When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West)

by Janette Oke

  I tried hard not to let my feelings show, but it wasn’t easy, especially when I walked through the village and saw so many women who were with child. Why was it that I seemed to be the only one in the settlement who could not conceive?

  One beautiful warm summer day, I decided I would fix a picnic lunch and take Kip for a long walk on the riverbank. Wynn was out on patrol and I was restless and lonely. I had just made up my sandwiches when there was a light rap on my door. Nimmie entered, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t looked that well or that happy for months.

  “Guess what,” she said excitedly, but didn’t give me any time for a guess, “we’re going to have another baby!”

  I was happy for Nimmie, really I was, but at the same time my own heart felt a pang of disappointment. Here it was again! I was called on to share the happiness of another when she was given the very thing I longed for so desperately.

  I managed a smile and gave Nimmie a hug. I set aside my sandwiches and went to fix us some tea.

  “I can’t stay,” stated Nimmie. “I left Sonny with Ian. The little rascal will be pulling things off the shelves. He’s starting to walk now and is into everything. But I just couldn’t wait to tell you. I know you grieved for Nonita almost as much as I did. It was so hard to lose her, Elizabeth. I thought I just wouldn’t be able to bear it. And now God is sending me another child! I can hardly wait. This baby won’t take Nonita’s place, but it will fill a big emptiness in my heart.”

  It was the first Nimmie had really talked to me about losing Nonita. I knew that her heart ached, that she grieved. But she tried so hard to be brave. And now, as she said, the emptiness was about to be filled.

  My emptiness remained. I turned so that Nimmie would not spot my brimming eyes and trembling lips.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay for tea?” I finally managed.

  “I’ve got to get back.”

  She crossed the room to give me another hug, and I smiled and told her how happy I was for her, and then she was gone.

  I didn’t go for the picnic and walk after all. Instead, when Nimmie left I went to my bedroom. I cried for a long time before I was able to focus my thoughts and form words into prayer. My soul was still heavy when I finally pulled myself from the bed and went to wash my puffy face.

  I took Kip then and went to the garden. I had just pulled the few weeds left in the garden, but I searched on my knees for any strays and pulled them with a vengeance.

  When I returned to the house I still had not recovered from the heavy feeling in my heart. I prepared the same old supper meal I had been preparing for an eternity, it seemed. The same old blackflies and mosquitoes managed to find their way through any tiny chink in the cabin to plague me. The sunny day had turned cloudy and threatened rain. Wynn was late for supper and the meal sat at the back of the stove getting dry and disgusting. I was fighting hard to keep my emotions under control.

  When Wynn did get home and stopped to roughhouse with Kip and then came to greet me, I was rather distant and unresponsive.

  “Something wrong?” he asked me, and I struck out at the first thing that came to my mind.

  “How come the dog comes first?”

  Wynn looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked me. “When has the dog ever come first?”

  “Now! Always! You always greet him before you kiss me.”

  It was a very silly thing to say. It had never even occurred to me before, but in my present state it loomed like a thundercloud.

  Wynn took a moment to answer. Then he said, very softly and not accusingly at all, “That’s because I can’t get past him until I do. He’s always right there at the door—”

  I cut in, “And I’m not—is that what you’re saying? The dog thinks more of you than I do?”

  There was pain in Wynn’s eyes but he was not to be baited.

  “I’m sorry to be late, Elizabeth. I know it makes things hard for you.”

  I whirled around. “Do you think I care for a moment how hard and dry these old potatoes and carrots get? Or how cold and— and?” I dissolved in tears, turned from Wynn and ran to the bedroom.

  I heard Wynn dishing up his own supper. I heard Kip coaxing for a sample of his food and Wynn telling him not to beg at the table. I heard Kip lower his body to his rug in front of the fire. Then I heard Wynn clear the table and quietly wash up the dishes. Still he did not come to me. Instead he took Kip for a walk.

  They returned and I heard the complaint of the overstuffed chair as Wynn lowered himself into it. I heard his boots drop softly to the floor, one, two, and I knew Wynn hoped to be home for the night.

  He’ll come for his slippers now, I thought, and I turned my face to the wall and buried my head in my arms.

  Wynn did come to the bedroom, but he did not bother with his slippers. Instead, he took me in his arms and held me close. He made no comment and asked no questions; he just held me and let me cry.

  At last I was all cried out. Wynn kissed my tearstained face.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “It was silly,” I murmured into his shoulder. “I really don’t care if Kip—”

  “No, not that. About what’s really bothering you.”

  I played for time.

  “The supper?” I questioned.

  “Elizabeth,” said Wynn, “I’m sorry about the dog; I’m sorry I was late for supper. But I don’t think that is the real problem here. Something has been bothering you for days. I was hoping you would choose to share it with me, but you haven’t. Can we talk about it?”

  So it had shown.

  “I guess the winter was rather tough—”

  Wynn waited for me to go on but I didn’t. Finally he prompted me.

  “Are you saying you need a break?”

  “Sort of … I—”

  The silence between us seemed endless. Then Wynn spoke slowly, deliberately, “I can understand that, Elizabeth. I will see what I can do.”

  I jerked upright. “About what?” I demanded.

  “About getting you out—back to Calgary for a—”

  “I don’t want to go back to Calgary. Whatever made you think—?”

  “Well, Toronto then.”

  “Wynn, I don’t want to go out—anywhere. That’s not the problem.”

  “It’s not?”

  Poor Wynn. I had him totally confused. I looked at his anxious face, shaking my head slowly back and forth.

  “Then what is the problem?” he asked.

  “A baby.”

  “A baby? You mean you are going to have a baby?”

  “No!” I cried, and began weeping again. “That’s the problem. I want a baby—so much—we have been married for three years, and I still—” I broke off the sentence and threw myself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably.

  We spent a long time talking and praying together that night. Wynn wanted a family, too. He had prayed about it many times. He was sure I would make a great mother, and every time he watched me with a child he felt sorrow that it was not our child I was holding.

  “I still think you should get out for a bit,” he told me. “You need to get to a doctor in the city. Who knows—I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Wynn,” I said, “I don’t want to travel out with just anyone, not if you can’t go too.”

  “I wouldn’t send you with just anyone,” said Wynn. “It might take a while to make the arrangements, but I’ll work on it. Now and then Mounted Police personnel go through the area, or nearby. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  My heart was really not that much lighter, but it did help to have shared my pain with Wynn. He’d be working on it. Perhaps the answer was near at hand.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Waiting

  It seemed to me that fall came awfully early that year, but perhaps this was because I knew I would not be going out to Calgary yet. Winter could come quickly to the land and stay for a long time, and Wynn and I had already decided that once there was a chance of my b
eing caught in a winter storm when trying to get back to the settlement, I would not go. Now I would wait for spring and another year.

  Heaviness hung about me as I gathered my garden vegetables and started the school classes again.

  There were seven students now who were quite faithful. Wawasee still came—so that he could draw, but he now brought the younger members of the family, too. Jim Buck, my star pupil, rarely missed. Even teasing by the other boys did not keep him away. Two girls and a boy joined them. It really did seem like a school. They were learning well, and I was proud of them. As we got into the routine again, my despondency began to lift. My concern now was lack of material to take the youngsters further. I had to devise and make do. Wawasee’s drawing skills were a big help to me.

  I thought of Susie. I still missed her. News from her village told us that she and her family were doing well. Her mother was feeling much better and was able to care for her own family. I was pleased for them.

  The arrival of Ian’s fall supply train created great excitement and anticipation, especially for Wynn and me. It meant letters and news from the outside world.

  The news this year was not all good. The world was at war. This was hard for us to believe, tucked away as we were in our isolation. We pored over all the outdated papers that had been sent to us and tried to fit together the broken pieces of the world-affairs puzzle.

  The war was across the great ocean and shouldn’t have involved us, yet in one sense it did, for mankind cannot suffer anywhere without it bringing sorrow to other hearts. But the war was ours in another sense, too. Great Britain had joined the fight, and so would Canada if her troops were needed.

  I thought of my young brother Matthew and prayed the war would end quickly. He was almost old enough to join, and I feared he might consider it if the fighting continued.

  Most of the personal news was good. Julie was to be married— no, not the young officer with the Force; he had only been a friend. A young Calgary minister had won her hand and heart. Page after page was filled with her detailed description and her love and admiration for him. I was disappointed that I would miss Julie’s special occasion but I was so happy for her.

  Jon and Mary’s family were all well and happy and growing steadily. Kathleen wrote a letter all by herself, telling me of her interests at school and her new cat, Bubbles. William, now a teenager, was a sportsman, his favorite being football. Sarah, too, had grown up, proving to be quite a little seamstress under Mary’s skilled tutelage. She was also studying the violin. “Baby Elizabeth” was almost old enough to begin school, and was constantly reminding the family that she was not a baby anymore.

  Wynn’s mother had not been well. I saw the worry mirrored in Wynn’s eyes as he read the paragraph. However, Mary was quick to add, she did seem to be much better than she had been.

  The wagon trains with the winter supplies and the mail had hardly been unloaded when winter sailed in from the Northwest. We all settled in, knowing that life would not be easy for the next several months. The men left for the traplines, the women took up their sewing, and the children played as they could between their duties of carrying wood and water. My students were not exempt. They too had responsibilities that must be attended to as soon as morning class was over. Therefore I never assigned homework of any kind. Our few hours together in the morning would be all the studying they would have.

  Christmas, for a change, was a beautiful day. The temperature was cold, but the wind was not blowing and the sky was clear. We decided to go for a walk in the snow. Kip blocked the door, his tail wagging furiously as soon as he sensed that something out of the ordinary was happening. He wanted to be sure he would not be left behind.

  I did not pack a lunch. We had no way to keep it from freezing, and on such a chilly day a frozen sandwich would not be too enjoyable.

  We bundled up against the cold and laced on our snowshoes. I’m sure every member of our small village would have thought us extremely foolish to be setting off through the deep snow when we did not even need fuel or water.

  It was a beautiful walk. We saw several deer and admired their gracefulness. We did not need the meat, so they were in no danger from us. The beaver pond was almost totally iced over except for a small hole they somehow kept open. We did not see the beavers but it was obvious they had been around recently. Some young poplars were newly cut and the strange tracks, with the dragging tail, were clear in the fresh snow.

  We could tell it was getting chillier by the time we returned to the cabin. The warmth from the fires felt good as we removed our heavy outer things. I fixed us some hot chocolate and sandwiches. Then we curled up on the rug before the fire and read to one another.

  It was an enjoyable Christmas Day. Then I thought of the pleasure of having a little one sitting between us, but I pushed the thought aside. I would not let it spoil our time together. I’d try to be patient as I waited. It wouldn’t be long until spring and then Wynn could start trying to make arrangements for me to see a doctor in the city.

  One blustery March afternoon I welcomed Little Deer in for tea. She had not been over for some time, and when I saw her I understood why. She was large with child. Though she did not say so, restlessness and boredom with the waiting had driven her from her cabin. We talked in her native dialect—fortunately for me, fairly simple in structure. Now and then I still needed to search for a word, but I could converse quite freely with the women.

  “How soon—your baby?” I asked her.

  “Soon now—too long already,” was her answer. She sipped her tea.

  “How many now?” I asked.

  She held up her fingers, like a child. “This makes five—two gone, two stay, and this.”

  I understood. She had lost two children, had two at home and this would make three.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said, smiling.

  She looked a bit doubtful. “You like babies?” she asked.

  “I love babies,” I was quick to respond.

  “Then why you not have some?” The question was abrupt, direct, and Little Deer’s black eyes searched my face.

  Panicked, I stammered and searched for words. How could I answer her? What were the Indian words to tell her that God had not seen fit to bless me with a child—yet? That I needed to see the city doctor to find out what was wrong. What should I do? I was still trying to sort it all out when Little Deer spoke again.

  “When we do not have a baby, we go to Big Woman for good medicine. It make baby come.”

  My eyes must have opened wide and my mouth dropped open. Did the Indian people really have medicine to help with a pregnancy?

  “Does—does it really work?” I asked, forgetting myself and switching to English, then having to repeat it in Little Deer’s language.

  “Good,” she said with emphasis. “It work good. You get the medicine, pay Big Woman, you have a baby. Like that.” She gave a little wave of her hand to show just how easy it really was.

  My head was spinning. Surely—surely, there wouldn’t be any harm in paying Big Woman for a little medicine. If it didn’t work I wouldn’t be any worse off than I was now. It was likely some special herb. The Indian people knew of many good herbs to help all kinds of things. I would ask Nimmie.

  Now I was anxious for Little Deer to finish her tea and depart for home. I wanted to rush right down to Nimmie’s to find out about Big Woman’s special medicine. When I finally was able to get to the trading post, I tried hard not to be too eager. Very casually, I thought, I led the conversation around to the herbs of the Indian people, of which Nimmie was very knowledgeable. Then I said, as though it was of no special import, “Little Deer was in for tea this afternoon, and she said that Big Woman even has a medicine to help women conceive.”

  I waited, my heart thumping. Nimmie made no response.

  “Is it true?” I prompted her.

  “Partly,” said Nimmie.

  “What do you mean, partly?”

  “There’s a little ceremony
that goes with it.”

  “What kind of a ceremony?”

  “It’s a little song, or chant.”

  “Do you know the words?”

  “I don’t think anyone but Big Woman knows the words.”

  I wanted to ask more, but just then Sonny pulled the dish of cookies onto the floor before either of us could make a grab for it. Nimmie sat him in the corner and was cleaning up the mess when a strange look came over her face.

  “What is it?” I asked, worried that she might have hurt herself in some way.

  She straightened slowly.

  “They have been coming and going since noon. I think that it is time, Elizabeth.”

  I didn’t stop to ask her more but ran through the side door into the store. Ian went to get the midwife, and I ran back to assist Nimmie into bed.

  “I’ll take Sonny home with me,” I assured her. “Just as soon as Ian and the midwife get here.”

  She was one of the two in the village. When she arrived with Ian, I recognized her at once as Big Woman. She took over with a great deal of authority and assurance. I watched her as she set about making Nimmie comfortable. While she worked she talked to Nimmie in a soothing sing-songy voice. Was this what Nimmie meant by a chant? Her old face, lined with wrinkles, seemed to be void of all expression.

  I bundled up the small Sonny and bid Nimmie goodbye. I hoped it would not be long until we heard good news. I thought Nimmie was probably hoping for another little herb-gatherer, though she had not said.

  We had finished our supper when Ian came for Sonny, his face broad with a grin.

  “Another boy,” he beamed. “Alexander.” And I wondered if Nimmie shared his great joy. Then I decided that she certainly would. She would welcome whom God chose to send.

  How I envied Nimmie with her new son. There hadn’t been a chance to ask her if she had ever tried any of Big Woman’s medicine in her long years of waiting for a child. I wanted to ask her, yet I was hesitant.