[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (16 page)

"If I've got it worked out right, the settlement should be right over
this next hill."

I wanted to shout for joy. In my excitement I reached over and gave Wynn a quick and unexpected hug which sent his stetson tumbling into the dust of the roadway. By the time Wynn got my arms
untangled and the team stopped, his Royal North West Mounted
Police hat had been run over by the steel rim of the heavy wagon
wheel. Horrified, I watched Wynn walk back to retrieve the poor thing
from the dirt. It was now quite flat where it should have been nicely
arched. I covered my remorseful face with my hands but Wynn
returned to the wagon smiling; and, after a bit of pummeling and a
punch here and there, he settled the hat back on his head-a few
unsightly lumps, but it was in better shape than I had dared to hope.

Wynn was right. As we rounded the brow of the hill before us,
there lay the little settlement at our feet. I refrained myself from hugging Wynn again. Instead, it was Wynn who hugged me.

"There it is, Elizabeth," he whispered against my cheek. "There's
home."

"Home," I repeated. It was a magic word and brought tears to my
eyes. I tucked my arm within Wynn's, even though he did need both
hands on the reins. To think of it! We were almost home.

In the gathering dusk, it looked like a friendly little village to me.
We could see the flag flying high over the Hudson's Bay Company
Store. Scattered all around that central building were others of various
sizes. At our approach, dogs began to set up a howl. People appeared
in doorways and looked our way. A few of them even waved an arm to
the approaching team. I suppose everyone in the settlement knew well
who was in the coming wagon. They would be waiting to size up the
new lawman and his wife. I held Wynn's arm more tightly.

"Tell me again," I asked, "what did you say the name of the Hudson's Bay man was?"

"McLain," said Wynn. "Ian McLain."

"And he's not married?"

"I couldn't find anyone who knew. I asked, but no one had heard
of a Mrs. McLain."

"I suppose that means there isn't one," I said in resignation.

"Not necessarily. There really isn't much reason for the records to
show if there is a wife or not. The agent is listed, not his family."

I took this as a spark of hope, but I wasn't going to count too strongly on another white woman in the village.

Darkness was closing in quickly now that we had passed down the
hill. Windows were beginning to light up with lamps. The noise of the
dogs increased as more people gathered around. I looked over the
crowd of white men and several Indians. My eyes searched on. Who
was Mr. McLain? Was he alone?

Wynn pulled the team to a halt before the large Hudson's Bay
building and called out a friendly greeting to the men gathered there.
A tall, square man with a heavy beard stepped forward. "Welcome to
Beaver River, Sarge," he said. "Name here is Ian McLain."

He was alone.

Wynn shook hands with many of the men who had gathered
around and nodded his head to others as he moved about. For a
moment I felt forgotten. I didn't know whether to climb down from
the wagon or to stay where I was until someone noticed me. Eventually
I could feel eyes turning my way. Wynn invited the Hudson's Bay Post
employee closer to the wagon and smiled up at me. "My wife, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Mr. McLain."

McLain reached up and gave my hand a hearty shake.

"Come in. Come in," boomed Mr. McLain, but Wynn cut in
rather quickly.

"We've had a long six days, and Elizabeth is anxious to get settled.
If you could just point out the cabin for our use, we'd be grateful."

Mr. McLain nodded in understanding. He pointed west toward a
stand of trees. The outline of a cabin showed faintly against the last
glimmer of daylight.

"Right on over there," he informed us.

"Is there a place there to keep the horses?"

Mr. McLain took a look at the team and suddenly remembered
something.

"Where's Canoue?" he asked.

"Sleeping when I last saw him. He got to sharing whiskey with the
boys and I wasn't able to rouse him. I couldn't wait, so we left him
behind."

The Hudson's Bay man shook his head. "He has his problems with
the bottle. I warned him. `Canoue,' I said, `don't you go messin' this
one up. I can't keep findin' you work if ya ain't able to stay with it.'
Needed that money." McLain shrugged his shoulders. "There ain't no place for horses over to `the law'; you can bring 'em back on over here.
I got a corral out back," the man continued.

All the time this conversation was taking place, I could feel eyes
studying me. Mostly we were surrounded by men, but now I saw a
few Indian women and some young people and children. I smiled at
them, though I must admit I felt as out of place and uncomfortable as
I ever had in my life. I was anxious for Wynn to end his conversation
and get us out of there and home.

At last he climbed back up into the wagon, turned the team around
and headed for the little cabin which was to be our first home.

I felt tingles go all through me. What would it be like? Would it
be in good repair? Would it have that private bedroom I wanted so
badly? I fought the temptation to close my eyes until I actually got
there. I was anxious and afraid-all at one time.

When Wynn said "whoa" to the team, I knew the moment was at
hand. He turned to me and drew me close. "Well," he murmured
softly, "are you ready?"

I couldn't get my lips to move, so I just nodded my head against
him.

"What will you need tonight?"

I really didn't know. I had no idea what I might find in the cabin.

Then we heard voices behind us and turned to see a group
approaching. It was McLain's voice that called out to us.

"Thought we might as well unload that there wagon tonight and
save ya the trouble in the mornin'. Then ya won't need to fuss with the
team ag'in."

It was a thoughtful offer, and I was sure Wynn appreciated it. I
should have appreciated it, too, but I had wanted to enter our new
home in privacy-just the two of us. Now we were to be ushered in
by the Hudson's Bay trader and a host of local trappers. I felt disappointment wash over me. If only Wynn would quickly send them all
away and tell them the load could wait until morning. He didn't. He
withdrew his arm, climbed down from the wagon, and turned to help
me down. "Appreciate that," he responded. "Shouldn't take long at all
with the good help you've brought along." I blinked away tears in the
semidarkness and knew instinctively that Wynn would not understand how I, as a woman, felt about the intrusion. He would consider the
practical fact that the wagon loaded with heavy trunks and crates
needed unloading. I sentimentally thought that a man and his wife
deserved to walk into their first home alone and together. Perhaps foolishly, I realized now, I had had visions of being carried over the threshold.

By the time my feet were firmly planted on the ground, the men
were already bustling about the wagon.

"Perhaps you'd like to go in and show them where you would like
things put," Wynn suggested.

I wanted to sputter that I would prefer things left right where they
were, but I knew that was foolish and would be misunderstood; so I
walked numbly to the door as Mr. McLain, who had taken the first
crate forward, stood aside to let me get the door for him. How romantic!

The door was stuck, and I had to put both hands on the knob and
pull hard. It finally gave and, in the process, skinned my knuckles. The
injured hand stung smartly, and the tears in my eyes multiplied and
spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

The house was dark. I had no idea where to find light. It was quite
dark outside by now and the few small windows let in very little light.
I hesitated. McLain shuffled his feet. He was waiting for me to make
up my mind so he could rid himself of the heavy load he carried.

"Just set it down against that wall," I told him.

I guess he realized I was a little at a loss, for he volunteered, "I'll
see if I can find the lamp." He soon had it lit and placed where it
could bring the most benefit to the men who were unloading our
belongings.

In and out they went. Men I had never seen before were clumping
in and out of my new home, never stopping to wipe their feet. One of
them even spit on my floor. Wynn did not enter himself. He was far
too busy overseeing the unloading. I stood dumbly in the middle of
the room, wondering what I should do; and then I remembered I did
indeed have a responsibility: I was to tell the men where to put things.
How did I know where to put things? I still didn't even know what
rooms we had to furnish. So I just pointed a finger, which they prob ably couldn't see anyway from behind their big loads, and said, "Over
there," until one wall was stacked high with our belongings.

Finally the stream of groaning, heaving men stopped. There was
only the sound of their voices from the yard. Wynn was talking to the
men before they returned to their own homes. I tapped my foot impatiently. Why did he take so long? Why didn't he just thank them and
send them away?

I noticed a soft hum, which was soon a whine. Then another and
another, and I realized we had given the mosquitoes a wonderful welcome. The open door, with the lamp burning in the room to light their
way in, had not been ignored. Already our cabin must be filled with
hundreds of them. With an angry little cry, I rushed over and slammed
the door shut.

Wynn was still talking to the men. I turned dejectedly to the stack
of our belongings and wondered just where I might find some blankets
to make a bed. Picking up the lamp, I went over and began to check
the pile. Labels of contents didn't help me much. All the crates on the
top seemed to be things for Wynn's use as northern-law-enforcer and
area-medical-supplier.

How would I ever make a bed? The past few nights on the trail I
had promised myself that I would need to endure sleeping in such
makeshift ways only for a few nights, and then I would be in my own
home and sleeping in my own clean and fresh-smelling bed. And now
I couldn't find my bedding. As a matter of fact, I didn't even know if
there was a bed. Just as I was leaving the room, lamp held high, to find
out if there was a bed in the cabin, Wynn poked his head in the door.
I sighed with relief until I heard his words, "I'm going to take the team
over, Elizabeth. I shouldn't be long. You make yourself at home."

I don't suppose he could have chosen any words that would have
upset me more. Make yourself at home. This was home? Piled boxes.
No husband. No blankets for my bed. And me, bone-weary. All I
wanted was a warm bath to remove the messy trail dirt and a clean bed
to crawl into. Then I might have been able to make myself at home.
And Wynn. I wanted Wynn-my husband. After all, it was because of
him that I had come to this strange, faraway land.

I let the tears flow freely then. Wiping my eyes and sniffing dejectedly, I stumbled into another room with the lamp held before
me. There was a table, a stove, some rough shelves, and a cot-but no
bed, at least not one that would hold two people.

I did not stop to look further but went on through another door.
This room had pegs along- one wall, a dilapidated stand with drawers
and, yes, a double bed. It even had a mattress rather than spruce
boughs-at least it was a mattress of sorts. It wasn't very clean, and it
was rather lumpy; but it was a mattress. There was no bedding. I
looked around for a shelf and found one, but there was no bedding on
it either.

Going back to the other room again, I looked all around but still
found nothing that would provide bedding for the night. There were
three chairs I had missed before. Two of them were wooden and the
third an overstuffed chair sitting in front of a fireplace. I was pleased
with the fireplace, and then I realized it was probably more functional
than anything else. It was likely the only source of heat in the cabin. I
flashed the lamp around the room once more. It was quite bare-and
not too clean. And then I spotted something I had missed in my first
perusal. Over the fireplace hung a large fur that had been tanned and
used as decoration or heat-retainer-I wasn't sure which. I put my
lamp down and walked over to it. I gave it a pull. The fur was firmly
attached. I pulled again. It still stayed in place. I grasped it in both my
hands and put all my strength into the pull. With a tearing sound and
a billow of dust, it came tumbling down from the wall and I went
tumbling down to the floor.

I pushed the heavy fur off and got to my feet. It'felt rather unyielding and bristly, not soft like the furs I was used to seeing. I pulled it to
the bedroom and worked it through the door. I then went back for the
lamp. I did finally manage to get the fur up on the bed and spread out
in some way.

I looked around me. This was my new home! It was bare and dirty
and had a lumpy bed, with no sheets, no blankets, and a smelly fur
hide. There were no curtains, no soft rugs, no shiny windows-nothing. Even the chimney of the sputtering lamp was dirty with soot. But,
worst of all, I was alone! That thought brought the tears streaming
down my face again. I carried the lamp back out to the other room and set it on the table-I'm afraid it was more to coax the mosquitoes
out of the bedroom than to provide a safe and welcome light for
Wynn. Then I walked back to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes,
crawled under the awkward animal skin, and began to cry in earnest. I
didn't even have my evening talk with God. I was so miserable I
thought He'd rather not hear from me. And in my present state, I really
didn't want to hear from Him. I was very weary, so I did not cry for
long. Sleep mercifully claimed me.