by Janette Oke
But here was little Susie getting a warm hug. Would she understand it?
“Thank you, my girl,” Wynn was saying. And then he said a few words in the Indian dialect and Susie giggled. Wynn released her and put on his slippers. Susie’s eyes never left his face.
“Seeing as I didn’t have to walk all the way to the bedroom to get my slippers, there might be time for a short story before Elizabeth calls us for supper,” Wynn said with a nod toward the small stack of books.
Susie’s smile grew broader and she ran for her favorite. I inobtrusively postponed supper a little. Wynn lifted Susie up onto his knee and soon both of them were completely absorbed in the story. As I watched them, tears brimmed in my eyes. This was as it should be. This was what I wanted to give to Wynn—a child, a child of his own to love and care for and cuddle. Instinctively I had known Wynn would make a good father. I had been right. I could see it clearly now in the way that he held Susie.
We were a real family now. Wynn, me and Susie. There was a family feeling in our small cabin. We had been happy together, Wynn and I, but a child was what we needed to make our life complete.
I looked at Wynn and the little girl on his knee. Their eyes were riveted to the pages of the storybook. My heart sang a little song. I loved Susie so much and I knew with certainty that she loved me in return. It was such fun to romp through the snow, to make cookies, to teach her how to embroider, to help her make a rag doll … There were so many things we had done together in the short time since Susie had come to us. I thought ahead to all the things I still wanted to share with her.
And then a flash of insight shocked me back to reality.
I faced the fact that Susie would not be with us long. I would love to keep her. I knew Wynn would love to keep her. My heart ached as I formed the words, But she is not truly ours, though my mind cried out against the fact. She belonged to another family. I knew this would not change, nor would I change it if I could. Susie loved her family. Her family loved her. Ultimately she belonged with them.
I must daily remind myself of that and do nothing that would make it any harder for Susie when she returned to her own home. My deep love must protect her from my love. It seemed like a strange enigma, but I knew that it was true. It would be so easy to pretend Susie was mine. To take over her life. To try to make her white instead of Indian.
We would love her. We both would love her. But we—and especially I—must be conscious of who she was and preserve and keep that for her, at the same time expanding her world. It would not be easy, but I would try with all my heart.
Susie will eventually go home, I must always remember that. Perhaps by that time I would be expecting our own child. Susie would be deeply missed, but it would help to know that someone, some other little one, was on the way to fill the emptiness.
I waited for the story to end and then called them both for supper. We bowed our heads for the evening grace and Susie reached out for a hand from each of us, our custom when praying together.
I held the little hand in mine and said my own quiet prayer as Wynn prayed aloud. I prayed for Susie, our dear little girl. I would always think of her as ours. Uniquely ours. And yet not. I prayed that God would give me daily wisdom. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed for the salvation of her mother and family. Without that, Susie did not have much chance when she went back home.
My thinking changed as I sat there bowed in prayer. I saw clearly that if I wanted to affect Susie’s life for good, then I had to work with her whole family. I must do more. I must reach out. I needed God’s help and direction.
Wynn and I had a long talk that night after Susie went to bed. I told him how God had been speaking to me, and he held me close as I talked. I was right, he assured me. Susie’s world was not our world. We had to prepare her for a return to her own, whenever that time would be.
Our days changed, though outwardly our household routine stayed the same. Susie and I spent our time together. I always went with her to gather the wood and take it to her house. While we chatted I tried to learn much more about her people. When we went to her house I spent more time talking with her mother and the little boys. I dared to try the words Susie had been teaching me. Sometimes they did not come out right and Susie would giggle, but she would correct me, and I would go on.
I even spoke to the elderly couple, often sharing bits and pieces of my faith with them. I wanted them to understand, to come to know God. They listened politely but they did not yet question me further as I hoped and prayed they would.
At the end of the day when Wynn returned home, often weary from the day’s heavy demands, Kip would always meet him at the door; but now Susie was usually there too. Sometimes she jumped right in and got in on the roll on the floor. Then as Wynn took off his heavy boots, she would run to the bedroom for his slippers.
I made sure supper was not so rushed that there wasn’t time for the short story from a book, as Wynn and Susie cuddled in the big chair and he read to her. As much as she loved me, I felt that this was probably her favorite time of day.
We said our table grace in her Indian language. We wanted Susie to feel it was not “the white man’s God” we prayed to. He could be her God as well. And when we knelt together beside the small cot for her bedtime prayer at the end of the day, we again prayed in words Susie had learned in her cradle.
We were building together now, though Susie might have been unaware of it. We held her and loved her, cuddled and guided her, but all the time we did so, it was with a consciousness that we were preparing her, and ourselves, for that inevitable day when our paths would separate and we would again walk down different trails.
NINETEEN
Spring Returns
Because of Susie, our days were more than filled with good things to do. I still taught class, the two village boys joining Susie each morning.
Susie was now far more outgoing and talkative than most of the settlement children. I wondered if she would find it hard to fit in with the other children again, and feared a bit for her. For this reason I began to suggest that she take some time each day to share in the village games.
She did not hesitate. She went gladly and from my observations seemed to have no difficulty at all in getting back in with her friends.
One day I had sent Susie out to play and then decided to walk to the store for a few items I needed. That would give me time to have tea with Nimmie. We still had our weekly Bible studies together, and Susie always joined us, her eyes big with wonder at the things we read and discussed. She had already decided she wanted to give her heart to this Jesus who loved her enough to die for her; and together Nimmie and I explained the gospel and what it meant to follow Him. She was such a precious child, with such a simple faith.
But now I was looking forward to just talking of women’s things with Nimmie. She was already showing her pregnancy. Her two babies would not be too far apart in age. Funny, I thought, here is Nimmie, married for many years without children, and now she will be a mother twice, in such a short period of time. I smiled to myself. Perhaps that’s what God had in store for me. But I did hope that I didn’t have to wait as long as Nimmie had waited.
I drew near a cluster of children deeply absorbed in their play. They did not even turn to look at me as I walked by. They were seated on the snow, their eyes turned eastward, their faces intent. And then I spotted Susie. She was at the front of the group, holding up some old cue cards I had given her. She was the teacher, and they were the pupils. I stood still in astonishment. I could not believe my eyes.
“What’s this one?” I heard her clear voice ask.
Many hands went up eagerly. Susie pointed to a small girl.
“Fish,” said the child.
“Right,” said Susie, beaming her approval. “It’s fish.”
I shook my head to clear it. How come they would not attend my school, yet here they were? Then I began to laugh softly. Hadn’t Nimmie said so all the time? Teach one, they will teach others. Here
was Susie, in play, doing something I had been unable to do.
I must be sure she has more cards, I told myself and then hurried on to Nimmie’s. I could hardly wait to share this exciting news with her.
I had not done my usual chaffing and fussing about the coming of spring, and so it was rather a surprise to me when Wynn remarked one night, “I expect the ice to break in the river soon. The Indian men are expecting it to be quite a spectacle this year because of the deep freezing. They say you can watch it all from that high bluff east of the settlement. Are you interested?”
I looked at Wynn in astonishment, suddenly realizing that there truly was very little snow left around the village and that the Indian women were again out searching the nearby meadows for new growth for the cooking pots. I really had not given it much thought, my days and hours having been so taken with other things.
Susie was already jumping up and down, clapping her little hands together.
“Of course,” I answered. “But why this year? Why is it any different this time?” I wondered.
“We’ve had colder weather. The river is frozen deeper than usual. Some of the men even fear for the fish in some areas where the water is not too deep.”
I hadn’t even realized that the weather had been colder than usual.
“The warm weather has come more quickly,” went on Wynn. “Haven’t you noticed how quickly the snow disappeared? There may be flood problems this year.”
I stopped on my way to the stove, a pot in my hand. My eyes widened.
“Are we in—” I checked myself and glanced toward Susie. She was listening to every word. Wynn picked up my thought.
“There will be no danger for our village. We are high enough on the crest of this bluff, but some of the villages farther downstream might have difficulty.”
I still hadn’t made it to the stove with the cooking pot. “What can be done?” I asked Wynn.
“Ian and I and a couple of other men are going out tomorrow to look things over. We may ask some of them to move their belongings up onto higher ground. I hope they won’t resist this. A few of the older ones might remember when the river flooded before, about twenty-six years ago. It nearly wiped out a village at that time. Those who remember might be willing to move and lead the way for the others.”
Then Wynn abruptly changed his tone and the topic.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” he stated philosophically. “Susie, would you like to see the ice go out of the river?”
She answered him with an Indian word, one that showed joy and anticipation. He laughed and tousled her black hair.
“Then that settles it,” he said. “We’ll go.”
“When? When?” Susie jumped up and down in excitement.
“I’m not sure—just yet. Two men are watching the river. They will let us know when it is about to happen.”
“How can they tell?” Susie echoed my own unasked question. Wynn laughed.
“Well, I’m not too sure just how they tell. All I know is that they seem to know every time. They watch carefully for certain signs. They listen to the sound of the river and the ice. They know.”
“And they will tell us?” Susie wanted lots of assurance.
Wynn nodded his head.
“In time?” persisted Susie. “In time for us to get to the hill?”
Wynn smiled at her impatience.
“In plenty of time,” he assured her.
I continued to the stove with my pot and put it on, almost subconsciously passing a hand over the big iron firebox to test out its hottest spot. I then put in more wood and turned back to Wynn.
“I guess I was just expecting some more snowstorms,” I confessed. “I hadn’t really allowed myself to hope ‘spring’ yet.”
“I’m not saying that we won’t get another snow or two,” he cautioned, “but if it comes it shouldn’t last long. I think spring is here to stay.”
I turned to set the table and realized Susie had already put on the plates, the cups and the cutlery.
I reached a hand to her shoulder to thank her.
“Susie,” I said, “how would you like to learn how to plant your own garden?”
She turned shining eyes to me. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “Like Mrs. Ian?”
“Mrs. Ian” was the children’s name for Nimmie.
“Like Mrs. Ian,” I replied.
“She lets us taste her things sometimes,” added Susie. “If we promise not to steal when she’s not looking.”
Yes, Nimmie would call the act exactly what it was. No softpedalling it by giving it some lesser name.
“Indians don’t steal,” went on Susie seriously, “ ’cause we share everything. But to be polite we should ask. And if they are not looking and we take, and hide, that means to steal.”
“That’s right,” I agreed rather absently.
“An’ white folks don’t like stealers,” continued Susie. She cast a furtive glance at Wynn. “They lock people up.”
I knew she was identifying Wynn as the one who would do the “locking.”
Wynn looked up from pulling off his boots.
“We don’t lock up children,” he said rather firmly.
“You don’t?” Was it relief or doubt in Susie’s voice?
“No, we don’t,” said Wynn defensively.
I knew he was often irritated at being used as the boogeyman with so many children.
Susie stood quietly for a moment and then a twinkle entered her black eyes.
“Wait ’til I tell the rest,” she said. “We can do anything we want—”
But Wynn did not let her finish. Realizing even before I did that Susie was teasing him, he threw aside his heavy boot and with one off, one on, he was off after the young child. Susie ran shrieking, laughter making it hard for her to get away. There really wasn’t much room to run in our little cabin anyway, so after one trip around the table Wynn had caught her. Kip could not resist becoming involved in the tussle. I stood in my little spot in front of the stove, watching all the commotion and hoping the wild howls and barking would not carry all the way to the settlement. Our neighbors would wonder what in the world was going on.
“That’s enough,” I finally said, and motioned Kip to his corner.
“We’d better stop,” Wynn joked with Susie, “before Elizabeth sends us to a corner, too.”
Susie was panting lightly from the exertion. For a few minutes she was quiet as Wynn helped her up and deposited her on the cot.
Then she turned to him, her eyes big and questioning. “It’s not true, then, is it? You don’t lock children away so they never see their folks again?”
“You are right, Susie. We never lock children away.”
“Then what do you do if they be bad?”
“We talk to the mothers and fathers and try to get them to help their children be good. We talk to the children and tell them all the dangers of continuing to be bad. We don’t want children to grow up to be bad people. It makes everyone very sad. We don’t like to lock up people—not anyone. But sometimes we have to keep grown-ups who insist on being bad from hurting other people.”
Susie thought about this.
She nodded her little dark head, very serious now. “You’re like Jesus,” she said thoughtfully.
Wynn’s eyes widened. “Pardon me?”
“You’re like Jesus,” Susie said, more positively now that she had said the words out loud. “He doesn’t like it when people be bad either. An’ He doesn’t like to send them away—out of heaven. But it would spoil heaven for everybody else if He let bad people in there.”
Wynn said nothing, but his eyes looked misty as he reached out to tousle the little black head on his way to the bedroom for his slippers.
It was a clear, sunny day, and I had to admit as I took deep breaths of air that spring really was with us again. I eagerly looked forward to all the promises of another growing season. I loved the summer months in this beautiful land—if only there was some way to bypass the h
ordes of mosquitoes and blackflies. But even with them to torment me, I would cherish the summer months ahead.
The children played and the adults chatted on the bluff east of the village while we waited for the spectacular sight of the river breaking up. Ian and Wynn and the two men whom they took with them had already found that two villages would be in danger in case of flooding. They had talked with the people and urged them to leave their log cabins and move their belongings to higher ground. Some of the people had listened. Others insisted they were high enough to escape any rampaging river waters. Wynn had argued and explained as best he could, but a few had remained adamant. Finally Wynn had left them, after a promise that they would keep a man on guard to watch the river.
So now we waited on the brow of the hill, watching to see what would happen when the river threw off the heavy garments of winter and flung itself free from the icy restraints.
I smiled to myself. I felt all of us were just using this as an excuse to get away from the village and have a party on the hill. Some of us had even prepared picnic lunches for the occasion.
There was a happy hum all about me as people visited with one another. The shouts of the children rang out on the quiet of the day. They were thoroughly enjoying the outing.
It shows how short we are on entertainment, I said to myself, when we will all walk two miles to a hill to watch river ice break up.
And then there was a strange, eery hush. All heads turned toward the river, leaving sentences unfinished, hanging forgotten on the morning air.
I would never have believed that our quiet, placid river could react with such a wild, untamed frenzy, but as we watched she lifted her head with a defiance that both surprised and frightened me.
A low moan quickly turned into a thunderous roar, and then there was a cracking that shattered the air with its intensity. As the sound rent the stillness, huge blocks of ice were thrown many feet in the air and hurled forward. There was a shifting and grinding, and foam and angry waters began to whip the shores where the ice had been. I stared in silent amazement.
