The Snake River

by Win Blevins

  She would make her confession. She would say she had sinned with Billy Wells. She had lusted, and fallen to temptation. It was true—she had lusted, had sinned in her mind. If she hadn’t done everything they would understand by her words, that was their problem. She’d sinned, that was a fact. She would say so. A little deceptively.

  She would survive.

  She went past Mrs. Jick, who made a point of turning her back and not speaking, and past the children, who maintained an embarrassed silence, and found Dr. Full in the kitchen.

  “I must speak to you about the condition of my soul,” she said, almost stammering.

  “Of course,” he said gently.

  Dr. Full stepped outside onto the grass with her. The children weren’t right since Annie Lee died, he said, though Mrs. Jick helped out. Everything upset them, including his pastoral talks with members of his flock.

  Everything in his manner suggested Dr. Full was simply her minister, solicitous as ever about her spiritual well-being.

  Nevertheless, she told herself.

  She thought back to when she had first met him, she thirteen years old, he sixteen. He had always had this air of concern. It was expectation—demand—in the guise of concern. Impossible expectation. Meant to be impossible. He was her brother—even if he never admitted it—but the one thing she was sure of was that she would never be able to please him. She wondered for the millionth time what he wanted from her.

  Nevertheless.

  “Dr. Full, it is my decision that I must set myself back on the right road with my brothers and sisters here, and with God. I have come to state my willingness to do whatever is necessary.” She nearly choked on the words.

  Nevertheless, she told herself. In five years today wouldn’t matter.

  He considered, nodded his head a couple of times, finally asked mildly, “What do you suggest?”

  “I want to confess publicly and ask God’s forgiveness.” She wished she could put more contrition into her tone, be more placating. But it was enough that she was willing to do it. And she was. Whatever was necessary. It was that or give up everything.

  He looked at her for a long moment, studying her. At last his face softened. He stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry you’ve suffered so. The decision to shun you was painful, and not one of the deacons liked it. With great personal pleasure I will meet with them this noon and tell them of your change of heart.”

  He stepped back. Looked at her fondly, or his version of fondly. “Miss Jewel, I hope for your sake that your change of heart, which I thank God for, will be enough.”

  Good Christ, what else? No, he was just talking. And…nevertheless.

  “Please be here at noon. When I’ve prepared them, they may want to hear your repentance in your own words.”

  She inclined her head submissively.

  Flare woke late in the lean-to, after first light, and Sima’s borrowed blankets were empty. His gun and horse were gone. Back to Maggie’s, probably.

  Flare rolled out, sat, looked around. Fog lay gentle on the wide grasses of French Prairie.

  He felt a great void in his chest. No wife, no son.

  He wanted Sima, and he wanted him now. Or, goddamnit, he wanted to be rejected like the ass he was and be done with it. As Maggie had rejected him.

  Goddamnit!

  But Sima was surely at Maggie’s, and Flare didn’t want to see her again. Not yet, anyway. Too much heartache.

  He would go to the river and bathe. He liked to dunk himself in freezing rivers for as long as he could stand it and then give a banshee cry to relieve the tension and stay a bit longer and then go charging out and run around on the bank naked and roar like a grizzly. Satisfying, that was.

  There would be time enough to talk to Sima a little later. Maggie wouldn’t tell him.

  Sima was packed and headed out. He had no pack-mule, but few belongings. He could ride downstream with Flare and the horse herders, but he thought he’d go alone.

  He was damn mad. Furious. That stupid woman hating Shoshones, more prejudiced than a white person. Old man McDougal, so near dead he didn’t remember what love felt like.

  If he left right now, he’d beat the McDougals to Vancouver, and see Lisbeth there.

  He’d see Flare later, at Vancouver. And then his great adventure—Montreal, and his father.

  Surely on the way to Montreal they’d stop at the Red River settlements.

  He wasn’t taking any food away from the mission. He’d stop at French Prairie and ask Nicolelle for a little. One of the other Indian boys ran off home a month ago, and the mission folk called taking a little food along for sustenance stealing.

  White people had a way. Or mission people had a way.

  He had his foot in the stirrup when he thought. He had to say good-bye to Dr. Full. Surely he’d learned that much good manners from his grandmother. Regardless of how Sima felt now, the man had brought Sima to his village as a guest.

  Dr. Full paced, furious.

  “It doesn’t make any sense!” he shouted at Sima. “Hang out with Frenchies, who are bad as…? Roam the wilderness? What for?”

  Sima had told Dr. Full he was going to Vancouver to join a brigade, no more.

  He was sitting on a stump in front of Dr. Full’s cabin. He did not want to debate religion with Dr. Full. Sima’s mind wasn’t closed to white-man medicine. But he was beginning to think that while white men knew a lot about God—theology, they called it—they didn’t know God, directly, personally, intimately. They didn’t even have spirit helpers, like Owl.

  Dr. Full half squatted, put his hands on Sima’s shoulders, looked into the boy’s eyes, and said, “Don’t you see you can’t give up the progress you’ve made?”

  The boy just looked down at his knees. Dr. Full didn’t talk, he railed at you.

  Dr. Full turned away and went onto one knee. O Lord, he prayed silently, I’ve made mistakes. But I value this Indian boy. I value his soul. He’s heading away from redemption and into everlasting hell. Lord, he is only an Indian. Give him Your strength and light so that he sees now.

  Dr. Full got up, paced, didn’t look at Sima. He had to think. That damned McLoughlin. Unlike the other Christians, Dr. Full had thought him generous. Now Dr. Full knew better. McLoughlin secretly promised Sima a job in the spring. The offer dangling, all winter, tempting the boy. The man was an enemy of God and deserved unrelenting opposition, may God damn him to hell.

  Suddenly Samuel Full brought himself up short. He was skilled at listening to hidden meanings. Weren’t there some here?

  He turned gently to Sima. “Why else are you going? Aside from the job?”

  Sima hesitated. So there was more.

  “The brigade is going to the Red River settlements. From there I can go to Montreal.”

  “And why do you want to go to Montreal?”

  “I want to see the big world of white men,” said Sima.

  Dr. Full heard more hidden meanings. “Why else?”

  Sima shrugged.

  Dr. Full stared at him, demanding.

  “To find out who my father is,” said Sima. “The HBC has records there, Dr. McLoughlin says. They will tell.”

  Dr. Full considered.

  “Sima, have you enjoyed your time with us?”

  Sima considered and decided to say yes. Anything else would be rude. “Yes.”

  “Will you come back to live with us?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you think of our understanding of God?”

  “Your great stories from the Bible are very beautiful,” Sima said.

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “I see Spirit everywhere in the world, in everything.”

  Dr. Full heard well, and knew what the boy was not saying. “What do you not like about us?”

  Sima hesitated. Hesitated some more. “You make each other unhappy,” he said. “Much”—he banged his fists together like the word wasn’t en
ough—“fight.”

  “My friend, that comes not from our religion but from a lack of grace,” said Dr. Full.

  Sima gave a maybe-so shrug.

  “Sima, don’t you see it’s your heavenly father you need to find?”

  Maybe-so shrug.

  Dr. Full changed his tack. “My young friend, I can make you a better offer. As I said, we’ll send you East. Free. Place to live, free. Food, free. We’ll have someone check the Hudson’s Bay archives for you. Please.”

  Sima stared downward. He shook his head slightly. No.

  Damn it! Dr. Full considered most seriously. His last ammunition. All right, here goes.

  “Sima, I know who your father is.”

  Sima felt his chest rise.

  Dr. Full eyed him strangely, but Sima had not time for Dr. Full’s strangeness.

  “I have known all along.” Emphasizing the words now. “He made me promise not to tell.”

  Was this bastard telling the truth?

  “He didn’t want you to know.”

  Suddenly Sima knew. Over a high, whining scream out of the land of dream, he knew who his father was.

  Why, Flare? Why? Why?

  Sima waited, trembling.

  “The records will show that the Hudson’s Bay man who lived with your people in the winter of 1818 was Mr. O’Flaherty.”

  It was true. It was true. Why? Why?

  “If you feel unsure, ask Mr. O’Flaherty to show you his toes.” Dr. Full pointed at Sima’s moccasins and smiled.

  Toes…goddamn web feet…from his father. Sima wanted to vomit.

  He backed away. He started running.

  “Ask yourself what kind of man wouldn’t want his son to know,” called Dr. Full.

  Sima heard nothing but the scream inside his head.

  Miss Jewel had never been so anxious. Sitting on one of Dr. Full’s stumps, anxious, she’d wrung a handkerchief wet, and on a cool April day, soaked the armpits of her dress.

  It was Parky who finally came out of the meeting of deacons. He stumbled toward her like a man who’s lost a friend. “They want you,” he said curtly. He led her in with a tender hand on her elbow.

  It was Sheppers Smith, not Dr. Full, who asked the questions, like a lawyer at a hearing. He got to his feet and looked at the deacons like a jury. “The people have watched you close your heart to God, and to them. Why do you want to come back now?”

  She had her discipline in place. “I’ve had a change of heart,” she said with feeling.

  “How are we to see your change of heart?”

  “I want to open myself to the congregation. I want to confess before all that I sinned with Billy Wells.” To sin in your heart is the same as sinning outwardly, she reminded herself. In her heart she had sinned with Billy Wells. “I want to ask God’s forgiveness, and then live an open life before man and God.”

  Sheppers looked at the other deacons. They leaned forward, exchanging knowing glances, pleased. Miss Jewel was ashamed of herself.

  “Miss Jewel,” he went forward, “we have considered this most carefully. I’m personally touched by your repentance. The deacons are gladdened by it. We’re sure the congregation will be as accepting as we are, and we welcome you back in Christian love.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. I am afraid. I pray for God’s help.”

  God help me. The words are all true. Their meanings are lies.

  “But your acceptance as a member of a Christian community is not the only issue before us today.”

  What now? She felt herself going numb.

  “You came here as teacher of the lost children we are sent to save. The deacons of this church have suspended you from that position, and we have composed a letter to the mission board which certified you explaining our action.”

  He turned and looked down at her with an unreadable expression. “The truth is, we are not satisfied that you are the person for that responsibility. For reasons that have nothing to do with weakness of the flesh. I wonder whether we can also take care of this matter now.”

  She waited. There was nothing else to do.

  Had she lost all?

  Sheppers looked at Dr. Full with suppressed…what? This is what it means, she thought, that phrase “dancing on my grave.”

  “Our concern is that you are a poor example for the children you teach. Teachers imbue an understanding of life less by precept than by example.”

  He turned. He drew himself up. She saw he would hand down his verdict now. “It is the decision of this board of deacons that to reattain your position you must show a change of heart more substantial, and more difficult for you, than a confession of momentary straying.” He hesitated, apparently searching for words. “I’m sorry to say it, but you are willful, headstrong. You suffer from pride of intellect and will. Every Christian must cultivate submissiveness to God’s will. He must lose himself, that he may be found.”

  He came to her and looked down pointedly. “This is particularly true of a woman. God made woman to submit to man. We find you…lacking in submissiveness. Some of us would put it more strongly.”

  He whirled away from her, preaching now to the deacons. “Ordinarily, this would be a matter only for you, your husband”—here he paused and fixed her with an eye—“and the Lord God. Not a concern for this board.

  “However, we think you will unconsciously, and all too effectively, communicate your attitude of insubordination to the children. And that is unacceptable.

  “Do you have anything to say on your own behalf?” He kept his back turned to her.

  She asked softly, “What can I do to show you that it isn’t true?”

  Sheppers looked up and down the line of seated deacons, and lingeringly at Dr. Full. He turned back to Miss Jewel, and she was amazed at the look on his face. A man springing the trap. “Dr. Full is your pastor. You should counsel with him about that, and then pray about it.”

  As a body, the deacons stood up to leave.

  Sima ran up to his pony in a blind fury. He didn’t know whether to moan, sob, wail, shriek, or bellow. His pride in self-control—his Indian pride—kept his face a little straight. He had the reins and was into the saddle in one jump.

  Someone grabbed the reins.

  Flare.

  My goddamn father.

  Sima jerked at the reins. He wanted to be out of here. Anywhere. Away from my bastard of a father who denies me.

  Flare held the reins hard, and looked hard at Sima. His eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Sima,” said Flare, “I’m past due telling you something. I want to do it right now.”

  Sima kicked his horse. The pony lunged. Flare threw himself to the side, dragged the pony’s head along, held the horse.

  Flare stood, shook himself, and looked gravely at Sima.

  Sima jumped off the horse and ran.

  Flare took off after him, and to the devil with the horse.

  Over a log. Around a tree with a double trunk.

  Going hard—Flare began to wonder if a father could keep up with a grown son twenty years younger.

  Breath coming hard now.

  Sima jumped down the bank into the creek, splashed downstream fast.

  Flare ran along the top of the bank and gained a little. He would never gain enough.

  He had to try something. “Ow-w-w!” he hollered.

  Sima turned to look.

  Flare took another step and without breaking stride launched his body toward Sima.

  Crash of bodies. They fell down in a tangle. Came up sputtering and shaking water off.

  Flare threw one foot across Sima’s lap, hard.

  “Wait!” he said into Sima’s face. “Be quiet.”

  He reached with a hand and slipped the moccasin off his foot. Lying back into the water, he lifted the foot high. Spread the toes with his fingers.

  The toes were webbed.

  “I should have told you long ago,” said Flare.

  Suddenly hot tears choked him. “I-I-I am your father.
”

  He held his arms open.

  Sima leaned into his father’s arms.

  They sat in the creek and hugged and wept.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Her dear brother. She would have to persuade her brother, who had never acknowledged she was his sister, that her heart was obedient, malleable.

  She was now delivered up to the mercies of a man who had sought dominion over her for her entire life. And never gotten it. Until now.

  She shook her head slightly in wonder. Then she said softly to her Lord God that she would accept whatever he required of her, and looked up at Dr. Full.

  His face was full of…what? Tenderness, maybe. Tenderness, she hoped.

  She started to call him Samuel, but caught herself. “Dr. Full,” she said, “what are we going to do? The one thing in the world I want is to teach those children.”

  He nodded. He sat next to her, touched her gently on the wrist.

  “I think you know what the issue is,” he said. “Let us pray for God’s help in resolving it.” They knelt together.

  “I was scared to tell you,” said Flare. “I’m so ashamed. I was just plain scared.”

  They held each other at arm’s length and simply looked. After a while, Sima said, “Why?”

  “You said you hated your father.”

  Flare laughed out loud. “You said your father’s name was Hairy, H-a-i-r-y. All of us thought you were saying Harry, H-a-r-r-y.”

  He moved away and sat on a log. He laughed more, it was so dumb. “When I saw your toes and knew it was me, I was scared.”

  He looked up at Sima, standing over him. “You have reason to hate me.”

  Sima shook his head, fighting tears again.

  “I was ashamed. Ashamed I hadn’t been there every day for you. Ashamed I’d put you through all that pain.”

  Sima sat next to him. Flare said, “Most of all, I thought you’d curse me and kick me out of your life.”

  Sima put an arm around Flare’s shoulders.

  “I didn’t think I could stand that. I’d just found you.”

  Now Dr. Full seemed expansive, easy, generous.

  “The deacons are only half convinced you need more discipline,” he said. “Some of them think you only needed a husband, and some children to keep you busy.” He smiled sweetly at her. “I’m so grateful that you have accepted God’s gift of light to show you the way.”