Heart of the Wilderness (26 page)
It wasn’t until Kendra was doing her homework that evening that she remembered the sheets of paper. She pulled them from her text and scanned the page to look for a name. At the bottom of the one page was one word, written in smooth, elegant script, “Amy.”
Amy? Was that the name of the girl? Was this a class assignment? Would she be looking frantically for the copy? Kendra had so little to go on. She didn’t remember seeing the girl in any of her classes.
“It looks like poetry,” mused Kendra. She began to read the lines.
Trees
So new-born
They still look
Sticky-wet.
They
Haven’t
Even gathered
Any air-dust yet.
Kendra reread the little verse. She liked it. It was strange to her, this new form. But she liked the thought. She had seen trees like that. In the spring. With the new green leaves just unfolding, looking fresh and new—and yes—just a bit sticky as they uncurled from the firm wrapping of the bud.
Kendra turned to the next sheet.
Who put the stars in the evening sky?
Who gave the waters their azure blue?
Who set the rainbow up on high?
And sprinkled the grasses with morning dew?
Who hid the fawn with its dappled sides?
Who taught the salmon to swim the brooks?
Who buried gold in the heart of the earth?
Planted wood violets in shadowed nooks?
Who told the crocus that spring had come?
Brought the butterfly from the cocoon?
Who put the song in the robin’s heart?
Governed the tides by the distant moon?
Kendra felt a strange stirring of her heart in response to the poem with its reference to the nature she loved and the questions it raised. She was so moved she could scarcely continue reading. This was what she wanted to know. This was what her heart cried out for. The answers. She needed the answer.
She let her eyes fall back to the page she held in a trembling hand.
Who put the “wonder” within my breast?
Set off the “joy bells” within my soul?
Kendra turned the page, but the back of the sheet was empty. Was there another sheet? There had to be. The poem had not given her the answer. There had to be more. There just had to.
But there was nothing more. Kendra turned the page again and slowly reread the poem. Line by line she pondered the thoughts. Here was a kindred spirit. Here was someone who thought as she thought. Wondered as she wondered. Had she—this Amy—found the answer to all the unasked questions? Oh, she must have. Kendra could sense a—a contentment—a peace in the writing. It was not written as by one who was still searching in frustration to find the answers. There had to be more to the poem.
Kendra looked again at the last two lines. Yes. There was more. The meter, as well as the content, called for it. There were at least two more lines to the poem. Perhaps they held the secret. Kendra scrambled through her textbook hoping to find another page of script. But there was none.
“Oh, I do hope she hasn’t lost the last part,” cried Kendra inwardly. “What if she dropped another sheet and I didn’t see it? What if she dropped it farther on?” The very thought made Kendra feel panicky. Maybe she would never find the answers to her questions.
She had to find Amy. She had to. She focused mentally on remembering the girl she had seen briefly in the hall. She was of medium height, with dark hair and eyes, a nice, rather shy smile, glasses—yes, glasses. Not many of the students wore glasses. Perhaps she could find her by her glasses. She had to find her. Somehow.
For the next two weeks Kendra walked the halls scanning faces. She was so intent on trying to find Amy that she could hardly concentrate on her schoolwork. She even went to the office and asked if anyone had inquired about missing assignment copies.
“No,” came the answer. “I suppose we could hold the sheets here in case anyone asks concerning them,” he added, but Kendra was reluctant to give up the pages.
“I’ll just keep looking for her,” she replied hurriedly. “I’m bound to run into her again.”
But Kendra was beginning to doubt her own words. Would she ever find the girl? Had the unknown Amy needed the pages to fulfill an assignment?
By the end of the third week, Kendra wondered if she must give up. It seemed that Amy was not to be found. Dejectedly Kendra loaded her arms with her homework for the weekend and started home. She would never find her now. She wondered if she would even remember what the girl looked like.
It was a cold day. The wind blew from the north and whipped at Kendra’s heavy coat as though trying to tear it from her shoulders. Kendra braced herself against it and pulled her collar snugly up to her chin. It was on days like this that she wished she still had her fur parka.
“I wonder how Nonie is doing?” she asked herself. She missed Nonie. Missed the smile and the friendly chatter. Even missed her silence as she moved wordlessly about the cabin. Nonie had been like a grandmother. A replacement for the woman Kendra had never known.
Kendra’s thoughts then turned to her grandfather. She wondered often how his winter’s trapping was going. He had helped considerably with her university costs. Had he kept enough money back to get himself through the long, hard winter? Did he have ample supplies? Kendra did hope so, but she had been reluctant to ask. She worried about her grandfather, and she felt some guilt for leaving him on his own just so she could fulfil her selfish desire to learn at the university.
“I may as well have stayed at home,” she said sadly. “I really have not found answers anyway. Not to the real questions. It—it seems that the answers are—are as lost as I am.”
Kendra fought against a sudden gust of wind that whipped sharp ice crystals against her exposed cheek, making it sting.
“I think I’ll just go home.” She surprised even herself. “Back to Papa Mac and Nonie and Oscar.”
But as quickly as her heart began to beat with the excitement of the thought, Kendra dismissed it. She couldn’t quit in the middle of a term. That would be a waste. That would not please her grandfather. He had not raised a quitter. Kendra amended her statement. “I’ll go home just as soon as I finish my first year,” she told herself and felt sorrow and loneliness fill her being again. It seemed such a long time to wait.
Had Kendra been one to give way to tears, she would have let them fall now. She felt deep, inconsolable sorrow. She was so lonely for the life she knew. So disheartened over what she had failed to find. All she wanted was her own familiar room with its Hudson Bay blankets, its kerosene lamp, its crackling fire in the hearth, and Oscar lying on the bear rug beside her moss and fir-bough-covered bed. All she wanted was her shelf of books and the stirring of her grandfather in the small room beyond her door.
But Kendra knew she must finish what she had started.
She was glad for Maggie Miller. The friend of her grandfather’s had been most kind. Kendra was sure that, despite her strong resolve, she would never have been able to finish the year were it not for Mrs. Miller.
Another gust of wind caught her, almost wrenching the books from her arms. She clutched them closer and turned to ward off the chilly blast.
Just as she turned back she bumped into someone. Startled, Kendra caught herself and looked to see who it was. A young woman was returning her gaze, her eyes as wide open in surprise as Kendra’s.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” said the young woman quickly. “I—I’m afraid I wasn’t watching.”
“My fault,” replied Kendra, but the wind seemed to snatch her words away.
“It’s the wind,” began the girl and she pushed back her heavy scarf. Kendra found herself looking at the girl from the university hallway. She had found her.
“Amy?” she said in unbelief.
The girl looked even more surprised. “Do I know you?” she asked simply.
“No. No,” said Kendra, shaking her head. “But I’ve—been looking for you. For weeks.”
Amy looked confused. “Why don’t you come in,” she offered, turning to indicate the small house in front of them.
“You live here?” asked Kendra. It was only a few blocks to Maggie’s house.
“Yes,” replied the girl and took Kendra’s arm.
They hurried toward the house against the push of the wind.
Once inside, the door firmly closed behind them, they turned to face each other again. Amy pulled off her scarf, revealing her face. Yes, it truly was her. Kendra saw the same dark eyes, the same soft smile. Kendra took a deep breath and grinned.
“I thought I’d never find you,” she admitted.
“Come in,” said Amy, pointing to the sitting room. “Take off your coat—and tell me why you’ve been looking for me.”
Kendra quickly shrugged out of her coat and picked up her textbook with the folded pages that bore the two poems.
“You dropped this—in the hall one day. You ran into someone and I found these on the floor.”
She handed the pages to the girl.
“Oh—these. I wondered where they went.” Amy looked up and smiled. “Thanks—for returning them.”
“I was afraid you’d need them for an assignment, and I’d get them back to you too late,” continued Kendra.
“Oh—no. Just—just some of my—musings. I’m always—scribbling down thoughts here and there. I just—”
“Do you have the rest of it?” asked Kendra before she could check herself.
Amy looked down at the sheets she held. The short poem about the trees was on the top.
“Not that one. The other one,” put in Kendra. “The one with— with all the questions.”
Amy turned to the second sheet and let her eyes fall to the bottom lines.
“Did you finish it?” prompted Kendra.
“Oh—yes. Yes, I finished it.”
“Would you—would you mind terribly if—if I saw the—ending?” asked Kendra. She wondered if she was being terribly rude. If it was right to ask someone to share something so personal. She flushed at her own boldness.
“That is—if you wouldn’t mind,” she finished lamely.
Amy’s chocolate brown eyes met hers evenly. “It’s not really very good,” she apologized. “I just—just scribble things down to—to sort things out for myself.”
“It’s beautiful,” enthused Kendra. “I could almost see it. Hear it. Just like—” She stopped.
“Sit down,” invited Amy. “I’ll see if I can find the last few lines.”
Amy was gone for several minutes.
When she returned she was shaking her head. “I can’t find it right now,” she said. “I’m sorry. It must be with some of my other books.”
Kendra stood, disappointment filling her whole being. She had been so close to an answer. Now she had nothing.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Amy asked.
“Thank you—but I must be going. Aunt Maggie will be worried if I don’t show up soon.”
The girl nodded.
“Well, I’ll keep looking for the lost sheet,” she promised Kendra. “If you live nearby, then stop again and perhaps I will have found it.”
“Oh yes, could I? You wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to be a—a pest.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Amy began and then quickly added, “You say that you do live nearby? And you go to the university? It’s strange that we haven’t met before. We must walk the same sidewalk every day.”
She was smiling again and Kendra smiled in return.
“It seems strange that after searching and searching for you for three weeks that I would find you living almost in my own backyard,” Kendra acknowledged.
“I stay here with my aunt and uncle,” Amy said. “I’m really from out of town. A farm kid, actually. I’m hoping to be a teacher.”
Kendra was pulling her heavy coat on again. She did hate to go, but she didn’t wish to worry Mrs. Miller.
“What are you majoring in?” the girl asked.
“I—I haven’t decided on—on anything yet. Just a general course. Though I admit I picked the subjects that interest me.”
“Like?”
“Literature—and the sciences.”
“Ugh,” said Amy. “My most
un
favorites. I like math and history.”
“I guess that explains why we haven’t met before,” said Kendra as she leaned to pick up her books.
“Well—we must remedy that,” put in Amy. “Now that we are acquainted, we must make the most of it. I could use a friend.”
Kendra did not trust herself to speak. The words spoke to her very soul, and it responded with all the longing that was within her. But she could only nod her head.
She was about to leave when Amy spoke. “Wait. I don’t even have your name—or where you live.”
“It’s Kendra. Kendra Marty,” she replied. “And I live on Ninety-Sixth Street with Mrs. Maggie Miller—a friend of my grandfather’s.”
“What time do you go to class on Monday?” asked Amy.
“I—I walk past here about eight o’clock,” replied Kendra.
“I have to leave by seven-thirty,” continued Amy. “It’s a shame we couldn’t walk together.”
“Oh, I can be here by seven-thirty,” quickly promised Kendra. “No problem at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Kendra turned back to the door. She really had to go.
“I’ll see you on Monday then,” said Amy. “Oh, but before you go, you must meet my Aunt Sophie. Just one minute,” and she dashed through the adjoining door. Kendra heard voices but she couldn’t make out the words. Soon the door pushed open again and a matronly woman made her appearance as she wiped her hands on her printed apron. Amy followed closely behind her.
