in my dirty skirt and headed for the chief’s fire.
TWENTY
Relief
Chief Crow Calls Loud was sitting on a big rock next to his family’s firepit, his back to his middle wife who was coaxing a small flame to life. I cleared my throat so he would know I wished an audience with him. When he grunted in return, I dared to lift my eyes and begin to speak.
“Great chief gives honor to welcome me to speak to him.” I hesitated, searching for the right words.
“I come to Chief Crow Calls Loud to speak of garden. I know my garden is planted on island where none dared to go because of evil spell. I have no power over such evil. I am woman—white woman—who knows little about Indians’ spells, and I am not strong against them. But I know Great God of all heaven and earth—same God who made all things and rules over all people.” He stared impassively at me, and I breathed a prayer for wisdom.
“He is One who gives knowledge and power,” I continued. “In His name I come to Chief. This mighty people of Chief in need because fire took village. We need much food for many people. We need skilled braves to hunt deer and elk and moose.” He was watching me very carefully now. He seemed to be interested in spite of himself. I said, “We need many hands to gather pine boughs to build shelters. If rains come again, people will not be warm and dry. We must build now.
“We need young maidens to gather long marsh grasses to weave baskets, and nets to catch fish. Young men who know ways of fish brothers must drag nets so fish will fill our pots to cook.
“We need children to gather sticks from forest to keep fires under pots.
“We must all work together to care for village,” I concluded a bit breathlessly. It had been a longer speech than I had intended to deliver, but the chief was kind enough to give me his total attention. When I was finished he nodded his head. He stood silently for several minutes and then spoke, “What does Golden-Haired Woman want from chief?”
“Someone to tell people what must be done.”
“You tell.”
“No longer. I tell the people when only women and children, sick and elderly in camp. Now men have returned. Chief is back. Not fitting for woman to still give orders.”
He thought about that. Then he nodded again.
“You tell me,” he said. “I give orders.”
“First you must choose best hunters to find meat for pots to cook,” I began, concerned that I would need to go over the whole thing again.
The chief called his oldest son. The young man had not stirred since his wild dancing of the night before. I had thought that nothing would waken him, but as the sharp command rang out from his father, he was on his feet.
“Much to do,” the chief told him sternly. Then he began to talk so swiftly in his native tongue that I was able to catch only a few words here and there.
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