Dream Of Echoes

by Karen C. Webb

  I picked up the big Bowie knife and tried throwing it at the log. It had a very different feel and balance than the smaller knife. I wasn’t sure if I could even use it as a throwing knife, but I figured that, other than breaking the blade, it couldn’t hurt to try. After a few tries, I managed to get it to stick, now I just had to figure out what I had done. I tried it again, bringing the knife up by my head, blade pointing at the sky. I gave a flick of my wrist as I threw it and watched in amazement as it hit the mark. It had a razor sharp blade and a curved point, but it was pretty thick metal. It stuck pretty deep into the end of the log. I wondered what it would do with some precision and force behind it. I tried it over and over, hitting the mark more than missing. I practiced with both knives for an hour, stopping occasionally to feed my smoldering fire. It seemed as if I was improving more every day and if nothing else, I was enjoying learning how to throw the knives.

  I went down by the river and cut some small willows and carried them back to the yard and stripped the leaves from them. I found Kate’s piece of net we’d used for fishing and tied it around the willows, forming a big square. I took the rope we’d used to hang the deer and threaded it through the net, far enough down from the opening so I could pull it tight, closing off escape for any fish I might catch.

  Kate had lunch ready by then and I went inside. She had washed our other set of clothes and was using the benches for drying racks. We took our plates and sat on the floor in front of the fire to eat.

  “Mmm. Venison again. Good choice,” I joked.

  “You know we have to eat it before it spoils.”

  “I know. Do you know much about making jerky?”

  “You must remove all the moisture from the meat. And it may help to rub salt into it before smoking.”

  “Aah, I’ll try that. Would you mind keeping my fire smoking this afternoon while I go fishing?”

  “Sure John, I don’t mind.”

  “Are you okay?” She didn’t sound like her usual happy self.

  “Yes, I’m fine John Baker. Just a little tired maybe.”

  I felt her forehead with the back of my hand. “You’re a little warm. Maybe you should lie down and I’ll wait on the fishing.”

  “No, I’m fine. You go ahead.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  I pulled her to me and held her small body tight for a bit, her thin shoulders seemed even more thin than before, almost frail. “Maybe you’re working too hard. Why don’t you take it easy today?” I told her.

  “I will John.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me, her lips soft and warm.

  I went out the door and added a bit more wood to my fire. I strapped the two knives to my leg, picked up the fish net and headed to the river. I walked about half a mile before I found what I was looking for. The water was shallow and rapid here, moving quickly across the rocks. There was a large boulder sticking out of the water, it ran from the middle of the river down about ten feet, slanting in toward the bank. There was a deeper pool between the boulder and the bank. Perfect spot, I thought. I cut more of the willows and, wedging my net between the rock and the bank, I drove the willows into the muddy bottom to hold it in place. I drove another willow through the back side of the net to hold it upstream, then climbed out of the freezing water and sat on the bank, holding my rope. If my idea worked, when any fish swam through my net, I could pull the rope tight and trap them. I sat still for about an hour, holding my rope loosely as I gazed around. The absolute serenity of this place was so relaxing, I was feeling like kicking back for an afternoon nap. I could see a little ways into the cold, clean water. When two big salmon swam into my net, I could see their movement and the water swirled as they fought the net. I yanked my rope tight and started hauling it in as the weight of the fish pulled the willow sticks free. I got the two fish onto the bank and chopped their heads off and gutted them, leaving the remains behind for the wildlife. I put the fish back into the net and slung it over my shoulder for my hike back. I had forgotten to tie the big knife back on my leg and I didn’t want to set my fish down so I carried it in my hand.

  I had walked for a ways when I scared up a rabbit, it ran about twenty feet, where it froze as soon as I stopped. It was just in front of a dead log with a bunch of willows and undergrowth behind it. I knew if I took a step it would be gone. I brought the big knife up slowly, the blade pointing toward the sky, then quickly threw it. As I released the knife, the rabbit leaped as if it was going to jump over the log. The blade went all the way through it and stuck into the log. “Son of a bitch,” I said out loud. I could only stand and stare at the dead rabbit, pinned to the log. “Why couldn’t I have a camera… or video, that would be even better,” I mumbled as I pulled the knife from the log, unpinning the rabbit. Nobody back home would ever believe me, not that I expected to ever be able to tell them. I threw the rabbit into the net with the fish and continued on my way, whistling happily.

  Chapter 18

  “Look what I caught,” I yelled proudly when I threw open the cabin door.

  Kate was covered up in the bed, shivering, and I saw that the fire had gone out. I dropped my catch on the floor and ran to her. She was burning up with fever and moaning. I tore off a piece of the old sheet, soaked it in our drinking water bucket and placed it on her forehead. She hardly seemed to know I was there as she moaned from her pain and fever.

  “Kate,” I said softly. She opened her eyes and looked at me, but she quickly closed them again as she moaned softly.

  I rebuilt the fire and carried the fish and rabbit back outside. I worked quickly, worry for Kate making my stomach hurt. I didn’t know if she had a cold or flu or what, but I knew how sickness had claimed so many lives back in this time.

  I skinned the rabbit, washed it and cut it up for a stew. I brought a couple potatoes and an onion from the shed and added everything to the pot, hanging it over the fire. I hung the two fish up inside the shed, thinking I’d deal with them tomorrow when Kate felt better, hopefully. I took her a bowl of my stew and a hot cup of tea, but I couldn’t get much of either into her, although she seemed a little cooler now and more coherent.

  “Do you have any kind of medicine?” I asked her.

  “Laudanum.”

  “Laudanum? What the hell is that?”

  “It’s a tonic,” she answered, setting down her cup and dropping weakly back into the pillows.

  I searched around the cabin and found a dark brown bottle on a shelf in the kitchen. It said ‘tincture of opium’ and in smaller letters underneath, ‘Laudanum.’ It had a skull and crossbones in red under the words. Mother of God, what are these people taking? I carried it to her and she uncapped it and was about to take a swig when I stopped her. “Just a tiny sip,” I told her. “I don’t trust that shit.”

  She did as I asked and I put the bottle back on the shelf in the kitchen, out of her reach. If she overdosed on opium, it wasn’t like I could call 911.

  I took the bucket to the river and brought back more of the ice cold water. I dipped the piece of sheet in it and put it back on her head. She fell asleep again right away, whether from the fever or the harsh drug, I didn’t know.

  I sat up with her all night, changing the cloth every few minutes. She didn’t wake up all night, but she moaned in her sleep and tossed and turned, the fever burning her up from within and I knew it was probably causing aches and pains throughout her body.

  She seemed a little better by morning, her face was cooler and her eyes were brighter. I reheated my stew and she ate a small bowl.

  “It’s good,” she said, her voice quiet and hoarse.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better,” I said, brushing the blond hair back off her forehead. “I was worried about you. I hope it’s just one of those twenty-four hour bugs.” I sucked in a breath and cold chills ran down my back when I saw the red rash spreading from her hairline down to her neck. Just like the little boy at the mission, I thought. “I think y
ou might have the measles,” I said quietly as I caressed her arm and shoulder. “Do you know how to treat it?”

  “No. We have nothing except the Laudanum, anyway.”

  I sat with her until she drifted off, and then I went outside to my chores. The weather was cold and breezy and the sky was overcast with low-hanging clouds, but I got my fire going again anyway and continued smoking the strips of deer. It seemed to be working, however slowly. I worried for Kate as I worked, and I opened the door quietly every little bit to check on her, but she hadn’t stirred. From the stories we’d heard, and what I knew of these diseases wiping out so many of the Native Americans, I had an uneasy dread hanging over me like a shroud as I worked. If she got sicker and sicker, would I be able to help her? Or was the worst behind us? She had been much better this morning. She’ll be fine, I kept telling myself as I worked. I cut the fish into strips, rubbed salt across the meat and hung the strips on the rack over the fire.

  Then, I picked up the Bowie knife and practiced throwing it for a while, only missing occasionally. I seemed to have a bit of a knack for throwing knives and it was a hell of a lot better than having that damn musket blow up in my face. I was still thinking about my throw the day before with the rabbit, and feeling proud of myself, but worry for Kate overshadowed my glory.

  I removed the deer skin from the drying rack and took it inside. It seemed to have dried out thoroughly now. I sat down with it by the fire and examined it. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t going to become a soft buckskin shirt! It was much too stiff for that, but the tanning process seemed to have worked pretty well otherwise. I took the big knife and split the skin down the middle, wrapping one half around my foot and leg. I thought it might make some decent moccasins if I could figure out what I was doing. I pulled out Kate’s sewing kit and, choosing the largest needle and thickest thread, I began sewing the hide where the pieces came together on top of my foot. The leftover pieces I cut into strips to make more of the rawhide string.

  I stopped occasionally to feed my smoking fire outside. My fish seemed to be smoking pretty well, although it was kind of a funky smell coming off the smoke. Might work better with the proper wood for smoking, I thought.

  I finished sewing one moccasin together and tried it on; it came to just below my knee. It was a damned unattractive job, but it seemed like it would work. And God knows, I needed something better than her dead husband’s boots. Not only were they a little too big, but the soles were wearing completely through. The poor guy had already walked damn near two thousand miles by the time I got them.

  Kate woke up and I went over to her as she stirred, still wearing my one new moccasin. Her fever had flared again. I took her a drink of cold water and put the cold, wet rag back on her head. She was soaked with sweat and sick on her stomach and I could see more of the red rash spreading across her skin. Cold chills ran up my spine as I looked at her and I mumbled a bit of a prayer as I went to fetch the medicine. I gave her another small sip of the Laudanum and she soon slipped back into her fitful sleep. She moaned occasionally as the fever soared. I brought the bucket of cold water inside by the bed and kept soaking the rag in it, holding it on Kate’s face and neck.

  After a couple hours of it, she felt a little cooler to my touch and I went back to my chores. She had never awakened, but she seemed to be sleeping more comfortably.

  I went back out into the twilight to take the fish off the rack and hang them back in the shed. When I opened the door to go out, I saw my fire had long since died and there was a damn raccoon hanging from the rack and stealing my fish. “Get out of here,” I yelled as I ran out the door. That little dude jumped off the rack and took off before I could reach him, but he held on to the strip of salmon he’d stolen. “Little bugger,” I mumbled as I took the rest of the fish to the shed.

  I spent another hour making my second moccasin and then wore them out to the shed while I fetched deer and potatoes for a soup for Kate. They felt very comfortable after those stiff, oversize boots, but I could feel every stone and stick through the soles. I looked around in the dark for that little thief of a raccoon, but I didn’t see anything. I made sure to pull the door shut tight on the shed when I left. The last thing we needed was that little bandit stealing what food supplies we had.

  Kate woke up a while later and I was able to get her to eat a little soup and drink some cold water. “It’s good,” she said, her voice raspy with a sore, raw throat.

  “Can I make you a hot tea?” I offered as I held her hand and kissed her hot forehead.

  “No, just more Laudanum please,” she begged. I gave her another small sip, then returned the bottle to the shelf in the kitchen. “Where did you get those?” She croaked out when she saw my new moccasins.

  “I made them.” I posed for her, turning this way and that, and standing like a model on the runway, until she giggled through her pain.

  “Good job,” she said weakly, then she dropped back into the pillows and groaned softly. Her face was red from the fever and I could see the red rash spreading down her neck and onto her chest. It looked really ugly and my stomach churned as I stared at it. But what could I do to treat it? I remembered the salve she’d put on my feet when they were blistered and I went searching for it. I dug through her pack and finally found it, buried underneath her mother’s jewelry box. I took it back and applied some gently to her face and neck.

  “Oh, that feels better,” she mumbled. “It was itchy and burning, but that really helped.”

  “My poor little one,” I said as I touched her face tenderly and smoothed the hair back away from her forehead. “I wish there was more I could do for you. I would gladly take your sickness onto myself if I could.”

  “Thank you, John Baker. But I’ll be alright. I’m sure of it,” she lied.

  Chapter 19

  Kate had told John she was sure she’d be alright, but she wished she felt as confident as she’d sounded. She was sure it was the measles as she knew immigrants and Indians alike had been succumbing to the disease this season. She felt the fever burning her up from inside. It racked her body with pain and her head hurt horribly, although she didn’t tell any of that to John. She could feel blisters inside her mouth which made eating painful and her stomach was so nauseated, she really didn’t want to look at food anyway. Just sleep; she begged for sleep, the deep, dreamless sleep where she knew nothing nor felt nothing. The laudanum tonic at least seemed to help her sleep. Once again, as she felt the drug making her groggy, she thanked God for sending John to her. She just hoped she survived this illness, so that they might enjoy the rest of their lives together.

  Chapter 20

  I took the bucket to the river for more water and Kate was out by the time I got back. If nothing else, I think the Laudanum helped her to sleep more comfortably.

  I sat up with her most of the night again, keeping the cold rag on her head and bathing the ugly red rash. I didn’t know if what I was doing was helping or not. I so wished my mom were here. She would know just what to do. Kate’s fever seemed to be raging and the salve seemed to have made the rash uglier and redder. I had been up for most of two days and nights with her and I finally had to stretch out in front of the fire, sometime late in the dead of night. I got a little rest on the cold stone floor in front of the fire, but I was up instantly in the morning as Kate stirred and groaned. She seemed a little better again and her face felt cooler. I made her more soup and some hot tea, then I went outside when she drifted off to sleep again. I split more of the logs with the ax and practiced throwing both knives for a while. After a couple hours outside, I looked at the bottom of my new shoes. It seemed like the rocks weren’t bothering my feet as much and when I looked at them, the soles were crusted black with the dirt and getting stiffer the more I wore them. Hmm, guess that’s how they get the hard soles. Dirt.

  I took more of the deer and potatoes inside to make more soup for Kate and I cut off some steaks for myself. There wasn’t much left now; I was going to need to go
hunting again as soon as possible. At least for now, I still had the fish I’d caught. At least what was left after that damn little masked bandit stole what he wanted.

  When I went back inside, Kate was moaning and tossing in her blankets. Her fever was raging again and she seemed delirious when I reached her. She thought I was her father or her husband or someone. She said some stuff that didn’t make sense, but she hadn’t even opened her eyes. I tried putting the cold cloth on her head, but she kept pushing it off. She was shivering in the blankets, yet her skin felt like it was on fire. I tried for a while with the cold cloth and I even tried to get some of the Laudanum into her, but nothing worked. She seemed to be only getting warmer and warmer as her fever raged and she was so out of it, she didn’t even recognize me when she did open her eyes. Her face was red and her eyes were bloodshot as she stared right through me. I tried and tried with the cold cloth. Either she pushed it off with her delirious thrashing or, when I could keep it on her head, she was so hot the cloth grew warm almost instantly. I was so frustrated, and so scared for her, I gave up finally with the cloth and, throwing the blankets off her, I picked her up out of the bed as she fought me. I don’t know who she thought I was in her delirium, but she twisted in my arms and beat weakly at my chest with her small fists. I ignored her flailing fists and pitiful groans and carried her outside.

  Chapter 21

  I walked with her to the river, her small body so hot, it felt like my arms were burning where her skin touched me. It seemed like the fever was eating her from inside, like a fiery demon had taken over her body and was burning her alive. I waded right into the freezing water and sat down, holding her on my lap. I held her body down in the icy water for maybe ten minutes, only her head and shoulders above it. She had quit struggling and lapsed into unconsciousness as the ice-cold water purged the fire within her. I talked to God as I sat there, my legs going numb from the water. I prayed, I begged, I think I even cried a little, cause I was pretty damn sure I was about to lose her. She was just so small and limp in my arms. I put my ear on her chest, listening for a heartbeat. It was faint, but I could hear it. I shook her a little, trying to illicit a response. Nothing. Her face had gone from the fiery red to a ghostly pale and I’m not sure which scared me more. I carried her still form back to the house when she seemed cooler. She was so small and light, even soaking wet I don’t think she weighed over a hundred pounds. I talked to her, I touched her face, I even tried yelling at her and pinching her arm, but she responded to none of it. I stripped off her wet dress and wrapped her in the blankets. Her skin felt better to my touch now and her shivering had stopped, but she still hadn’t regained consciousness.