by Janette Oke
My favorite was Flash, the lead dog, a full-blooded brother of Kip. Though Flash was not as pretty as Kip, he certainly was an impressive dog. His shoulders were thickset, his legs muscled and strong, his face intelligent, and his eyes deep blue and trusting. I petted Flash more than any of the others and we soon became close friends.
I wished there were a way to get the two brother dogs together. Surely they would realize they were kin and lay aside all challenges for supremacy, but when I mentioned the idea to Wynn, he laughed.
“Don’t you believe it for a minute, Elizabeth,” he warned me. “Kip and Flash are both determined to be top dog. Neither of them would give an inch. You’d have the worst fight on your hands you’ve ever seen.”
Well, I had seen enough dog fights since coming to the North that I certainly didn’t want to see a “worse” one, so I kept Kip well away from his brother.
I felt a bit guilty about making friends with Wynn’s dogs. I wasn’t sure how a sled dog was to be treated. I knew that many of the trappers handled theirs with a heavy hand and no mercy or love whatever. I knew Wynn did not treat his dogs in that manner, but just how did he handle his dogs? Could I spoil them with my petting and pampering? I decided I had better check with Wynn.
One night at our evening meal, I raised the subject.
“When I go out to the garden, I take food scraps to your dogs.”
I watched for Wynn’s reaction. No frown appeared.
I went on. “They really aren’t so bad.”
“ ’Course not,” said Wynn. “I don’t know why you were afraid of them in the first place.”
“Well, I didn’t know them really. I still don’t know all of their names.”
I wanted to ask Wynn if I would spoil them by petting them, but Wynn stood to his feet.
“How about if I take you out and introduce you?” said Wynn. “If you leave the dishes, we still have time before dark.”
Wynn knew I seldom left unwashed dishes, but this time I agreed.
“Okay,” I nodded. “You’ve got yourself a date. I’ve been aching to show you how quickly the garden is growing. You just wouldn’t believe it! Medicine man or no, I still think we picked the best spot in the whole region for our garden.”
Wynn chuckled and picked up his plate and cup and carried it to the dishpan. I followed behind him and in next to no time our table was cleared, and I was ready to go.
I had thought that the dogs welcomed me when I came to the island, and so they did; but you should have heard the din when they saw Wynn! Each dog clamored for his attention, and he made the rounds, ruffling fluffy fur and petting bodies that wiggled from head to tail as they squirmed in their eagerness to get some of the loving. I stood amazed. I would never worry about spoiling Wynn’s sled dogs again.
“This is Flash,” Wynn said, burying his face against the thick fur of the dog’s coat as he murmured strange sounds that only he and the dog understood.
I knew Flash.
“He’s the best lead dog in the whole north country,” Wynn went on. “I’d put him up against any other—any day. He sleeps right beside me when we are on the trail. I never tether him. Nothing would get near me without Flash warning me.”
I didn’t know that before. I was comforted to know that Wynn had Flash on “guard duty.” I felt a new appreciation for the team leader. I reached down and patted his massive head.
We moved on.
“This is Peewee,” said Wynn, “the only dog in the bunch that Flash has not whipped into submission. He hasn’t needed to. Peewee has never questioned his authority. Peewee is small, but all heart and willpower. He’d never give up while he had an ounce of energy left.”
Wynn knelt down and took the dog’s head in his hands. The dog whined, deep devotion written all over him.
“Peewee would do anything I asked of him,” said Wynn, “or die trying. Great little dog, aren’t you, Peewee?”
I felt a lump in my throat as I looked at the small animal. In my mind’s eye I had visions of this little fellow valiantly struggling to pull his share of the load. He was smaller than the usual sled dog, but if Wynn could boast of him in this manner, then I knew he was worthy to be harnessed next to the great Flash.
“This is Tip. How are you, Tippy?” Wynn ruffled the dog’s fur and played with her ears. “She loves to be praised, hates to be scolded. Temperamental, just like any woman—make that many women.” Wynn stopped long enough to laugh at his own remark and stroke Tip’s dark brown fur.
“Here’s Keenoo. He’s a half-brother of Flash. Notice some of the same markings. He’s the heaviest dog of the team. I count on him when I have a heavy load. Boy, can he pull! Might even be able to outpull Flash—though I’ve never tested it. But Flash is the more intelligent of the two. In spite of his size, Keenoo hates to fight. Uncommon for his breed.”
Wynn stopped to pet the dog, who pushed up against him, thrusting his nose deeply into Wynn’s hand.
“And this is Franco. I wouldn’t get too close to him. He’s the least friendly of the lot. He’ll let me pet him if I don’t overdo it, but he doesn’t take to others very quickly.”
Franco growled deeply within his throat as his eyes held my face, then he turned to Wynn and his tail waved, ever so slightly.
Wynn patted and talked to him, just as he had each dog, and then we moved on again.
“Why do you keep him?” I asked, concerned about the difference in that last dog’s temperament.
“He’s a good worker,” said Wynn, “and he’s never been a problem. He’s the quickest to pick a fight and Flash has to straighten him out every so often, but he settles down and does his job when he has to.”
I turned to get another look at Franco, and found his sharp eyes still upon me. It was a bit unnerving. I wondered if he was jealous of my being with Wynn.
“He sure seems to have a chip on his shoulder,” I commented.
“That’s a good way to describe him,” Wynn laughed. “He certainly does seem to have a chip on his shoulder.”
There were two more dogs to go. They whined and pulled at their tethers, anxious for Wynn to get to them.
“This is Morley. He’s sort of ordinary, I guess, but he works well and he tries hard, don’t you, Morley? He has unusually sensitive ears. Morley is usually the first one to alert me if something or someone is in the area. Sometimes he is too quick. He growls over a mouse visiting a grass clump fifty feet away.”
I knew Wynn was purposely exaggerating, but we both laughed.
“Hard to get your sleep sometimes, with Morley near you on the trail,” went on Wynn, “but once or twice I’ve been thankful for his keen sense of hearing.”
Wynn stopped to pamper Morley.
“And last of all, this is Rewa, the other female. I’m thinking of using her to raise me some pups. With her as a mother and Flash to father them, I think I could get some top-notch sled dogs. Look at her intelligent eyes and her broad head. See the thick shoulders and deep chest. She has a great deal of stamina on the trail—something very important for a sled dog. I hate to lose her from the team, but I think she would be of even more value to me raising puppies.”
Wynn leaned down to run a hand over Revva’s silky side. She pushed up against him, begging for more attention. I leaned to pet her, too. She licked at my hand, letting me know she welcomed my caresses.
“So now you know them all,” Wynn said, still stroking Rewa as he spoke. “The only one you shouldn’t get too close to is Franco. Leave him alone—at least for the present.”
I nodded. I certainly would not be pushing Franco, yet deep inside me was a desire to win the friendship even of that unfriendly dog. I would take it slow and easy, but I knew I would try.
“I’ve already been petting Flash and Peewee and Revva,” I admitted, rather hesitantly.
“Good,” said Wynn. “They like lots of love and attention.”
I let out my breath. So I hadn’t done anything wrong in babying his dogs. Dogs, lik
e people, needed lots of assurance that they were loved and appreciated. Wynn knew that. He treated them that way as well.
I leaned over to give Rewa one last pat. The sun had left us. The twilight seeped in around us, cloaking us in a comfortable garment of softness. The evening sounds began to fill the air. Off in the forest a bull moose called out a challenge, or a love call, I did not know which. A screech owl sounded an alarm to our right. In the distance a wolf lifted its nose skyward and poured out his melancholy into a long, penetrating, lonely call. Revva shivered beneath my hand.
“She’s not afraid of a wolf, is she?” I asked Wynn. I knew that I shivered even yet whenever I heard one of them.
“No,” said Wynn. “I don’t think it’s fear. She is too closely related to that wolf out there to be afraid of him. Perhaps it’s just the ‘wild’ in her that is responding.”
I stroked the dog. She whimpered but did not move away from my hand.
“Are you lonesome, girl?” I asked her quietly. “Would you like to be free to roam with your own kind? Is that a lover you hear calling you out there?”
Rewa licked my hand and wagged her tail, pushing her body up against me.
“Just checking,” I said. “But I’m glad to know you’d rather stay with us.”
I gave her one final pat and rose to go with Wynn.
TWELVE
Summer
We were already enjoying some early vegetables from our garden. Wynn had been right. Due to the dog team being tethered in the area, we were not bothered by raiding rabbits or rodents. The vegetables were free to grow in the hot, summer sun, unhampered by marauders.
When the summer became unusually hot and dry, even the pesky mosquitoes thinned out some. It was just too dry for them to do much hatching.
About three times a week I went to the garden with my water pail and spent most of the morning watering my plants. It was hard but rewarding work. Between the water that I poured on them, the warmth of the sun, and my words of encouragement, they prospered.
I longed to share my garden as soon as some of the plants were big enough to use. I took a few vegetables to Louis LaMeche, the trader, first. He accepted them with a scowl, not even a thank-you.
I then decided to share some of my carrots with the Indian women. I was sure that once they tasted them they would want more. It was hard to find a woman I could approach close enough even to offer my produce. When they saw me coming they either walked the other way or else went into their cabins.
At last I found a young woman who was unable to avoid me. I handed her the small cluster of freshly pulled carrots, explaining that they added much flavor to the stew. She took them and walked away. I watched in anticipation, but as soon as she thought I would no longer be looking, she threw them in the bush by the path and wiped her hand on her skirt. With a pang, I realized I still had a long way to go to make friends here.
We desperately needed rain. Wynn was beginning to get concerned. The forest was getting too dry. Animals were being driven out into the open areas looking for food. The forest floor was brittle under foot. Our small stream was only about half its usual size.
I didn’t know enough about this part of the country to have intelligent concern, but I could see the worried lines crease Wynn’s brow as he looked to the west in the hope of spotting rain clouds, and I knew that the lack of rain was a real issue.
I could see the Indian people looking to the skies as well. I even heard them talking in low, frightened voices as I went by. Then I began to notice renewed glances my way and nodding of heads, and I knew that the lack of rain and the pale-faced woman were somehow connected in their thinking. Then I did get worried.
One day as I walked the path to the garden I heard the words, “Bad omen,” and saw the thrust of the chin my way as I went by. I knew that they were speaking of me.
I wanted to eavesdrop further, but I forced myself to keep on walking. All the time I was in the garden, I prayed. I hardly knew what to say in my prayers. The facts were all so scattered as far as I was concerned, but I prayed on, trusting that my God knew far more about the circumstances than I did.
“Lord,” I said, “I really don’t understand what is going on here. The people of the village are so steeped in their pagan belief. I don’t know how to help them, God, but I don’t want to be guilty of driving them even further from You.
“It’s all tied up in this garden spot and the fact that we planted here. Now I’m afraid they think the rain is not falling as a punishment to me, and that all of them, and the animals of the forest, will have to suffer because of it.
“I don’t want that, Lord. I don’t know what to do about it. We do need rain. Wynn is worried about it. Lord, I don’t even know what to ask You for, but if you could turn my mistake into something good, I would be so thankful.
“Certainly, the reasonable thing to me would seem to be for You to send rain. That would water the ground, replenish the food supply for the animals and fill our stream again. It should help our problem with the villagers, too. Then they might understand that I really had nothing to do with the drought.
“But I leave it in Your hands, God. Help me to be patient and to do things Your way. I can’t untangle this myself. Thank You, Lord, for hearing me. Amen.”
I guess I expected to see a “cloud the size of a man’s hand” when I lifted my eyes heavenward, but there was none. I scanned the sky in each direction, but it remained brassy bright with sun. I had prayed for patience; I knew I was going to need it in the days ahead.
Then a strange peace came to my soul. I didn’t know what or how, but I had the assurance that God had heard my prayer and was going to act on my behalf.
I left the garden and hurried home. I didn’t want to get soaked on the way, I guess. When I got to our cabin, I wrestled with the empty rain barrel until I had it properly positioned under the crude downspout on our roof. We hadn’t had water in that barrel since early spring. In fact, it had dried out to such an extent that I wasn’t sure if it even would hold water. Still, I positioned it, feeling as I did so the many pairs of curious eyes upon me.
“I do hope that Wynn took his slicker with him,” I said to Kip who was idly watching my activity. “He could be soaking wet by the time he gets home.”
Kip yawned and laid his head on his paws. It was clear he was unimpressed.
“You just wait,” I told him. “You’ll see.”
I might have spoken softly to the dog before me, but in my heart I knew that the words were really directed toward the women who peeked through the overhanging branches, slyly watching to see what the crazy “pale face” was doing now.
Wynn came home several hours later as dry as he had left that morning. It hadn’t rained a drop.
“What’s with the water barrel?” he asked me, and I felt my face flushing. There was little use trying to be evasive so I decided to tell Wynn exactly what had happened.
“I can’t explain it,” I said honestly, “but when I was praying this morning, asking God to help break the barrier among the people, I felt strongly that He was going to answer my prayer.”
Wynn’s eyes held mine. He did not question me.
“Wynn,” I went on, “are you aware that they are blaming me and my garden for the fact that it hasn’t rained?”
“I’ve heard little snatches of rumors,” said Wynn.
Surprised that he had kept it to himself, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would that have done? It would only have upset you. There is nothing that can be done about it anyway.”
I knew Wynn was right. I could do nothing. I would only have fretted about it.
“But go on,” prompted Wynn. “You were telling me about your answer to prayer.”
“Well, I just felt so sure—so at peace, that I... I ... I think that God is going to do something about it. I feel sure that He will send rain.”
Wynn smiled and whispered, “Well, praise God.” Then he looked back at the ri
ckety barrel. “I’m not sure how much that poor old barrel will hold, no matter how much it rains, Elizabeth.”
“I don’t really care,” I stated, “I just... I just... well, I wanted to let Him know that I believed Him, that’s all.”
There were a few moments of silence as Wynn and I looked deeply into one another’s eyes. Then he stepped forward and laid a hand on my arm.
“Get some old rags, Elizabeth, and I’ll get the tar, and we’ll stuff those holes the best we can,” said Wynn.
With a grin I went to do his bidding.
We worked together on the barrel. Some of the cracks were quite wide. We weren’t really sure if it would hold water even when we were finished with it. All the time we worked, we could sense the villagers watching us.
When we had done our best, we positioned it once more below the spout, making sure that the plank nailed along the roof was slanted correctly to send the water toward the barrel, and then we went in to have our supper.
All night long I expected to hear rain. Even in my sleep, one ear was attuned. No rain fell. In the morning I was sure I would waken to clouded skys, but the sun shone brightly into the one small window.
Kip and I left the village by our usual path. I greeted women and children along the way. They passed me by with downcast eyes and reproachful looks. I prayed inwardly and looked to the sky, hoping to see that one little cloud. The sky was cloudless, the sun already glaring.
“I don’t understand, Lord,” I whispered.
“Be patient,” came back the inward reply.
“Lord, give me the patience!” I cried. “I have never been patient. You know that.”
“Then trust Me,” said the inner voice. “You have always been able to trust.”
“Lord, I trust You. I trust You completely.” I knew as I said the words that they came from an honest heart. I did trust Him! I did! I might not understand His workings, but I did trust His ways.
