by Jean Little
They did, and how we feasted. Even Père Raffeix joined us.
Le 16 décembre 1667
Yet another bitterly cold day. The longhouse is nothing like our home in Montréal, but it is warm enough. Still, I am glad that I wear two chemises, two pairs of stockings, skirts — two of everything.
The work — I am husking corn — gives me time to think about how we are living here. One of the cabanes is the chapel and the residence of Père Raffeix, Charles Boquet and some of the indiens converts. The other houses two families of habitants from Montréal. They are very crowded there, I must say. In the large longhouses are a mixture of Oneida and Mohawk people, also converts. But in the small longhouse, our longhouse, only Jean, Kateri and I have been baptized. All of Kateri’s family follow the old ways, and in fact seem suspicious of some of the things that Père Raffeix tries to tell them. Jean says that it is a wise thing to make such an important decision as baptism carefully. Perhaps.
I can again hear the singing coming from Père Raffeix’s house. We have been told that they are practising for Midnight Mass. I do not recognize the hymn, though.
Le 18 décembre 1667
Kateri’s cousin is called Sonhatsi. His wife is Atiron. Their baby, who has no name yet, and whom we simply call Owira, or Baby, has a bad cough. It is at its worst at night, and the smokiness of the longhouse does not help at all. I will make the baby a poultice of wild onions to help soothe her.
Tard
The wind has risen horribly until now it is shrieking around the longhouse, drowning out Owira’s coughing. I am reminded of the terrible storm through which we sailed here to New France.
No. I will not write of such things.
Le 19 décembre 1667
The storm continues. No one ventures outside the palisade for fear of becoming lost in the heavy, blowing snow. I am now also coughing and so is Kateri.
Le 21 décembre 1667
This morning it was necessary for Jean and the other men to tunnel through the snowdrift that had blocked one of the openings that serves as the longhouse’s two doors. When the air blew in, the cold made me shiver, but it also made me realize how strongly this longhouse smells of smoke.
We are to depart the mission in the morning if the storm has ended. I will miss Kateri’s family, but look forward to the smells of my own kitchen.
Dear Jean. Sensing this, he cut and brought in fresh spruce boughs for the sleeping platforms. How wonderful they smell!
Tard la nuit
Poor Owira. In the night she began to suffer from a high fever and now is having difficulty breathing. I will keep my fears for her to myself.
Plus tard
Jean and Kateri — I can hide nothing from them, since they see it all on my face. Jean has sent Charles with a message to Tante Barbe. He will go as quickly as he can through the storm.
We will remain here at the mission.
Le 23 décembre 1667
Père Raffeix came and prayed over the baby, which Owira’s parents permitted, but when he whispered to Jean of baptism, my husband shook his head, saying that now was not the time to speak of such things. I said nothing, but if the baby should die … Jean spoke briefly of a sweat lodge, but the storm makes that impossible.
I have tried to think of what else may be done. There is something I once saw Tante Barbe do when a little boy was ill and could not breathe, and so I have set water to boiling and found a clean blanket to drape over the baby and her
Plus tard
Tante Barbe is here! She has been pulled the entire way on a traîne by Charles and the Cavelier de la Salle, who came along for the adventure! At first I did not recognize her, she was so covered in snow! We wept when she pulled me into her arms. She was certain that my health as well as dear Kateri’s must be in danger, in spite of Charles’s assurances.
“I was wrong,” she said in relief, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “You two suffer only from colds. But this poor child!” And in a flash she was kneeling next to the baby. Then she hugged me again, saying that I was a clever girl to remember what must be done. She had packets of herbs with her and so she put hyssop and lavender into the boiling water. With Jean’s and Sonhatsi’s help the steaming kettle was placed in front of Owira’s mother, who had the baby in her arms. The blanket was draped over them both so that the soothing steam would loosen the baby’s breathing.
Ákhsot nodded and observed that our idea was a good one, that the cloth tent would act as a sweat lodge. There was no more to do but pray, and so I told my beads, closing my eyes so that I would not be distracted, but a sound caused me to open them. It was Ákhsot, who was also praying. Later Kateri explained that her grandmother had been praying to The Master of Life, which is how they refer to le bon Dieu. Prayer and the good medicines of Tante Barbe — surely mercy will be shown to this little one.
Le 24 décembre 1667
What a gift. The baby’s coughing and breathing have eased. And yet a second gift. Not only will Tante Barbe be here with us this Christmas, so shall Ourson! Charles was only waiting until the crisis had passed before he brought Ourson in from Père Raffeix’s cabane, where he had been given shelter from the storm.
“There was no question of bringing the cats, and so those two have remained at the inn with Seraphim,” huffed Tante Barbe. “He spoils rather than disciplines the wicked creatures! Minette and Sottise have twice taken the shepherds from my crèche … and the angels — they no longer resemble angels!”
I had to hide my smiles, but could not help wondering that surely there might have been cats and even a dog in the stable on this night so long ago.
Plus tard
The longhouse sleeps around us. Only Jean is awake, watching as I write.
The mass tonight was lovely. Not even the fierce wind could drown out the sounds of the choir. The sweetest song they sang? One in the Huron language, a hymn called “Iesous Ahatonhia, Jesus Is Born.” They say it was written by Père Jean de Brébeuf, a Jesuit missionary who was killed almost twenty years ago, during a war fought between the Iroquois and the Huron.
What a blessing is this peace among all of us.
Le 25 décembre 1667
Joyeux Noël!
We had a Christmas feast of stew, corn soup and savory tourtières that Tante Barbe had brought secretly from home and kept wrapped and hidden until now. Charles spent hours talking with La Salle about his plans to explore the west. Jean listened with great interest, but it did not alarm me. He has no wish to live the life of an adventurer, he once said. Life at home is adventure enough.
We will exchange small gifts on New Year’s Day, as is the custom, once we are back in Montréal. And yet I have been given a gift here today by Kateri’s grandmother, for it is she who has given me a Mohawk name! Ionattokha’. She says I am to be known this way when among them. Its meaning made me blush when Jean explained.
“Well, She Is Wise,” he teased me, “the storm has passed, the baby is healing and my family talks of returning to their own village. Are you ready to face the journey home?”
Oui! I answered him. I do not feel particularly wise, but perhaps in time I may come to live up to my name. Until then, I am wise enough to know that the life we have together is a wonderful gift.
Along with other Selkirk settlers who struggled to reach the Red River Settlement after their long voyage from Scotland, Isobel Scott and her family must again leave The Forks to winter elsewhere — this time, as once before, at Fort Daer.
Shelter from the Cold
December 1, 1817
I am fed up! Yes, diary, I dare to write these words here, although as you can well imagine, I dare not utter them aloud. I am fed up and more! Everyone is at everyone else’s throat. Fighting, bickering, sniping, short tempers, furrowed eyebrows, glowering looks — that is the state of our household. Only Father rises above it; indeed he barely notices, which is one of the problems. White Loon is in her early months with child and she is lethargic and can keep no food dow
n at all. Father is worried about her and their child, and constantly fusses over her when he is home. Otherwise he is out hunting with White Loon’s father every day. James too is out hunting and returns home tired and grumpy.
This is the third year that we have been forced to leave The Forks and winter elsewhere. Once again we are at Ft. Daer, living in small huts, and there is little in the way of comfort or food. To top it off, we seem to have acquired a ghost! There are strange noises at night, food is disappearing, and Kate swears we are being visited by a poltergeist. Robbie has stopped sleeping, he is so frightened, and somehow I am supposed to keep everyone happy, healthy, eating well, sleeping well and getting along well. It’s hopeless!
Mother was always so good at keeping the peace, whereas I seem to only add to the troubles. It is at times like these I feel her loss acutely.
December 3
This morning began with shrieks of terror from Kate. As we were taking off our nightclothes, small white lights shot out from the clothes, illuminating the darkness around us. I remember the same thing happening last winter, although we never discovered the reason. I must admit it was a bit frightening. She began to wail that it was her poor father, murdered last year near Seven Oaks, come back to haunt her. She shed no tears but screamed in such an eerie way that even I had goosebumps.
As for Robbie, he threw on his clothes and sprinted from the hut without any breakfast. Still, he shan’t go hungry. His friends will be sure he eats — that’s all the young lads do, it seems, eat. And us with so little food! But somehow whatever is to be had they find a way to get into their stomachs. I had to make a calming tea for Kate and another one for White Loon to help her stomach, make a fire — my nostrils closing in on themselves all the while, it is so cold — and get the porridge on for Father and James. By the time that was done I had to sweep out the hut, shake out the blankets, beat the pillows, scrub the pots and start dinner.
Finally White Loon made me take a rest. I went outside to a white landscape, a blue sky, and a cold so fierce it made me cough every time I took a breath. Still I was glad for a small respite from housework. Kate and I walked around the huts, meeting others of our age, including Alice, who merely glanced at Kate and then pretended she did not exist. Kate could not resist tormenting her, knowing full well that Alice is mad for James and means to marry him.
“Oh, it is such a delight to be living with your family,” Kate said to me. “Especially under the same roof as James. To watch him work at night on his necklaces and bracelets is nothing short of inspiring.”
Alice appeared ready to explode. Her face turned bright red like an over-filled skin. Can she not see how Kate is baiting her? She put her arm through mine and walked ahead of Kate, leaving her to trail behind. At that point we encountered Robbie and Peter and a group of four other boys. They had just finished piling snow up against the door of a hut so whoever was inside would be unable to get out. I put my hand on my hips and glared at them. They meekly undid their mischief. I realize that I must start to take better care of Robbie. I had been schooling him over the summer, but since we’ve been here have been far too busy. And I supposed there was no time like the present, so without pause I said, “You lads follow me, now.”
We returned to our small hut and I settled everyone on the floor. The other girls sat near me and we took turns reading to the boys. Father had managed to obtain a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson from The Hudson’s Bay Company store. I know it is not the Bible, but it is written by a pastor, and it teaches wonderful values, telling a story of a family who must rely on each other and be resourceful to survive. How similar to our plight! I must say that the children were fascinated, as were the older girls, and we had a lovely hour together. But then, back to work for everyone.
December 4
I begin to fear that there is a thief amongst us! Food is definitely disappearing. And sometimes the door is found open, allowing the most frightful drafts into the hut. Father says it needs fixing as it isn’t closing properly. Or could we really have a ghost?
December 5
When I sleep I hear whimpering and crying. But when I get up and move, it stops. Kate really believes it is her dead Father. She couldn’t eat a bite of food today and paced up and down outdoors all day, despite the bitter cold. I fear her sanity could be giving way. I have mentioned it to White Loon, who thinks perhaps it is a restless spirit.
Father says we are imagining things — he can hear nothing.
Robbie was kept busy all of today helping out at the Cree encampment. White Loon’s brothers needed the younger boys’ help tending the dogs.
December 8
It is a dog! I caught it this morning. I heard the sounds, crept out ever so quietly and there it was! It has a broken leg, I believe, and has somehow been living off scraps it has found when we were out or sleeping. Actually it is a she. And she has the sweetest eyes you could ever imagine. She looked up at me in the most trusting manner and with a mute plea for help. But if she is so trusting, why not present herself in the open? It is a mystery. I need to find out more before I act, so I will ask White Loon about the tribe’s dogs. I know very little about them except that some are noble and beautiful, some quite terrifying. But they are all hard workers. Will the dog, injured as she is, be put to death if I expose her?
December 9
I have named her Cocoa. She is a mixed colour of dark brown and light brown. Her muzzle is a light, almost reddish brown, her eyes the colour of tree bark.
I have made her a bed scooped out of the snow at the back of the hut in a hollow where it is unlikely anyone will notice her. How she remained so invisible to everyone I have no idea.
I asked White Loon about the dogs in the camp. Most are working dogs, trained to pull sleds. Some are trained to watch the children. Some are also pets. I asked her what would happen to a sick animal. White Loon said that it depended on its owner. She was feeling particularly unwell, so I couldn’t press her further. In fact I needed to make her some tea and force her to stop cooking and cleaning. She had decided that sitting about was not the Indian way and revolted against Father’s demands for her to rest. But her illness got the better of her and she was forced to sit down and confine herself to mending our moccasins for the even colder weather ahead.
I need to find out where this dog belongs without giving too much away. After all, if the dog — Cocoa — if Cocoa loved her owner, wouldn’t she have stayed with him? I fear that she has run away for a reason.
I need to fix her leg but am unsure how.
December 11
I have managed to set Cocoa’s leg, with help from Mother’s trusty little book on medicinal remedies. It’s not exactly like a human leg but I think I have managed, using some old woolen strips and sewing it all tightly on the leg. She allowed me to do it with barely a cry. Honestly, she must be the bravest dog in the whole world. She waits patiently for me in the morning and no longer raids our kitchen, knowing that I will provide for her.
It hasn’t been easy keeping her a secret from Robbie in particular, but I fear that if he discovers her it will be all over the camp in two shakes and then her owner might demand her return. There is a little voice inside me that worries — what if her owner is devoted to her and is missing her and I am keeping them apart?
December 12
It is getting too cold to leave her outside. I am going to have to bring her in. This morning she was almost frozen.
Later
I brought Cocoa into the house and it caused such an uproar I cannot even begin to describe it in these pages, but I will try! First of all Robbie: he danced about her as if she were a unicorn. I have never seen such a fuss in my life, but it was very sweet. He cuddled her and petted her and spoke to her as if she understood every word he said — including gentle scolding for scaring him and making him think we had a ghost in the house.
James seemed to not care one way or another. He has become so busy with hunting every day, and game is so scarce because of
the cold, that he is too tired to care about anything.
Kate was unimpressed to say the least. “Surely, we aren’t going to try to stretch our food to include this beast?” she demanded.
I glared at her, ready to kill her right there on the spot, but the damage was done and Father agreed with her!
“She has a point,” he said. “We barely have enough for us all.”
But it was White Loon’s reaction that worried me the most. “Isobel,” she said, “that is a beautiful animal. It must belong to someone. Shouldn’t you find out who?”
That is what I feared most about bringing her in, but had I left her outdoors she certainly would have frozen to death. “What if her owner wants to kill her?” I said. “She isn’t of any use anymore.”
White Loon thought for a moment, then said it wasn’t up to me, and that I must do the right thing and return her to her rightful owner.
I turned to Father. “But her owner might kill her!”
Father paused for a moment and then said that he would think it over. It was definitely a problem that needed some thought.
At least she is cuddled up beside me now and snoring happily.
December 15
It is becoming almost impossible to keep Cocoa a secret. Robbie’s friends were in the shack today for another reading and some more schooling. We hid Cocoa in her spot behind the shed but she wasn’t happy and whined to come in. We had to pretend we didn’t hear anything when the children asked what the noise was, and then Robbie declared that we had a ghost!
Well, the children became nervous and frightened and could barely sit still for their lessons. I stared daggers at Robbie, but he was having such a wonderful time playing this joke on his friends that he ignored me completely and played it up even more. One of the boys was reduced to tears and I had to stop the class and allow the boys out to play. I think Robbie has just discovered another way to avoid study!
