[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (21 page)

Welk Elizabeth, I said to myself, you certainly have a lot to learn.

I did speak to Anna about my desire for the women to knock
before entering. She looked puzzled. It seemed that even at the mission
school knocking was not a custom. However, she nodded her head and
passed the word on to the other women. They, too, seemed at a loss
for the reason behind this, but they also nodded. I was relieved that
the matter had been well taken care of.

The next day I was in the yard shaking a rug when Anna arrived.
She was alone, but I expected that a number of the others would soon
follow. I led her into the house, opening the door for her and letting
her pass on ahead.

She hesitated. Neither of us moved for a moment, and finally Anna
said, "You not knock."

"Oh, no," I tried to explain. "That's fine. Go ahead. It's only at your house that I would knock. Not at my house."

She looked at me like I had really lost my senses, but she went in.

That day we were joined for tea by Mrs. Sam and Kinawaki, both
of whom knocked before entering even though they arrived together.
Evening Star and Little Deer did not come.

When Wynn got home that night, he took off his heavy boots and
stretched out his long legs to rest his tired muscles. I knew he had been
working very hard during these first few weeks on the post. He wanted
to know his area thoroughly before the bad weather set in, so he might
be well-prepared for trouble spots. I was bustling around with lastminute supper preparations.

"You know," he said to me, "I saw the strangest thing when I came
through the village tonight. There was Anna, knocking on her own
door. They never have a lock on their doors, so she couldn't have been
locked out. I couldn't imagine what in the world she was doing. I asked
McLain. He said that somewhere she had picked up the notion to
knock, to chase out any evil spirits that were in the house before she
entered."

I gasped. How could she have misunderstood me so? I certainly
had no wish to be fostering false ideas about the spirit world. I
explained it all to Wynn and he smiled at my dilemma. I was horrified.

The next time Anna came to see me, I informed her that I had
been wrong, that it wasn't necessary to knock after all. She could enter
at any time and call as she had always done.

Anna nodded impassively, but I was sure she was wondering about
those crazy white people who couldn't make up their minds! From then
on I never knew for sure if I had company until I had checked over
both shoulders, and I made a habit of doing that frequently.

"Did you know that Ian McLain's sister lives here?" Wynn asked
one morning at the breakfast table.

I looked up in astonishment. I certainly didn't know that. I wondered where she had been hiding. Then I checked myself-that wasn't
fair. I hadn't been to the settlement more than two or three times
myself.

"No," I said now. "Have you seen her?"

"Just at a distance."

"What's she like?"

"She's rather tall, like Ian. Not broad though. She walks very erect
and briskly-that's all I know. All I saw was her retreating back."

"Where does she live?" I asked next, thinking eagerly about visiting
her.

"I think she has one of the rooms at the back of the store, but I'm
not sure even about that."

Well, I would find out. When I tracked her down, I would invite
her for tea. Perhaps some morning. The Indian ladies still came often
in the afternoon.

I switched my thoughts back to Wynn. "Have you heard her
name?"

"She's a Miss McLain. I don't know her given name."

"She's never married? Is she quite a bit younger than her brother?"

"I don't know that, but I wouldn't expect so."

Wynn rose from the table and reached for his stetson. The poor
thing still had the telltale wagon-wheel marks.

"I won't be home until late tonight," he said. "I have a lot of
ground to cover today."

I dreaded having him gone from morning to dusk. It made the day
so long. I said nothing but stepped over to him and put my arms
around his neck for my goodbye kiss. "Be careful," I whispered. "Come
home safely."

He held me for some minutes before he gently put me from him;
and then he was gone, walking out our door and down the footpath in
long, even strides.

I watched him until he had disappeared. With a sigh I turned and
began clearing the table. Then I remembered Miss McLain.

So there was another white woman in the settlement! I couldn't
wait to meet her. I wondered what she would be like. She would be
older than I, certainly. Perhaps even twice my age. Had she been raised
in the North? Or had she come up from the city, like I had?

I needed a few items from the store anyway, so I would just take a
walk after I had done the morning household chores and see what I
could find out.

I wasn't too eager to walk into the village. I didn't quite trust some
of the dogs with their snapping teeth and snarling jaws. I was fine if
they were kept tied; but the trappers and their families were sometimes
a little careless about that, being so used to the dogs themselves. I had
seen some of the Indian women carrying a heavy, thick stick as they
walked through the village. When I asked Wynn about it, he nonchalantly remarked that it was needed against the dogs.

This morning, I was so enthused about meeting the white woman
that I decided to even dare the dogs. As soon as I had finished up the
dishes, tidied up the two rooms that composed our home, and swept
the step, I freshened myself and started for the store. This time I had a
respectably long list of needed items.

Fortunately, the dogs did not give me too much cause for concern.
The more ferocious ones were all securely tied. Children played in the
dirt of the roadway. Since we were now into September, I was very
conscious-as a schoolteacher-that they really should have been in
school. Again I longed to start some classes, but I realized I had none
of the words of their dialect-well, just "nuisance"-and they had only
a few of mine.

Mr. McLain was busy waiting on some Indian women. One of them was Mrs. Sam. I greeted her as an old friend, but we were still
unable to say more than hello to one another.

I purchased my items, even adding a couple of things I hadn't
thought about but spotted on the stacked shelves. Mr. McLain listed
the items under our account, and I carefully itemized each one in my
little book to give Wynn an accurate account for his records.

"Care for some coffee?" offered Mr. McLain in a neighborly fashion, jerking his thumb at the pot which ever stood ready on the back
of his big airtight heater. A stack of cups was scattered around on a
nearby stand. Some of them were clean, but most of them were dirty,
having been used by former customers that morning. At first reluctant,
I changed my mind.

"A cup of coffee would be nice," I said and walked over to the
stove to help myself. I still wanted a chance to talk some with Mr.
McLain, and a cup of coffee might prolong my stay enough to be able
to do so.

"My husband was telling me that you have a sister living here," I
ventured, after taking a deep breath. To make the statement seem less
important, I then took a swallow of coffee. It was awful. It was so weak
it hardly tasted like coffee at all-and so stale that what little flavor was
there was almost completely eclipsed. It was hot though-I had to give
Mr. McLain credit for that. I burned my tongue.

Mr. McLain kept figuring. Finally he lifted his head. "Katherine.
Yeah, she lives here. Has lived here now for almost twenty years."

I wasn't sure what to say next. Katherine was such a pretty name. I
tried to visualize the lady to whom it belonged.

"Where was she from, before that?" I asked rather timidly. Maybe
the answer would tell me something about her.

"From St. John."

"St. John? My, she has come a long way from home, hasn't she?"

"Guess you could say that," agreed McLain. "She was a schoolmaim back there."

"Really?"

Already I was warming up to this unknown lady. She had been a
schoolteacher, educated, cultivated. I was confident we would have
much in common.

"I was a schoolteacher, too," I went on. "I'd love to meet your
sister. I'm sure we'd have much to talk about."

McLain looked at me in a strange, quizzical way. He didn't answer
for many moments and then he said simply, "Yeah," very abruptly and
curtly.

I waited, hoping to discover how I could go about making the
acquaintance of this woman. Mr. McLain said nothing.

Finally I ventured, "Is she-does she live around here?"

It was a stupid question. "Around here" was the only place there
was to live-that is, if she was considered a part of this settlement.

"Out back," said McLain shortly. "She has the room with the left
door."

I stammered on, "Do you-do you suppose she would mind if I
called?"

McLain looked at me for what seemed like a long time and then
jerked his big head at the door. "I don't know why she'd mind. Go
ahead. Leave your things right here 'til you're ready to go off home."

I thanked him and went out the door and around to the back of
the building to look for the door on the left.

Mrs. McLain was in the backyard hanging out some laundry. I felt
embarrassed. What if she saw me? But, then, what did it matter? She
had her back to me, anyway, as she sang softly to herself.

I rapped gently. There was no response. I knocked louder. Still no
response. I hesitated. Clearly Miss McLain was not in. I decided to try
one more time. To this knock there was a loud call of "Come," and I
opened the door timidly and went in.

The room was dark, so it took me a few minutes to get accustomed
to the lack of light and locate the room's occupant.

She was seated in a corner, her hands idly folded in her lap, staring
at the blank wall in front of her. I wondered if she might be ill and
was about to excuse myself and depart for a more convenient time, but
she spoke. "You're the lawman's wife."

Her voice was hard and raspy.

"Yes," I almost whispered, wondering if her statement was recognition or condemnation.

"What do you want?"

"Well, I-I just-heard that-that a white woman lived here, and
I wanted to meet you."

"White woman?" The words were full of contempt. "This is no
place for a white woman. One might as well realize that anyone who
lives here is neither white nor a woman."

I couldn't believe the words, and I certainly could not understand
the meaning behind them. I turned and would have gone, but she
stopped me.

"Where are you from?" she demanded.

"Calgary. I was a schoolteacher near Lacombe before coming here.
I was born and raised in Toronto."

"Toronto? Nothing wrong with Toronto. Why'd you come here?"

"Well, I-I-married a member of the Royal North West Police.
I-"

She turned from me and spit with contempt into the corner.

When she turned back, her eyes sparked fire. "That's the poorest
reason that I ever heard for coming to this god-forsaken country," she
said. "Some people come because they have to. My brother came for
the money. Nothing else, just the money. Buried his first wife here, and
still he stayed. But you-"

She did not finish her sentence but left me to know that I had
done something incredibly wrong or stupid, perhaps both.

I felt condemned. I also felt challenged. Suddenly I drew myself up
to my full five feet, three inches. "Why did you come here?" I asked
her.

Again her eyes flashed. I was afraid for a moment that she might
throw something at me, her anger was so evident. But she would have
needed to leave her chair in order to do that-she had nothing near at
hand.

"I came," she said deliberately, hissing out each word, "I came
because there was nothing else that I could do-nowhere else where I
could go. That's why I came."

I was shaken. "I'm-I'm sorry," I murmured through stiff lips. I
stood rooted to the spot for a moment and then I said softly, "I think
I'd better go."

She did not comment, only nodded her head angrily at the door, indicating that I was quite free to do so, and the sooner the better in
her estimation.

I was glad to step out into the warm sunshine and close the door
behind me on the angry woman inside. I stood trembling. I had never
seen anyone behave in such a way. My what deep bitterness is driving
this woman? I wondered. It could completely destroy her if something
wasn't done. But what could one do? Personally, I hoped I would never
need to encounter her again.

A soft song caught my ears and I remembered Mrs. McLain. She
was still there hanging up her laundry. I didn't want to make contact
with the woman, especially not in my present shaky condition. I hastily
headed down the path in hopes of dodging around the building, but
she saw me.