08 Heart of the Wilderness

by Janette Oke

  And then quite suddenly, catching her unaware, she felt an unusual sadness. Carl was a nice young man. Sort of. He had been fun to talk with. He had asked her out. He had tried to look after the young girl half-hidden in the shadows, unable to come out and join the crowd. He had brought her something to eat. Had checked now and then.

  She didn’t feel angry with Carl now. Nor did she feel superior to him. But she did feel sorry—in a strange way. Carl was failing. In almost every class. It was not a well-kept secret. She was sure it was not because Carl needed to fail. He had a good mind and would do well if he chose to use it instead of spending his time partying. She felt sorry about Carl and wondered what the future held for him.

  Maggie placed the steaming cup on the table in front of her.

  “Yes,” said Kendra as she stirred the frothy brew. “He is nice. It was good of him to invite me tonight.” She lifted her eyes. “But, Maggie—I’ll not be going to one of their parties again. I don’t—don’t have anything in common with them. I’ve decided to take my time and—and pick my own friends. It might take a while—but good friends are worth it—don’t you think?”

  Maggie nodded, then smiled slowly. Her eyes looked off into the distance seeing another time and other faces. “George and Polly McMannus were friends like that with Henry and me—for ever so long,” she said, looking at Kendra. “They stuck through thick and thin—even when we didn’t see one another that often. When one has friends like that—you don’t really need many.” She smiled at Kendra and wished such a blessing for her.

  “You’re still lonesome too, aren’t ya?”

  George ruffled the fur of the big dog beside him and then patted the large, soft head. Oscar responded with a whine and a tongue licking at the hand.

  “Thought we’d have got used to it by now,” the man murmured. “But we haven’t—have we? Cabin still feels just as empty. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be content to be alone again.”

  George continued to stroke the head. He had never allowed a dog in to share his cabin until Kendra had coaxed to have Oscar inside. Now it didn’t seem right to make the dog go back outside with the others. Besides, George rather needed his company on the long, cold winter nights cooped up inside near the fire.

  “What did I use to do with my time?” he went on. “I don’t remember the time dragging like it seems to do now. How did I spend those long evenings? Reading? Working on the furs? Just loafing? I don’t know. It seems like I now have more hours than I have jobs to fill them. I don’t like the feeling, Oscar. Not at all.”

  George was not conscious that his left hand reached up to stroke agitatedly at his full beard.

  From somewhere out in the night a lone wolf howled and the sled dogs set up a chorus in response.

  Oscar pulled away from the man’s hand, a deep rumble starting down in his chest.

  “What’s the matter? The wilderness calling? You wish to be out? Free?”

  But no. George was sure that Oscar would not welcome freedom. He was restless. Lonely. That was all. Oscar did not wish to rush out into the night in answer to what he was feeling any more than George himself did.

  The big dog returned from his pacing and pressed up against George’s knee, still whining.

  “She’ll be back,” George said as he reached out to stroke the silky fur. “She’ll be back. Before we know it spring will come again and she’ll be back.”

  But even as he spoke the words, George wondered. Would Kendra really want to return to her home in the wilds? Would she ever be content again to dress in buckskins and furs and mush a team of huskies? He half hoped that she would not. She deserved more than what life here could give her. He really didn’t want this hard and lonely life for his little girl. But oh, how he would miss her—did miss her. The very thought of her not coming back brought a lump to his throat that he could not swallow away. He curled his fingers deeply into the fur of the large animal. He needed something to hang on to.

  At Monday morning’s English Literature class, Carl dropped into his usual desk, breathing hard from hurrying. His eyes, a bit hesitant, lifted to Kendra’s. He looked a bit apologetic.

  Kendra smiled. He responded quickly, easily, seeming to be relieved that she was not angry. “Hi,” he said, shifting his books around on the desk top.

  “Hi,” she replied, then turned her attention back to the front of the room and the professor who had just entered.

  Nothing more was said between them until the class ended. The teacher had called for assignments, and Kendra noticed that Carl had nothing to turn in. Another assignment missed. Kendra could not help but wonder how much longer Carl would be allowed to stay in the class.

  As she gathered her books to leave, Carl fell in step beside her.

  “So what did you think of poor Walter?” he asked, referring to the story they were studying in class.

  Kendra laughed lightly. “I think he made his own problems,” she answered.

  “You don’t think he was a victim of circumstance?”

  “No more than you or I—or anyone, for that matter,” responded Kendra.

  “But look at the poor ol’ chap,” went on Carl in mock sympathy. “Married to that woman. Needing all that money. Having that poor job.”

  Kendra smiled. “He married the woman—he spent money he didn’t have. He picked the job because it was undemanding.”

  Carl chuckled. “So you won’t give the unlucky ol’ boy a break?”

  Kendra shook her head. “We all make our choices,” she replied. “He made bad ones.”

  Carl sobered suddenly. They walked in silence. At length Carl spoke again.

  “Do you think that’s what the author is trying to say?” he asked seriously.

  “No,” replied Kendra after some thought. “I think the author was trying to picture Walter just as you have described him. A victim. But I don’t agree. There are victims in the world, of course. Real victims. But they are the people who’ve never had choices to make. Not the ones who have made bad choices.”

  “Youch. You’re tough,” said Carl with a mock grimace, and they both chuckled.

  Nothing was said about the Friday night before. No reference. No apology. No accusations. Kendra was happy to forget the whole event.

  “See you on Wednesday,” said Carl when they reached the end of the hall where Kendra turned one way and he the other.

  Kendra nodded and smiled. She was glad that things could continue just as they had been.

  On Tuesday Kendra hurried to tuck her books together and follow the class from the room. She did wish she didn’t have classes back-toback that were located from one end of the building to the other. She always reached her late-afternoon biology class breathless and flushed. She was feeling frustrated with the class anyway. What she had hoped would provide her with many answers was instead filling her mind with troubling thoughts and even more questions.

  Just ahead of her, two students nearly collided, jostling to avoid each other, smiling in embarrassment and fighting to stay in control of their armloads of books.

  “I’m sorry,” Kendra heard the young man apologize, but it was obvious he was in a big hurry to get to his next class.

  “My fault,” replied the girl. “I was too deep in thought.” She managed a smile. He gave her a smile in return and they both hurried on.

  Kendra was about to push the little incident from her mind. It happened frequently in the narrow halls as students rushed back and forth to classes. But just as she neared the spot where it happened she noticed some sheets of paper on the floor. They must have fallen from the books of one or the other of the students. She stopped to scoop them up. They might be important. She stood and looked down the hall in the direction both students had gone, but they were no longer in sight. She did not have time to run after them nor did she have time to check the papers at present, so she slipped them into one of her own class books. She would try to sort it out later. She did hope that if they indeed were important, the
re would be a name on one of the sheets.

  It wasn’t until Kendra was doing her homework that evening that she remembered the sheets of paper. She pulled them from her text and scanned the page to look for a name. At the bottom of the one page was one word, written in smooth, elegant script, “Amy.”

  Amy? Was that the name of the girl? Was this a class assignment? Would she be looking frantically for the copy? Kendra had so little to go on. She didn’t remember seeing the girl in any of her classes.

  “It looks like poetry,” mused Kendra. She began to read the lines.

  Trees

  So new-born

  They still look

  Sticky-wet.

  They

  Haven’t

  Even gathered

  Any air-dust yet.

  Kendra reread the little verse. She liked it. It was strange to her, this new form. But she liked the thought. She had seen trees like that. In the spring. With the new green leaves just unfolding, looking fresh and new—and yes—just a bit sticky as they uncurled from the firm wrapping of the bud.

  Kendra turned to the next sheet.

  Who put the stars in the evening sky?

  Who gave the waters their azure blue?

  Who set the rainbow up on high?

  And sprinkled the grasses with morning dew?

  Who hid the fawn with its dappled sides?

  Who taught the salmon to swim the brooks?

  Who buried gold in the heart of the earth?

  Planted wood violets in shadowed nooks?

  Who told the crocus that spring had come?

  Brought the butterfly from the cocoon?

  Who put the song in the robin’s heart?

  Governed the tides by the distant moon?

  Kendra felt a strange stirring of her heart in response to the poem with its reference to the nature she loved and the questions it raised. She was so moved she could scarcely continue reading. This was what she wanted to know. This was what her heart cried out for. The answers. She needed the answer.

  She let her eyes fall back to the page she held in a trembling hand.

  Who put the “wonder” within my breast?

  Set off the “joy bells” within my soul?

  Kendra turned the page, but the back of the sheet was empty. Was there another sheet? There had to be. The poem had not given her the answer. There had to be more. There just had to.

  But there was nothing more. Kendra turned the page again and slowly reread the poem. Line by line she pondered the thoughts. Here was a kindred spirit. Here was someone who thought as she thought. Wondered as she wondered. Had she—this Amy—found the answer to all the unasked questions? Oh, she must have. Kendra could sense a—a contentment—a peace in the writing. It was not written as by one who was still searching in frustration to find the answers. There had to be more to the poem.

  Kendra looked again at the last two lines. Yes. There was more. The meter, as well as the content, called for it. There were at least two more lines to the poem. Perhaps they held the secret. Kendra scrambled through her textbook hoping to find another page of script. But there was none.

  “Oh, I do hope she hasn’t lost the last part,” cried Kendra inwardly. “What if she dropped another sheet and I didn’t see it? What if she dropped it farther on?” The very thought made Kendra feel panicky. Maybe she would never find the answers to her questions.

  She had to find Amy. She had to. She focused mentally on remembering the girl she had seen briefly in the hall. She was of medium height, with dark hair and eyes, a nice, rather shy smile, glasses—yes, glasses. Not many of the students wore glasses. Perhaps she could find her by her glasses. She had to find her. Somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Encounter

  For the next two weeks Kendra walked the halls scanning faces. She was so intent on trying to find Amy that she could hardly concentrate on her schoolwork. She even went to the office and asked if anyone had inquired about missing assignment copies.

  “No,” came the answer. “I suppose we could hold the sheets here in case anyone asks concerning them,” he added, but Kendra was reluctant to give up the pages.

  “I’ll just keep looking for her,” she replied hurriedly. “I’m bound to run into her again.”

  But Kendra was beginning to doubt her own words. Would she ever find the girl? Had the unknown Amy needed the pages to fulfill an assignment?

  By the end of the third week, Kendra wondered if she must give up. It seemed that Amy was not to be found. Dejectedly Kendra loaded her arms with her homework for the weekend and started home. She would never find her now. She wondered if she would even remember what the girl looked like.

  It was a cold day. The wind blew from the north and whipped at Kendra’s heavy coat as though trying to tear it from her shoulders. Kendra braced herself against it and pulled her collar snugly up to her chin. It was on days like this that she wished she still had her fur parka.

  “I wonder how Nonie is doing?” she asked herself. She missed Nonie. Missed the smile and the friendly chatter. Even missed her silence as she moved wordlessly about the cabin. Nonie had been like a grandmother. A replacement for the woman Kendra had never known.

  Kendra’s thoughts then turned to her grandfather. She wondered often how his winter’s trapping was going. He had helped considerably with her university costs. Had he kept enough money back to get himself through the long, hard winter? Did he have ample supplies? Kendra did hope so, but she had been reluctant to ask. She worried about her grandfather, and she felt some guilt for leaving him on his own just so she could fulfil her selfish desire to learn at the university.

  “I may as well have stayed at home,” she said sadly. “I really have not found answers anyway. Not to the real questions. It—it seems that the answers are—are as lost as I am.”

  Kendra fought against a sudden gust of wind that whipped sharp ice crystals against her exposed cheek, making it sting.

  “I think I’ll just go home.” She surprised even herself. “Back to Papa Mac and Nonie and Oscar.”

  But as quickly as her heart began to beat with the excitement of the thought, Kendra dismissed it. She couldn’t quit in the middle of a term. That would be a waste. That would not please her grandfather. He had not raised a quitter. Kendra amended her statement. “I’ll go home just as soon as I finish my first year,” she told herself and felt sorrow and loneliness fill her being again. It seemed such a long time to wait.

  Had Kendra been one to give way to tears, she would have let them fall now. She felt deep, inconsolable sorrow. She was so lonely for the life she knew. So disheartened over what she had failed to find. All she wanted was her own familiar room with its Hudson Bay blankets, its kerosene lamp, its crackling fire in the hearth, and Oscar lying on the bear rug beside her moss and fir-bough-covered bed. All she wanted was her shelf of books and the stirring of her grandfather in the small room beyond her door.

  But Kendra knew she must finish what she had started.

  She was glad for Maggie Miller. The friend of her grandfather’s had been most kind. Kendra was sure that, despite her strong resolve, she would never have been able to finish the year were it not for Mrs. Miller.

  Another gust of wind caught her, almost wrenching the books from her arms. She clutched them closer and turned to ward off the chilly blast.

  Just as she turned back she bumped into someone. Startled, Kendra caught herself and looked to see who it was. A young woman was returning her gaze, her eyes as wide open in surprise as Kendra’s.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” said the young woman quickly. “I—I’m afraid I wasn’t watching.”

  “My fault,” replied Kendra, but the wind seemed to snatch her words away.

  “It’s the wind,” began the girl and she pushed back her heavy scarf. Kendra found herself looking at the girl from the university hallway. She had found her.

  “Amy?” she said in unbelief.

  The girl looked even more surpri
sed. “Do I know you?” she asked simply.

  “No. No,” said Kendra, shaking her head. “But I’ve—been looking for you. For weeks.”

  Amy looked confused. “Why don’t you come in,” she offered, turning to indicate the small house in front of them.

  “You live here?” asked Kendra. It was only a few blocks to Maggie’s house.

  “Yes,” replied the girl and took Kendra’s arm.

  They hurried toward the house against the push of the wind.

  Once inside, the door firmly closed behind them, they turned to face each other again. Amy pulled off her scarf, revealing her face. Yes, it truly was her. Kendra saw the same dark eyes, the same soft smile. Kendra took a deep breath and grinned.

  “I thought I’d never find you,” she admitted.

  “Come in,” said Amy, pointing to the sitting room. “Take off your coat—and tell me why you’ve been looking for me.”

  Kendra quickly shrugged out of her coat and picked up her textbook with the folded pages that bore the two poems.

  “You dropped this—in the hall one day. You ran into someone and I found these on the floor.”

  She handed the pages to the girl.

  “Oh—these. I wondered where they went.” Amy looked up and smiled. “Thanks—for returning them.”

  “I was afraid you’d need them for an assignment, and I’d get them back to you too late,” continued Kendra.

  “Oh—no. Just—just some of my—musings. I’m always—scribbling down thoughts here and there. I just—”

  “Do you have the rest of it?” asked Kendra before she could check herself.

  Amy looked down at the sheets she held. The short poem about the trees was on the top.