Nokomis, Hiawatha’s legendary grandmother, sat cross-legged and straight-backed at the door of her wigwam.
“Those are very fancy props,” Lily whispered.
Hiawatha strode over to Tina and lifted Little Feather high above his head. He stood before Nokomis, passing Little Feather into the old woman’s outstretched hands. Nokomis kissed the baby and placed her in a cradle where Little Feather babbled while the audience chimed, “Isn’t she cute.”
Making a ceremonial bow, Hiawatha began his lyrical recitation. Lily put her arm around Clara’s shoulder. “He’s magnificent,” she whispered. “If Reverend Hives lets you run the play, I’ll help. Maybe Tina could take the part of Nokomis.”
They smiled at each other and then shifted their attention to the stage.
Hiawatha turned to the crowd after acknowledging the dancers with a sweep of his arms. The words rolled off his lips.
By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
…
There the wrinkled, old Nokomis
Nursed the little Hiawatha,
Rocked him in his linden cradle,
Bedded soft in moss and rushes,
Safely bound with reindeer sinews;
Stilled his fretful wail by saying,
“Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!”
Lulled him into slumber, singing,
“Ewa-yea! my little owlet!”
…
Many things Nokomis taught him
Of the stars that shine in heaven;
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet,
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses;
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits,
Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs,
Flaring far away to northward.
Warriors acted out the death dance, writhing, swirling, brandishing tomahawks as they leaped into the air. The audience was too transfixed to clap.
At the door on summer evenings
Sat the little Hiawatha;
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,
Heard the lapping of the water,
Sounds of music, words of wonder;
“Mirme-wawa!” said the pine-trees,
“Mudway-aushka!” said the water.
Hiawatha cupped his hand to his ear, and the children shouted, “Mirme-wawa, Mudway-aushka, Mirme-wawa, Mudway-aushka!”
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,
Flitting through the dusk of evening …
The children shouted “Wah-wah-taysee!” until Hiawatha raised his hand to shush.
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets …
…
Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets …
…
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows;
And the birds sang round him, o’er him,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Again, Hiawatha cupped his ear, and the children shouted louder, “Do not shoot us! Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Sang the Opechee, the robin,
Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
There was a mesmerized silence when the performance ended. Hiawatha, surrounded by his dancers and drummers, bowed ceremoniously to the audience.
James Scutter, who was still standing, began the applause. He waved his hat in the air, crying, “Bravo! Magnificent! Touching!”
Hiawatha beckoned the children onstage. Tina retrieved Little Feather, who wrestled in her mother’s arms to get down and join the commotion. The baby’s mother beamed that her child was part of the applause. Little Feather wriggled to the stage and tottered among the children who were trying on the headdresses the actors had removed, adjusting them to their smaller heads. Parents popped their cameras and then jumped onstage to have their own pictures taken. The band collected more than $100 in James Scutter’s hat.
CHAPTER 23
When Lily informed Barnaby that she had rented a cottage at Batchawana Bay, he called it a hare-brained idea.
“Teddy and Jane will be bored to death. Why not send them to a church camp with people their age?” he suggested as an alternative to a wilderness vacation.
“Teddy will have had enough church by the time he comes home,” Lily replied wryly. “Church is an everyday occurrence at Scollard Hall.”
There was no more discussion of Batchawana until Barnaby entered the house a few days later with a broad smile. “You won’t believe this.”
“I’d believe anything coming from you,” Lily retorted as she planted a kiss on his strawberry-blond hair tinged with grey at the temples.
Barnaby’s hazel eyes were alight with the news. “Dan MacIntyre’s coming to the Soo to visit Clara.”
“Dan’s a recognized artist in Toronto. The Soo isn’t exactly New York City.”
“Do you remember how much trouble he had with his prosthetic legs? It was due to Clara, once he was transferred to the Galt hospital and put under her care, that his stumps began to heal.”
“You healed his mind,” Lily said. “He was so angry.”
“I don’t think when he enlisted at seventeen he had any idea what to expect. I recall vividly him shouting at me, ‘To feel pain in a limb that doesn’t exist is unfair.’ However, my papers on Dan’s phantom limb established my reputation as a medical scholar with the Toronto psychiatrists. Until then, there was little known about shell shock and the painful sensation of phantom limb.”
“We have a lot to thank him for,” Lily said.
“Clara’s going to bring him to Batchawana, and I proposed he stay with us rather than putting her on the sofa.”
“I’ll be excited to see him.”
“Dan will be bringing his wife, Gerda. She’s ten years older than him, but I see that as good news for our volatile friend. Clara mentioned his letter sounded quite happy, though phantom limb still plagues him. Apparently, Gerda knows what to do when he has an attack.”
“Uh-huh,” Lily murmured. “Lucky Dan!”
Dan arrived with Gerda on the same train as the Rossiter girls. K.G. and Jessie were on the platform, beaming as their smartly dressed daughters strode onto the platform. A tall, fine-figured woman stepped off the train before Dan and spoke to the porter, who had been gawking at the Rossiters. The porter quickly stepped forward to assist Dan onto the platform. Gerda thanked him in her Dutch accent.
Clara smiled broadly as she embraced Dan and then shook hands with Gerda. The Rossiters stood back while Dan introduced Gerda to Lily and Barnaby.
“Congratulations, Dan!” Barnaby said, giving him a bear hug. “Your reputation has spread all the way to the Soo.” When the Rossiters remained on the platform, he added, “Dan MacIntyre is a recognized artist in Toronto.”
K.G. turned to Clara. “Great War?”
“Double amp from Vimy,” Clara replied. “Dr. Barnaby was his doctor in Lethbridge. Dan suffered terribly from phantom limb. Lethbridge was overwhelmed with returning veterans at the end of the war.”
Jessie interrupted K.G. and Clara. “No more talk of war. It’s not something I want our daughters to know about.”
Anne, the eldest Rossiter girl, approached Clara. “My turn to interrupt,” she said saucily, smiling at her mother. “Is Ivy home from Montreal? I’d love to see her.”
“She arrives next week,” Clara said.
“Oh.” Anne sighed. “My father’s rented a cabin up north to give us an ‘Ojibwa experience.’” She rolled her eyes. “I suppose he doesn’t want me to become too American.”
“Your mother told me you were at the Parsons School of Design,” Clara said. “How do you like New York?”
“I looove it.”
Clara smiled when s
he detected an acquired New York accent but didn’t mention that Ivy would also be holidaying in the woods.
CHAPTER 24
Lily didn’t have room in her car for Dan and Gerda after loading the cottage supplies, so the following day they hopped on the train to Batchawana and enjoyed lunch on it while admiring the scenery. When the couple arrived, Lily was busy with Tina Courtney cleaning out the mouse droppings and cobwebs — the annual ritual of opening up a cottage.
Gerda was quick to pick up a broom and help. “I feel I’m back in Holland where the Dutch sweep daily, even if home is a hovel.” She whisked the floor with a practised stroke and chuckled, shooing Dan out of the living room area. “We don’t want you up a ladder.”
Smiling, he joined Jane and Little Feather, who were playing on the screened-in porch.
Lily had invited the Donnelly family for dinner that night along with Clara and Ivy. “I appreciate your extra help to make the cottage spick-and-span,” she told Tina as the girl climbed a ladder to dust the curtain rods.
While the ladies purged the cottage of dirt, Barnaby joined Dan on the porch. “Are you up for a walk to the nearby Indian reserve? It’s rough ground.”
“I’m quite mobile on these legs. I do appreciate you asking. But wouldn’t it be dangerous for two white men to arrive on a reserve?”
Barnaby laughed. “Do you think they’re going to scalp you, Dan? Truth is, there’s not much friction between the white cottagers and the year-round residents on the reserve. At first I worried about Teddy getting into a fight. He can be thorny. But Ed Donnelly heard my concerns and assured me his sons had fished, hunted, and canoed with Indian boys for years. Without trust between the two communities, I imagine Tina Courtney would feel disloyal living with white folks like us.”
“Who are we going to visit?” Dan asked.
“Albert Martin, a decorated soldier from the Great War. According to Clara, Albert hobbles around on an old-style peg leg because the government won’t purchase a better prosthesis for an Indian.”
After hiking for a while, the two men emerged from the woods into a dusty clearing where children chased one another around abandoned rusted cars and machinery.
“Heaven knows what they do with all this junk!” Dan exclaimed.
“Maybe they strip and sell it to the Cohen brothers, who have a scrap metal yard in the Soo.”
Albert was sitting on his front stoop, his wooden leg and a crutch beside him. “You the doctor Nurse Durling told me about?” He jerked his chin up in an unfriendly manner, seemingly surprised to have visitors. Then Barnaby’s missing forearm caught his attention. “Hard to be a doctor with that.”
“I’m the city coroner,” Barnaby said. “I was bringing back a stretcher when I got hit. The medics removed the shrapnel but couldn’t save the arm.”
Albert turned his attention to Dan. “So what’s your story?” Clearly, the fellow wasn’t ready to welcome unannounced strangers.
“They couldn’t save my legs, either. Butchering them left me with pretty scarred stumps. I had a hell of a time wearing an artificial leg. Looks like you do, too.” Dan picked up Albert’s crutch.
“Whoa now!” Albert cried. “I need that.”
Dan leaned against the stoop railing to unstrap his right prosthesis. Before Albert could react, Dan thrust it at the man. “Give it a whirl.”
Albert held up the prosthesis to see how to strap it on. “Much lighter than the peg.” He secured it on his stump, walked a few yards, and then turned gingerly.
“You need a better leg,” Dan said. “The new ones are half the weight.”
Albert took a few more steps. “I can’t think what it would be like walking without pain. I could go back to guiding the American hunters in the fall. That’s what I did before the war. It was my hunting experience that made me a good soldier.” He told them about his time as a sniper and what his war had been like and then shrugged and began unstrapping Dan’s leg.
“Hold on,” Dan said, raising his hand to halt Albert, who had a suspicious expression. “You’ve got that prosthetic leg for a week.” Before Albert could protest, Dan moved toward the playground awkwardly, supported by Albert’s crutch. “Shit!” he yelped. “It’s been years since I used crutches.”
“Thanks!” Albert shouted as they disappeared into the woods.
Barnaby took up the rear, ready to grab Dan if he stumbled on the uneven ground. When they entered the cottage with a crutch and a missing prosthesis, Dan shot Lily a big grin. She and Tina were perched on round stools husking corn at the kitchen counter while Jane played with Little Feather on the floor.
“From the look on your face, I can see something happened,” Lily said, smiling, familiar with Dan’s tall tales. “You can be the after-dinner entertainment.”
* * *
At five o’clock, the appointed hour for guests to arrive, Lily rang the old ship’s bell on the back porch.
“I’ll head off a bear,” Ed Donnelly said confidently, leading the ladies along the path.
Hunched over from his smoking-induced emphysema, Ed didn’t reassure Clara, who put a hand over her fast-beating heart. “What would we do if we did encounter a bear?”
“Most likely it would run away,” Ed replied, “but a mother with cubs will stand her ground, probably rising on her hind legs to warn us. We would backtrack slowly, avoiding eye contact.”
“Red shooed a bear off our porch without raising his voice,” Ivy offered. “I was most impressed.”
Ellen and Clara exchanged glances.
“It’s lap-service tonight,” Lily said with a carefree smile directed at the arriving guests. “Plenty of chairs on the porch.”
Comments on the beautiful sunny day were interrupted by the arrival of Teddy and Jack, holding either end of a string dangling with rainbow trout.
“We’ve caught enough for the whole dinner,” Jack boasted.
Your bravado is a good match for my son who conserves his words, Lily thought as she gave the boys space in the kitchen to gut and debone the fish. “Dr. Barnaby and I grew up in Cape Breton. Surprisingly, we didn’t eat much fish until we moved next door to the Donnellys.”
Jack laughed and punched Teddy in the shoulder as if to say “So there!”
Next, Lily put aside a dozen unhusked cobs, ceding to Tina’s “crazy” idea to cook them in the fire pit outdoors. She dumped her large pot of boiling water into the sink with a doubtful shrug. Ivy picked up Little Feather and followed Tina to where the young people had gathered around the fire, while Lily stood behind the counter pouring drinks, feeling immensely happy. She pulled off the bandana that had kept her unruly mop of hair off her face as she cooked.
Teddy, who had been full of bravado earlier, followed Lily into the cottage with a downcast face.
“What’s wrong, son?” Lily asked.
“Ivy just talks to Red.”
“Then talk to Jack. “He’s your age.”
Teddy kicked open the screen door and went out.
You’re moody like Ed, Lily thought, watching her son, who was over six feet tall, descend the porch stairs. But Ed had reason to be angry. She suppressed the painful memories of her husband’s sad story. His local priest had violated him and his mother denied it.
Her sombre reflection changed as she observed her guests eat their corn, sliding the cobs back and forth across their lips as though they were playing a mouth organ. Barnaby held his cob in his adaptive fork, and a drop of butter ran down his chin. Lily was flooded with affection. My blessing that he survived the war, she thought, stepping forward and sopping up the butter with Barnaby’s napkin. Everyone else swiped his chin in unison, looking at the hostess for confirmation.
“How was Albert Martin?” Clara asked. “Did he tell you how he earned a citation for his reconnaissance work?”
“He was a sniper,” Dan said, “a decorated sharpshooter. He told us he was never promoted beyond a non-commissioned lance corporal because he had no formal education. I suppose
that’s what accounts for his mistrust.”
“It’s not much better now that he’s home,” Clara said. “The government won’t upgrade the prosthesis for non-commissioned soldiers.” Clara laughed. “Is that how you lost your leg, Dan? I hope not permanently.”
“On loan for a week,” Dan said. “It sure made me feel good to see Albert walk normally.”
“Tell the story,” Lily said, pretending extreme patience.
Dan began with the walk through the woods. He kept the story short and ended with Albert’s comment that it was his patience, stealth, and marksmanship that had made him such a good soldier.
Ivy entered the cottage, carrying Little Feather as Dan finished his account. She passed the infant to Tina, who had been listening to the conversation about Albert. “Would you mind if I went to the reserve?” the girl asked, apologizing for butting in.
“That’s a great idea,” Lily said, bouncing up to see if Tina might take leftovers to share with her community. “I’ll put Little Feather to bed so you can have fun.”
“My friends would like to see her.” Tina swung Little Feather onto her hip and slipped out the door where several girls were giggling and waiting.
CHAPTER 25
There was a bit of family fanfare when Jean Donnelly arrived at Batchawana in the last week of Ivy’s vacation. She had passed her examinations and was now a nurse, graciously accepting her three brothers’ congratulations. Jean and her mother, Ellen, bickered about Jean’s upcoming trip to Vancouver to meet the parents of Rupert Nesbitt, the man she had been dating for the past two years. Ivy watched the mother-daughter conflict with a practised eye.
“Time to celebrate,” Red said, attempting to interrupt.
“Rupert has a receding chin,” Ellen lamented as she arrived at the beach where a picnic outing was being hatched. “You won’t want to look at that every day.”
“I’m marrying his character, not his jaw,” Jean retorted.
Dan and Gerda showed up at the beach in the middle of the argument. They were returning to Toronto and had come to say goodbye.
“As the chin recedes, so does the character,” Ellen continued.
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