Thanksgiving In Clover Springs

by Rachel Wesson

  “Like what?” Ellen was intrigued. She couldn’t imagine anyone buying meat from the store. Well, maybe Lawrence Shipley but even he liked to go out hunting on occasion.

  “I brought skins. Indian girl make moccasins to sell. Get money to pay.”

  “Asha is our guest. She doesn’t have to pay to stay here.” Ellen’s reprimand was ignored.

  “You need money to help more children when Father Molloy comes back. Take chance to make some now.”

  Ellen nodded, trying hard to hold back a smile. She didn’t want to insult the young man but it was amusing to be taught household economics by an Indian. Little Beaver must have sensed she was trying not to laugh as his tone was sterner.

  “Indian women know how to survive long cold winters. Tell her to make things for children too. Keep them warm.” Little Beaver pulled some more furs out of the wagon. On closer inspection they looked like rabbit skins. Ellen took a deep breath, trying hard not to swoon. Although a country girl, she had left home before becoming involved in hunting for food. Liam and her father had provided for the family if meat was needed. Samuel teased her about her inability to survive on a proper homestead where skinning rabbits and other animals was part of daily life.

  “Thank you, Little Beaver. Please leave them in the barn. Samuel will see to them,” Ellen gasped. Talking while trying to hold your nose so you couldn’t smell was hard.

  She didn’t miss the teasing glint in the brave’s eyes. Swatting him gently on the arm, she said. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You know I hate to see animal skins.”

  “Samuel said.”

  “Oh, you are worse than a child,” Ellen scolded, but her warm tone showed she was not annoyed.

  “Tell Asha where the skins are. She will make them into tops for little ones to wear. Keep them warm.” Little Beaver took Ellen’s hand, concern written all over his face. “Bad winter coming. Very bad. You must be prepared.”

  Ellen didn’t speak. She couldn’t, fear making her throat close up. She had read about winters so bad, people froze to death in their own homes. Stop being silly. You live in the center of town surrounded by capable men and women.

  “Saturday, I take Bertram into woods and cut down more wood. You need plenty.”

  “Bertram? Mrs. Shaw won’t agree to that.”

  “Mrs. Shaw think he is going to Sullivan ranch to check horses. Bertram think so too.” Little Beaver’s eyes glinted with pleasure.

  Ellen supposed he was glad to be getting the better of Mrs. Shaw. She didn’t blame him. The Shaw’s had caused a lot of trouble for the Indians in general but Little Beaver in particular. But as much as the Shaw boy deserved to put in a hard day’s labor, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

  “Be gentle with him. It is not his fault. His mother spoils him.”

  A fierce look told her Little Beaver didn’t agree.

  “Bertram old enough to be a man. In my tribe, he wouldn’t hide behind his mother’s skirts.”

  Ellen didn’t argue. It was pointless saying white men’s ways were different. She knew the brave wouldn’t let anything happen to Bertram. Who knows, maybe it would do the boy some good.

  “Hard work make him man sooner.” Little Beaver said in his usual broken English. Ellen had given up trying to correct him a long time ago. He made himself understood. That was all that mattered.

  Asha looked up from her work. Little Beaver was chopping wood for the orphanage. Samuel was helping him but his injuries meant he was much slower. Asha sensed Little Beaver was trying to do as much as he could without hurting the other man’s pride. She wondered at the friendship between these two men. They couldn’t be more different yet they were very close. Wilma had told her Little Beaver had helped save Samuel’s life by pulling him out of the fire. He was a good man. The other girls at the reservation had giggled about him often. There were many who would be content to share his blanket. She knew he had once spoken to her father but her father was against the match. In his eyes, Little Beaver had betrayed his people by not joining them in the reservation. Asha had thought that too but now she could see why the Indian had chosen the white man’s world. Clover Springs was a special place. Most of the people she’d met were friendly. They didn’t seem to mind she was an Indian. There were some who did. The loud man with the big belly. His small squinty eyes made her distrust him. She retreated to her room when he had visited the orphanage one day. He didn’t stay long. Wilma and Ellen didn’t like him. She didn’t understand what they spoke about but the women’s facial expressions and tone of speech were full of disdain. She had watched him ride down the road. He treated his horse badly. A man with a good heart was careful of his animals.

  Like Little Beaver. Her thoughts swung back to the Indian. He treated all animals with care and respect – even those he killed for food. He was kind to John and Rose, too, even when they stopped him getting things done by demanding he play with them. She hadn’t seen him lose his temper or raise his voice. Not since that day in the barn. But she deserved his disgust. She had betrayed her people. That was a fact despite her reasons.

  Little Beaver sensed he was being watched but he didn’t know how to approach Asha. He had behaved very badly telling her she betrayed her people. Knowing she had no choice made it worse. Breathing deeply, he tried to quell his temper. Every time he thought about the officer touching her, he wanted to kick something. He swung the axe harder and faster.

  “Stop showing off.” Samuel’s teasing didn’t improve his mood. He glowered at his friend but his reaction was only to laugh.

  “You need to go talk to her,” Samuel said as he tried stacking wood with his good hand.

  “Nothing to talk about,” Little Beaver grunted. It was true. He didn’t have a home to offer her. Anyway, two Indians wouldn’t be allowed to live peacefully in Clover Springs. Charlie Staunton and his friends had made their feelings clear on that subject.

  Chapter 17

  I am no use at all here. I can’t even cook. Asha muttered to herself as she gazed around the kitchen. At the reservation, she had a reputation as an excellent cook, but here she couldn’t even light the fire in the stove. It kept going out on her. She kicked it, ending up jumping around the kitchen in pain. Wilma burst out laughing.

  “Don’t you know that’s pure metal? You could’ve broken your toe. What’s wrong with you?’

  “I am no use.” Asha threw her arms up.

  “Nonsense. The children love having you here. You skin animals better than any of us and those mittens and other things you is making are bringing in some money. You are definitely not no use,” Wilma said. “You can’t expect to know how to use a modern stove like this one just by looking at it. Mrs. Higgins showed me and I can show you.”

  Wilma tied an apron around her middle before she started to prepare dinner.

  Asha watched closely as Wilma added wood to the fire. It was inside a box with a door.

  “See if you rattle the grate here, it lets the ash fall through to the box underneath. We got to empty that box every morning or more often if it needs it. Mr. Samuel uses the ashes on his crops. Says it’s the best thing for them,” Wilma explained as she worked.

  “But I can’t get the fire to stay lit,” Asha moaned.

  “That’s ’cause you didn’t open the damper. See the wood catches more quickly then.”

  Asha didn’t answer but continued to watch Wilma. I won’t ever be able to work this monster. Doesn’t matter, I won’t be here long enough to have too.

  With Wilma’s help, the meal was soon ready. Potatoes, string beans and carrots from the cellar with a skillet full of meat. There was a pan of cornbread too. Asha knew it was the children’s favorite.

  “Smells wonderful, Wilma. Thank you.” Ellen breezed into the kitchen with John and Rosa following behind.

  “Asha helped too, Miss Ellen. Soon she is going to be cooking us a feast on this here stove.”

  Asha’s cheeks reddened as all eyes turned to her. “I d
idn’t do anything. Wilma is being kind.”

  “You make us anything today, Miss Asha?” John asked. “Bertram Shaw said my gloves were for girls but that’s ’cause he wants a pair. He kept complaining his hands were cold.”

  “Maybe I can make for this boy too?”

  Samuel entered the kitchen in time to hear that comment and his laughter rang out louder than everyone.

  “What? I said something funny?” Asha protested. She hated not being able to speak English better.

  “No, Asha, not at all. Excuse our manners. Bertram Shaw’s mother would have a fit if she saw her precious child in Indian clothes. It was the idea of her face that had us laughing.”

  Asha shrugged. She didn’t understand these people but they weren’t making fun of her. So it was okay.

  “Wilma, Asha, thank you for the lovely food. My gorgeous wife has yet to master the art of cooking,” Samuel said, ducking as Ellen tried to hit him with a napkin.

  “You watch your tongue, Mr. Samuel, or you be eating in the yard,” Wilma said, her voice quivering with laughter.

  Asha was surprised to find herself enjoying the meal. She liked these people. They didn’t care she was Indian or she was pregnant with no man. She brushed away a tear. She never cried.

  “Asha, you look done in. Why don’t you go inside to the fireplace? Paul Kelley made us some fine rocking chairs. I find them soothing when I am troubled,” Ellen said, standing up. “Wilma, you go with her. The children and I will clean up.”

  Asha looked at Ellen in gratitude before walking slowly to the other room. She was tired. Too many sleepless nights and now the one inside her stomach was kicking her again. He would be called Night Owl as he never seemed to sleep.

  The rocking motion soothed her. Father would love a chair like this. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her mind blank from painful memories. Rosa’s giggles woke her so she must have dozed off. She sat up quickly realizing the child was not alone.

  “Little Beaver brought you a present. Isn’t he nice?”

  Nice? That wasn’t the word that came to mind when confronted with the tall muscled body of the Indian brave. Stop it.

  Cheeks flushing, she stood up. “Thank you.”

  Little Beaver handed her the gift, her skin sizzling on contact with his. A flash in his eyes showed he felt something, too, but he was staring at a point above her head so she couldn’t be sure.

  She looked down at the present, her gasp of pleasure bringing a smile to Rosa’s face. Little Beaver had brought her a big bear hide.

  “I thought it might help you sleep. It is getting colder.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at him quickly, her gaze fixing with his. She didn’t want to stare but she didn’t want to look away either. His face was like stone, not showing any emotion but his eyes were different. She saw a storm of emotions fighting for dominance. There was anger combined with something softer. Was it pity. She didn’t need him to pity her. She turned away. “I will take it and put it on my bed now.”

  She walked away leaving him standing. She could feel his eyes on her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. She was a chief’s daughter. She didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her.

  Little Beaver watched her go. He had angered her somehow. Was it wrong to mention her sleeping? He kicked the door frame in frustration. The woman was impossible. He was doing everything he could to show he wanted her friendship. Heck. He wanted more than that. But she treated him with disdain and rudeness. He wasn’t some boy who was going to put up with that. Maybe it was time he spoke to Nandita about finding him a wife. He had seen how some of the white women looked at him. They thought he hadn’t noticed. Would one of them want to share his blanket? He closed his eyes. This was useless. He wasn’t interested in any other woman but the girl who had just walked out on him.

  Chapter 18

  Asha smiled as Rosa cuddled into her. The little girl had barely left her side all day.

  “What you doing, Miss Asha?”

  “Making boots for feet.”

  “For me?” Rosa squealed happily. “Are you going to put pretty beads on them like the ones you made for the store?”

  “You like me do that?”

  Rosa cocked her head to one side. “You talk funny. Why?”

  Asha smiled. Rosa was full of questions. Ellen said she hadn’t spoken when she first came but now she was full of questions. Asha had to concentrate hard to answer the little girl. She understood more English than she could speak. “English is not my language.”

  “Do you speak French? John had a friend who spoke French.”

  “No, Little Raven. I speak the language of my people.”

  Rosa inched closer. “I love when you call me my Indian name. Little Beaver gave it to me. He speaks in a funny way sometimes. When he talks to animals. They listen too. I don’t know how they understand but they do.”

  Asha pretended to concentrate on her sewing. She wanted the little girl to talk more about the brave but she didn’t want anyone to know she was interested. They may tell him and his head was big enough already. She hadn’t forgiven him for assuming it was his right to avenge her abuser. He wasn’t her man. But you want him to be. The voice in her head plagued her. She didn’t know how to switch it off.

  “Can you tell me some stories? Ma, I mean Miss Ellen is too busy.”

  Asha noted the young girl was embarrassed but she didn’t know why. She tried to put her at ease.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Did you grow up in Clover Springs?”

  “Not here. But not far away. My tribe camped up near the mountains in the summer months. The winter is cold. We moved down South to keep away from snow.”

  “Wilma is from down South. I forget where though. Did you know her when you was little like me?”

  Asha smiled. How small the little girl’s world was.

  “No, Little Raven. I only met Wilma a couple of weeks ago. When Nandita brought me to her friend.” Asha picked at the pelt she was working on. She didn’t want to answer any questions about why she had come.

  “Nandita is very nice. She has a young girl too. She lives near Jenny. I guess you know that.”

  Asha shook her head hoping the little girl would keep talking. She didn’t like the silence – it made the voice in her head too loud.

  “Did you grow up with Nandita and Little Beaver?”

  Asha gulped. She hadn’t expected Rosa to bring him into the conversation. She didn’t want to think about the past summers spending time at his camp. She’d been in love with him since the first day she spotted him astride his pony. He was about seven summers. She was five.

  “Not really. We lived in different tribes. My father travelled more than Little Beaver’s father.”

  “Why?” Rosa asked.

  “Rosa, child you are making Asha tired with all your questions. It’s time for bed. Say goodnight and go wash your face. I will be up soon to check on you.”

  “Do I have to?” Rosa murmured but one look at Wilma’s face and she ran.

  “The little one would talk the legs off a jack rabbit. That she would.”

  Asha smiled but didn’t speak. She was too choked up to say anything. Thinking of her childhood and the dreams she had of Little Beaver was too much.

  “I am going to see Mrs. Grey. I won’t be long.” Wilma pulled her shawl closer around her body. “Mr. Samuel and Miss Ellen be at Miss Emer’s house for dinner. The children will be here. Will you be alright?”

  ‘Yes,” Asha almost snapped. She wasn’t a child. Did Wilma not think she could be left alone at night? You are only cross because you want to go out too.

  Chapter 19

  Asha promised the children some hot milk and a story. She went into the kitchen. Asha heard something then the door handle moved. She picked up a pot closest to her, her heart pounding as the door opened.

  Little Beaver looked stunned to see her, his gaze taking in the pot she held above he
r head. Feeling stupid, she let her fear turn to anger.

  “I am here. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to see Nandita.” Little Beaver's gruff tone immediately got Asha's back up.

  “I live here. What are you doing visiting at this hour?”

  “Samuel asked me to call in and check on the children and Wilma. He said Ellen and he were going to have dinner at Miss Emer’s house. Where is Wilma?”

  “She went out to see Mrs. Grey.”

  The two of them stared at each other as realization dawned. The others had planned this as a way of them spending time together.

  “I will go.” Little Beaver turned back. Asha wanted to stop him but she couldn’t say the words. Her mouth opened but nothing happened.

  “I thought I heard your voice Little Beaver. Are you coming to listen to Asha’s stories? She said all Indians tell good stories,” John asked, excitement making his eyes light up.

  “They do. I am not staying.”

  “Please stay. My English is not good and it is hard to make them understand. They would enjoy your stories much more.” Asha looked at the floor for fear her face would burn.

  “Yes, Little Beaver, please tell us stories. We are ready for bed and we’ve been real good, haven’t we Rosa?” John asked his sister.

  Rosa nodded solemnly her thumb in her mouth.

  “I will come just for a little bit,” Little Beaver said, closing the door behind him.

  Asha smiled as she walked back to the room with the fire. She loved hearing his voice and now she could relax and listen to him all evening. She didn’t care, she wouldn’t understand his words. If she closed her eyes it was like listening to him all those years ago.

  Asha fell asleep as Rosa had to wake her when Little Beaver was leaving.

  “I’m sorry. I was rude.”

  “You are tired,” he corrected. “Goodnight, Miss Rosa.” He kissed the child on the nose making her giggle.

  “Goodnight, John, Asha.”