Heart of the Wilderness (17 page)

Still Kendra’s face did not relax or her eyes lose their look of fear.

“He won’t be at the cabin when we get there, you know,” her grandfather reminded her. “I left all the dogs with old Two Tooth.”

Kendra remembered. She was sorry she’d have to wait, but she knew that her grandfather could not have left the dogs at home with no one to care for them.

“When will we get them?” she asked softly.

“I’ll go for them first thing in the morning,” he promised.

She sighed. It would have to do. Then she turned and let one hand trail in the cold river water. She was very tired. It had been a long, long trip—but she would be so glad—so glad to be home.

True to his promise, George left early the next morning to go for the dogs. He was gone long before the sun had stirred itself from the night’s repose. Nonie silently entered the cabin and crossed to the bed. She stood and watched the child as she slept. She was so pale and thin. Nonie’s thoughts went to her medicine baskets. She knew the very thing to get Kendra well and strong again. She would make up the herbal tonics that night and bring them with her in the morning. She would be sure to put some in the stew and porridge each time she cooked. Soon Kendra would be running and smiling again.

Nonie let the two big tears that rolled down her withered cheeks go unheeded. To interfere with one’s tears might make the rain gods feel they had been slighted. Next spring they might hold back the rain. Nonie did not wish to risk their wrath.

Nonie crossed to the rocking chair near the fire and eased her body into its wooden embrace. The warmth from the open fire felt good on her chilled bones. It would not do to stir about. She would sit quietly while Kendra slept. The girl needed her rest.

Oscar bounded into the cabin, seeming to be well aware that Kendra had returned even before he reached her little corner bed with its mattress of fresh moss and spruce boughs. With an excited yip he pushed his nose against her and rooted at the covers that partially hid her face.

Before her eyes were even open, Kendra’s hand came up to clasp a handful of the long, silvery coat. Oscar licked at her cheek and her eyes opened wide.

“Oscar,” she squealed and bounded up to hug him and bury her face in his long hair.

Nonie rose from her chair. It was time to stir now. Time to put on the breakfast porridge. Time to carry on with life. Things were back to what they should be.

It took several days for the old way of life to be reestablished. George had to return to his traplines, and Nonie came to stay with Kendra. She was always there when Kendra awoke in the mornings and they spent their days together, sometimes chatting, sometimes silent, often taking their baskets and heading for the woods. Gradually a feeling of security and peace began to steal over the young girl. She began to eat again and put on the weight she had lost. She romped in the out-of-doors with Oscar or helped Nonie with the chores. The late autumn sun and cold fresh air flushed her cheeks and added vitality to her body. Kendra was at home again.

Chapter Fourteen

Plans

“I’m going to build onto the cabin,” George announced one morning while they shared their breakfast porridge.

Kendra lifted her head.

“You need your own room,” he went on. “On which side of the cabin would you like us to build?”

Kendra couldn’t keep the shine from her eyes.

“My very own room?” she asked him.

They were crowded in the small cabin. Especially since Kendra had so many books and school supplies to spread about.

“Your very own. This makeshift curtain stuff doesn’t work too well.”

It sounded too good to be true. Kendra took her time thinking about it. She wasn’t sure where the best place would be. If her room was to the east of the cabin, she could watch the morning sun, while on the west of the cabin, she could watch the sun set beyond the mountain range. The east was closer to the stream. On warm summer nights she would be able to open her window and listen to its laughter. Yet the west was closer to the groves of forest trees. The birds would be so close it would seem that their singing was with her in her room.

“I’ll—I’ll check,” said Kendra, going outside to walk slowly around the cabin.

At length she made up her mind. Her room would be built on the east. It was not a large room, but it was plenty big enough, with its own fireplace and two windows. Two windows, Kendra exulted. One that looked to the east and another that looked to the south. She could hardly believe her good fortune.

George made a built-in bunk, and Nonie and Kendra gathered the spruce boughs and soft moss for the mattress. George also built a simple table-desk close to the fireplace and put a number of shelves along one wall.

Kendra moved in all her books and lined them up so she could read the titles. It was so much nicer than having them in stacks on the floor.

Nonie gave her a large bearskin rug that she placed in front of the fireplace. She could picture herself curled up there on long winter evenings, her head bent over the pages of one of her books. It made a nice picture. Kendra felt contentment wash over her.

When Kendra was totally moved in and settled, she heaved a deep sigh, then turned to her grandfather, who stood studying the work of their hands. “You can visit me sometimes, Papa Mac,” she informed him generously.

He laughed heartily. “I’ll just be beyond the door,” he informed her.

Secure and happy, Kendra felt a world apart in her own place.

The year that Kendra turned eleven included a cold, damp summer. The garden did not produce as it should have. Even the berry trees in the nearby woods had been caught by a late frost so were producing little fruit. Nonie and Kendra tramped the trails gathering herbs and roots, but Kendra often saw Nonie lift her face toward the sky, fear filling her voice as she uttered words of pleading.

Nonie had ceased telling Kendra Indian tales. In a way she missed them. At times it had been frightening, knowing that one’s life was in the hands of the unseen spirits. Spirits that seemed so difficult to please. But Kendra knew her grandfather did not approve of the stories. He dismissed them as fairy tales and informed Kendra that they had no foundation of truth.

There were so many mysteries. So many unanswered questions. Something deep within Kendra longed for answers.

“If the Old One didn’t make the world, how did it all get here?” Kendra dared to ask her grandfather.

“There are theories,” he answered vaguely. Personally, George McMannus didn’t put much more stock in some of the usual theories than he did in the Indian tales. They didn’t quite add up to logical conclusions.

“What theories?” asked Kendra.

“I’ll get you a book on it the next time I am in the city,” the man replied. Kendra was impatient to study about the theories. Would they answer her burning questions? It was hard for her to wait. She knew that grandfather might not go to the city again for many months—or even years.

She nodded. She would have to accept her grandfather’s answer.

“What would you like for your birthday?” Her grandfather surprised her with his sudden change.

Kendra did not hesitate. She had been thinking of what she wanted. “I want to go with you on the trapline,” she said quickly.

“You want to—? Why?”

Kendra did not back down. “So I can learn to help you—with the traps and the skinning and the caring for the pelts.”

He looked thoughtful. He shook his head slowly. “The trapline is no place for a child,” he said, his voice soft.

“But I’m getting big now,” protested Kendra.

He smiled. She was getting tall for her age. But she was still a child.

“It gets pretty cold and stormy sometimes,” he went on.

“I won’t go on those days. Just the nice ones,” put in Kendra.

He thought for a moment longer. “We’ll see,” he said slowly.

“That isn’t a birthday gift,” protested Kendra. “ ‘We’ll see’ means maybe. A birthday gift has to be real.”

George chuckled softly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you—at least— at least three times. How’s that?”

It wasn’t all that Kendra had hoped for, but it had to be enough for now.

Word came from Maggie that Henry had passed away. George mourned his friend, but he was not able to make the long trip out for the funeral. He knew that the news should bring relief. Henry would not be suffering any longer. Maggie would not be driven to exhaustion caring for an invalid. But even so, even with his reason telling him that things were better now, he could not help but grieve. Maggie was going to be so lonely in the days ahead. He sat down and wrote her a long, long letter.