CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (7 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

Tags: #MJF, #Christian

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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“I’m glad,” I responded happily. “Glad that winter is almost over. Glad that I won’t have to melt snow for water. I’d rather carry it by the pail from the stream. I’m glad that I’ll be able to let the fires go out for part of the day. And I’m especially glad that I will be able to hang the laundry outside again—all of it. I am so tired of dodging under shirts and dresses and of having to move socks from bedpost to chair to bedpost.” I sighed a deep sigh. “I really will be glad to see spring.”
Wynn reached out and stroked my hair.
I broke the silent moment by turning to him. “Wynn, we haven’t found a garden spot yet.”
He smiled his slow, easy smile.
“No—guess we haven’t.”
“Well, we need to pick one.”
“Guess there is plenty of time. You won’t be planting for a few days yet, Elizabeth.”
“I know, but we need to find a good one before—”
“There is all of the woods and all of the meadow. You can take your pick,” he answered. “From what I hear, you’ll be the only one in the whole area in need of one.”
“It’s a shame,” I said, “that’s what it is. All this beautiful soil—just going to waste.”
Wynn looked around us at the heavy stand of trees. Under the snow we knew that grasses and plants grew in abundance.
“Well, not exactly to waste. All the forest creatures seem to feed very well.”
“You know what I mean. It could be supplying nourishment for the people of the settlement.”
“I guess it’s doing that, too,” said Wynn. “LaMeche tells me that they eat very well from the land.”
At the name of the trader my back straightened somewhat. I still didn’t feel comfortable with the man.
“Wynn,” I asked, “do you know anything about him?”
“ Who? ”
“LaMeche. He seems so strange. So ... so ... sullen.” I thought that my choice of word may be a compliment to the man, but I didn’t want to do him an injustice.
“Louis LaMeche? Not much. His father was French and his mother Indian. His father moved into the area east of here about forty years ago and staked out a claim. He did well as a trapper until an epidemic hit. Both of the parents and all of the children were ill, though LaMeche seemed to make out the best. LeMeche was nine or so at the time. He struck out on his own to find help for his family. He got lost and it took him several days to find his way to a cabin. Even then he stumbled across it accidentally. By the time help got back to his cabin all his family were dead.”
It was a dreadful story. My original assessment of the man needed altering. No wonder he was withdrawn and—and sullen. What an awful experience for a young boy to endure.
“What did he do then?” I found myself asking.
“Some of the local trappers got together and scraped up enough money to send him ‘out.’ Supposedly he had an aunt or someone near Winnipeg. He stayed for a few years, but he didn’t like it, so he ended up coming back. He started the post about ten years ago. Been here ever since.”
“Who told you all this?” I asked Wynn, wondering if LaMeche himself had shared it.
“It’s in the files. It’s not marked confidential—still, I don’t think it’s for common knowledge. Just thought that it might help you to understand the man a bit.”
It certainly did. Now I was ashamed of myself for the way I had felt about Mr. LaMeche.
Wynn stood to his feet. “We’d better be getting on home,” he stated. “I need to write up the report on Red Fox.”
I stood too. I didn’t want to return to the village. I disliked even more the thought of returning to the small cabin. I was so thankful that it would soon be spring again and I could enjoy more and more of the outdoors.
“Thanks for taking me along,” I smiled at Wynn with deep appreciation. “I needed that.”
Wynn reached out and took my hand.
“I needed it, too,” he said. “I wish I could include you more often, Elizabeth. You’re great company.”
“Why, thank you, Sergeant Delaney,” I teased. “Now that spring is here, I’ll see if I can fit you into my crowded calendar again some time.
Wynn gave me a wink and a smile, and we headed for home.
TEN
Planting the Seed
“I think it’s time.”
I had been waiting for those words from Wynn for
ages!
When he spoke them now I could hardly refrain from cheering. Instead I smothered my enthusiasm by nearly smothering Wynn.
He laughed as I hugged him. “If you don’t leave me a little breath!” he gasped, “I won’t be able to help you.”
Then he hugged me in return before I quickly pulled away and began scurrying around in preparation.
It was gardening time! That meant the long winter was over. That meant I could again be outside more. That meant our poor diet could be supplemented with fresh vegetables. I could hardly wait!
“Have you picked a spot?” Wynn asked me.
“Sort of. It has to be in the open. We have no way to clear trees and, anyway, it seems that it would grow much better out where it could get plenty of sun.”
Wynn nodded in agreement.
“There’s that small clearing to the south of the village, but the children use it a lot. Then there is the little meadow to the west. Kip and I go there often. It is pretty, but I’m afraid it might be a little low and wet.”
Wynn was following every word I spoke.
“Then there is a large meadow to the east, but the men run their horses in there. The lake has some nice areas around it, but I don’t think the deer and moose would leave it alone.”
I stopped for a quick breath.
“So—I have decided that the best spot I’ve seen so far is that little clearing down at the stream. The water forks there and leaves a little island right out in the middle. You have to get to it by the use of those steppingstones, though when the water is high they are under water and you have to go upstream a ways and use a fallen log. Have you seen it? It looks like a cabin might have stood there at one time.”
I was almost out of breath by the time I finished, but I was rewarded by a wide grin from Wynn.
“Good scouting, Elizabeth.” He gave me a playful pat on the bottom. “Your eyes are as sharp as an Indian’s. Good choice. Lead the way.”
So carrying my basket of beloved seed, and Wynn with a shovel over his shoulder, and Kip bounding along beside us to oversee the project, we started that spring Saturday morning by heading down the winding path leading to the small stream.
There were many curious eyes following our passing, you can be sure.
They must be wondering whom we are planning to bury, seeing Wynn with his shovel,
I thought, and I couldn’t help but be amused.
When we reached the place I had selected, Wynn went right to work. It wasn’t easy digging. The ground was heavy with wild grasses and plants. I had been right. A cabin had stood there at one time. We found bits and pieces of the debris as Wynn dug.
I helped to shake the dirt from the clods as Wynn turned them over. The soil was rich and promising, and it felt so good to allow it to sift through my fingers. Already I was tasting carrots and potatoes.
“Oh, oh!” Wynn exclaimed as he turned over a shovelful of ground with some strange objects intertwined in it.
“What is it?” I asked, wondering why he stopped to study the items.
Wynn turned them over with one hand, looking at each one carefully.
“We might have done it again, Elizabeth,” he said. “These are some objects used by a medicine man.”
I couldn’t follow Wynn’s reasoning. I shook my head in perplexity. “So?”
“I don’t know how this cabin burned, or who this fellow was, but I’ve a feeling that we should find out before we go any farther,” Wynn said.
“Are you saying that ... that... ?”
“I’m saying that this spot might be another of their taboos.”
“Oh—h!” escaped my lips in a soft, pleading whisper. Surely I hadn’t done something more to separate us from the village people.
“What should we do?” I asked Wynn, my face draining of its color.
“I’m not sure. Guess I’ll go see LaMeche. We’ve already disturbed the place. I’d better see how much fuss it might cause.”
“Should I go with you?” I asked in a nervous voice, thinking that after all it was my fault and I should be there to shoulder the blame and excuse Wynn.
“No. No need for that. You can wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
So saying, Wynn thrust his shovel into the soil and started up the path to the village.
I sat down in the grass, my eyes on the shovelful of evidence, nervous and agitated. I don’t know what I expected might happen, but I was afraid that
something
might. Would the Indians burn down our cabin in order to avenge the disturbance of their beloved medicine man?
I decided to move farther away. I found a fallen log a few feet away in the shade of a small clump of poplar trees growing on the little island, and settled myself on it.
The minutes seemed to drag by, but in reality it wasn’t long until Wynn was back. I stood to my feet when I saw him coming, but when he arrived he motioned me back to the seat on the log and sat down beside me.
“It was a medicine man who lived in the cabin, all right—but he wasn’t a popular one with the villagers. In fact, he moved in from another area and took over the position of the local witch doctor by force—or by stronger “medicine.” There almost was a local war over it. He brought several of his followers with him, and they settled over toward that large meadow.” Wynn pointed off to the meadow.
“An epidemic of some kind hit the outside camp,” he went on. “The villagers said it was due to the ‘medicine’ of the rightful, resident chief, who was also the village witch doctor. They said that the gods were showing who really was the man who should have power in the village.
“The intruding medicine man also got sick and died with the fever. Some daring young braves, in an act of defiance and revenge, rode out and burned his cabin, with his body in it. Those of his people who survived the disease hurriedly moved on. Then the villagers had a great victory celebration. Since that time, no one has ever visited the island. We were right—it is taboo.”
“Oh, dear,” was all I could say.
“Look at it this way, Elizabeth,” Wynn said with a grin, “you’ll never need to fear having raiders in your garden.”
“Oh, Wynn!” I exclaimed, horrified that he should joke about it.
Wynn stood to his feet, still laughing at his comment, walked over to reclaim his shovel, and thrust it deeply into the earth, turning over another shovelful of the rich soil and a few more Indian relics.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
“I’m digging you a garden.”
“But—”
“Any harm we are going to do has already been done. We might as well enjoy the garden spot.”
“Are you sure?” I was still hesitant.
“I’m sure. The Indians leave this spot alone because they are afraid of it—not because they hold it sacred.”
I thought about that. Certainly I was not afraid of this bit of ground, even if a medicine man had lived upon it. It was, after all, God’s creation and God’s bit of land. If He chose to grant me a good garden here, then I would accept it as from His hand. I went to join Wynn.
We spent the rest of the morning preparing the soil. Often we felt hidden eyes watching us from among the trees at the other side of the stream. We tried not to let it bother us and went right on with our digging. “See,” I wanted to shout to them, “there is no curse on this ground. The power of the medicine man does not compare to the power of the One True God who created this soil and planted these grasses.” But I said nothing. I prayed that time might prove it to the people.
In the meantime, I truly was sorry we inadvertently had placed another barrier between the people and ourselves. We so much wanted to help them, to live with them, to be their friends, but we could not because of all of their religious taboos.
By the time the soil was tilled, the sun was high in the sky. I fell to my knees as Wynn dug little trenches for me to place the seeds. I rejoiced as each seed dropped in and I patted the rich, brown soil over them. I could hardly wait for them to grow.
Wynn broke into my reverie.
“I had thought that we would need to build a makeshift fence. That is the customary sign to the villagers that this spot has ownership and should not be disturbed, but I guess it won’t be needed out here, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, Wynn,” I moaned. “I do hope I haven’t gotten you into any trouble.”
“We didn’t do it intentionally, Elizabeth,” Wynn said, straightening and placing a hand on his back. It had been hard work. “Who knows, God might use it for good.”
“Oh, I hope so.” It was almost a prayer.

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