When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (5 page)

With the removal of all that belonged to the McLains, and our things being put in the storage room, Wynn had more room to organize the rest of the supplies. Little by little he was getting it cleared away to the room he called his office.

I did my best to help him. He would not let me lift the heavier things, and I had to ask about most of the items I did move, to be sure that I stacked them where he would be able to find them.

By midday we had some paths through our living area, and the cot was discovered and unloaded. Kip was even able to get back to his favorite place before the fire.

I went back to the kitchen to prepare our meal, again cooking potatoes. I also cooked carrots and parsnips and turnips. It was a strange combination, but they all looked so good to me. I made up some cole slaw and informed Wynn that our dinner was ready. It wasn’t until we sat down that I realized I hadn’t prepared any meat. I was really tired of meat, but I wondered if Wynn would miss it. If he did he didn’t mention it. Instead, he talked about how good the vegetables were.

In the afternoon Wynn finished stacking the supplies for the villagers. Almost every inch of his office floor was covered, and the stacks reached almost to the ceiling.

Then Wynn went to work at the one little window in the room. Curious, I watched to see what he was doing. He was making a shelf that extended both inside and outside at the bottom edge of the window. He didn’t wait for me to ask what it was for.

“I’m making a shelf so I can distribute the supplies from here and then people won’t need to enter the house to get them.”

I pictured a long line of hungry, cold, damp people, standing in queue for their daily rations.

“But they can’t wait out there in the rain,” I protested, willing to forego the clean floors for their comfort.

“They have to wait in the rain anyway,” Wynn explained. “They can’t all fit in our living room at once.”

Realizing he was right, I returned to my kitchen and took a few moments to pray that the rain would stop.

Ian came back, a large ledger in his hand. The Indians had been told to wait for the sound of the crude gong before lining up for more supplies. Those of the previous night had been given out at no charge, with deep thankfulness that God had seen us through. Now the books would need to be kept. Each man in the village had his winter’s catch of furs, and the tally would be kept on account until the day that McLain could take in the furs to settle the accounts. First he would need to construct his new trading post.

As soon as Ian pounded on the drum with the hammer, the line began to form. Though it had not stopped raining, it had slowed down considerably. I thanked God for that.

Today there was happy chatter among the women who stood in the line. They could finally believe that the supplies were really here, enough for each day’s need rather than just a fleeting dream of relief.

As Wynn distributed supplies to them, one by one, Mr. McLain busily entered the items to each one’s account. Now the women were given a choice of purchase. Yesterday they all had been allotted the same items to prepare a meal.

It was getting dark before the last of the line was waited on. Wynn closed the window and turned to Ian.

“Is this going to work?” he asked him.

“Perfect,” exulted Ian. “I’m glad you thought of the shelf. Nimmie will be settled by tomorrow, and she will be able to take your place. We know you can’t spend all of your time dishing out store supplies.”

“I’m glad to help until you are settled a bit, but I do need to get back on the trail again. There are a number of people I should check on as quickly as possible.”

“We understand,” Ian assured him. “Nimmie and I should be quite able to handle this from now on.”

“But how about the building of the new store?” asked Wynn.

Ian pondered. It was true. He was going to be more than busy. His building skills and direction were needed on the project. Even though there were a number of men who would be happy to work for Ian, they could not proceed without supervision. Ian would need to be available every part of every day.

“We’ll have to work out something,” Ian was saying when I broke in hesitantly from the doorway. “I’ll help Nimmie if you’ll just show me what you want done.”

Both of the men swung to look at me.

Wynn broke the silence. “There you are,” he said to Ian with a grin.

Mr. McLain looked relieved. “You mean that?” he asked me.

“Of course. I’d be glad to.”

“How about keeping the ledger?”

“The ledger?”

“Recording what is given to each family. Nimmie will tell you what to write.”

“That would be fine,” I stammered out. “I’m sure—sure I could handle that.”

“I’m sure you could, too,” said McLain confidently. “Then Nimmie could work with the people. It would be a bit easier for her, some of the people not knowing much English and you not understanding much of their language yet.”

I liked his reasoning. Nimmie could wait on the customers and I could work along with her and keep the accounts. I was going to have her around after all!

In the meantime I hoped that the building project would go quickly. I was thankful for the supplies for the people. I would also be thankful to reclaim my home. I looked around at the stacked-up supplies. Our house looked so much better than it had just that morning, though Wynn’s small office was not free for his use, and many things were still piled along the walls in our living quarters. Yes, I hoped with all of my heart that the building of the new trading post would go well.

SIX

Routine

Early the next morning the clouds began to break up and the heavy rain that had fallen during the night gradually diminished to a drizzle. I began to be hopeful that the rain might actually stop.

By midafternoon the sun was actually peeping out from among the clouds now and then. I got out my washtub so I could launder the wet, dirty clothes of the preceding days and get them on the line.

I worked quickly, for I knew there wasn’t much time until Nimmie would arrive and clang the drum for the evening supply line.

I had just hung the last item on the line, thrown out my wash water and returned to my kitchen when I glanced out the window to see Nimmie coming up the path, dry and in her own clothing for the first time since she had returned to the settlement. Her feet were not free of the cumbersome mud, however. She looked like she was wearing brown snowshoes as she plodded along, carefully lifting one mud-packed foot after the other as she made her way up to our door.

I called for her to come in as I pushed the kettle forward onto the heat for a cup of tea before beginning our store duties. She didn’t enter but called back to me from the doorway, “Could you bring me some water, please, so that I might wash my feet?”

I poured warm water into the basin, threw a towel over my arm and went to the door.

Nimmie had not bothered to wear anything on her feet. Knowing that the mud would cake as she walked, she came barefoot. It was much easier to clean feet than to clean shoes. She sat on the step and washed her feet in the basin. She refused the clean towel. “They’re not clean enough for that,” she protested. “Just give me an old rag.” She dried her feet on a rag I found, swished out the basin and came in, shutting the door behind her.

“Isn’t it great to see the sun again?” she exclaimed as she settled in a chair. I agreed as I poured our tea.

When we had emptied our teacups, we went to the storage room. Nimmie showed me how to record the items under each family’s name in the ledger and then went out to call the villagers while I opened the window for our first customers.

At first it was novel and rather fun, but by the time we had measured and served, recorded and changed, argued and pleased each of our customers, I think both of us were ready to call it a day.

Wynn had gone to make some of his calls. He had no idea when he would be back so could not give me a time for the evening meal. I would have it ready and try to keep it as warm and palatable as possible, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late.

Nimmie left in the semi-dusk to prepare a meal for Ian. He along with several other men had left for the woods that morning to mark out trees for felling. Nimmie did not know the hour for her evening meal either.

One thing we did know: We were both glad that it was no longer raining.

The days that followed were much like that first one. I hurried through my housework so I could accomplish what needed to be done for the day. I am sure that Nimmie did the same.

Each day the paths became a little drier, so the rutted pathway up to our door was no longer slippery with mud. I even tried to smooth out the ruts in the path, much to Nimmie’s amusement.

The settlement teemed with new life and busyness. The women searched through the woods for edible spring growth for the cooking pots. Some of the men, under Ian’s direction, felled trees while others cleared away the debris left from the fire at the old trading post. Stakes in the ground marked where the new post would stand, a bit larger than the first one. The living quarters at the back would be for Nimmie and Ian and the children they were anxiously looking forward to having. There would be no living quarters needed for Katherine. She had decided to go back to teaching in the Edmonton area.

Each day Wynn again took to the trail. Because the paths were free of the winter’s snow, the dog team was not usable now, so Wynn’s trips were even harder than normal. Swollen rivers and streams made journeys by canoes risky. With the return of the sun, the mosquitoes hatched in great numbers. The trail was not a pleasant place to be, but it was part of his job; and so without complaint, Wynn shouldered the pack with his emergency supplies and his noon lunch and left each morning at sunrise.

Nimmie and I soon established a daily routine. She would arrive promptly at three, we would have an afternoon cup of tea or coffee, and then we would bang on the drum and signal the ladies that the settlement “store” was open for business.

The sun shone on some days, the rain fell on others. Gradually a framework was taking shape in the settlement as the men worked under Ian’s direction. Wynn helped when his duties did not call him elsewhere.

Wynn had found a few trappers who really had needed help, men who lived alone and did not come into the village after the winter’s trapping was over. One man had been sick for over two weeks; he finally had become so weak he was unable to care for himself. Wynn traveled out to his cabin every other day to prepare food and give him medicine. Another man also had been sick, but by the time Wynn found him he was too far gone to recover. Though Wynn nursed him for several days, giving him the medicine he had available, he sorrowfully turned from being doctor to undertaker and parson, finally committing the man to the earth he had been so close to for so many years.

The mosquitoes and blackflies swooped around in droves. It was hard to remember they had been just as miserable the year before. I had to get used to them all over again.

Nimmie and I planted our gardens with seeds she had brought back. I could hardly wait for them to sprout and the tender plants to make their appearance. Nimmie was far more patient than I.

Nimmie’s delivery time was drawing nearer. She didn’t seem to feel anything other than anticipation, but for some reason, I felt alarm.

What if something goes wrong? What will we do if we need a doctor?
For the first time I began to feel just a little thankful that I wasn’t the one waiting for the arrival of a baby. I had not shared my prayers with Wynn, but for some weeks I had been praying nightly that God would see fit to grant my desire for a family—and soon. We had already been married for almost a year and it seemed like God should be answering my prayer by now.

Still, as I looked at Nimmie, daily becoming larger and heavier, I felt the shiver of fear run through me.
Perhaps it would be easier if
I were facing the birth myself,
I thought,
instead of knowing that my dear friend is the one who will be going through the birth pains.
At any rate, I found myself thinking more and more about Nimmie’s impending delivery time. I prayed more earnestly for her and the baby than I had ever prayed for anything in my entire life.

“Please, dear God,” I pleaded daily, almost hourly, “please let everything be all right.”

SEVEN

Life Goes On

By now the new trading post was far enough along for the supplies to be taken over and arranged inside the empty shell. Mr. McLain knew that Wynn needed his one-room office and that I was anxious to have my living quarters back.

The men again tracked through my house to load the wagons with everything that belonged to the store owner. I was relieved to see it go, and yet a little sadness tugged at me too. I had enjoyed the feeling of being needed in the little settlement.

I felt better when we decided that Nimmie and I would continue the distribution; instead of Nimmie coming to my house, now I would make the daily trek into the village.

I had not been there much in the past weeks, simply having no reason to go. Nimmie had come to my house daily, and I saw almost every woman of the village on a regular basis when they came for supplies. And our supplies for the next several months were stored in our own storage room.

Though I had not really missed the little excursions into the village, Kip had. He was restless. I tried to take him for a walk each morning as soon as I had finished my household chores, but he continued to whine at the door.

I had no time to romp with him like I used to and I was afraid to let him out on his own. I was sure he would head for the village and the other dogs, and even though he was no longer a pup, I still did not relish the prospect of a fight. I was sure one would occur if Kip were allowed to run free. I was especially determined to keep him away from Buck, the village fighter, for just as long as possible—my preference was “forever.” But at least I wanted to be sure Kip was full grown so he might have some chance of holding his own. Buck was an experienced fighter and he was mean. No way did I want Kip tangling with him.