When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (7 page)

When the wolves began their evening chorus, I shivered some and was glad for Wynn’s arm about me. But not even the wolves could disturb me on this night.

Everything would have been perfect if only we could have escaped the tormenting mosquitoes. Wynn threw green branches on the fire, and we sat in the smoke to hold them at bay.

As the sun totally disappeared, more stars twinkled into view, taking their appointed positions in the velvet of the night sky.

And then it was that I saw the most spectacular sight of my entire life. Suddenly the sky was alive with sweeping rainbows. Lights swished and swirled above us, sweeping across the skies in spectacular movements. Sometimes the entire sky would seem to be one giant movement of color, and then the lights would retreat as though to end a scene, then sweep back again for another curtain call.

“They are so beautiful,” I whispered wonderingly over and over, finding it hard to believe that it was just the northern lights we were watching. Though I had watched them in awe many times since coming north, I had never seen such a marvelous display.

We sat on through the evening, enjoying the night even after the last lights of our great northern fireworks faded from the skies. The deep blackness around us seemed to hem us in, promising protection. The stars shone even brighter as Wynn pointed out different constellations to me.

As I sat there in the warmth of Wynn’s arms, I realized there might be many anniversaries stretching before us. I prayed to God that He would make it so. But there would never be one that could outshine the one we were sharing now.

August the first. I looked at the date on my calendar with some apprehension. I had seen Nimmie the evening before and she had looked fine. She had talked about their coming baby, her eyes gleaming. “Soon,” she had said, “we will know if it will be a hunter or an herb-gatherer.”

I managed to laugh at Nimmie’s description of her boy or girl, but inside I felt a little twinge. Part of the twinge was nothing more than envy. I was still not with child and my daily prayers had not changed. The other part of the twinge was for Nimmie and her baby. The mortality rate among the Indian people was high, and I knew how much Nimmie wanted this baby. What a terrible thing if she were to be denied.

Again the thought surfaced that I would not be nearly as worried if it were I who was soon to deliver, for the mortality rate was not nearly as high among my people. It didn’t even occur to me that a baby I carried might also be in danger at delivery. I just expected that when it was my turn, all would go well.

That was what Nimmie expected, too, I suddenly realized. She wasn’t even considering the possibility of something going wrong.

And so I looked at the calendar with both trepidation and anticipation. In a short time we would know. What had the city doctor said? The fifth of August. The baby was due in only five more days.

I decided to drop in on Nimmie. I would bake a batch of bread as planned, have my prayer time and then go to see her.

My quiet time was longer than usual as I pleaded with God again for Nimmie’s safe delivery—of the hunter or the herbgatherer, I didn’t care. When I was finished praying, I went to check on the rising bread. While it baked I turned my attention to some mending. Some buttons had been torn from Wynn’s shirt when a trapper’s unprovoked lead dog had ferociously attacked him. As I sewed, I was thankful that only the shirt had been damaged in the incident. I had to mend some little tears before I could replace the buttons, and by the time I was finished I could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread.

I carefully wrapped one loaf for Nimmie. I had just said no to Kip, who looked at me pleadingly, and reached for the loaf when there was a noise at the door. It was Mrs. Sam. She had not been to my house for some weeks.

I welcomed her in. Though I would be delayed now, I could not possibly tell Mrs. Sam that I was just leaving. She would expect her usual cup of tea.

I put the bread back on the table and pulled the teakettle forward on the stove. Thankfully the water was already hot. I made the tea and we sat and sipped it and ate sugar cookies while we chatted about village life.

Mrs. Sam said the berry prospects looked good. “Many, many,” she stated and I was glad for that. I hoped to pick and preserve a number of jars of berries for our winter use. That along with our good garden would make the thought of another winter not nearly so dreary.

Mrs. Sam drank slowly while I fidgeted a bit. I was polite enough to offer a second cup of tea. Then a third. After the fourth, Mrs. Sam rose from her chair and pushed her cup back into the middle of the table.

“Nimmie say, ‘Come now,’ ” she stated simply as my eyes widened in surprise and horror. Nimmie had sent her to get me, and here we had sat sipping cup after cup of tea! I turned to grab the loaf of bread—though why, I’ll never know—and hurried for the door. Mrs. Sam took her time following me.

I wanted to walk quickly—no,
run
—but Mrs. Sam kept her usual pace, which was unhurried and ambling. I wondered if it would be impolite for me to run on ahead.

“How is Nimmie?” I finally thought to ask, though I was a bit fearful of the answer.

“Good,” answered Mrs. Sam.

“Is she—is she—?” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question of an Indian woman with limited English. “Is she—in labor? Pain?”

“Nope.”

“But she sent for me?” That wasn’t like Nimmie.

“Yah.”

“Was the midwife with her?”

“No more.”

“No more?”

I couldn’t understand it. Why would Nimmie send for me, and why would the midwife visit her and then leave? It all seemed very strange. And it was only August the first.

“Is Nimmie okay?” I asked again.

And Mrs. Sam’s answer was the same as before. “Good.”

“What about the baby?” I asked in exasperation.

“Her good, too.”

I stopped in my tracks, trying to understand what Mrs. Sam had just said. She might have responded that way about an unborn child, but when the Indian women spoke of the unborn, they used the pronoun “him,” not “her.” Did that mean—surely not? But when I got my breath I asked anyway, “What do you mean,
her
?”

“Her,” stated Mrs. Sam again as though it was clear enough. “Her. Girl baby.”

After one wild look at Mrs. Sam I forgot to be polite any longer. I picked up my skirt and ran the rest of the way to Nimmie’s cabin, causing the village dogs to nearly go mad on their tethers as I rushed.

Out of breath and trembling, I slowed down enough to rap gently on Nimmie’s door; then without waiting for an answer, I pushed it open and walked in.

The small room of the cabin was filled with a strange odor, like nothing I had ever smelled before. I hurried to the bed in the corner, deciding the smell must be some herb medicine from the midwife.

And there was Nimmie, with a contented smile and a small bundle with a red, wrinkled face held possessively on her arm.

“You said—you said August the fifth,” I stammered.

“No,” said Nimmie shaking her head and beaming at her new baby girl. “I said
the doctor
said August the fifth. Nonita did not wait for doctor’s due. She came when she was ready.”

I looked back to the tiny, beautiful baby in Nimmie’s arms. A prayer arose in my heart. She was here, and she was safe, and she was about the prettiest thing I had ever seen.

“A little herb-gatherer,” I said with tears in my eyes. “Oh, Nimmie, she’s beautiful!”

NINE

Nonita

I stood for many minutes looking down at Nimmie’s tiny new baby girl. Her dainty curled fists lay in a relaxed position on her chubby cheeks, her dark hair slightly curled over her forehead. Her eyes were closed and just a trace of eyelash showed because of the slight puffiness due to her recent arrival. I had proclaimed her beautiful. There may be those who would have argued with me. A newborn is really not too beautiful. But she was healthy and whole, and given a few days to adjust to her new world, I knew she would look beautiful. I felt a twinge within me again—that something which told me that just at this moment, Nimmie was one of the most blessed people I knew.

I suddenly returned to reality. “When did she arrive?” I asked Nimmie.

“About an hour ago. I think the clock said 10:45.”

It was now ten minutes to twelve.

“What does Ian think of having a daughter?” I asked, not because I needed to ask but because I thought Nimmie might wish to express it.

“He still doesn’t know,” said Nimmie, a bit of impatience in her voice.

“Doesn’t
know
?” It was incredulous to me that Ian had not been informed.

“He went to the woods with the men this morning to fell some more trees for the trading post.”

“But—” I began.

“He left at six,” Nimmie went on.

“Didn’t you know—?” I started to ask, but Nimmie interrupted.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I thought, but I didn’t want to keep him from his work.”

“Oh, Nimmie!” I said. “Don’t you know Ian would have wanted to be here? The logs can wait, but your baby—”

“Yes, babies won’t wait,” said Nimmie. “I learned that much. I told the midwife I wanted to wait until Ian got home. He said he would be here shortly after midday. But, Nonita—well, she wouldn’t wait.”

I looked again at the clock. If Ian said he would be back soon after noon, he should be coming any time now. I heaved a sigh of relief and turned back to Nimmie.

“Would you like anything? Soup? Tea?”

“The midwife gave me some of her birthing herbs,” she said. “I feel just fine. A little tired, but just fine.”

Nonita suddenly squirmed in Nimmie’s arms and screwed up her face. She began to cry, her face growing even more red. She had not yet developed the lusty cry of an older infant. Nimmie adjusted her on her arm and held her to nurse, crooning comforting words to her in her own native tongue.

The baby stopped her fussing and snuggled up against Nimmie. The deep red drained from her face. Nimmie cradled her and then began to sing her an Indian lullaby.

I discovered I was still carrying my loaf of bread, somewhat misshapen due to my run. I wanted to laugh at its ridiculous shape now, but I was afraid I might disturb Nimmie or the baby, so I crossed as quietly as I could and placed it on the table.

Nimmie’s song soon ended. She looked at me, her eyes still shining.

“That is the song my mother used to sing to me. Perhaps every Indian baby has listened to that song. I will sing it to all my children as well.”

“It’s a pretty song,” I said, crossing the room to her bedside.

“It speaks of the forests, the rivers, the moon in the sky, and promises the baby that all of nature will be her new home.”

“That’s nice.” I touched her arm and smiled at her precious bundle.

Nimmie closed her eyes. I didn’t know if she was visualizing her child in the years to come or if she was just tired.

“Nimmie, perhaps you should rest now. Would you like me to stay or to leave?”

“There’s no need for you to stay, Elizabeth. Ian will soon be here. I sent for you because I was anxious for you to see Nonita. It wasn’t because I did not want to be alone.”

“I don’t mind staying.”

“I’m fine—really.”

“Then I will go and let you rest.”

I was about to leave when she looked up at me and smiled. “Would you like to hold Nonita before you go?”

I didn’t even answer; my heart was too full and my throat too tight. I reached down for the sleeping baby as Nimmie lifted her gently toward my outstretched hands.

She was so little and so light in my arms that I felt as if I were holding only a dream, only a fairy child. She opened one squinty little eye and seemed to wink at me. It was an uncontrolled action I knew, but I laughed anyway.

“She’s beautiful,” I declared again, and I meant it with all of my heart.

I laid the baby on the bed beside her mother. Nimmie smiled contentedly.

“Someday, Elizabeth,” she said, “it will be your turn—and then you will know the deep river of happiness flowing within me now.”

TEN

Summer

Nimmie was soon back on her feet. Even with her new baby she still found time to work in her garden and tend the store and manage the other tasks she had been used to doing. I tried to help some, but she usually caught me at it and laughed at my concern.

“I am as strong as ever, Elizabeth,” she assured me. “Where do you white women get the idea that having a child makes one weak and unable to do one’s own work?”

So we went to the garden together and hoed the weeds and pulled the vegetables for use on our tables. We opened the store and cared for the customers who came for supplies. We even went to the berry patches together, with Nonita secured to Nimmie’s back, and sometimes I got to carry her for short distances.

Nonita gradually lost her redness and puffiness. She did not lose her swatch of dark thick hair nor her black, black eyes, however. Ian adored her. Even Wynn seemed captured by the little one. I would gladly have babysat, but Nimmie never seemed to need anyone to care for the tiny girl.

The trading post building was coming along nicely. Rainstorms no longer delayed its progress, for there was still much to be done inside the structure. The rooms at the back were also being worked on, and Nimmie began to show her eagerness to be in and settled. This attitude was new to Nimmie, who was normally so patient and placid about everything. I suppose having the baby made her want to be in her own home rather than the makeshift cabin.

I scarcely saw Wynn these days except at night. He was usually gone before I awakened in the morning. He wanted to cover all his distant rounds before the first snowfall in a month or so.

After a morning in a berry patch or the nearby woods, the Indian ladies often came in the afternoon for their cup of tea. I was glad to resume our visits. We still didn’t spend all our time talking, though I did understand many more Indian words; but there were comfortable times of sitting together just sipping tea and smiling at one another.

Kip’s injuries from his fight with Buck had healed nicely. He seemed to have become a bit cocky, however, and I was sure he would never back down to any dog in the future. Whenever I went into the settlement, I left him at home or put him on the leash Wynn had provided. I did not wish a dog fight every time I went to the village, even if Kip should turn out to be the victor.