The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  Chapter 28

  This Man and the Wolves

  The Annishinabe and the Dakota fought hundreds of small skirmishes between their great battles for control of these forests for over a century. And just as the Iroquois tribes had driven the Annishinabe west, the Annishinabe slowly drove the Dakota from the forest to the plains.

  It was the dead of winter, near the end of their war. A small Dakota village sat in front of a cluster of trees in a valley where the dense forests of the northeast thinned at the first rough edges of the great central plains. The village of nine teepees looked east over a vast expanse of frozen lake. The only movement was the smoke drifting from each teepee.

  It was the moment of first light and no one was outside until a man emerged from his warmth, wrapped in a thick buffalo robe. He stood in front of his teepee and chanted a brief welcome to the rising sun, thanking the Great Creator for a new day.

  It was cold so he hurried and was ducking to return to his warm bed when he stopped, for he could just make out two, no, three dark shapes at the far end of the lake, the sun's first red bright glint behind them, distorting them.

  He called to his brother's teepee. He called a second time. The brother emerged, also wrapped in a buffalo robe.

  From so far away, in the horizon's dazzle of half-light and reflecting snow, they couldn't tell if it was men approaching or beasts crossing the frozen lake.

  The shapes weren't coming directly towards the village but perhaps were angling closer. One brother thought the figures were larger and thought they were far away, the other wondered if they were closer and smaller.

  “They are men. Then they are wolves.”

  They called out to others in their teepees. First an older boy emerged, then two more men. They were five big brown humps wrapped in their great thick buffalo-hide robes.

  “First they are wolves. Then they are men.”

  Each of the men returned to his teepee and came back wearing snow shoes, some carrying spears and clubs, others a bow in one hand and a couple of arrows in the other.

  The shapes came closer.

  “They are wolves.”

  The snow on the lake was deep and freshly fallen, so even with their wide paws it appeared the wolves were struggling as they crossed the lake.

  A grin broke out on the face of the older boy, and he gave a soft morning whoop. He shifted his buffalo robe up over his head and stumbled through the snow as an old dying buffalo might, moving across the lake towards the wolves, his short spear hidden at his side, his breath frosting the air.

  The wolves stopped.

  The boy moved closer, excited the wolves hadn't retreated, hoping to get close enough to create a show, expecting they would turn and run when they realized they were approaching a village.

  Instead the wolves jumped up into the air and tossed their wolf hides aside and three Annishinabe warriors were revealed. One was cocking his flintlock, the others held theirs ready but watched as the first took aim at the Dakota who had flung off his buffalo robe.

  As soon as the wolf disguises were discarded, the men of the Dakota village were in action. One man ran to the teepees to alert everyone. The others threw aside their robes and ran out on the lake to rescue their own.

  Those running to rescue lost but a half step as the musket barked and the shot struck the Dakota in the stomach, knocking him on his back, his arms and legs flailing, the explosion rolling through the valley and back again. The first from the village ran on as an Annishinabe raised and aimed his flintlock, but there was no more than a flash in the pan and he flipped the misfired gun to use it as a club when the Dakota rushed in behind his battle ax.

  Another shot was fired wild, and as the echoes died the chilling yells of attacking Annishinabe were heard from behind the Dakota from their village. They turned to the cries of their families telling them they'd been lured from the main thrust of the attack and ran back to their village and families.

  An Annishinabe had reloaded his flintlock, aimed at the closest Dakota running back to his family, and fired. The Dakota was hit between the shoulder blades and fell forward in a spray of snow, his legs kicking up over his head.

  The Annishinabe gave chase to the two Dakota men running back to their village where now their teepees were burning.

  The raid was already over as quickly as it began. Dakota women and their children ran from danger into the woods as the fires set to flush them from their teepees and then destroy the village grew stronger.

  The leader of the raid called to his two companions to stop. He saw that the fire's heat was so fierce now that the rest of his raiding party was already retreating.

  Soon the whole village was consumed in flames.

  When they returned to the two Dakota, bleeding out the last of their lives in the snow, This Man watched as the Annishinabe kneeled next to them. “We have spoken our claim. These hunting lands are ours. Now you will believe us.” Their scalps were cut from their skulls, their magic snatched from their necks.

  The Annishinabe warriors gathered their wolf hides and crossed the lake into the trees where they met the rest of the raiding party to head back to their village in the forests in the east.

  This Man went with them.

  Chapter 29

  The Dissenter

  Dutch had taxied the Norseman out of the cove and was readying for takeoff, Maureen in the co-pilot's chair, and Simon on a bench seat in the fuselage.

  “Hold on a second, Dutch.”

  Maureen unfastened her seat belt and stepped back between the two seats, smiling at Simon.

  “Go sit up there with Dutch. You'll get the best view of what we're tryin' to save.”

  “No, not the best view.”

  “A lovely view then.”

  “Yes, a lovely view.”

  Maureen had been reading the report over and again since she first got it, and she was reading it when Dutch called her forward. He was flying over the rapids and heading south, down the River channel.

  “Around this bend, there's a bit of a point, then there will be a shallow cove… Right there, that little cove, that's where they camped. And it won't take long before you can see the new highway. It's off to the south and to the east, that's where they plan on connecting. You'll see it's really quite a good distance from Innish Cove.”

  Joe Loon took Kevin and Brian trolling for walleyes off a sharp rocky point. They caught a few, though nothing bigger than a couple of pounds. Kevin missed a strike, reeled in to check his bait, then turned to Brian to continue their conversation about running a fishing camp.

  “So with a substantial capital investment up front, it becomes all about occupancy rates.”

  “We figured it would be at best 30 percent this year, an' it hasn't been, it's just over 20 percent. So even if it improves fast, we figure we don't have the capital for anymore improvements for a season or two.” Brian felt a nibble, waited for another, and set the hook. “Everythin' costs more than you'd expect. I sure never expected solicitor's fees could mount up so.”

  “So along with investing capital to build, you're needing capital to cover running the place at a loss the first year or two, until occupancy rates do move up.”

  “The good news is every guest reserved a trip for next summer before they left, an' most of 'em say they'll be talkin' it up with friends, so they may be addin' even more to their groups over the winter. Maureen projects it out a couple of years an' shows how your growth creates more growth. It compounds itself, she said. It'll be a tight financial situation for us next year still, yeah, but I think we got it workin' right if we can keep the mill from feckin' it up.”

  They were unloading at the dock at the end of the day's fishing when Kevin said, “I'd love to stay another day, but I do have to return to selling fiddles. What's my chances of getting out of here very first thing in the morning?”

  “We've guests comin' in by ten. We'll send you back with Dutch.”

  The next morning, Brian and Kevin wai
ted on the dock as the Norseman taxied up. Brian and Albert caught her and tied her down. They unloaded the guests, four fishing companions, and Albert led them to their cabins. Brian promised to meet them there as soon as he saw the plane off. Kevin put his hand on Brian's shoulder as they shook hands.

  “That bit of Eden you promised us that night we all met, Brian; I believe you are making it come true.”

  “Celtic Christians say we're on the earth to help complete God's creation. Don't know I'm altogether interested in what the Romans have to say in the general course of a day, but the Irish Church, she got that one right, best I can tell.”

  “I'm already looking forward to my return.”

  “We'll be ready for you. Joe Loon an' Albert here will be scoutin' game the week before you come an' them rifles Maureen ordered should be here in another week, so they'll be sighted an' primed an' loaded for bear.”

  Dutch climbed down from the plane, asked Kevin if he'd enjoyed his trip, then handed Brian a telegram.

  “This came just as I was loading up.”

  It was from Ireland. Brian tore it open.

  “Speakin' of the Roman Church, it's from me eldest, the seminarian.”

  “And good news, I hope.”

  “Well, now listen to this. 'Brian. Am plannin' a visit. Stop. Please call St. Michael's for arrangements', and he gives me a number to call.”

  Knowing all but the worst details of Brian's exile and estrangement from his children, Dutch understood a visit from any one of Brian's children would be a great occasion, a cause for celebration.

  “That's great news, Brian. Kevin's becoming a bit of a good luck piece for you, eh?”

  Kevin smiled. “You'll be bringing half of Ireland over here before you're through.”

  “Dutch, can you plan on placin' the call in the mornin' an' then patchin' me in?”

  “Let me write down the number.”

  “Safe travels home, Kevin, an' Maureen an' I will be ready for you an' your boyos.”

  When Maureen and Simon arrived in Kingston, they searched out the offices of the biology department at the university. They found the secretary alone, and after a hushed conversation she agreed to talk again. On the second day, to Maureen's surprise, information was promised for the exchange of money. A dinner meeting was set up where the exchange would take place. Then Maureen took Simon shopping for new clothes.

  He stood on a tailor's footstool, nearly surrounded by the three-sided mirror and Maureen and the old tailor who was marking the blue suit Maureen picked out for Simon to wear.

  “We need it tonight.”

  “Alterations take three days.”

  “I started makin' my own clothes at ten. What I see needs to be done can be done in an hour.”

  “But I won't have that hour until Wednesday, or Tuesday at the earliest.”

  Maureen had the bill folded and ready, and she tucked it in the tailor's shirt pocket while he marked the cuffs.

  “I'm reckonin' on that bein' enough to help you find that hour today, even if it means stayin' over a bit. We have a dinner at eight, an' my friend here needs this suit for an important meetin' takin' place durin' the dinner.”

  The tailor pulled open his pocket to see the size of the bill, took a fresh look at his customer and his patron then smiled while he returned to marking with a chalk.

  “You can pick it up at six.”

  Maureen and Simon sat at a center table in the finest French restaurant in Kingston. Most of the patrons took a moment or two to look their way and some found it hard to look away. Some noticed Maureen's black hair and made the same initial mistake often made when Maureen was with the Ojibway, that she was aboriginal. Or, when they then noticed her bright blue eyes, that she was partly so. At more than one table they were the new topic of conversation, the beautiful woman and her handsome young Indian companion.

  Simon wore the dark blue suit with a fresh white dress shirt and silver tie. Before they returned to the hotel to dress, they found a store where Maureen bought Simon the blue paint he had requested. He painted a broad blue diagonal stripe across the tie.

  Before they left the fishing camp, Mathew gave Simon the head dressing he made for the trip. It was a single great grey owl feather, tagged by a ring of quill bits, and he was wearing it near the top of his head, just off center to the right.

  Maureen wore a blue evening dress with her mother's lace collar pinned in place.

  They had menus and water and were being served dinner rolls. Maureen showed Simon where the menu was in French and where it was in English, then touched his arm to get his attention, directing it to the woman across the room being led to their table by the maitre d'.

  The woman was showing her awe at her surroundings, and Maureen spoke softly to Simon.

  “That's her, and in the white man's world, a man of honor stands when a woman approaches his table. And wait for her to offer her hand to shake it… now… Good evenin' Doris, my that's a lovely color on you.”

  “Hello, Maureen. Is this Simon Fobister?”

  “Yes, mam. I thank you for joining us.”

  “Now isn't he the polite one?”

  It was a slightly-skewed smile that came to Doris' middle-aged face as she was cared for and attended to by the maitre d' who held her chair for her, then called over staff to fill her water glass while he unfolded her napkin.

  “Now that was just as lovely as you said it would be, Maureen…” Doris leaned forward and whispered, “… I'm surprised you have us sitting right out in the open like this.”

  “Don't lean over and whisper like that. I intend everythin' to be right out in the open.”

  Doris sat up straight but looked around nervously.

  “But what you have asked of me, if I were to do it, well you can see it's something I need to hide.”

  “First, sit back and relax and let's enjoy the loveliness about us. And then when you're comfortable I want you to scan the room, don't hurry, take your time, an' as you do, consider this. Some of these people have noticed us, an' some shoot a glance or two our way, an' some even study us. But none has a suspicious thought about us unless we give them one.”

  She gave Doris time to do as directed while she studied the menu.

  “However, when someone sees you whisperin', well you see, then they might decide it would be interestin' to try to hear what it is you are sayin'. Long ago, I came to an understandin' that the best place to hide somethin' is right out in the open where no one expects it to be.”

  Doris had been checking out the room, peeking out over her menu.

  “My goodness, you sound so practiced.”

  “You don't see anyone from the university.”

  “I don't, no.”

  “I wouldn't think so; this place is too expensive for professors' salaries, I'm sure.”

  Doris relaxed and began to read the menu. “The menu is in French.”

  Simon reached over to turn the page for her.

  “It's in English on the next page.”

  And Doris blushed.

  “I see… I've heard about this restaurant for years.” Doris took another glance around the room. “Some of them are looking at us, or at the two of you, anyway.”

  “Many consider this as fine as any of the French restaurants you'll find in Montreal.”

  Doris looked over her menu at Maureen.

  “It really is quite lovely.”

  “Then let's enjoy our evenin', shall we? How far you venture will always be your choice to make, but you are in the right place to do some defenseless people a great service, an' I could see that was important to you the first time I mentioned it.”

  Doris returned to her menu.

  “My Lord, it is expensive.”

  “No. It's very expensive.”

  “And this is what you're offering me, if I do what you ask. Slices of this?”

  “Ah, I'll bake you a whole loaf of it, if that's your heart's delight. Sometimes life does offer you adventure, Doris,
an' I'm invitin' you to join me in this one.”

  “Me, living an adventurous life. I never thought.”

  Simon turned to Doris again.

  “Long ago, the French asked my ancestors if they could live with us on the River. If they could live with us in our forests. When we said yes, they showed us ways to make our lives better. When they traded with us, it was good trade for our People. We were Brothers. Then the British drove the French away so they could take from us what is ours.”

  “Hear that, Doris? An' in all the movies isn't that the most romantic part, the one given to the French character? You give me the name of the dissenter, an' where he lives, or where I can approach him alone, an' it's like you're the romantic French hero carin' for Simon's people.”

  “He's a young professor, still new in the department. But I'm afraid you might be too late. The men from Abitibi, the men who contracted this research project, they were waiting in his office for him when he came back from lunch yesterday.”

  “What's his name?”

  Doris looked around the room again. She opened her purse in her lap, and under cover of the tablecloth removed an envelope. She tingled as she placed it in Simon's lap.

  “You'll find his name, his home address, and his direct phone number at the school. But also a copy of a department memo where he now states he has no scientific proof for his previous opinion… 'a line of speculation fueled by my curiosity' is what he called it in the memo.”

  “He wrote the memo?”

  “No, Dr. Harris, the department chair, wrote it, but Dr. Harris quotes him saying he was wrong.”

  Maureen had passed the breadbasket to Doris; she had slipped an envelope between the rolls, and Doris retrieved it.

  “He now says he has no scientific proof?”

  “That's right.”

  “That's his current position?”

  “Well, I'm betting the current position is that he's not permitted to have a public position on this, beyond what's in this memo.”

  “When was it written?”