[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (22 page)

"Good morning, Mrs. Delaney," she called pleasantly.

I had to stop and respond. I managed a wobbly smile. "Good
morning, Mrs. McLain," I returned. "It's a lovely morning, isn't it?"

"It is. And I am just finishing my washing and stopping for a cup
of tea. Could you join me?"

I thought to wonder then about her excellent grammar. She had
only the trace of an accent.

I still wanted to head for the security of my little home, but that
would be very rude; so I smiled instead and said, "That is most kind.
Thank you."

She pegged the last dish towel to the line, picked up her basket and
led the way through the right-hand door.

The room was very pleasant and homey, a combination of white
and Indian worlds. I noticed what a pleasant atmosphere the blending
gave the room.

She seated me and went out to her small kitchen. Soon she was
back with a teapot of china and some china cups. She also brought
some slices of a loaf cake made with the local blueberries. It was delicious.

"So, are you feeling settled in Beaver River?" she asked me.

"Oh, yes. Quite settled."

We went on with small talk for many moments, and then she
became more personal. Eventually it dawned on me that this was the kind of conversation I had been aching to have with a woman. The
kind for which I had been seeking white companionship.

"Does it bother you, being left alone so much?" she asked sympathetically.

"I guess it does some. I miss Wynn, and the days are so long when
he is gone for such a long time. I don't know how to make them pass
more quickly. I have sewed up almost all the material I brought along,
and there is really nothing else I can cover, or drape, or pad, anyway,"
I said in truth and desperation.

"When you have a family, you won't have so much free time," she
observed. "In fact, when winter comes, you will be busier. It takes so
much more of one's time even to do the simple tasks in the winter,"
she went on to explain. I hadn't thought about that, but I was sure she
was right.

I switched back to her earlier comment. "Do you have a family?" I
asked.

"No," was her simple answer, but I thought I saw pain in her eyes.

"Have you always lived here?" I said, partly to get on to another
subject.

I expected her to say she had come to Beaver River from another
area, so I was surprised when she said, "Yes. I have never lived more
than a few miles away. My father used to have a cabin about five miles
upriver. I was born there."

I know that my surprise must have shown on my face.

She smiled.

"You are wondering why I speak English?"

I nodded.

"I'm married to an Englishman." She laughed then. "Not an Englishman, really. He is a Scotsman. He was raised from childhood by a
Swedish family. At one time he went to a French school, he was
apprenticed under a German, and he speaks three Indian dialects-but
his mother tongue is English."

"My," I said, thinking about McLain with new respect. I had wondered why he didn't speak with a Scottish accent. His sister did not
have one either, come to think of it. "My," I said again. "Does he speak
all of those languages?"

"Some French, some Swedish, some German, and much Indian."
She said it with pride.

"But that still doesn't explain your English."

She looked at me as though she thought I should have understood,
and perhaps I should have. "If my husband can speak seven languages,"
she said, "it seemed that at least I should be able to learn his."

I nodded. What spirit the young woman had.

"And how did you learn?" I persisted, feeling very at ease with her.

"Books. When he saw that I was really interested, he got me books;
and he helped me. In the long winter evenings, we would read to one
another and he would correct my pronunciation and help me with the
new words. I love English. I love reading books. I wish my people had
all these wonderful stories to read to their children."

Excitement filled me. "Have you ever thought of writing the stories
for them? You know, putting the Indian stories down on paper for the
children to read."

"None of them can read," she said very sadly.

"But we could teach them," I was quick to cut in.

She smiled, and her smile looked resigned and pitiful.

"They do not wish to learn. It takes work. They would rather
play."

"Are you sure?" I asked incredulously.

"I'm sure. I have tried." She looked older then. Older and a bit
tired.

"I'll help you. We can try again."

A new spark came to her eyes. "Would you? Would you care
enough to really try?"

"Oh, yes. I've just been aching to get going, but Wynn said that I
should wait. That I shouldn't go rushing in. I even brought some books
along so that I might-"

I stopped. I was getting carried quite away with it all.

She reached out and took my hand. "I thank you," she said sincerely. "I thank you for feeling that way. For caring. Maybe we can do
something."

"I'll show you my books and the things I have and-"

She stopped me. "Your husband is quite right, Mrs. Delaney. We mustn't rush into this unprepared. The Indian people have waited for
many generations for the chance to read and write. A few more weeks
or months will make little difference."

I supposed she was right. I swallowed my disappointment and
glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon, I discovered with
surprise.

"Oh, my," I said, "look at the time. I had no idea. I must go."

I stood quickly, placing my empty cup on the nearby small table.

"Thank you so much for the tea-and the visit. I enjoyed it so
much."

"I've enjoyed it, too. I do hope that you will come back again soon,
Mrs. Delaney."

"My name is Elizabeth," I told her. "Elizabeth, or Beth-you can
take your pick. I'd be pleased if you'd call me by my given name rather
than Mrs. Delaney."

She smiled. 'And my name, Elizabeth," she said, "is Nemelaneka.
When I married Ian, I thought he would like a wife with an English
name, so I spent days poring over books and finally found the name
Martha. `Martha,' I told him, `will be my name now.' `Why Martha?'
he asked me. And I said, `Because I think that Martha sounds nice. Is
there another name that you like better?' `Yes,' he said, `I like Nemelaneka, your Indian name.' So I stayed Nemelaneka, though Ian calls me
Nimmie."

"Ne-me-la-ne-ka," I repeated, one syllable at a time. "Nemelaneka,
that's a pretty name."

'And a very long and difficult one," laughed the woman. "Martha
would have been much easier to say and spell."

Just as I was taking my leave, Nemelaneka spoke softly. "Don't
judge poor Katherine too quickly," she said. "There is much sorrow
and hurt in her past. Maybe with love and understanding-" She
stopped and sighed. 'And time," she added. "It takes so much time,
but maybe with time she will overcome it."

I looked at her with wonder in my eyes but asked no questions. I
nodded, thanked her again, and hurried home after retrieving my shopping from the store.

No ladies came for tea that day. I had thought I would welcome a
day to myself, wondering at times how I was ever going to put a stop
to the daily visits; but now, with none of them coming, I found that I
really missed them. I fidgeted the entire afternoon away, not knowing
what to do with myself. Eventually, I laid aside the book I was trying
to read and decided to take a walk along the river.

I did not go far and I did not leave the riverbank since I was still
unsure of my directions.

It was a very pleasant day. The leaves had turned color and, mingled among the dark green of the evergreens, they made a lovely picture
of the neighboring hillsides.

The river rippled and sang as it hurried along. Occasionally I saw
a fish jump, and as I rounded one bend in the trail I saw a startled deer
leap for cover. I was enjoying this wilderness land. But Nimmie had
been right. I was lonesome at times as well.

I thought now about all the family I had left in Calgary and
Toronto. I thought, too, about my friends and school children at Pine
Springs. I wonder if the school has a new teacher? I certainly hoped so.
The children who had finally been able to start their education needed
the opportunity to continue.

I wished there was some way to learn what was going on back
home. I seemed so far removed from them all, so isolated. Why something terrible could happen to one of them and I would never know! The
thought frightened me, and I had to put it aside with great effort or it
would surely have overwhelmed me with depression.

I firmly chose to think of other things instead. It was easy to go
back to my visit with Nimmie. I was so glad to have found a kindred spirit. One who was just as concerned-no, more concerned-about
the need of schooling for the village children. I could hardly wait to
get something started, but I knew Nimmie and Wynn were right. One
must go slowly and do things properly.

Reluctantly, I turned my steps homeward again. I earnestly hoped
Wynn wouldn't be too late. I had so many feelings whirling around
inside, and I needed so much to be able to share them with someonesomeone who would listen and understand.

The day passed slowly. Dusk was falling and still Wynn had not
returned. I walked around the two rooms we called home, looking for
something to do but finding nothing that interested me.

I paced the outside path, back and forth, and tried to formulate in
my mind just where I would plant my next year's garden.

I stirred the supper stew and rearranged the plates on the table and
stirred the stew again.

I sat with a book near the flickering lamp and pretended to myself
that I was interested in the story.

Still I was restless and edgy. My agitation began to turn to anger.
Why did he have to be so late? Was the job really that important? Did
his work matter more than his wife? Was this dedication to his job
really necessary, or was he just putting in time, choosing to be late every
day?

My angry thoughts began to pile up, one on top of the other. Wynn
could have been home long ago had he chosen to be! I finally concluded.

It was now quite dark. Even Wynn had not expected to be that
late. My thoughts took a sudden turn. What ifsomething had happened?
What if he were lost? Or had had an accident? What if some deranged
trapper had shot him? Mounties were warned of this possibility. Suddenly I was worried-not just a little worried, but sick-worried. I was
sure something terrible had happened to my husband and here I sat
not knowing how or where to get help. What if he were lying out there
somewhere, wounded and dying, and I sat idly in my chair fumbling
with the pages of a book and fuming because he was late?

What could I do? I couldn't go looking for him. I'd never find my
way in the darkness. Why, I could barely find my way in the broad
daylight! Besides, I had no idea where Wynn had gone. What should I
do?

Indians! They were good at tracking. Didn't they have some sort of
sixth sense about such things? I didn't know any of the Indian men,
but I knew their wives. I would go to them for help.

I ran for my light shawl. I would go to the village and knock on
doors until I found someone.

Then I remembered the dogs. They were often untied at night
because the owners were not expecting anyone after dark. Out in the
darkness of the woods by our pathway, I searched the ground for a
heavy stick.

Footsteps on the path startled me. I swung around, my breath
caught in my throat, not sure what I would be facing.

"Elizabeth!" Wynn said in surprise. "Did you lose something?"

I wanted to run and throw myself into his arms but my embarrassment and my remembered anger stopped me. I wanted to cry that I
had been worried sick, but I feared that Wynn would think me silly. I
wanted to run to my bedroom and throw myself down on the bed and
cry away all my fear and frustration, but I did not want to be accused
of being a hysterical woman. I did not want to explain what I was
doing out in the tangled bush by the path in the darkness, and I would
not; so I simply said, rather sharply, "What took you so long? Supper
is a mess," and brushed past him into the kitchen.

Wynn said nothing more at the time. He ate the nearly ruined
supper and I pushed mine back and forth across my plate with my
fork.

Supper was a long and silent meal.

I had had so much to tell him, so much to talk about; and here we
sat in silence, neither of us saying anything. It was foolish, and well I
knew it.

I stole a glance at Wynn. He looked tired, more than I had ever
seen him before. It occurred to me that he might have things to talk
about, too. What had happened in his day? Were there things that he
wished to talk about?

Taking a deep breath, I decided I should lay aside my hurt pride
and ask him.

"You were very late," I began. "In fact, I was worried. Did something unexpected happen?"

Wynn looked up, relief in his eyes.

"A number of things," he answered. "Our boat got a leak, we were
charged by an angry bull moose, the trapper we went to see chose not
to be home and we had to search for him and we ended up bringing
him in handcuffs; and the Indian that I had taken along to act as my
guide took a nasty fall and had to practically be carried the last two
miles on my back."

I stared at Wynn in unbelief. Surely he was joking. But the look
on his face told me he was not.

"Oh, my," was all that I could say. "Oh, my."

Wynn smiled then. "Well, it's over," he said. "That's the only good
thing I can say about this day."

But it wasn't over.

We hadn't even finished our poor meal when there was a call from
outside our window. A man in the village had accidentally shot himself
in the leg while cleaning his gun and Wynn was needed to care for the
wound.