The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  “Help me up. I’ll bury them.”

  “Bury them?” Kimimela spat in their direction. “Leave them for the wolves.”

  “I will dig a grave for these retched men; they don’t deserve one but I was raised a Catholic.”

  “Those men had Indian jewelry,” Kimimela said. “Not my clan but I recognize it.”

  “How did they get it?” Andre asked.

  “Those devils most likely stole it. Probably killed for it.”

  “I’ll fill in their graves and we’ll see if we can track in the direction they came from.”

  The pair followed a trail for five hours. Eventually the trail climbed a hill, bisected a small wood and opened into a large meadow. Kimimela turned her head into the wind and took a deep breath. “Do you smell that?”

  “Something’s been butchered.”

  They walked in the direction of the scent. Kimimela grabbed Andre’s arm, whispering, “Quiet.”

  They remained motionless, then heard a child’s brief whimper.

  “This way,” Kimimela whispered.

  The instant the child saw them, the little one jumped up and started running.

  “Do not fear,” Kimimela yelled as she dropped her things. Despite the pain in her injured foot, she leaped over a few small bushes and ran zigzag between a number of trees. Wrapping her left arm around the girl’s waist, Kimimela lifted her off the ground. The girl screamed, flailed her arms and legs, then tried to push out of her grasp. “I am not here to hurt you.” The girl screamed again and fought harder. “I am not here to hurt you,” Kimimela said, this time in Salish.

  The girl froze. Kimimela slowly lowered her to the ground. The little one turned to face her. Wide eyed and terrified, her body trembled.

  In Salish, she asked the girl, “What happened?”

  “Two bad men were chasing us. My brother shot at one and they killed him. Mother told me to hide in the woods. I heard more shooting then my mother and sister screaming.”

  Kimimela held out her hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Nekota.”

  “Come with me.”

  At the edge of the wood, Kimimela saw Andre waving them away.

  “We’ll move over here, Nekota.”

  “Does she speak English?” Andre asked as he approached.

  “Do you speak English?” Kimimela asked in Salish.

  The girl shook her head.

  Andre took a deep breath. “Those bastards killed her family. Abused the women then gutted all of them; most likely to attract animals to dispose of the remains. I’ll bury them as is the Chelan custom.”

  “We’ll take her with us.”

  Andre nodded.

  “My family?” the girl asked.

  “Gone.” Kimimela picked her up and continued walking toward the lake. Nekota was wracked with sobs.

  Arriving at the western end of Tsi Laan lake, they followed a trail next to a rapid stream which took them high into the mountains to a narrow pass through the craggy peaks. Kimimela walked behind Nekota. She delighted in seeing the young one regularly stop to examine the season’s early flowers plus turn in the direction of bird calls. Occasionally, she became motionless, then would begin crying. Kimimela would pick her up and carry her until the little one’s anguish subsided.

  The following morning, Kimimela woke with a start when a rifle shot echoed through the woods. Within minutes, Andre returned with a large mountain goat. Nekota ran her hand down its neck.

  “A beautiful animal,” she said. “How sad it died.”

  “We’ll thank it for giving up its life so we can eat and use its fur to warm us.”

  Nekota turned away while the adults skinned and butchered the animal.

  A band of Cayuse entered their camp. Two of the men warmly greeted Andre.

  An old woman approached Kimimela. “Your child is beautiful.”

  “Thank you but she’s not mine. We found Nekota after her family was murdered.”

  “Whites?”

  Kimimela nodded, then motioned toward Nekota. “I was thinking of having her call me big sister.”

  The old woman eyed Nekota who was picking wildflowers and arranging them in her hair. She rapidly shook her head. “Nekota is young. She needs a mother’s guidance; not a sister.”

  With a handful of wildflowers, Nekota ran to them and presented a few to each. The old woman patted her shoulder. Andre traded some of the goat meat for dried clams and fish.

  The old woman took Kimimela aside. “Be careful. The whites are spreading a disease. Your skin becomes hot and itching then red dots appear. It was the death of many of our people.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Your man?”

  “He is good to me and the child.”

  “May the gods protect you.”

  The Cayuse headed further into the mountains.

  “The men told me furs sell for little money. We should head down the Columbia and sell them before others arrive which will depress the prices. We’ll be warm in my cabin.”

  “Large enough for all of us?”

  He laughed. “Yes but set up for one person. I’ve passed many winters there.” Gazing at the distant mountains, he added, “I may have to change my way of life.”

  “I as well,” Kimimela lamented.

  Chapter Six: New Way of Life

  Nekota bundled herself in a deer hide in the middle of the canoe and slept as the they followed the Columbia river to an area west of Walla Walla, Washington.

  “We call it trapper town,” he said. “This is my winter…,” he laughed, “but now summer home.”

  The interior of the fourteen-by-ten-foot cabin was devoid of furniture.

  “After I sell my furs, I’ll check the roof,” Andre said. “From the condition of the floor, it must leak.”

  “More windows would be nice,” Kimimela said.

  Andre nodded then brought in logs and kindling for the fireplace while she stored their gear.

  “I’ll begin cleaning,” she said. Kimimela bundled sticks together and smiled as Nekota imitated her. They began at the back of the cabin and swept the floor.

  Andre returned and handed her a few gold coins. “In case you wish to buy something.”

  Kimimela thought, “Again his warm soul demonstrates his generous nature. She thanked him with a warm smile and a gentle squeeze on his arm.

  He used a stone to sharpen his ax. Within a few hours the roof was repaired and he crafted a table which could be used for eating and sleeping. He paid a man who delivered three chairs.

  “Women need privacy when they…”

  “I’ll see to it,” Andre said.

  By the end of the following day, Andre was exhausted from digging a pit and constructing an outhouse over it.

  * * *

  On a Saturday morning, a group of trappers gathered in a clearing which was rimmed by trees. They each put a gold dollar in a leather bag and engaged in a knife throwing competition.

  Kimimela watched them briefly, then approached the man with the coins. She handed him a dollar.

  “New competitor,” he announced. “Best-of-three throws.”

  The crowd of trappers parted. One of them motioned her to the throwing line. She placed one foot just behind it and pulled her knife out of its sheath. The men were throwing at an eighteen-inch tree about twenty-paces-distant.

  Kimimela studied her target. She reared back and threw. The spinning knife created a silvery flash on its way to the tree. It landed with a solid “thunk.” But in the wrong tree. Some of the men laughed as the blade sat in an eight inch diameter tree to the larger tree’s left.

  She smiled and held out her hand to a trapper for another knife. Nekota’s caretaker silenced the laughter by placing the second blade six-inches above the first. A second trapper handed her his knife. As a third silvery flash reflected in the sun light, it embedded itself just below the first.

  “Anyone think they can better her throws?”

  Tw
o tried but were unsuccessful. A leather bag with twelve gold coins was handed to Kimimela. She eyed the now sullen trappers. She counted out five coins and handed back the balance while announcing, “For the next best and the next best.” A number of the men smiled. The winner turned to leave. She smiled and thought, “Best not to be greedy.”

  The coins made a pleasant jingle as she proceeded on her way.

  * * *

  “I have friends who’ve invited me to…visit,” Andre said.

  Kimimela put her hands on her hips and shouted. “You are going out to drink that vile liquid which turns men’s minds into mush. Why? You have a family here.”

  He avoided her angry gaze. “I’m going to meet my friends,” he said and walked out the door.

  The moment he returned, it was obvious he had trouble standing straight.

  Kimimela shouted. “Look at you. Barely able to stand. You stink. Go sleep outside. You don’t deserve to be in the presence of this fine child.”

  Andre held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Still wobbling, he strained to focus his eyes. “You are correct. As my blessed wife predicted, my head has turned to mush. Please forgive me…but…it’s raining outside.”

  “You sleep on the floor tonight,” Kimimela raged with hands still on her hips.

  He sheepishly nodded and stretched out in one of the cabin’s front corner. Immediately, the sound of his rasping snoring filled the cabin.

  “You are angry with him?” Nekota asked.

  “Yes, but he also filled my heart with rainbows.”

  “Rainbows? How?”

  Kimimela’s expression now radiant, she said, “He called me his blessed wife.”

  * * *

  A thoroughly inebriated stranger entered their cabin late on a Monday afternoon while Andre was away. Kimimela warmed food in the fire place. Initially, Kimimela thought it was her husband. The drunk spun her around and yelled, “I want them gold coins.” She kicked his shin hard enough that he yelled and slapped her. He grasped her by the shoulders. Nekota ran out the door screaming for Andre. Kimimela twisted out of his grasp and grabbed a fire poker. She gripped the end of the three foot metal rod with both hands and swung it with a motion which put all her body weight into it. The bar struck the man on the side of his head, knocking him off his feet. He shook his head to clear it, gathered his feet under him and stepped toward her. She swung again, this time catching him across the belly.

  The assailant staggered backward three steps, gasped for air then screamed, “You fucking Indian bitch. I’ll kill you.”

  Wide-eyed and snarling, Andre exploded through the front door with Nekota following. He knocked the man to the ground, got on top of the him and used his fist like a jack hammer to repeatedly beat the man’s face. Kimimela screamed, “Hold him still and I’ll burn his thing off.”

  The man screamed, “No! Mercy! No!”

  Andre dragged him out of the cabin and threw him into the street. The would-be-assailant landed like a rag-doll but quickly struggled to his feet, ran three steps and tripped; flopping to the ground. He glanced back, a look of terror in his expression as Andre started toward him. Scrambling to his feet a second time, he took off down the road.

  Out of breath Andre turned to Kimimela. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Andre embraced her.

  Taking a minute to catch his breath, he then asked, “Would you have burned…”

  “No. But he doesn’t know that. Let him warn his friends that I am crazy. They will leave us alone.”

  “You fought like a mother bear.”

  She nodded at Nekota. “I am.”

  He laughed and gave her another warm embrace.

  * * *

  Andre brought home a feather-filled-sleeping-cushion for them and a small one for Nekota.

  “My pretty, hard-working papillon and our daughter should not have to sleep on a hard table or floor.”

  Kimimela thought, “Such a kind and thoughtful man. After Nekota sleeps, I must make him mine.”

  He sighed. “I spoke to the fur buyer. The fur trade is ending.”

  “What will you do?”

  “For the next couple months, there is carpentry work I can do around town.”

  Kimimela nodded.

  Andre’s body, even though worn from years of trekking in the wilderness, still responded to Kimimela’s touch. She pulled up her dress and he rolled on top of her.

  She giggled to herself and thought, “Perhaps his arrows are stronger than my husband’s.”

  * * *

  Four-weeks-later on a cool morning, Andre and a few friends were warming themselves around a potbellied stove at the general store.

  Andre said, “We’ve lived in peace with the Cayuse, all the years we’ve lived here. Among them, as well as the Salish, I have true friends.”

  “The Cayuse murdered the Whitman family and other white folk. The fact that your wife is Indian may not help you,” an Army officer said. “They’re still riled up from losing so many of their number to disease. They blame us for that.”

  A man stated emphatically, “Disease happens. We didn’t give it to them.”

  “They never experienced the diseases before we came here,” Andre said.

  “There’s going to be a war in this valley. I strongly urge you to leave,” the officer said. “Soon enough, Captain McClellan may ban all whites from this area.”

  * * *

  Back in their cabin, Kimimela put food on the table and asked, “If we leave, how will we live?”

  “Furs no longer sell for enough money to make a living and I fear a war is coming. Time to find new work and a new place to live.” Tears filled Andre’s eyes. “I have a friend who is a foreman at a warehouse near a city called Portland. I went hunting with him a few times. Named Breuer. He might help us.” He ate a few bites. “I haven’t lived in a white settlement since I was a child.”

  “I never have.”

  “It will take some adjustment.”

  “I fear they will hate Nekota and me because we’re not white.”

  “We shouldn’t be caught in the middle of a war.” He nodded at Nekota. “We have to do that for her.”

  Kimimela nodded. “We’ll head to Portland, and find this Breuer man.”

  * * *

  “Look at them Indians,” Timothy shouted. He rubbed his neck and reached for an ax. Another worker at the woodshop pulled a large lever which stopped his steam operated machine. He picked up a length of wood.

  “Turn around and get out of here.” Timothy seethed and rubbed his neck again.

  “I wish to talk to Mr. Breuer,” Andre said.

  “He don’t want to talk to no damn Indians.”

  A tall burley man approached. “I’ll decide who I talk to. Get back to work.”

  Timothy lowered the ax but glared at the newcomers with unadulterated hate.

  “Andre my friend. Good to see you,” Mr. Breuer said.

  They shook hands as Andre introduced his family.

  “Mr. Breuer, I need work. The fur trade no longer provides an adequate income and I have a family to feed.”

  “I don’t know. We have enough laborers.” He glanced around the property. “I need someone to learn to sharpen the drills and blades in the woodshop.”

  “I can learn. I am good with my hands.”

  “It takes huge patience.” Mr. Breuer grinned and slapped Andre’s shoulder. “Like the patience you taught me when we sat for hours waiting for deer to approach.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” he said shaking hands.

  Kathleen approached.

  “We have a man with skilled hands to learn sharpening tools in the woodshop, Ma’am. This here’s Andre and his family. Andre, this is one of the owners.”

  Andre introduced Kimimela and Nekota.

  Kathleen shook hands with them. Kimimela noted her warm smile and greeting. This was in stark contrast with the unadulterated hatred she saw in the eyes of many of the w
oman’s employees.

  “Where are you living?” Kathleen asked.

  “Don’t have a place yet.”

  “I have a small worker’s cabin in an orchard on my property. No one lives there now. It’s yours if you want until you find your own place. It’ll take some fixing up but the roof is good and the stove is practically new.”

  “We’ll manage,” Andre said.

  “Andre you can start immediately.”

  “I’ll walk home with Kimimela and Nekota to show them the cabin,” Kathleen said.

  Before walking into the orchard, Kathleen entered her home and returned with apples for her new acquaintances.

  “Let’s put your things in the cabin.”

  “Some of the men were angry with us. Why?” Nekota asked in Salish after finishing an apple..

  “Some people just hate,” Kathleen said after Kimimela translated. “I was born a Catholic in Ireland. The looks of hatred you received from my workers is little different from the looks we received from some Protestants.”

  Kathleen put a hand on the little one’s cheek and said, “You have beautiful eyes.”

  Nekota smiled. “Thank you.”

  Kimimela looked around the cabin, “We need to clean this place.”

  Kathleen said, “I’ll get some things from the house and I’ll help.”

  She returned to the cabin with rags, a floor brush, soap and a bucket, plus a handful of clothing.

  “Hello inside,” Kathleen called out.

  “Please come in,” Kimimela replied and wiped sweat from her brow while she set aside the bundle of sticks she’d been using to sweep the wood floor.

  “Kimimela, you and I are about the same size. I suggest you change into these clothes and I have a dress one of my nieces has outgrown. You and Nekota won’t look like Indians. Maybe folks can forget who you are.”

  Kimimela shuddered while remembering the hate-filled-stares and unkind words she’d experienced when they arrived. She nodded.