[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (30 page)

Mr. McLain greeted me heartily about halfway into the village. I
asked how Nimmie was, and he seemed relieved and said she was coming along very well now.

We were walking toward the trading post together when there was
a rush and a blur at my side as a dog ran past me. I jumped slightly
with the suddenness of it; then a yip to my left whirled me around.

Kip had been busy poking his nose into a rabbit burrow, and this
dog from the village was heading right for him. I gasped, my hand at
my throat.

Surprisingly, the dog stopped a few feet from Kip and braced himself. From where we stood, we could hear the angry growl coming from
his throat. Kip stood rooted, unsure as to what this was all about. Mr.
McLain reached out a hand and placed it on my arm.

"They're going to fight, aren't they?" I said in a tight voice.

"We'll see," said McLain. "Kip might be wise enough not to take
the challenge."

"Wise enough? But yob said he'd have to fight."

"Not this one. Not Lavoie's Buck."

I swung around to look at McLain. "What do you mean?" I threw
at him in alarm.

"He's boss here, Miz Delaney. He's licked every dog in the settle„
ment.

I looked wildly about me in search of a club or a rock or anything
that might stop the fight. There was nothing. "We've got to stop
them!" I cried. "Kip might be killed!" I took a step forward, but
McLain stopped me.

"You can't go in there. If there's a fight, you could get all chewed
up.

The Lavoie dog was circling Kip now, fangs bared, his throat rumbling. Round and round he went, and I think he must have said some
very nasty words in dog language. Kip looked insulted-angry. I
expected at any moment the dogs to be at each other's throats.

And then a very strange thing happened. Kip's tail lowered and
began to swish mildly back and forth. He whined gently as though to
apologize for being on the other dog's territory. The big dog still bristled. He moved forward and gave Kip a sharp nip. Kip did not retaliate. The Lavoie dog gave Kip one last look of contempt, circled him
once more, and-still bristling and snarling-loped back toward the
village houses.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or ashamed.

Mr. McLain just grinned. "One smart dog," he said. "But of Buck
better watch out in a month or two."

I didn't know what Mr. McLain meant, but I started to breathe
again and hurried on to the village. The day didn't look nearly as sunshiny as it had previously, and I was rather anxious to make my purchases and go home.

Finally Anna and Mrs. Sam came for tea. I was especially glad to
have Anna, because it meant that I could catch up on some of the
village news. We talked now of the families and how they were faring.
The life in the village seemed to be made up of getting through the
winter and coasting through the summer; and the summers were all
too short.

Evening Star and her baby were both doing fine. I had not seen
them since I had taken over the new sweater and a container of soup
soon after the baby had safely arrived. He was a nice little fellow and
Evening Star was justifiably proud.

We had had another death. An Indian woman in her forties had
died from the flu. She had not been well for some years. She had given
birth to fifteen children, and each time another child was born she
seemed to weaken further. Of her fifteen, only seven were now living.
Her body, also, had been blanketed and left in the burying trees. The ritual drums had thumped out the message, and the open fires had
gleamed in the night.

Another baby had been born, too. This time the midwives did not
need help from Wynn.

There had been some sickness, but no major epidemics. Everyone
seemed to hold his breath and speak softly when the possibility of an
epidemic was mentioned. The people lived in fear of a dreadful disease
sweeping through the camp while they sat helplessly by, with no doctors, hospitals, and very little medications.

Our conversation turned to brighter things. I talked about my
longing for springtime. Of learning from the women about finding
edible herbs and plants in the forests. Of planting my own garden. Of
finding the berry patches. We all looked forward to the days of sunshine and rainshowers. Even the dreaded mosquitoes would be endured
when spring came.

"How is Nanook doing?" I asked.

"He runs," said Anna, her eyes lighting up.

"That's wonderful. Good. That's good."

"I often wonder about poor Mary," I went on. "I don't know how
she ever manages to care for her trapline with some of her toes missing.

"She crazy," muttered Anna, slurping her tea.

I wanted to argue but instead I said, "I feel sorry for her. First she
lost all her children, and then her husband died. Poor thing."

But Anna only said, very calmly, "Husband not die."

I looked at her. Surely she knew better. She lived right here and
had for years.

"Are you sure? We were told that her husband was dead."

"Dead. But he not die."

I didn't understand. Anna finished her tea and stood to go. Mrs.
Sam Lavoie stood also and began to shuffle toward the door. Anna
followed and I followed Anna. When we got to the door, she turned
to me.

"She kill him," she said deliberately and simply. "She kill him for
the traps. My Joe see." And she was gone.

I could hardly wait for Wynn to get home so I might tell him what Anna had said. She certainly must be wrong. Surely poor Mary had
not done such a thing. If she had, and Joe had seen her, he would have
reported it. Something was all wrong here.

When Wynn did arrive home, he had news for me instead. Mary
was now locked up in the settlement's makeshift jail. Wynn had to
bring her in. She would need to be escorted out for trial and sentencing. Not only had she moved her traps onto Smith's territory, but
Wynn had found her in the very act of robbing from Smith's traps as
well. It was a serious offense and Mary had to answer for it.

I felt sick. "Where is she?" I asked.

"There's a little room at the back of McLain's store. He uses it for
skin storage when it's not needed otherwise."

And now it was needed otherwise. It was occupied by Mary.

"Can I see her?" I asked.

Wynn looked surprised; then he answered. "Certainly. If you wish
to.

I did wish to. I went the next day, taking fresh bread and stew with
me. Mary took the food but did not even look at me. I spoke to her,
but she ignored me completely. I could see she really didn't need my
food. Mr. McLain or Nimmie had looked after her well.

I tried to talk to her. She still would not look at me.

"I want to help you," I said. "Is there anything I could get you or
do for you?" She turned from me and went back to curl up with a
blanket on the cot in the corner.

I came home feeling even sicker than I had before I went. I decided
to discuss it with Wynn. Surely there was some other way to deal with
the situation.

"Do you really have to do it this way?" I asked him.

"I'm afraid so, Elizabeth. There is no masking the evidence. I
caught her red-handed. She was stealing from Smith's traps."

"But couldn't she be-be-scolded and given another chance?" I
continued.

"She isn't some naughty schoolgirl. She knows the seriousness of
her offense."

"But surely if she knows that you are on to her, she won't do it
again," I insisted.

"Elizabeth, if I let Mary go, none of the people will have respect
for the law. Besides, Crazy Mary would try it again-oh, maybe not
right away, but she would try it again, sure. She has an inner drive to
accumulate pelts, and she will stop at nothing to get them."

I thought of Anna and her words. I had not passed them on to
Wynn yet. I remembered them now with a sick heart.

Wynn went on. "She will get a fair trial," he assured me. "They
will take into consideration her mental state. She will be cared for better than she would be out on her own on the trapline."

"But it will kill her," I blurted out. "She couldn't stand to be confined. She couldn't even stay here with us!"

There was sadness in Wynn's eyes. To lock Mary up, even with
tender care, would not be good for Mary's emotional state. She needed
freedom. Without it, she might not be able to survive.

"There is another thing to think about, Elizabeth," said Wynn. "If
I didn't handle this properly and carry out the demands of the law,
Smith or someone else would handle it in his own way, according to
his own laws. Mary could be killed or beaten so severely that she would
be left too helpless to work her trapline or even to care for herself.
Either way it could mean death."

I hadn't thought about that.

Wynn dismissed further discussion. "I was sent up north to uphold
the law, Elizabeth. To the best of my ability, I intend to do just that,
God helping me."

I knew Wynn would follow the dictates of the law, not his own
feelings.

Mary was not sent away for trial and sentencing. Two mornings
later, Nimmie found her dead on the cot in the corner, where she had
died in her sleep.

March had crawled by slowly on weak and tottering limbs. I ached
for spring to come dancing in with vitality and freshness. I think all
the village people ached for it as well.

For some of the women of the settlement it would mean reuniting
with husbands for the first time in many months. Some of the traplines
were a great distance from the village, and once the men had left in the
fall, they did not return again until the winter snows were melting.

The men who worked the traplines nearer home came and went,
spending some time with their families and some time in the bush.

Nimmie was well again, so we resumed our Bible studies. Each
time we met together, she taught me some lesson. She was a patient,
beautiful person with a heart of love and an open mind to truth.

I talked to Wynn about her one night as we were stretched out
before our open fire.

"I've learned to love Nimmie," I said. "She's a beautiful person. It's
strange-when I first saw her, I was so disappointed. I didn't tell you
that before, did I?"

Wynn shook his head, his eyes studying mine.

"I guess I didn't because I was ashamed of myself. I was prejudiced,
you know. I didn't realize I was. I love the Indian people, but I had
wanted someone-someone to share things with. And I-I thoughtthat-well that-the person needed to be like me-white. Well, I was
wrong. I was wanting a white woman, and instead I found a friend, a
very special friend, in Nimmie."

Wynn reached out to take my hand. I think he understood what I
was trying to say.

As the days went by, Nimmie and I shared more intimately our thoughts and feelings, our understanding of Scripture.

One day Nimmie came to see me alone. It was not our Bible study
day, and I was a bit surprised.

"Do you have time to talk for a while?" she asked me. Now, time
was one thing I did have-in abundance. So I asked Nimmie in.

She laid aside her coat and took a chair at the kitchen table.

I pushed the kettle forward on the stove, added another stick of
wood, and waited for her to begin.

"I've been thinking about that verse we studied yesterday," she
started, "the one about Christ dying for the ungodly."

I nodded, remembering.

"I'm ungodly," Nimmie continued softly.

"Yes, all of us are without God," I agreed in a near whisper.

Nimmie's eyes flew open. "You too?"

"Oh, yes. Me, too."

"But-?" began Nimmie, but she didn't go on.

"The Bible says, 'All have sinned,' remember? It was one of the
verses we studied a couple of weeks ago."

"I remember," said Nimmie. "I just didn't think of it at the time, I
guess.

"Well, it's true. The Bible also says that `there is none righteous, no
not one.

Nimmie sat silently. "I remember that, too," she finally stated.

"It also says that `while we were yet sinners,' He loved us."

"That is the part that is so hard for me to understand," Nimmie
blurted out. "I can't imagine someone dying for-" Nimmie stopped
again.

"Elizabeth," she said, looking full into my face, "I am a terribly
wicked person."

I wanted to protest, but Nimmie went on, "You don't know me,
Elizabeth. You don't know what I almost did."

She did not weep. Weeping was not the way of her people, but her
head dropped in utter self-contempt and her eyes refused to look into
mine.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I finally asked, realizing that
Nimmie was deeply troubled.

"I took care of Crazy Mary. I brought her all her meals and the
basin to wash her hands. I bandaged her infected toe that still refused
to heal from the freezing. Each time I went we spoke together. I tried
to encourage her-to tell her that things would work out. But each
time I went she begged me for just one thing. She pleaded with me to
bring it to her. Each time, I refused. She wanted her hunting knife."

I could not understand Nimmie's words. There was silence as I
puzzled over them. Why was she wicked for taking such special care of
Mary? Nimmie's head came up. "I knew why she wanted her knife.
She could not bear to be shut up-caged like-like a chicken."

I understood then. Crazy Mary had intended to take her own life.

"Well, I kept saying no, no. And then the other morning I couldn't
stand it anymore. She was going wild in the little room, and soon she
would be taken far away from her land and her people and locked in
another room-forever. It would kill her. It would kill her slowly.
Wouldn't it be more merciful to let her die all at once?

"And so I found her knife and tucked it in my dress and took it to
her when I went to bring her breakfast. Only when I got there, Crazy
Mary was-was-"