To the Bright Edge of the World

by Eowyn Ivey

  The forest has always had such an effect on my spirits, the moment slows until I can see the intricacies, bright and pure, like removing the back of a pocket watch to see the shining metal gears turning, turning.

  I thought I spied a humming bird’s nest in a spindly dogwood, and oh that would have been a lovely discovery. Since that day with Allen, they have become all the more precious to me. Yet through my field glasses I recognized it as only a paper wasp nest, tattered from winter’s wear.

  As I made my way back toward home, it was as if I had sprouted wings on my feet. It was a wondrous sensation, making my way down the hill, a breeze in my face, Mount Hood revealed in all its snowy glory, the Columbia River Valley spread before me in greens and blues, and I felt as if I could bound across the world in weightless leaps. For the first time since I lost our baby, I felt wholly alive.

  May 20

  Today Charlotte joined me on my excursion to look for nests, and though I did not expect to be so, I was glad for her company.

  When we set out, we waved hello to Mr MacGillivray, who is planting a row of maple trees along the lane in front of the General’s house.

  “See you’ve got your armed guard,” he said when he noticed the sling-shot at Charlotte’s side. “Always best to be prepared.”

  Charlotte’s disposition is much changed now, and she chatters along merrily, with little time for a breath. I have learned much about her family — that she has all brothers, several older and several younger, that her family is Irish but her mother named her Charlotte because “it doesn’t do anybody any good to be Irish in this country.”

  The girl is an observant scout and eager to learn. I have done my best to name those plant species I know, and have promised her that we will ask Mr MacGillivray to help us identify others. A few she knows by such muddled common names as bloody hearts, everlastin’ pearls, little baby twin lowers, and wolf’s mane, and each vivid name induces her to share an equally colorful story. A few short weeks ago I would not have imagined the need, but now and then I must gently ask Charlotte for quiet, so that I might hear the bird calls.

  When she is not asking about a type of tree or flower, Charlotte inquires more times than I can count, “But ma’am, what are we looking for?”

  A nesting bird to photograph, I say. Why a nest? It will provide a focus for the camera, a place that the bird is sure to return and, hopefully, sit still long enough to be photographed.

  All that I tell the girl is true enough, yet there is more: I seek a certain arrangement of light and shadow, a folding of lines and balance of weight so fine as to let me catch sight of something beyond reason. I can only pray that I will recognize it when it is before me.

  May 21

  Surely a baby’s spirit is a slight thing, with little consciousness or will, yet I sometimes feel its presence. It is not so morbid as it sounds, nothing like a phantom or ghastly haunting, but rather like an unexpected dappling of light.

  Perhaps I only conjure it out of lingering grief. Can an unborn child, which has never taken a breath or opened its eyes beyond the womb, be in possession of such a spirit?

  And if it is true, what Mother and her Society of Friends believe, that we are each inhabited by some bit of divine light, then upon death, how long before those particles dissipate entirely, becoming unrecognizable except as a part of some greater whole?

  I think my little one would like to perch, even for a moment, in that lovely space between light and wing, air and silence. If only I might create such a photograph.

  Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester

  May 22, 1885

  Welcome news! They have found their way to the village.

   — Ho hey there! came Samuelson’s shout.

  There he appeared, along with Boyd & the girl, none the worse for wear, escorted by two Midnooskies up the Trail River. The dog, Boyo, led the charge, to Pruitt’s annoyance. We had enticed the Lieutenant out of the hut for a dose of sunshine, so he sat cross-legged upon a boulder when the dog lunged into him, barked, lapped his face.

   — What’s this? Samuelson asked when he saw Tillman with babe in arms. — You work fast, soldier!

   — No, no. Not mine. Though that would make a more believable story than the one we’ll tell.

  We shared our news, though not all the gruesome details of the child’s birth. I concede, now the infant is washed & clothed, it is more appealing. It is much altered in this short time, too. It holds up its round head & watches everything keenly.

  We told of our stay so far with the tyone & his people, our disappointing attempts at communication.

  They, too, had their adventures. When they set up the Trail River in search of us, they followed our same mistaken route. How had they then found their way to us?

   — Lucky for us, you left a marker.

  Boyd untied his pack, took out the bundle of Pruitt’s books.

  The revelation brought new life to Pruitt. I thought for a moment he would be brought to tears, but instead he shook Boyd’s hand, thanked him repeatedly.

   — We were glad to see it in the tree, Boyd said. — From there we spied your tracks up the dirt slope. Once we got up on top of that ridge, we could make out the village.

  It seems that not long after we had parted company with them, they shot several tebay in the mountains, but lost one to the cliffs. As they carried the meat down the valley, they camped along a creek where they were happy to find ‘color’ in a few pans.

   — That’s not all, Boyd said with much emotion.

   — He believes he caught sight of his woman, Samuelson said.

   — I did, Colonel. Up high by those peaks, where we shot them tebay, I seen her wandering in the fog. I ran & called after her till I was hoarse, but she was too far off.

  They were reluctant to leave the creek, both for its gold prospects & Boyd’s attachment.

   — But we were wondering after you, Samuelson said. — It’s good to find you well.

  Just then, Boyo broke into a scrap with several of the village dogs, so our conversation was interrupted.

  Written record by Lieutenant Andrew Pruitt

  Meeting between Tyone Ceeth Hwya and Lieutenant Colonel Allen Forrester, translator William Samuelson

  Trail River

  May 23, 1885

   — Does he know a way through the mountains? We want to travel up the Wolverine River, over into the Tanana drainage.

   — Yes. Yes. You have told him that many times since you first came. He says he is not an old man who can’t hear. He knows where you want to go. You haven’t told him why.

   — That’s the way to our home.

   — It would be better to go back the way you came. He says the way through the mountains is not as good.

   — We are determined to go north. We would like to set out soon, so we will be home before winter.

   — If you want to be home, why did you come here?

   — Tell him the United States of America now owns this land. We bought it from the Russians. We need to know what is here. Now that we know, we can go home.

   — How can this be your home, if you and your family and tyones live someplace else?

   — This isn’t our home. We own the land. But it’s not our home. Our home is far away. Tell him I have a wife and child waiting for me. I want to see them. To do that, I have to get across these mountains.

   — You must have come for another reason. He says men don’t leave home unless they are after something. Is it fur? Slaves?

   — We came to see the country. That is all. Now it is time for us to go home. We need to know the way through the mountains. Will he guide us?

   — He doesn’t think so.

   — Why not? Could he at least give us some advice about the best way? He has been there many times, hasn’t he?

   — Maybe he has. Maybe not. He wonders why you soldiers are here. He wants to know if an arm
y follows you up the river.

   — Tell him there is no army coming. We want to leave him in peace.

   — He says you’ll run into trouble in the mountains. [I don’t know the word, Colonel. Think it’s something like a ghost or spirit of some kind.] He says you should go back down the Wolverine. It’s a lot farther to go over the mountains. You and your men were almost dead when they found you.

   — Tell him we will go, whether he guides us or not. It’s just a matter of what he gets out of it. We’ll pay him. Guns. Ammunition. Even if he’ll just tell us the best way. We think there’s a pass, above the north fork of the Wolverine. Is that the best way?

  [Here’s part of the deal, Colonel. He’s the middle man. He’s the only one trading goods between the Indians upcountry and whites downriver. He thinks you might be after his trade.]

   — Assure him. I have no interest in trading. We are just traveling through. Will he help us?

  [He doesn’t seem to have any more to say on that, Colonel.]

   — Tell him we are very grateful for his hospitality. He and his people have treated us very well. We could not be sure how they would welcome us.

   — If you had been Russian, they would have killed you.

   — Yes. I know there have been battles in the past.

   — It was long ago, before he was born.

   — Does he know about Ivashov and his men?

   — He knows that name.

   — Does he know why they were killed?

   — He has heard the stories of his people.

   — Tell him we have heard the stories only of their enemies. I would like to hear what his people say.

   — The Russians thought they could use his people like dogs. They were made to pull the Russians in sleds up the Wolverine River. The Russians slept while his people were not allowed to rest or eat, only pull the sleds. They also used whips on them. It was not good, so they killed the Russians.

   — What about Vasilyev?

   — That was later.

   — Tell him I have read Vasilyev’s account of his time with the Midnooskies. It did not seem like there was any trouble before he was killed.

   — They killed that man not because he was a bad man but because he was a Russian.

   — Vasilyev wrote that your people treated him well at first.

   — Yes. We did not want to kill him. He was respectful. He asked us questions about our way of living. He put these things down on his papers. After he was dead, we sent those papers back to his people with his body, so they would see that he had been a good man.

   — If he was good, why kill him?

   — The Man Who Flies said we must kill him or the Russians would keep coming. It would be the end of the people. The shaman was right. The Russians did not come back after that. We were left alone for many seasons. Most of us have never seen Red Beards before. Until you came.

   — The Man Who Flies? What can you tell us about him?

   — He is an old man. He wears a black hat. When he flies, he has black wings.

   — Tell him we think we have seen this old man, too.

   — He has always been the same, then, now.

   — Is he a friend or enemy?

   — Not one or the other. If a boy is hungry, he sees a rabbit, he kills it. If he isn’t hungry, maybe he chases it for fun. Or maybe he just watches it hop along the snow because it makes him happy to see the rabbit hop.

   — Why do you call him the Man Who Flies?

   — Because he flies.

   — Tell him I have never seen such a thing.

   — He has, when he was a small boy. Many winters ago his people were starving. The old people were dying. One day, the shaman with wings came. He said he would bring the people food. The next morning, all the snares had rabbits in them. The people had a feast that night. While everyone was singing, dancing, he says he saw the old man on top of a spruce tree. The shaman jumped into the air, flew to the next treetop, then the next, until he was gone.

   — Tell him we hear other stories, about his people. We hear that when they are starving, or when they kill an enemy, they eat the flesh of humans. Is that true?

   — Is that what your army believes?

   — It’s what we fear.

   — He says that’s good.

   — What is?

   — That your warriors are afraid.

   — But is it true?

  [He says he doesn’t have any more to say. Best leave that be, Colonel.]

   — Please tell him, I meant no offense. I have many other questions. Since we came to the Wolverine River, we have seen women who behave like geese. There is the baby we found in the woods. Can he explain these occurrences?

   — He doesn’t understand. You saw them, not him. How can he tell you again what your eyes already told you?

   — We are not accustomed to believing in mountain spirits or men who can fly.

   — He says he hears from the Indians downriver that your people catch light on paper so that you can see something that happened a long time ago or far away. You have boats that shoot fire, wooden boxes that sing.

   — Yes, that is all true.

   — He says he was a small boy when he first went over the mountains. He met the Wolverine People. He was frightened because he had heard many stories. Some of them were true. Some were not. That is always how it is with strangers.

   — Yes, I wanted to ask him about the people on the others side of the mountain. Will we find them friendly?

  [Colonel, he thinks I’m not translating right. He says either that or you aren’t very smart, because he answers the question, then you ask it again.]

   — Ask him then how long it will take us to reach the Tanana? Should we stay to the east or west side of the river as we travel up?

   — He wants to know why you carry a pack. If you are a tyone like him, why don’t your men carry your belongings for you?

   — Because I like to do my own work. Ask him why we aren’t permitted to leave when we want to?

   — He wonders why you ask this.

   — The other day I went up the hillside to get a clear view of the valley. His men stopped me. Why?

   — You were going the wrong direction to get to your home.

   — All right then, if we go the way we intend, over the mountains, how long will it take for us to get to the Tanana?

   — He doesn’t know because he isn’t a Red Beard. You might take longer, or go faster.

   — The servant who cares for Pruitt. Where did she come from?

   — She is not one of our people, but she has lived with us for several seasons. She is getting used to our ways.

   — His knife — it is made of a metal we call copper. We have seen your people with decorations made of gold, too. Does this metal come from these mountains?

   — Yes.

   — Where in the mountains?

   — He says he has never met a grown man who asks so many questions.

   — I apologize. There is much I don’t know.

   — That is why you ask so many questions?

   — Yes. [Is he getting ready to leave?] Please, just a few more. What about the salmon? They are an important food for your village, aren’t they? When are they coming?

  [That’s why they’re building their skin boats, Colonel. The salmon should be coming into the Wolverine any day now. They’re heading out in two, maybe three days.]

   — The entire village goes, then?

  [Every last one of them. The Wolverine is their summer ground.]

   — The tyone says you and your men can go along if you want, in their boats down the river to the Wolverine.

  Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester

  May 23, 1885

  Many questio
ns are still unanswered, yet I am glad to have at last talked with the tyone. He is an astute leader, with some humor & insight. It is remarkable to think he is probably not yet 20. In return, Samuelson says the tyone finds my character confounding — that I should be so old yet still ask so many questions, do the work of my men.

  I would have liked to have been more forthright with him. No army follows me directly up the Wolverine. Yet it will come eventually, in one form or another. I suspect it will be men of Samuelson & Boyd’s ilk who will clear the trail. Prospectors have incentive more than most.

  All I would offer the Midnooskies, however, is conjecture.

  The Mednovtsy invited me to visit their country. I told them, ‘I would be glad to come to you, but it is hard to get to your country. I am not a bird and do not have wings. Neither will have I energy and resources to cover on foot such a great distance. It will take two or three months to go through forests, tundras, and swamps and I will have to spend the same time in order to come back home. May those who wish to be baptized come to my place themselves.’

   — From Hegumen Nikolai, Travel Journal, July 1860,

  Through Orthodox Eyes

  Sophie Forrester

  Portland, Oregon

  May 22, 1885

  It is no chore to find Borax and methylated spirits in a city of this size, but then came hours of futile dashing about the city, sometimes in carriage, often by foot. Evelyn was indispensable in ways I did not predict. She is both bold and charming in her own way, so that while I managed to set against me every clerk I encountered, Evelyn would appear at my elbow with some bit of coquetry, and we would suddenly find ourselves being assisted, although the value of that assistance varied greatly.

  When I asked for “negative varnish,” one druggist teased that I would better benefit from a “positive varnish,” while another suggested I go back to my husband and have him write out the list more clearly so I might be able to make sense of it. A young boy left alone in charge at one shop was too humiliated to admit to me that he had no idea what I was talking about, so insisted that they were out of stock, of every single item on my list. I began to think that even with its half dozen druggists, Portland would fail me. Fortunately another customer in that shop was kind enough to direct us toward Redington’s. “He knows a thing or two about cameras,” the man said.