“I think we should call you Kim from now on for the same reason.”
Kimimela nodded. “I understand.”
“Your long braids need to go.”
“What?”
Kathleen used her hands to pantomime a cutting motion on Kimimela’s waist-length-braids.
Nekota’s caretaker gazed at the floor and shook her head. “Many of these people would kill me as easily as they kill a rabbit.” She looked at Kathleen. “If it will be safer for my child and me then I’ll cut them.”
“Nekota needs an English name as well.”
Kim called Nekota to her side. “She wants to give you an English name.”
Nekota shrugged.
“How about Monica,” Kathleen said.
“Monica,” Nekota repeated slowly as if trying to savor the sound of each syllable. “I like.”
Kathleen turned to Kim. “What was your full Indian name; in English words.”
“You would say, Butterfly of the Woods.”
“How about a last name of Holt. It means small woods.”
* * *
After a day of cleaning, Kim examined the dress she’d been given. It had a pocket on each side.
She pulled the threads that closed the seam on the bottom of the right hand pocket, then pulled the dress over her head. Kim modified her knife sheaf so it would strap to her thigh; now hidden by the skirt but accessible through the pocket.
Her waist length braids flopped in front of her as she bent forward. She cut each to shoulder length. A bittersweet memory ran through her mind; her mother singing while braiding her raven black hair.
“Beautiful Kimimela of the woods. Her splendor radiates like the summer sun; She brings beauty to all who see her.”
Kim thought, “Oh how I would love to see her once more.”
She wrapped her braids in a deerskin jacket, carefully storing them with the balance of her clothing.
Using a carved clam shell, she combed out the remaining braid. Kim combed and trimmed Nekota’s hair as well.
“Your eyes have water,” Monica said.
She pulled the five-year-old onto her lap and put an arm around her. “Precious girl, the way of life I was raised with is being torn from my heart; but I know of no other path for us.” Kim ran her fingers through Monica’s hair. “The white’s customs are being forced on us. We must learn to live with them. I fear it will be a struggle, but we must.”
Monica toyed with the collar on Kim’s dress. “Must we look like them?”
“We will look like the whites so they leave us alone,” she explained.
Andre entered the cabin and stared at the twosome.
Kim explained, “The Kathleen woman suggested we change our names. For the safety of our child, I believe it is a good idea. Our last name will be Holt. They will call me Kim and she will be Monica.”
He shook his head. “My full name is Andre Gaultier de Varennes de la Verendrye. None of those English speakers can pronounce it. Therefore I will also take the name Holt.”
Kim, Monica, and Kathleen proceeded to town and entered the dry goods store.
“Mrs. Ginsberg, this is Kim and her daughter Monica. Her husband works for me.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Ginsberg said.
Kim inspected bags of lentils, dark beans, and barley. She purchased a pound of each plus requested a few lengths of cloth.
As Mrs. Ginsberg cut the final length of cloth from a large bolt, Kim leaned toward her and sniffed.
“Your skin. It smells like flowers.”
“It’s the soap. My mother taught me to make it.”
“May I buy one?”
Mrs. Ginsberg eyed her. “I don’t have time to make soap to sell; what with the store and lessons for my children.”
“Oh,” Kim said with obvious disappointment.
“Mrs. Holt, I’ll give you one bar but you agree to let me teach you how to make it and I’ll buy all you make.”
* * *
“Doctor,” Kim said in Doctor Trent’s office. “Where a bullet struck my foot, it doesn’t seem to be healing.”
“Your infection could progress to a point where it may kill you. I can treat this but it will be painful.”
Dr. Trent turned to his wife. “Boil water and prepare my instruments.”
“Lay down over here, Mrs. Holt. You must remain absolutely still. Andre will help keep your leg still. I know this will be painful but please remember, pain has no memory.”
She trembled. “Please begin.”
At the first incision, Kim gritted her teeth for a bit then screamed. The scent of rotted flesh and pus filled the air. The doctor’s wife turned her head to the side and tried to hold her breath to avoid inhaling the putrid odor.
“I’m sorry to cause so much pain,” the doctor said.
When Kim dared look again, the doctor was using needle and thread to close the wound.
While applying bandages, the doctor said, “You have to keep pressure off this foot and keep it as clean as possible for a few weeks.”
“Thank you, Doctor” Kim said. Still trembling from the pain, she sat up and wiped tears from her cheeks.
* * *
Four-weeks-later carrying fresh soap to the general store, Kim saw Dr. Trent. She hurried to walk at his side.
“Doctor, I may have sickness.”
“Your foot?”
“No. My foot is improving every day. This is different. Every morning my stomach wants to come up and I have to make water many times.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“No. I had a husband three-years before Andre. Tried many times but never pregnant.”
“I’d say your first husband’s bullets couldn’t find their mark but Andre’s did.”
“Um…” She stared at the wooden walkway while her footsteps slowed. Kimimela rubbed her chin with her fingers. “Husband’s bullets couldn’t find…Andre’s did.” She covered her mouth as laughter burst forth.
Kim caught up with Dr. Trent. She grabbed his arm. “Bullets. You mean baby?”
“Yes, baby.”
Kim smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She giggled. “I must tell Andre.”
After her delivery of the fragrant soap bars to Mrs. Ginsberg, she hurried to the cabin and prepared evening meal. When Andre arrived she shouted, “Your bullets work.”
Confusion written in his expression, he asked, “What? My bullets?”.
“Yes,” she said pointing at the front of his pants.
“You’re?”
She pantomimed a swollen belly. “With baby.”
The proud mother-to-be stood on her toes and put little kisses all over his face.
Chapter Seven: Kathleen vs the Bank
Kathleen sighed. “There’s more to the story about our arrival. Let me start from a few days after I lost Jack. I was at the bank with the papers to take ownership of the business.”
* * *
A bank employee directed Kathleen to a seat opposite Mr. Alton, the bank’s owner. The grey-haired, short, and thin man sat behind a large desk in a huge leather chair which made him appear smaller still. “What brings you to the bank this morning?”
“Getting our business signed over. Here are all the papers to take ownership of the warehouse,” Kathleen said.
“These are all in Jack Kaufman’s name,” Mr. Alton said peering at Kathleen over the tops of his reading glasses.
“I’m his wife.”
“Where is he?”
“A bear killed him a couple of days ago.”
“Do you have his death certificate?”
“We can’t find his body, therefore one can’t be issued.”
“I can’t sign this over to you. How do I know you’re actually his wife?”
“I have our marriage certificate.”
He shook his head. “That’s not a legal document and I’d need a death certificate before turning anything over to you.”
“His body was likely dragged away so there won
’t be one.”
“I’m sorry about your loss. There’s little that I can do. The bank will maintain its interest in the business until Mr. Kaufman presents himself or you can provide proof of his death. There will be charges.”
She shook her head. Her voice quivered. “No… Wait…No you’re not. You’re not taking over anything. Jack paid for this and I’m his wife so it’s mine.”
“Again, you don’t have the necessary paperwork. You needn’t worry your pretty head. The bank will take care of everything for a nominal fee.”
Kathleen stood and slowly shook her head with her mouth agape. She stammered, “You…can’t…do this.”
* * *
“You mean we don’t own the business?” David asked.
“We’re making money despite all the bank charges. I talked to an attorney and he told me there was nothing I could do.”
“David, calm down,” Myra said.
Kathleen noticed his dark expression and furrowed brow.
“We’ll go to the bank on Monday and clear this up,” David said.
“On a happier note,” Kathleen said, “The local Jewish Community is having a get-together at my home. I could use some help setting up.”
“We’ll all be there,” Myra said. “Should be a great opportunity to start making friends.”
“Let’s attend Sabbath services tonight,” David said.
* * *
The Jewish community gathered for Friday-night services at a private home.
Dov Rifkin led. “Let’s begin our Kabbalat service with Psalm ninety-seven to get our minds cleared of the concerns of the week and into the proper frame of mind to welcome the Sabbath.” During the service, he kept glancing at Nathan.
After the evening’s final prayer, Dov approached him.
“Your voice…it sounds like my brother…and you appear similar to him.”
David said, “Nathan was his family’s only survivor after a steamboat explosion. We’ve been raising him since he was two.”
Nathan added, “I had a brother named Eric. That’s all I remember about my birth family.”
Dov’s eye’s widened and his jaw dropped. He took a step back and became so unsteady he appeared to be losing his balance. David and Kathleen each grabbed an arm and guided him to a chair. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
Regaining control, he placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Your father’s name was Aaron. He was my brother. We called him Ari.” Dov took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and steadied himself. “Your mother’s name was Dora. My father, your Zadie, is a famous rabbi and comes from a long line of learned rabbis. He lives in Philadelphia. When he learns you are alive, Baruch Hashem - Bless the Lord” Dov paused to wipe a tear off his cheek, “we’ll see the light from the joy in his heart all the way out here.”
* * *
“I work for the Northwest Territory on various legal matters,” Andrew Khasina said, shaking David’s hand at Kathleen’s home on Sunday.
“Pleasure to meet you. I could use some legal help.”
David related his headache with the bank.
Andrew said, “Crooked bankers seem to spread like wildflowers out here. A wedding certificate is certainly a legal document. I’ll go back to town with you, look over your documents, and if needed, file for a court date.”
“Much anti-Semitism out here?” David asked.
“Not too bad,” Robert said. “Everyone has to work long hours to make a living which doesn’t leave time for much else.”
Andrew said, “Dov Rifkin, he also works for the Northwest Territory, got knocked around one time. I took a pistol barrel to the back of my head once from someone who didn’t want a Jewish lawyer in his town.”
“I met Dov at services yesterday,” David said. “Great discussion of the week’s Parsha.”
“His father is a famous Rabbi and Dov leads our services when he’s in town.”
Everyone was called to the table. A tall lanky man pulled out a chair for Sarah.
“I’m Fred Levin.”
“Sarah Levin. Pleased to meet you. I saw you at the ironworks.”
“I’m here for a few months to improve the equipment. I’m a mechanical engineer and specialize in steam-powered equipment.”
“Where will you go afterward?”
“Seattle. A company will be designing a new locomotive engine and wants my help.”
The children in attendance sat at one end of the table. Kathleen watched as five-year-old Celeste noticed a girl her age who seemed quite shy.
“Sit next to me,” she said. “I’m Celeste.”
Monica looked at her mother who nodded.
“I’m Monica.”
“Are you Jewish?”
“No. Salish.”
Celeste became pensive. “Hmmm. A different kind of Jewish, I suppose.” She eyed a large platter mounded with dark orange strips. “Hey, look at those.”
“My favorite,” Monica said.
“That’s salmon,” Kim said. “We smoked it over alder wood.”
William tried a piece and his eyes went wide. “Nathan,” he said, picking up the platter and passing it to his brother. “You gotta try the…smoked salmon stuff.”
“Wow. This is fish?” Nathan said.
“Big fish.” Monica held her hands wide apart.
Nathan’s eyes grew large. “How do you catch such a big fish?”
“With a net,” Andre said.
“Will you teach us?” William asked.
“If your parents agree.”
In a cheery voice, Kim said to the bright eyed children. “Some salmon are arriving now but many more will be coming from the sea. In a good year, as many as there are stars in the sky.”
“We gotta see that,” Nathan said.
“As many as stars in the sky? Wow. Just wow,” Abbey said.
Following dinner, Myra announced that all were invited to her home the following Sunday.
“Mom,” Abbey said. “Mister Holt wants to teach us fishing for salmon. Is that okay?”
“Certainly,” Myra responded.
“Can Monica come next Sunday?” Celeste asked.
“Who?”
“My new friend. She’s a different kind of Jewish. Salish, she told me.”
“Yes. Make sure her parents know they’re invited for next Sunday as well.”
“Remember Kathleen. We’re meeting tomorrow at the court house,” Andrew said.
“I’ve got my fingers crossed,” Kathleen replied.
* * *
Attorney Andrew Khasina, with Kathleen Kaufman and David Kaplan at his side, strode into the Portland courtroom wearing a tailored suit. He motioned them to take a gallery seat. Two unsmiling men wearing Territorial Marshall’s badges, entered behind them but remained standing on either side of the entrance. Andrew and a taller man, also dressed in a fine suit, approached the judge, speaking in low tones. The longer they talked, the less color remained in the judge’s cheeks. His brow furrowed and he sunk lower in his tall-backed, black leather chair.
Andrew proceeded to Mr. Alton. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table where the banker sat with his attorney. He said in a pleasant voice, “Do you know who I am?”
The banker was also leaning forward, his elbows on the table while resting his chin on interlaced fingers. He smirked at the young man. “I don’t give a damn who you are, sonny. Get away from me.”
Andrew brought his six-foot frame upright and gripped his lapels. “I have a friend at your bank right now. His name is Dov Rifkin.”
The banker gave him a dismissive shrug and looked away.
“Behind his back, crooked bankers on the west coast call him the damned Jew accountant.”
The banker slowly sat up straight; his arms moving to cross his chest. His smirk evaporated and his complexion became ashen as the wiry-grey-beard on his lower lip began to quiver. He moved as far back in his chair as he could.
Kathleen couldn’t help but smile.
Andrew continued, “So, you’ve heard of him. I’ll bet your accountant doesn’t want to go to jail so I suspect he’s been singing a pretty song to Mr. Rifkin’s inspectors. I presume you’ve been cheating the folks in this town. Mr. Rifkin’s associates and I will be analyzing every jot and tittle of your books and contracts with particular enthusiasm.”
A young man entered. He searched for Andrew. Upon seeing him he held up two fingers.
Andrew saw him, nodded and said to the banker, “That’s Mr. Rifkin’s assistant. He’s just let me know they found two sets of books at your bank, Mr. Alton.” In a voice dripping with sarcasm he added, “A terrible thing to do, sir.”
Turning in the direction of the other nattily dressed man, Andrew announced in a firm voice, “Double set of books at this bank, Prosecutor Kent.”
“Marshall,” Kent said. “Arrest Mr. Alton.”
The stern faced prosecutor turned and nodded to the judge who said, “Court is adjourned in this matter and will reconvene for adjudication in seven days.” The sound of his gavel echoed around the room.
Andrew leaned toward Kathleen and David, “Dov will have your papers ready shortly.”
“So you’re not just a lawyer,” Kathleen said.
“I work in the territorial prosecutor’s office.”
“Thank you for all this,” David said.
“My pleasure.”
“I’m so relived. Where will you go next?” Kathleen asked.
“After we finish here, I have to travel to a small town with a funny name – Walla something or other – near the Columbia river and near one of the most beautiful forests I’ve ever seen. Then on to a town up north called Seattle.”
Andrew’s confident demeanor waivered momentarily,, he cleared his throat and said, “Mrs. Kaufman, I’ll be back in a month or so. May I call on you then?”
The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific Page 4
