Heart of the Wilderness (6 page)

George McMannus reclaimed the canoe he had left behind with the man who ran the post and managed to find two fellows with sturdy canoes who were willing to move his freight upriver to his cabin home.

“You go on ahead,” the big man called to the men in the other two loaded canoes. “I’ll only be a short while—then we’ll catch up.”

“Why are we stopping here, Papa Mac?” Kendra asked, but there was no alarm in her voice, only interest.

“We are going to see Nonie,” he answered, reaching for her hand.

As they passed the village inhabitants, he called out greetings. Kendra had never heard the words before and did not understand them. Some of the men rose to their feet and answered him with strange words of their own. They often chatted for a few minutes before the pair moved on, Kendra’s hand held firmly in her grandfather’s.

They came to a small, ramshackle home at the edge of the little settlement, and George McMannus called loudly, then stepped up to the door. Without a knock he bent his head and ducked under the tanned moose hide that had been pulled back to let the sun shine in.

A voice from inside answered him softly and Kendra ducked her head just like her grandfather had done, though she was much too short to have necessitated such a move, and followed him into the dark, smoke-smelling room.

A woman sat on the floor. She worked over a large bowl she held within her bent legs. She did not even lift her head but spoke rapidly in her own tongue.

“Speak English, please,” George McMannus answered her. “So my granddaughter will understand.”

The woman lifted her head slightly and took one brief peek at the small girl before her.

“This is Kendra,” George said to the woman.

“Kendra,” she repeated, her native tongue making the name sound strange yet appealing.

“Kendra, this is Nonie,” the man went on.

Kendra held back shyly. She wished to duck behind her grandfather’s long legs, but she wasn’t sure if that would be acceptable. Instead, she turned her face against him.

“Say hello,” her grandfather bid her.

“Hello,” she said shyly, still feeling uncomfortable in the unfamiliar house and in the presence of this person who was a stranger—and strange—to her.

The woman on the floor chuckled softly, lifting her hand to hide the sound. She was no longer young, but her wrinkled face held serenity, her deep eyes soft merriment. Graying hair hung down over her shoulders in two neat braids.

“Nonie, I need help,” the man went on without any preamble. “I need to pick up my dogs as quickly as possible, and I can’t leave Kendra alone. Can you stay with her?”

Nonie lifted her head fully and looked from the man to the small girl. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

“Good,” said the man. “I will look for you tomorrow—at first sun.”

Nonie nodded again, then turned her eyes back to her bowl.

Kendra felt a tug on her hand and realized that her grandfather was now leaving the cabin again. He said one last word in the strange language and the two made their way back to the canoe that bobbed up and down with each movement of the river.

Though Kendra had not fully comprehended the exchange, the arrangements had been made. Nonie would be the one who would care for the child while her grandfather tended to some other duties.

Chapter Five

Nonie

“Where’s Papa Mac?” A sleepy Kendra peeped out from a tangle of blond curls at the woman in deerskins who worked near the cabin fireplace. The woman did not lift her head at Kendra’s question.

“Gone,” she said.

Gone. The single word brought terror to the child’s heart. First her parents—now Papa Mac.
Gone!

For one moment she stood frozen—then with a cry she leaped forward and ran to the door of the cabin. Tearing at the door, cries lifting to the rafters of the small cabin, Kendra fought to get out. Fought to escape. Fought to run after Papa Mac.

The woman watched her, silently, motionlessly, and then she slowly stood and brushed off the bits of swamp reed she had been weaving. She crossed to the child in silent steps and gently laid her hands on the small shoulders.

“Tush,” she said gently. “Tush.”

But Kendra paid no heed.

“Tush,” the woman said again and gently but forcefully turned the little girl around to look into her face.

“Tush,” she said again. “He come back. Tush.”

When Kendra still wailed wildly and tried to turn back to the door, the woman firmly drew the child into her arms and held her tightly. Kendra had no choice but to weep against the smoky-smelling shoulder of deerskin.

The woman’s hands gently soothed as they brushed at the head of tangled hair and patted the thin, shaking shoulders, then stroked the arms, now still.

“Tush. Tush,” she said over and over, the word calm and soothing. “He come back. Soon. He come back.”

When the words finally got through to the little girl, her struggling ceased, her tears lessened. At last she pushed back, brushed her hair away from her face, and took another look at the woman who held her. She remembered her from the day before. Papa Mac had said that she would be cared for by this woman. She remembered now. He had said he was going to get his dogs.

With the memory of Papa Mac’s words, Kendra’s fears began to be alleviated, though her little body still trembled and her heart pounded within her. She had not really understood Papa Mac’s words. She had not expected to wake up to a stranger in the small cabin.

“Hungry?” the woman asked her now.

Kendra nodded her head.

“First—” The woman pointed to the bunk where Kendra had slept. At the bottom of the bunk some of her garments had been laid out carefully. Kendra didn’t know if the woman had chosen them or if her grandfather had put them there before he left the cabin, but obediently she followed the pointing finger and slipped out of her flannel nightgown and into her simple garments.

As soon as Kendra had finished, the woman beckoned her over so she could work on the tangled hair. As she combed and plaited, she clicked her tongue in strange sounds and chuckled. Soft, silvery laughter that almost made Kendra wish to join her.

When the woman was finished and had laid the comb aside, she turned the small girl back to face her and looked deeply into her eyes. “Amo-chika,” she said softly. “Amo-chika.” She drew Kendra close against her and held her for a long time. For a reason that Kendra could not explain, she felt comforted. The strong, dark arms that held her promised such love. Such security. Kendra buried her face against the rough, skin garments and breathed deeply of the strange smell of woodsmoke.

The woman held her back at arm’s length again and spoke softly, pointing at herself, “Nonie.”

Kendra nodded. She remembered the name now. “Nonie,” she repeated, trying hard to give the name the same soft lilt that the woman had.

The woman smiled.

Then she pointed at the wee girl. “Kendra,” she said. “Amochika.”

The name—her own name—sounded strange to the young girl. And the new Indian name sounded even stranger. But she liked the sound of it. She repeated it, trying to make it sound just like Nonie had said it. It was different to be practicing one’s own name. But she tried it again and again as Nonie led her to the small table by the room’s one window and sat her down, soon bringing her a dish of breakfast porridge.

Kendra did not like the taste of the simple meal and would have refused it, but she was hungry and Nonie said “Eat,” so Kendra ate.

After she was finished, they gathered up the few dishes from the morning’s meal and went to the small creek that ran close by. Nonie hiked her skirts, tucked them in, and bent over the fast-flowing water, washing the dishes in the cold stream. Then she set them in the warm morning sun. Kendra ran about on the shoreline, discovering pretty wild flowers hidden among the grasses.

When the dishes were warm and dry, Nonie gathered them together and they returned to the cabin.

“Now—we go,” said Nonie and she picked up a basket that was beside the door and reached for Kendra’s hand.

They spent the entire morning out of doors. For Kendra it was a delightful day of exploration. For Nonie it was serious gathering. As they walked, her eyes were ever alert to plants that grew about their feet. Often she would stoop and search out hidden leaves with her fingers. She seemed to sense just where to look for them. Sometimes she took the leaves. At other times she cast the leaves aside and dug the roots for her basket.

“Why do you do that? What do you want that for?” Kendra asked on more than one occasion, and she was always given an answer.

“Good medicine,” Nonie would say, or “Makes good to eat.”

“Can I pick some?” asked the child.

“Yes. I show,” said Nonie.

And Kendra began her own search for special plants and wild herbs.

“This one?” she would ask, holding out a plant to Nonie. More often than not Nonie would laugh merrily and shake her head. “No, no,” she would say, “not that one. That one p-f-f-t.”

It was a strange sound. Almost a cross between a spit and a hiss, but Kendra quickly got the message that those leaves were throw-aways.

It did not discourage her, for Nonie would show her again just what they were looking for. When Kendra did happen to return to the woman with a few of the right leaves, Nonie clapped her hands gleefully and rewarded the girl with clicks of her tongue and a huge smile. Kendra fairly burst with her success.

The sun had climbed high into the sky when Nonie said, “We go home now.” Kendra’s short legs were weary with all the walking, the scampering here and there in her search for special plants, but she was reluctant to return to the darkness of the cabin. She wished with all her heart that she could protest, but even at her young age, Kendra had been taught to obey orders without argument. She turned slowly to follow the woman back through the woods.

They had not gone as far from the cabin as Kendra might have guessed. Their search had been leisurely paced, with frequent stops. Now on their way home, though unhurried, they walked steadily and soon the cabin came into view. Kendra was almost glad to see it, for she suddenly felt tired. Yet she could not hide the sigh that escaped her lips as they neared the door.

“You like sit?” asked Nonie, pointing to a grassy place in the shade of a tall spruce tree. Kendra nodded.

“You stay,” said Nonie softly.

Kendra nodded again and dropped down on the grass. It was so nice and cool. So soft beneath her. Above her head, clouds floated across the sky and birds darted here and there among the branches. She heard one call across the small clearing and another answered from the other side. But Kendra did not know what bird was calling. She clamored quickly to her feet. She would run and ask her mama. And then Kendra remembered. Mama was gone.

Her face puckered and she threw herself back down to the ground and buried her face in her arms. Nonie found her crying when she returned with their simple meal.

“Tush,” she said, laying aside the plates. “Tush.”

“I don’t know the bird,” wept Kendra, not able to explain to Nonie the full meaning of her tears.

“Bird?” replied Nonie.

“I don’t know which bird—that sang,” she sobbed.

“One does not cry—over birds that sing,” said Nonie, still sounding bewildered.

“Mama would tell me.”

For a long moment Nonie puzzled over it, her brow knit in a frown, her eyes intent upon the small girl’s face. Then a sudden light seemed to brighten her eyes. She nodded and reached to draw the little girl into her arms.

“Nonie tell,” she said, her hands gentling and soothing. “Nonie tell—everything. Nonie be here. Always. You see.”

Gradually the tears stopped and when Kendra had ceased crying and had wiped her eyes on the hem of her skirt, Nonie offered the plate.

The bird called again and Kendra lifted her head, tilting it to one side as she listened.

“That mountain bluebird,” said Nonie without being asked. “Someday I show you. Maybe we find his nest.”

Kendra smiled.

It wasn’t the name of the bird that brought the smile. Though Kendra already had a deep love for all things of nature—it was the fact of being comforted after the death of her parents. It was the renewed feeling of security after the terrible shattering of the world she knew. And it was especially the sense of being cared for after having lost the people she loved the most.

It was almost sunset when Kendra heard dogs barking and ran to the cabin window.

A team of dogs was coming quickly down the trail that led up the creek. They pulled a strange sleigh that ran on small wheels instead of runners. A man ran behind them calling out orders. Kendra wondered if they could even hear above their yapping. But they stopped suddenly and lay down in the harnesses, tongues dripping and sides heaving.

It wasn’t until then that Kendra noticed who was driving the team.

“It’s Papa Mac,” she squealed. Already she had forgotten that he was coming home, back to them. In her little heart she had expected him to be gone just as her parents were gone. Without realizing it, she had accepted the fact that now it was to be she and Nonie in partnership.