When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (22 page)

One day as I walked to the store I met Big Woman coming from the new cabin. She was carrying a strange-looking leather pouch. I had not seen her with it before.

She gave me a toothless grin, her face softening in wrinkles.

“She get better now,” she said. “I make strong medicine.”

I didn’t know what she had done. Probably one of the chants that Nimmie had spoken of, and it had likely cost the young brave much of his hard-earned money. I felt sorry for the family.

When the days passed and there was no news of the family, I dared to hope that things had improved. Wynn still visited the cabin. He continued to give the medicine he had on hand, but that did not seem to stem the fever either.

One dark evening as we sat before our fire expecting the night to bring the winter’s first snowfall, there was a shuffling at our door. Kip ran to welcome whoever it was, with Wynn close behind him.

It was the young man. In his arms he carried the baby boy. He nodded solemnly to Wynn and crossed the room until he was standing before the cot where I sat.

“You take. Keep,” he said, holding the baby out to me. “She gone now. I go trap.”

He placed the baby in my arms which had raised automatically to receive him, and then spun on his heels and was gone.

I stood staring after him, not knowing what he meant or what I was to do.

The door closed softly and Wynn was beside me.

“What did he mean?” I asked, my voice full of wonder.

“He lost his wife,” said Wynn.

“But the baby?”

“He has to go to his trapline. He wants you to keep the baby.” Tears began to trickle down my face. I cried for the young father. His eyes were filled with pain as he handed me his child. I cried for the mother who had fought so hard but had died so young. I cried for the baby who had been left motherless at such an early age. And I cried for me, tears of joy, because I now held a baby in my arms, a baby to love and care for. I held him close and thanked God for answering my prayers.

We named the wee baby Samuel. It seemed fitting. Hannah had named her baby Samuel after God had answered her prayer. The name meant “asked of God,” and every time I said the name I was reminded again of the miracle of Samuel coming to us.

He had lost weight since I had last seen him. I knew that his poor sick mother had not been able to feed him properly. I was not alarmed. He seemed healthy, and I was sure he would gain rapidly when given proper nourishment.

My days were so full that I scarcely had time to have my morning classes. For the first few days I often sat and sewed while the children studied, as Samuel had very little to wear. My pieces of soft yard goods were finally being put to use.

At first Kip seemed a little jealous of all of the attention the little one was getting, but then he too seemed to decide that this little bundle must be pretty special. He took to guarding the cradle, fashioned lovingly by Wynn out of packing crates. Kip did not allow even the ladies who came for tea to go near the baby until I commanded him to let them.

At first Samuel had a great deal of catching up to do. He slept and ate, making up for the time when he had not been properly fed. He soon rounded out and as he regained his strength, he also became more aware of his surroundings.

It wasn’t long until he was smiling and cooing like any normal baby. He was so easy to love. He made our little cabin a place that was alive and warm.

When winter came, I scarcely noticed the storms. I was too involved with my baby. Kip did not get his exercise as faithfully. I was much too busy and Samuel could not go out on the colder days.

Nimmie provided me with a cradle board to fasten Indianfashion on my back with Samuel held securely in place, so when I did take him out for fresh air, it was not difficult for me to carry him.

Christmas was the best one we had ever had. Wynn and I spent many evenings making toys for Samuel. We could hardly wait for Christmas morning to arrive. Samuel rewarded our efforts with squeals and chuckles, and we felt that we had discovered what Christmas was really meant to be.

That Christmas our prayer time was thoughtful and filled with devotion. It meant even more to us now to read that God gave His Son—
His Son
—to bring eternal life to the world.

We had been so busy enjoying Samuel that I had not thought about his age. Suddenly one day it hit me: I did not know his birthday. I was anxious to ask Wynn. The Indian people in our village paid little attention to the day of their birth. To know the season of the year seemed to be close enough. “I was born at the time of the coming of the geese,” or “I was born at the time of the heavy snow,” but not, “I was born on May 15” or “on November 21.”

When Wynn came in that night and headed right for the cradle and a squealing, arm-waving Samuel, I expressed my concern.

“We don’t know Samuel’s birthday,” I said. “That might be important some day, when he registers for school or—”

“That’s easy to find,” said Wynn. “I keep a record of all of the births and deaths in the settlement.”

We went to Wynn’s office together, Kip trailing along behind. Wynn passed Samuel rather reluctantly to me while he got out a thick record book. He ran his finger down a column and came to “Infant boy born to Little Fawn and Joe Henry Running Deer, August 15, 1915.”

“That’s a strange name,” I said.

“Whose?”

“The father’s.”

“They often combine English and Indian names.”

“Yes, but not with two like that. A middle name. Henry. Joe Henry.”

“Ian said a white trapper by the name of Joe Henry used to live near the big village. He said that the Indians thought highly of the man, and several of the young men were named after him.”

As I looked again at the page and Wynn’s recorded announcement of the birth of our small Samuel, another little pain went through me. Again I felt sorrow for the young man and woman whose home had been struck by such tragedy.

I carried the baby back to the living quarters while Wynn put the record book safely away.

“We’ll try to make it up to you, Samuel,” I whispered. “We’ll care for you and love you, and when you are older we’ll tell you all about your mother and father. They loved you, too, you know.”

I kissed his soft, dark cheek and laid him back in his cradle so I could get supper on. He didn’t stay there for long. Wynn was soon back and giving him horsey rides on his bootless foot.

THIRTY-ONE

Spring Again

Never had the trees looked so green or the breeze sung so softly. With spring, the birds returned, and I held Samuel up to the window so he could see their bright feathers and hear their twittery songs.

He was crawling now and pulling himself up to stand on two rather shaky legs. He no longer fit his cradle, so Wynn again went to the packing crates for more lumber to make a bigger bed. It hardly fit in the small room, and we were tempted to move the cot out. Instead, we squeezed things in as best as we could—there was very little room for walking around.

The men came back with their winter furs, most of them having had a good year. The pelts were plentiful, thick, and brought good prices. I shut my eyes against the vision of the small helpless animals caught in the cruel traps and thought instead of the better food and clothing that the winter’s catch would bring to the families in the village.

I watched, without really admitting it to myself, for Joe Henry Running Deer. I thought he might come to see his son, but he did not. I did not even see him in the village. Wynn thought of it, too, I guess, for he remarked one night that it appeared Joe had returned to the big village and that the cabin was now going to be used by another young man and his new bride. It was an unwritten law in the village that when a cabin was not occupied, it could be used by someone else who needed it.

I took Samuel out more and more as the weather warmed. He loved the out-of-doors. We took long walks with him riding in his special carrier on my back. We went to the river, down forest paths, to the village—all over our home area. And as we went I talked to Samuel, in English and in his own language. Wynn and I both encouraged him to try new words in each tongue.

In the evenings I read to him or showed him picture books. I sang him little songs. First I sang to him the songs my mother had sung to me when I was a child, and then I had Nimmie teach me the songs she sang to her little ones so Samuel would know them, too.

We visited Nimmie and her children often. Samuel loved other children. He would smile with delight whenever he saw Nimmie’s boys. They loved him, too, and they had a wonderful time sharing toys on the floor while Nimmie and I sipped our tea and watched them with eyes of love and pride.

We sent word out to our family and friends, telling them of our son. I suppose I did boast a bit, but probably no more than most new mothers. Back with our infrequent mail came parcels and wellwishes. Now Samuel not only had handmade toys but commercial ones as well.

When it came time for the spring planting, I set Samuel on a fur rug while I worked in my garden. He played in the soil, letting it trickle through his fingers. I watched him carefully for a time, to see if he would try its taste. He didn’t, so I left him happily playing and went on with my work.

When I checked on him only a few minutes later, he had not only tasted the dirt but he seemed to enjoy it. His chin was covered with mud from the mixture of dirt and dribble. He grinned at me happily as though to say, “Don’t get alarmed. No baby has died from eating dirt yet.”

I picked him up, wiped him off, scolded him as a matter of course, and placed his rug on the grass instead.

We closed the little school for the summer and I had more time to spend with Samuel. He was taking a few faltering steps now. Wynn and I spent our evenings together coaxing him to walk between us. He seemed to sense he was doing something pretty special, and he would squeal to be sure he had our full attention each time he took a step.

Much of my time was taken with sewing new garments. Samuel outgrew his things so quickly. I wondered how Hannah ever managed to get by with one small new coat a year. I smiled as I thought of the mother-love that must have gone into that one new coat.

One thing plagued me. Samuel was growing up so quickly, and I would have no pictures of him as a baby. I knew that in years to come the pictures would be very special—not just to Wynn and me but to Samuel himself. I tried to think of ways to get the use of a camera, but I could come up with no good solution. And then I thought of Wawasee. Samuel and I went to see him, and I explained to the young boy what I wanted and promised him all the scribblers he needed if he would draw several pictures of the baby for me.

Wawasee seemed to think this was a strange request. He was used to drawing wild animals and birds, or dog teams, or men fishing. But he didn’t argue. He set to work sketching Samuel. At first he seemed a bit awkward and the pictures did not turn out well, but as he worked he began to get the feel for it. Soon he was producing very good likenesses of the baby.

He came often after that and spent hours sketching the little boy, sleeping in his bed, playing with his toys, burying his face in Kip’s thick fur, feeding himself his mashed vegetables. All of the pictures caught the spirit of the baby Samuel. As I looked at them, I knew I had a treasure far beyond what a mere camera could have given me.

THIRTY-TWO

The Birthday Party

Samuel’s first birthday was drawing near. I was busy trying to come up with ideas that would make it a special occasion, but I hadn’t made much headway. I decided to discuss it with Wynn. I waited until after Samuel had been tucked in for the night and was sound asleep.

“Samuel will be one on Saturday,” I informed Wynn.

“I remember,” he said. “I’ve already picked out his gift.” My eyes widened. “You have? What?”

“Not telling,” Wynn said with a grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Wynn,” I pleaded, “that’s mean.” But Wynn only laughed.

“Well, you’ve already got your gift. I’ve seen you sewing on that stuffed horse for days,” he said.

“Shhh,” I cautioned, casting an apprehensive eye at the bed in the corner, and Wynn laughed harder.

“I would like to make his birthday really special,” I went on.

“For Samuel—or for you?” Wynn said, his eyes twinkling.

“For all of us,” I stated, a bit annoyed at Wynn’s teasing.

“I’m sure the day will be special, just because we are together. But what would you like to do?” Wynn asked, becoming more serious.

“That’s the problem. I still haven’t thought of anything.”

“Then might I give you my suggestion? I think it might be fun to pack a lunch and take our son on his first trip into the wilderness. We could spend the whole day—take Kip, our birthday dinner, and make a whole day of it.”

I loved the idea and began at once to think of the things I would need to prepare for the backpack birthday dinner.

Saturday dawned fair and bright. I went early to the kitchen and began my preparations for the dinner we would carry with us. Wynn had already left the cabin but would be back soon for breakfast.

Samuel awoke and pulled himself up in his bed, his face crinkled up to cry until he saw me nearby. Then he began his chattering to tell me that he was hungry and ready for another day.

I went to him and lifted him up, kissing him on the cheek.

“Today is your first birthday,” I informed him, but he didn’t seem too excited about it. “We are going to take a long walk in the woods, Daddy and Kip and you and me. We’ll see all kinds of things that you should know about. Beaver dams, animal tracks, different trees and birds, and Daddy will tell you all about them.”

Samuel was interested only in what was for breakfast.

I dressed the baby and went back to the kitchen just as Wynn arrived. He had his hand tucked inside his tunic and a funny grin on his face. “Is it time for birthday gifts yet?” he asked and I laughed at him. He was even worse than I was.

“Okay,” I agreed, my eyes on Samuel, “but you have to wait until I get mine.”