by Janette Oke
It was then that I heard the barking of dogs. Wynn’s team was still alive! They complained about their lot, but they were still alive.
I breathed another prayer of thankfulness and then looked about me.
“How much longer to stay here?” I asked LaMeche.
“Not safe yet,” he answered. “Soon maybe.”
I decided to wait for LaMeche to give the order to leave the lake. I had had enough of commanding to last me a lifetime.
It was the animals who left the water first. The things of the forest quietly slipped from the water and bounded off to find themselves new homes.
In the distance the fire still crackled, but the heat was not as intense now. I looked at the villagers in the water. I knew they were as anxious as I was to leave the cold water. My legs cramped and my body numb, I wondered if I would ever be warm again. Except for my face. It felt brittle from the heat. I was sure that my skin was parched and my lips cracked.
The village dogs left the water next. Several of them had been freed by thoughtful people as they fled before the fire. Those who had not would no longer be alive. I shuddered as I thought of them.
The horses began to snort and to plunge again and it was apparent that we needed to get them moved from the lake. LaMeche passed the child back to me.
“I will take out wagons now,” he said, and moved forward, the water coming up past his waist.
As soon as LaMeche started toward the wagons, the people took it as a signal to leave the water. They would be in the way if they stayed where they were.
With one accord we waded toward the shore. The night air felt warm compared to the coldness of the water. I shivered. We had no way of drying ourselves—and we were hungry. No one had eaten for many hours, but we likely did not even have a way to start a fire.
With that ironic thought I looked to where our village had been. Imagine, I thought, in the face of all that and I’m longing for a fire!
We gathered in soppy, shivering little clumps. Here and there a child cried or a dog on the loose decided to challenge another. The fights that broke out did not even turn heads. We had far more serious things to think about.
In the eery light from the still-burning fire, people began to search out the belongings they had dropped by the lakeshore.
LaMeche came back from tethering the horses. The wagons were left standing on the sands of the lakeshore, the teams tied away from the company of people. They were still skitterish because of the heavy smell of smoke and the crackle of dying flames. They snorted and jumped and kicked, so LaMeche tied them securely in a nearby stand of poplars.
Someone produced some matches and got little fires burning here and there. Around them huddled wet women and children. A few blankets and furs were spread out and children were stripped of their wet clothing and put down to sleep. As many as could be covered huddled under each blanket.
Elderly men and those who were ill were also bedded. The rest of us sat around the fires, still too stunned to even talk.
I had no blanket and I was unable to get near enough to the fire. I was thinking that we needed more fires when a voice spoke to me through the darkness.
“You have no blanket?” LaMeche asked me.
I shook my head. “I dropped it by stream. I had everything wrapped in our blankets but it was very heavy.”
LaMeche nodded. “All blanket and furs from post cover old folk,” he said, and there was apology in his tone.
I smiled, though I’m afraid it was a wobbly one.
“I am all right,” I said. “I am warm now.”
LaMeche left me and soon many small fires were dotting the lakeshore. At each of the campfires Indian people huddled for warmth. Gradually they had lost their looks of terror and a few even talked together in quiet voices.
As the night wore on, we took turns, without discussion, adding sticks to the fire. Beyond the stream the forest fire died away. Only here and there flames still flickered and sparks periodically flew heavenward.
The wind slackened, and the stars came out. Somewhere an owl hooted. I heard a splash in the lake behind me and guessed that a fish had jumped. Nature seemed to be striving to return to normal again.
I still shivered. My wet clothes did not help. I turned one side and then another to the fire and hoped I could dry out a bit.
Here and there people curled up on the sand beside the fires and attempted to get some sleep. I told myself that I should walk through the camp to see how everyone was faring. If Wynn were present, he would do that. I didn’t seem to be able to move. Totally exhausted, I shivered again and wished for morning.
From somewhere LaMeche produced a coffeepot and coffee. I will never be able to find the words to express what it was like to sit before the fire, smelling coffee brew on that horrible night. Somehow it seemed to be a promise that the world would one day be normal again. The trader had also found a couple of battered tin cups. I clutched the cup closely in chilled hands and drank of the dark, hot liquid. I knew that with the help of the coffee I would somehow make it through this nightmare until the morning came again.
FIFTEEN
Aftermath
When the dawn began to break, I hated to leave the warmth of the fire. My clothing was still wet and I felt chilled in spite of sitting near the small fire for most of the night. Yet when the camp began to stir, I knew I, too, would need to get on my feet.
I was stiff and aching in all of my bones. My limp skirt hung about me like some old rag. Underneath it, my inner garments were still wet and chafed uncomfortably at my sensitive skin when I moved. My shoes were squishy and waterlogged. I wished I would have had the presence of mind to remove them the night before. They would have had a better chance of drying sitting by the open fire.
All around me people were stirring. Babies cried, children called to one another, and women moaned in anguished cries as they looked toward what had been their village homes.
As the sun made an appearance we could see the smoke still curling here and there as the fires smoldered in spots. The blackened, desolate area that had been our village was not visible to us because of the trees that still stood between us and the settlement. Perhaps it was a mercy of God that it was hidden from us. I don’t think any of us were ready for it.
Now it was a new day—with many challenges facing us. Here were almost two hundred people with no homes, no clothing except what they wore on their backs, and no food to fill their empty stomachs.
I walked back and forth before the small campfire. I hurt so bad I thought I would never feel comfortable again. I worked my arms and legs and rubbed at my back—all the time thinking and praying. I could not have said where my thoughts ended and my prayers began—they seemed to be one and the same.
“Lord,” I said, “we need food. I don’t know where we are going to get it. But You know. Show me how to care for these people. Give me wisdom—and. Lord, give me help. I can’t do it on my own.”
I had no sooner come to the end of the sentence when a voice spoke behind me. “Yours, I think so.”
I jumped and whirled around. LeMeche stood with my big bundle supported on his back.
“You found it!” I cried with joy.
“Yes. Lucky for you, you drop it on this side of stream. It is safe.”
“Yes,” I said, reaching to take it from him. “Yes, I remember. I just crossed stream and could not run anymore with it.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. I had never seen this man show even the hint of a smile before.
“A surprise you could run at all,” he joked. “You must bring everything but iron bed.”
The pack passed from his hands to mine, and I could hardly lift it.
“Oh, yes,” I said, attempting to laugh. “You are right. What do I have here?”
I set my bundle of blankets on the ground and spread it open. I had grabbed the cooking pots. I faintly remembered doing so. I had several items of clothing. I must have stripped all the pegs on the wall, for sc
attered throughout the clothes I found kitchen items. Cups and plates and cutlery clattered to the ground. I had the dustpan—but no broom. A hammer—but no nails. A frying pan. A coffeepot—but no coffee. Tea—but no teapot. The picture of Wynn and me on our wedding day. A stubby pencil, some writing paper and two of my picture books. No food. No shoes. And three heavy sticks of wood for the fire.
I turned each item over as I looked at it. Why did I select as I did? Or did I select at all? I must have grabbed whatever was closest to me.
I looked at the sticks of wood, wondering how I had managed to pick them up. Then I laughed at myself and threw them on the fire. Perhaps they would make our morning coffee—that is, if I could find some coffee.
“We need food,” I said absently. Mr. LaMeche was still standing nearby.
“Yes,” he answered me.
I looked up from where I was still sorting through the things I had carried from our home. I would change into dry clothes now if I could find a private place to do so.
“How are the people?” I asked.
“Good. Some lips crack, faces swell from the heat, but good.”
“Did ... everyone... ?” I hated to ask that question, but I had to know.
“I have each family check. No one not here.”
What a relief that was! It was bad enough thinking about the dogs. Wynn’s dogs! I had to go to the island and check on the team.
I rose to my feet. There were so many things to be done—so precious little to do it with. I looked about me for Kip. He was playing nearby with some village children. It was hard to believe there could still be play and laughter after what we had just gone through. I shook my head to try to get my thoughts in order.
“I must go,” I said to the trader. “I must go to the island and see Wynn’s dogs—and garden. Must check my garden.”
“Go,” he answered. “It safe to go there—but don’t cross stream. The fire still burn, though you cannot always see it. It burns deep down, underfoot.”
I nodded in understanding and hurried away.
I didn’t bother with the steppingstones. I didn’t bother with the walking log. My shoes were already wet. I lifted my skirts and waded the shallow lake.
As soon as I approached the island, I could hear the dogs barking. They saw me coming and yipped out their welcome. I looked around me, counting out each one in turn. All seven dogs were present, but three were not barking. Three of them lay on the ground rather than straining on their tethers. I hurried forward.
Flash seemed fine. I ran my hand over his back. Not three feet from him lay pieces of debris from the fire, carried over to the island on the wind.
I went to Peewee. He, too, seemed okay, though he whined as he pressed close to me, his eyes running, as if they had been injured.
Tip was laying on her side, still breathing, though it seemed - to be with great difficulty. Her sides heaved with every breath. I didn’t know what to do for her. I patted the curly hair and moved on, my eyes streaming with tears.
Keenoo was also down. I knelt beside him and passed a hand over his still form. It was stiff and motionless and I knew that Keenoo was dead.
Franco, too, was unable to stand. I could see his eyes flutter open and then close again. His lip curled back as he sensed my presence. Even near death, Franco would not welcome a stranger’s hand. I didn’t know if I should go near him, so I left him without a touch.
These three dogs had been staked at the south side of the island, the closest to the ravaging flames. Though the fire itself had not touched them, it seemed as if it had done its evil work.
Morley and Rewa both appeared fine.
Though the dogs were tethered so they could all reach the lake when they were thirsty, I knew they must be hungry, yet I had nothing to give them.
“I’ll be back,” I promised them. “I’ll be back with some food.”
Wynn had left an Indian boy responsible for feeding his team, but their food supply had been back in the village, and it too was gone now.
I went to my garden. It was limp and parched. The heat of the flames must have nearly cooked it. And yet I was amazed that there seemed to be life in many of the plants. They were able to hold up their heads. Then I remembered the thorough watering of the day before. I had soaked them and soaked them, even though I had not understood why at the time. But God knew. He had prompted me to water my vegetables.
I looked at them with thanksgiving. They would be more important than ever now. The whole village needed to be fed. Yet, what would one small garden do among so many?
“Trust Me,” again came the words.
I turned and went back to the camp beside the lake, formulating some plans as I walked. Food was our first need, so food would be our first matter of business. When we had been without supplies at Beaver River, Wynn had organized the total village into responsible groups. I would do that now. A hunting party, a fishing party, an herb-gathering party; each member of the village who was old enough to carry a responsibility would be assigned a detail.
LaMeche was at the fire. I was glad to see him, for I was going to need his help.
He had made coffee again and I thanked him as I accepted the cup. My stomach cried for something to go with it.
I set my cup down and dug through the bundle of my belongings, coming up with the pencil and a sheet of paper.
“We need to do things,” I stated, and LaMeche nodded his head.
“Do we have any food?”
LaMeche nodded at the one wagon. It was heaped high with miscellaneous items that he had hurriedly pulled from his store.
“What is there?” I asked him.
“Flour, salt, sugar, coffee, tea, cornmeal, baking powder. Most needed things, I think. Not sure. Like you, I just grab quick.”
I was thankful that we had at least “grabbed quick.” We could have been left with nothing at all.
“We must take it all out of wagon and see it,” I said.
“Now?” he questioned.
It seemed like the proper time. At least the people would realize there was some action.
“Yes,” I said. “Now. Find boys and put them to work. They can put it all in piles on ground.”
We found boys who were more than willing to do our bidding, and I turned back to my list.
“Do we have guns or bullets?” I asked.
“I think I grab bullets. Gun—maybe not.”
“Knives to hunt, knives to cook?”
“I check,” he agreed.
“Fishhooks or nets to catch fish?”
He nodded his head. It did not mean that he had the items; it just meant that he would see if he could find them.
“We now divide people into groups,” I said, “with one person to lead each group. They make fire and shelter. We send someone to hunt and someone to fish. Women go to woods for herbs and roots. Children and older ones carry wood.”
LaMeche looked at me, his eyes getting larger with each instruction, his head nodding agreement to everything I said. When I stopped talking he reached for the paper where I had been hurriedly scribbling down our plan. “I will do,” he said and took the sheet from me. Then he saw it was written in English and handed it back to me.
“I will help,” I assured him.
“You count food supplies,” he countered.
That sounded like a good idea. I headed back to my fire and my heaped-up blanket pack and rummaged for another piece of paper. Then I went to the wagon where the boys were unloading and sorting.
LaMeche had been right. We had a good supply of tea, coffee, and cornmeal, a fair supply of flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder. There were several tins of canned food, some crackers, and a few spices.
There were also matches, shells, a few hunting knives, three fishhooks, a length of fishing line, four axes, and some tins of something.
I reached for one of the tins. It was not labeled and the lid did not want to come off, so I gave up. I told the boys they had done good work and then
went on to find LaMeche.
He had rounded up several of the younger children to help him tell the people what he wanted. All along the shore, various ones were laying out for inspection the belongings they had managed to rescue from the fire.
LaMeche and I walked down the line, taking stock.
I was relieved to see a number of pots. There were more knives and fishing supplies, and some had even carried their grinding stones with them to the lake. Many of the women had managed to save containers and baskets with food items. It would not last for long, but it would help with a few meals. There were a number of blankets and skins. Though not enough to go around, still they would help to at least protect the children and the older folk from the chilly night air.
We took our census, assigned our areas for family fires, and called for volunteers for the work details.
It was not a problem to get those willing to fish. Several young boys joyfully took the lines and fishhooks and scampered to the lake. A number of young women volunteered to go into the forest for herbs and greens for the cooking pots.
There were those willing to go to the forest for wild game, but what good were bullets without a gun? Our search had turned up none. We didn’t even have a bow and arrow in the whole camp.
“We send some boys to trap—to snare something,” I said, gesturing with my hands. It didn’t seem possible they would be able to provide meat for so many people in such a way, but there was nothing else we could do.
The whole camp bustled with activity. The empty, despairing faces began to come alive again, and calls and laughter of children rang out along the shoreline. Suddenly we were no longer in the midst of a tragedy but an adventure.
LaMeche and I portioned out basic food for the day for each of the campsites. The women came with their containers for the food staples. Young girls ran laughing to the stream for water, pails in hand, or headed for the woods to bring back plenty of wood for the fires.
