Heart of the Wilderness (25 page)

“I don’t fit!” she said to finish her tirade. “And that’s that! They have a right to be who and what they want to be, but I don’t have to try to mold myself into their way of living. I can still be me.”

Once she had worked it through, Kendra felt much better about the evening. Perhaps good had come of it after all. She now did not feel so pressured to be part of this strange new world. She could take it one day at a time, and pick and choose what she liked from it and feel perfectly free to reject what did not suit her. She was here to learn—to become a wiser and better person because of the experience. There was no reason for her to throw that away just to be one of the crowd.

“Besides,” she reminded herself honestly, “there are lots of young men and women who are here to learn. Perhaps—in time—I will get to know some of them.”

“Did you have a nice time?”

Maggie was still up, clad in a warm fuzzy robe and pretending to be reading.

Kendra managed a smile. The night was a bit chilly and she had only had her light shawl along. She felt cold in spite of her brisk walking pace. She shivered slightly.

“It—it was different,” she managed.

Maggie laid aside her book, concern filling her eyes.

“Oh, it was all right,” Kendra quickly added to ease the woman’s fears.

“Would you like a cup of hot cocoa,” asked Maggie, “or have you been eating all evening?”

“No. No,” said Kendra. Some of them had been eating for a good part of the evening, but she had not. “I haven’t eaten much at all, and a cup of cocoa sounds wonderful.”

They went to the kitchen and Kendra was glad for its warmth. Maggie had kept the fire going in the big cookstove. The teakettle was still humming contentedly on the back of the range.

Kendra lowered herself into one of the wooden chairs, and Maggie went to stir up two cups of cocoa.

For a few moments silence settled over them. Maggie broke it, seeming to search carefully for words. “That—that Carl—seems like a—a nice young man.”

Kendra wanted to laugh. All the anger and frustration had totally left her. She had drawn back—distanced herself from the laughing, celebrating party-goers. It seemed strange now that she had even tried, or thought of trying, to be one of them.

And then quite suddenly, catching her unaware, she felt an unusual sadness. Carl
was
a nice young man. Sort of. He had been fun to talk with. He had asked her out. He had tried to look after the young girl half-hidden in the shadows, unable to come out and join the crowd. He had brought her something to eat. Had checked now and then.

She didn’t feel angry with Carl now. Nor did she feel superior to him. But she did feel sorry—in a strange way. Carl was failing. In almost every class. It was not a well-kept secret. She was sure it was not because Carl needed to fail. He had a good mind and would do well if he chose to use it instead of spending his time partying. She felt sorry about Carl and wondered what the future held for him.

Maggie placed the steaming cup on the table in front of her.

“Yes,” said Kendra as she stirred the frothy brew. “He
is
nice. It was good of him to invite me tonight.” She lifted her eyes. “But, Maggie—I’ll not be going to one of their parties again. I don’t—don’t have anything in common with them. I’ve decided to take my time and—and pick my own friends. It might take a while—but good friends are worth it—don’t you think?”

Maggie nodded, then smiled slowly. Her eyes looked off into the distance seeing another time and other faces. “George and Polly McMannus were friends like that with Henry and me—for ever so long,” she said, looking at Kendra. “They stuck through thick and thin—even when we didn’t see one another that often. When one has friends like that—you don’t really need many.” She smiled at Kendra and wished such a blessing for her.

“You’re still lonesome too, aren’t ya?”

George ruffled the fur of the big dog beside him and then patted the large, soft head. Oscar responded with a whine and a tongue licking at the hand.

“Thought we’d have got used to it by now,” the man murmured. “But we haven’t—have we? Cabin still feels just as empty. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be content to be alone again.”

George continued to stroke the head. He had never allowed a dog in to share his cabin until Kendra had coaxed to have Oscar inside. Now it didn’t seem right to make the dog go back outside with the others. Besides, George rather needed his company on the long, cold winter nights cooped up inside near the fire.

“What did I use to do with my time?” he went on. “I don’t remember the time dragging like it seems to do now. How did I spend those long evenings? Reading? Working on the furs? Just loafing? I don’t know. It seems like I now have more hours than I have jobs to fill them. I don’t like the feeling, Oscar. Not at all.”

George was not conscious that his left hand reached up to stroke agitatedly at his full beard.

From somewhere out in the night a lone wolf howled and the sled dogs set up a chorus in response.

Oscar pulled away from the man’s hand, a deep rumble starting down in his chest.

“What’s the matter? The wilderness calling? You wish to be out? Free?”

But no. George was sure that Oscar would not welcome freedom. He was restless. Lonely. That was all. Oscar did not wish to rush out into the night in answer to what he was feeling any more than George himself did.

The big dog returned from his pacing and pressed up against George’s knee, still whining.

“She’ll be back,” George said as he reached out to stroke the silky fur. “She’ll be back. Before we know it spring will come again and she’ll be back.”

But even as he spoke the words, George wondered. Would Kendra really want to return to her home in the wilds? Would she ever be content again to dress in buckskins and furs and mush a team of huskies? He half hoped that she would not. She deserved more than what life here could give her. He really didn’t want this hard and lonely life for his little girl. But oh, how he would miss her—did miss her. The very thought of her not coming back brought a lump to his throat that he could not swallow away. He curled his fingers deeply into the fur of the large animal. He needed something to hang on to.

At Monday morning’s English Literature class, Carl dropped into his usual desk, breathing hard from hurrying. His eyes, a bit hesitant, lifted to Kendra’s. He looked a bit apologetic.

Kendra smiled. He responded quickly, easily, seeming to be relieved that she was not angry. “Hi,” he said, shifting his books around on the desk top.

“Hi,” she replied, then turned her attention back to the front of the room and the professor who had just entered.

Nothing more was said between them until the class ended. The teacher had called for assignments, and Kendra noticed that Carl had nothing to turn in. Another assignment missed. Kendra could not help but wonder how much longer Carl would be allowed to stay in the class.

As she gathered her books to leave, Carl fell in step beside her.

“So what did you think of poor Walter?” he asked, referring to the story they were studying in class.

Kendra laughed lightly. “I think he made his own problems,” she answered.

“You don’t think he was a victim of circumstance?”

“No more than you or I—or anyone, for that matter,” responded Kendra.

“But look at the poor ol’ chap,” went on Carl in mock sympathy. “Married to that woman. Needing all that money. Having that poor job.”

Kendra smiled. “He married the woman—he spent money he didn’t have. He picked the job because it was undemanding.”

Carl chuckled. “So you won’t give the unlucky ol’ boy a break?”

Kendra shook her head. “We all make our choices,” she replied. “He made bad ones.”

Carl sobered suddenly. They walked in silence. At length Carl spoke again.

“Do you think that’s what the author is trying to say?” he asked seriously.

“No,” replied Kendra after some thought. “I think the author was trying to picture Walter just as you have described him. A victim. But I don’t agree. There are victims in the world, of course. Real victims. But they are the people who’ve never had choices to make. Not the ones who have made bad choices.”

“Youch. You’re tough,” said Carl with a mock grimace, and they both chuckled.

Nothing was said about the Friday night before. No reference. No apology. No accusations. Kendra was happy to forget the whole event.

“See you on Wednesday,” said Carl when they reached the end of the hall where Kendra turned one way and he the other.

Kendra nodded and smiled. She was glad that things could continue just as they had been.

On Tuesday Kendra hurried to tuck her books together and follow the class from the room. She did wish she didn’t have classes back-toback that were located from one end of the building to the other. She always reached her late-afternoon biology class breathless and flushed. She was feeling frustrated with the class anyway. What she had hoped would provide her with many answers was instead filling her mind with troubling thoughts and even more questions.

Just ahead of her, two students nearly collided, jostling to avoid each other, smiling in embarrassment and fighting to stay in control of their armloads of books.

“I’m sorry,” Kendra heard the young man apologize, but it was obvious he was in a big hurry to get to his next class.

“My fault,” replied the girl. “I was too deep in thought.” She managed a smile. He gave her a smile in return and they both hurried on.

Kendra was about to push the little incident from her mind. It happened frequently in the narrow halls as students rushed back and forth to classes. But just as she neared the spot where it happened she noticed some sheets of paper on the floor. They must have fallen from the books of one or the other of the students. She stopped to scoop them up. They might be important. She stood and looked down the hall in the direction both students had gone, but they were no longer in sight. She did not have time to run after them nor did she have time to check the papers at present, so she slipped them into one of her own class books. She would try to sort it out later. She did hope that if they indeed were important, there would be a name on one of the sheets.