by Janette Oke
Thankfully, we had plenty of wood, and the roaring flames soon had the stew simmering in the pot. I wished I had some fresh bread, but we had been rationing our dwindling flour supply. So instead I made some simple biscuits, nearly using up the last of the flour in the tin to do so. I had no shortening on hand except for rendered bear tallow. I did not enjoy the taste of it, but the biscuits would be as hard as rocks without it.
If only I had something special to celebrate this great occasion—the safe return of our friends, the coming of the food supplies. But I had nothing.
And then I remembered the one jar of blueberry preserves I had been hoarding on the top shelf for some special event. Well, this is a special event! I enthusiastically went for the blueberries.
Once I had my meal on to cook, the biscuits in the oven, and the table set, there was nothing more for me to do. I fidgeted about, walking the floor from the table to the stove, from the door to the window. I couldn’t see anything except shadowy movements in the light from open doors and small, dirt-clouded windows in the distant settlement yard. I knew the wagons were being moved about for unloading. I knew that not all the crates and boxes would be unloaded, for there was no place to store the contents, but a few of the supplies would be organized as quickly as possible so the people of the settlement would have access to them. Tomorrow would be a busy day indeed.
I turned from the window, put more wood in the fire to be sure the pot was kept boiling, and adjusted the dishes and the tableware for the fifth or sixth time. I felt like I was missing out on all the activity in the settlement. Kip must have felt the same way, sensing there was excitement beyond our closed door, for he crossed over to it and stood whining for me to let him out.
I had no sympathy for him. “If I can’t go, neither can you,” I said firmly. “I’m missing it all, too.”
Kip must have known from my voice that I would not let him go, for he whined once more, crossed back to his favorite place in front of the fireplace and lowered himself to the bear rug, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes.
I stirred the stew and pulled the kettle forward for hot water. I had no more tea or coffee. We had used the last of the tea for our Sunday dinner and had been out of coffee for a week or more. We would simply drink the hot water. It really wasn’t so bad.
At last I heard footsteps just outside the door, and ran to open it. Nimmie entered the room with her arms full of parcels, chattering as she came in.
“I knew you’d be anxious for your letters, and Mary said I must be sure that you got these parcels right away. The men are bringing the rest.”
I felt like Christmas had come with the spring! Dear Mary! I could hardly wait to see what she had sent. I reached for the parcels, prepared to begin tearing off wrappings immediately, and then checked myself. This was not just for me—it was for Wynn also. So instead of ripping away like a child, I squeezed the first parcel a bit, laid it on the nearby chair, and then took the remainder of the parcels from Nimmie and deposited them with the first.
“Wynn said to go ahead and open them,” Nimmie encouraged, seeming to read my mind.
“Are you sure?” It wasn’t that I doubted her word; it was just that I was so eager I was afraid to trust what I heard.
Nimmie laughed, silvery and soft. I had missed her lovely laugh. There had been so little laughter in the settlement in the past weeks. I hadn’t realized just how little until I listened to Nimmie now. Tears misted my eyes. Too much joy was happening too quickly.
I brushed at my eyes with my apron and reached for the first parcel. It was just for me, filled with new yard goods, toilet articles, and some pretty lacey underthings. I ran my hands over each item, feeling its newness and enjoying the fresh scent of something unworn and unwashed.
The next bundle was prepared by the children and contained special sweet treats. There were many things there that children love, but I will admit they looked awfully good to me as well. I couldn’t remember when I had eaten something just for the fun of savoring the taste. Each little gift was wrapped and identified. As I read each name, my eyes filled with tears again. There even was a lumpy-looking one from baby Elizabeth, and I knew she had had help. I was sure she had grown in the year I had been gone, but she was still a baby of only two.
The third parcel was from Mary again. It, too, was filled with treats, but of a different sort. There were spices and dried fruits, nuts and teas, vanilla, and a can of fresh coffee! Now the tears were really falling. I hadn’t tasted some of these things since leaving Calgary. How good they would be! I couldn’t express my delight, not even to Nimmie, but I was sure that she understood.
At last I picked up the packet of letters. I would wait to share them with Wynn. I fingered them, turning them over in my hands as I read the names on the envelopes. There was Mary’s neat handwriting, the firm script of brother Jon, childish printing from the children and even one in the careless but expressive dash of my sister Julie! I found it hard to wait, but I laid the letters down again.
Getting control of my emotions, I turned to Nimmie. “What would you like to drink with your supper,” I asked her, “fresh coffee or an exotic tea?”
Nimmie laughed again. “Well,” she answered, “since I have a feeling I might have had fresh coffee and exotic tea since you have, why don’t you choose?”
I smiled. “I will,” I said and took my time deliberating. I debated first over one item and then another, like a child in a candy shop. I was about to select a lemon tea when I thought of Wynn. I was sure, that given a choice, he would pick coffee, so I laid the tea aside and went to open the coffee can. I will never forget that first burst of fragrance—it hung in the air like a promise. I savored it, looking at Nimmie to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“We need to talk,” I said, breathing in the delicious smell of the coffee as I measured it carefully into the pot.
“We will,” Nimmie promised. “For as long as you want.”
Just then there was a scuffle of feet on the doorstep and Wynn and Ian entered, both men carrying a large crate on their shoulders.
“The family sent rations for the starving northerners,” quipped Wynn, but his tone gave away his heartfelt appreciation for their concern.
“Oh, Wynn!” was all I could say as I looked at the crate.
The men placed it on the floor against the wall. I finally came to my senses enough to offer warm water to Ian so he could wash for supper.
“Sure smells good,” Ian boomed out as he sniffed the air. “I get tired awfully fast of campfire cookin’.”
“It’s not much,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing a bit. “I hadn’t realized just how low our supplies were until I went to get our supper tonight. I don’t know how much further I could have stretched the little bit of food we have left.”
“Elizabeth has done a wonderful job of making do,” said Wynn, genuine pride in his voice. “She has always found something to go with the meat.”
I flushed even more at Wynn’s praise. In fact, we both knew that sometimes there had been precious little to go with the meat.
We gathered around our small table, and Wynn led us in prayer. His voice broke a little as he expressed his gratitude to our heavenly Father for getting the wagons to the settlement in time to prevent any real hardship. I was reminded again of the heavy responsibility Wynn had carried over the past months, with the welfare of so many lives on his shoulders.
We did enjoy our simple meal together. Even the beaver meat tasted better with the talk and laughter of friends. Nimmie exclaimed over the biscuits. “Bear tallow, isn’t it? I’ve really missed it—tastes so good.”
I laughed. I guess one’s preferences have a lot to do with one’s background.
After the meal the men announced that there were a few more things to be done in the settlement. Wynn lit the lantern and they left, leaving Nimmie and me to clear the table. Without even discussing it, we hurried through the dishes. We were both anxious for that long talk.
&nbs
p; At last we settled ourselves. I hadn’t yet read our letters, but I still wanted to wait for Wynn. For now I would relish all that Nimmie could tell me about the outside world. In some ways it seemed forever, and yet just yesterday, that I had made the trip by train, barge and wagon over the same trail Nimmie had just traveled.
I really couldn’t think where to begin with all my questions. Then I remembered it was Nimmie’s first trip “out,” away from the settlement. “Well,” I said, “what did you think of it all?”
“It was even beyond the books—the feel, the sounds, the big buildings,” said Nimmie, her voice filled with excitement, her hands shaping the tall structures as she spoke. “I could not believe that such things really existed. It was all so different—so new.”
I looked at Nimmie’s shining eyes. I knew she had enjoyed her time out. I wished I could have been with her to show it all to her myself.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” I spoke softly, remembering so many things, feeling that Nimmie, like me, was already missing the outside world with a hollow ache in her heart.
“Did you hate to come back?” I finally asked, hesitantly.
Nimmie’s eyes widened, then softened as she spoke slowly, guardedly, “I loved seeing your world. It truly was fascinating. But as the days and weeks went by, I was so homesick for the rivers, the forests, I could hardly wait to come home.”
THREE
Catching Up
When Wynn and Ian returned from the last of the night’s duties, Wynn and I read the letters from home while Nimmie and Ian prepared floor-beds for the night.
Our letters confirmed that all of them were well. We were glad to hear that Jon’s business was growing, as were his children, and Mary was busy and happy as homemaker. We also learned that after returning home to Toronto, Julie had missed the West so much she had finally persuaded Father and Mother to allow her to return to Calgary in the care of brother Jon. She was now busy giving piano and voice lessons to young Calgary students.
When it came time to retire for the night, Wynn insisted that Nimmie share my bed rather than sleep on the floor, so after we bid our tired husbands good night we went to the bedroom to prepare for bed. We did not go right to sleep but talked until late into the night. There was so much to tell one another, so many questions on my mind. I wanted to hear all about what Nimmie had seen and heard in the outside world. I wanted to know all about my family members, the cities I had left behind, the happenings in the world, the fashions that the ladies were wearing—everything that I had been missing.
Nimmie was more than glad to fill me in, though some things that she shared with me were seen through different eyes than mine and thus with a different perspective.
I laughed as I listened to Nimmie’s frank appraisal of women’s fashions. To her the current wearing apparel was very cumbersome and impractical and, for all that matter, not really attractive either—certainly not attractive enough to be worth fussing over.
She had learned to love my family. Though Nimmie did not pretend to totally understand the ways of “the white woman,” Mary was kind and generous, and Nimmie could appreciate that characteristic in anyone.
The children in their open, candid way brought much delight to Nimmie. She was especially taken with young Elizabeth. Partly because she bore my name, partly because she was a delightful child, but mostly, admitted Nimmie, because she was still not much more than a baby and Nimmie was looking ahead to the delightful experience of having a child of her own.
I looked at Nimmie. There must have been envy in my eyes, for there certainly was envy in my heart.
“Oh, Nimmie!” I said. “I can hardly wait for your little one.” I guess part of what I meant was, I can hardly wait until it is my turn and I too have a little one, but until then I will gladly share in the joy that your little one brings you.
Nimmie must have understood my comment for exactly what it was. She looked at me and smiled.
“Soon it will be your turn, Elizabeth. Then our time together will be spent boasting about our babies.”
I smiled. I did so much hope that Nimmie was right. I wanted a child so badly.
“Did you see a doctor while you were out?” I asked.
“I really didn’t want to—I didn’t need to; but Ian was so insistent that I did see one to please him. Everything is just fine.”
“I’m glad.” I shrugged my shoulder slightly. “And I agree with Ian. I think it’s wise that you saw a doctor. Why take chances with the life of your child?”
“I don’t see it as ‘taking chances,’ ” stated Nimmie matter-of-factly. “My people have been having babies without doctors for many generations.”
I wanted to answer, Yes, and look at the mortality rate, but I bit my tongue.
“When is your baby due?” I asked instead.
“Do?” puzzled Nimmie.
“Yes, due?”
“Oh, yes, due,” said Nimmie, nodding as she realized my question. “That means when will it come. Mary asked me that, too. The doctor said that it would be the fifth day of August, but I told Ian that nobody tells a baby when to ‘due.’ A baby decides that for himself.”
Nimmie’s comment brought my pillow-smothered laughter. She was right, of course. The baby would decide for himself.
Our chatter turned to other things. Just as I had been anxious to hear about the outside world, Nimmie was every bit as interested in catching up on all that had happened in the settlement in their absence. I brought her up-to-date on all of our neighbors, though there really didn’t seem to be too much to tell. Our past months had been rather uneventful—and we thanked God for that. We could have had one tragedy after another, with the food supply so low. God had kept us, I realized even more as I related to Nimmie how things had gone in the time since the fire.
At last we agreed that we must get some rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day with both of us trying to get the small Lamuir cabin ready for occupancy. Reluctantly we said good night and let sleep claim us.
The next day, drippy and wet, had ushered in a storm which seemed to take perverse delight in making everything miserable for those who had so much to do in the settlement. The trails were muddy and slippery, and it was difficult just to walk about, let alone to carry goods or accomplish anything outside.
Nimmie and I made our soggy way to the little cabin. The one lone window had been broken out, and cracks in the chinking between the logs let in more than just light. Squirrels had wintered on the one small cupboard shelf, and the floor was covered with wood chips and litter. It was a dismal sight as far as I was concerned, and I was about to say so when Nimmie spoke. “This won’t take long!” her tone good-natured and enthusiastic. “We’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
I swallowed my protests and picked up the shovel we had brought with us.
My normal cleaning usually began with a pail of hot soapy water. That wasn’t possible here in Nimmie’s new dwelling. The walls were rough-hewn logs with mud chinking; the floor was hard-packed earth. Scrubbing would have only made mud puddles. Instead, we scraped and shoveled the clutter on the floor and carried it outside by the bucketful, disposing of it behind the cabin. Then Nimmie went to work mixing mud and handfuls of dried grasses. Normally she would have mixed the earth and water first, but the rain had saved her that trouble.
Her hands in mud almost to the elbow, Nimmie got right into the task. I did not envy her; it was hard enough for me to get my hands into bread dough.
When Nimmie was confident she had the right consistency, she began to carefully apply the mud pack to the gaps between the logs. She worked swiftly and skillfully, and I realized as I watched her that she had done such work before. In spite of my fastidiousness, I found myself almost wishing to try my hand at it. Somehow, Nimmie made it look like such a worthwhile skill.
“Would you like me to help?” I finally ventured, half hoping that Nimmie would agree, yet afraid she might.
“It will take me only a few minutes,” re
sponded Nimmie. “There is no use for us both to get all dirty.”
I went instead to clean the squirrel nest from the shelf.
Nimmie was still working on the logs when I left to prepare a noon meal for us. I sloshed my way through the ever-deepening puddles, hating every squishy step, especially when I slipped and almost fell down.
By the time I reached our cabin my shoes were covered with the heavy gumbo and my skirt hem was soggy and splashed with mud. I surely didn’t want to take it all with me into my clean house.
I could think of no way to rid myself of the mess, so reluctantly I opened the door and stepped in. I started with the messy shoes, getting my hands thoroughly mud-covered in the process. Now, how was I going to get out of the dress I was wearing? I should have thought ahead and removed my dress first.
It was too late to think of that. I wiped off my dirty hands near the already muddy hem of my dress, then attempted to lift the dripping mess over my head without dragging the mud over my face and hair. My face streaked with mud, I grumpily left the dress in a sodden heap by the door and headed for the bedroom, my wet feet leaving imprints on the wooden floor.
I felt a little better after I had washed my face and hands, put on a fresh dress and recombed my hair. I found a dry pair of shoes and went back to my kitchen to build the fire and prepare our meal.
I was glad for the heat of the fire. I hadn’t noticed it till then, but the cold rain and the early spring day was chilly—and so was I. Nimmie probably would be cold when she arrived as well. And the menfolk, working out in the rain all morning, would be chilled to the bone. We would be fortunate if no one caught a dreadful cold from the ordeal. I decided to have some hot soup ready for lunch.
The men were busy now preparing to uncrate and distribute much-needed supplies which had arrived with the McLains. If only there was a building big enough to hold all of it out of the rain.
