Dead of Winter (16 page)

“Swiftbear?”

The stout man turned around. “What are you doing here, Little Pup?”

She hugged him. “I heard the village is migrating.”

“We must.” He nodded toward the trees. “The
wiitigos
are hunting in our territory again. I wanted to hunt Kunetay down and kill him for what he done.” He sighed. “But Chief says we must go.”

Anika knew about the beasts of the Ojibwa legends. The natives believed the
wiitigos
were immortal creatures that blew in with the blizzards and took animal forms. Anika had learned about evil spirits through her uncle’s campfire tales. When she was a little girl, she swore she heard a
wiitigo
once, snapping branches in the forest, making guttural huffing noises. Every few winters Ojibwa trappers were found half-eaten in the woods. When this happened, the tribe would pack up and migrate down river.

Swiftbear said, “The Mediwiwin are gathering at Otter Island.”

The Mediwiwin were a circle of medicine men and women from the various tribes. Swiftbear and Grandmother Spotted Owl were both members.

Anika gripped her uncle’s forearm. “Take me with you.”

“I wish I could, Little Pup, but you belong to the white traders. Chief will make you return, then take away my rum. I need my rum.”

Anika teared up. She knew Chief Mokomaan would never let her go. When her husband Ben died, she became Master Pendleton’s property. She had wanted to return to her tribe, but Avery gave the chief a fancy fur coat and tophat in exchange for Anika. At first, she was told she would be working as the fort’s field guide and translator. It wasn’t long before Anika learned that Master Pendleton had other uses for her. Now, even if she did manage to sneak herself and her dogs out with her uncle, at some point on her journey, one of the tribe members would tell the chief. Anika would be left behind or returned to the fort, where brutal punishment would await. Avery Pendleton would kill one of her dogs, just like he did to Minagwi the day Anika spat in Avery’s face and refused him sex. She had to stay behind. Leaving would only bring suffering to everyone she loved.

She hugged her uncle. “I’m going to miss you, Swiftbear.”

“Keep safe, Little Pup. We return in spring.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. She hugged each of the dogs, who barked and licked her face. Then she entered a wigwam. “Grandmother?”

The interior was dark except for the glowing embers of a central fire pit. Coon tails and strings of bones and feathers dangled from the ceiling. As her eyes adjusted, Anika saw the form of an old woman sitting in the black shadows. On the ground in front of her were several bowls containing sage, dried flowers, roots, twigs, crow feathers, and threads of human hair.

She waved Anika in and spoke Ojibwa. “Over here, child. Sit.”

Anika sat cross-legged on the white buffalo skin like she had as a young girl, hanging onto every word her grandmother said. Grandmother Spotted Owl was a small woman, under five feet. She was frail and wore her long silvery-white hair in braids. Her face was taut around sharp bones with only a few small wrinkles. She claimed the herbs kept her looking younger than her sixty years.

Anika sat speechless, trying hard not to let her tears fall. The thought of separating from her grandmother tore at her heart.

“Ah, child, don’t cry,” Grandmother said in a soothing voice. “I won’t be far away. Keep your eyes to the trees and your ear to the wind.”

Anika remembered the hawk at Manitou Outpost. “You were watching over me the other day.”

Grandmother nodded with a twinkle in her eye. “You are beginning to see. Nature offers its own magic.”

“Grandmother, I’m afraid to stay here.”

The old woman frowned. “The beast you fear is inside the fort.”

“I need your help.” Anika picked up the bowl of crow feathers. “Teach me to conjure a spirit. A mean one. I want Master Pendleton to suffer for what he does to me.”

Grandmother said, “We do not use our magic for evil.”

“Please, if I don’t fight him with magic, he will never stop.”

Her grandmother gazed up at the hole in the hut’s roof. “When you conjure a trickster for a favor, the day will come when the trickster demands a favor from you.”

Anika nodded, tears running down her cheeks in streams. “I wish I could be strong like you.”

“Strength comes from facing that which scares us,” Grandmother said. “As women, we hold our own power inside.” She picked up a dove’s feather from a bowl and added it to a small pile on a round piece of leather. “I have faced my own beasts in my youth. And I sit here before you alive, while the bones of my enemies rot in their graves.” She pulled the leather up into a small, tight ball containing an assortment of feathers, roots, and animal teeth. She held it up with two leather chords. A prayer bundle necklace.

Anika smiled with falling tears.
She knew I was coming today.

“Wear this, child, and you will be protected from bad spirits. Both outside and in.” She tied the necklace around Anika’s neck. The bundle filled her heart with warmth. Grandmother Spotted Owl sat back and smiled. “When you are alone in your cabin, always remember…there is no separation between us.”

59

Tom hiked alone through the pines outside Fort Pendleton. He had a relentless hunger to avenge his son’s death. He wasn’t afraid to come across Kunetay Timberwolf or any other cannibal. Tom carried a high-caliber rifle, one strong enough to bring down a bear. He welcomed a chance to use it.

He heard a noise in the distance that sounded like a lone bird singing. He followed it, stepping through thick brambles. As he got closer, he recognized the hollow sound. A native flute. The forest opened up to an Indian burial ground. Several small structures covered the graves. At the edge of the cemetery sat Anika, playing a flute.

Tom sat down on the log next to her. Her intense green eyes remained fixed on the graves. She continued to play her melancholy song. The music penetrated Tom, pulling down his anger into a deep reservoir of sadness he wasn’t ready to feel. His face muscles tightened.

Anika pulled down the flute. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Neither should you.”

They both sat in silence for a spell, listening to the wind, watching snow drift across the burial ground. “What are those structures?” Tom asked. Covering each plot were small, birch bark huts with holes in the front. They looked like elongated birdhouses.

“Spirit houses. My people believe the holes allow the spirits to leave the bodies.”

“Where do they go?” Tom asked.

“Most of them journey to
giizhig-oon
where they fly among the eagles.” She pointed to the sky to describe the Ojibwa afterworld.

“
Giizhig-oon
,” Tom said. “Sounds like our version of heaven.” He looked at all the spirit houses that covered the hillside. “What did you mean by ‘most of them journey?’”

“Not all spirits find their way. Many get lost in the forest and become manitous.” Anika held up her instrument, showing him the ornate animal totems on the shaft. “The sacred flute guides their spirits up to the sky.”

As she returned to playing the melancholy music, Tom thought of Chris and wondered if his spirit had found its way to heaven.

60

“Good riddance to this backwoods prison.” Willow stomped outside the fort’s open gate with her butler carrying her two suitcases. She stumbled through shin-deep snow.

Brother Andre ran to her aid. “Lady Pendleton, let me give you a hand.”

“Thank you.” She gripped his elbow, and the Jesuit guided her toward the river.

“I didn’t know you would be journeying with us,” he said.

“Well, Avery’s not leaving me here. That’s for sure.”

At the river dock, the
voyageurs
were loading up two canoes with crates and bundles of furs. Her husband Avery, dressed in his typical black wolverine coat and top hat, was gathered with the other officers. When they saw Lady Pendleton charging across the dock, the men disbanded.

Avery looked absolutely livid when he noticed the butler toting his wife’s baggage. “Willow, what are you doing outside the fort?”

“I’m going with you.”

“The hell you are.” To the Cree butler he said, “Charles, take her things back inside this instance.”

“Yes, master.” The servant turned and headed back up the hill.

“No, wait,” Willow insisted. “Avery, take me with you to Montréal.”

“I’ll do no such thing. You belong inside Noble House.”

“You can’t just abandon me out here in the wilds.”

“Lt. Hysmith will look after you.”

“But what about those beasts? Aren’t you concerned they may attack again?”

Avery nodded toward the group of soldiers who continually watched the woods. “Until we return, the fort gate will remained locked. No one will enter or leave. Trust me, darling, you’ll be safer here. A canoe ride in winter is no journey for a lady.”

Willow pouted. “But we’ll be apart for Christmas and New Year’s.” She hoped the idea of missing their first holiday together might change his mind.

Avery kissed her forehead. “Don’t you fret, darling, we’ll celebrate when I return. I’ll buy you something special.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three to four weeks. Now be a good wife and get inside before you catch cold.” He waved the lieutenant over. “Escort Lady Pendleton back to Noble House.”

“Right away, sir.”

Before Lt. Hysmith could take her arm, Willow walked over to Andre and threw her arms around his neck. “You be careful.” In his ear she whispered, “I’m going to miss our daily confession.”

He blushed, his angelic blue eyes beaming. “As will I, Lady Pendleton.” He climbed into one of the canoes along with several
voyageurs
, eight French Canadian and Scotch men per canoe, gripping paddles.

Tears crystallized on Willow’s cheeks as she walked with Lt. Hysmith back up the hill toward the fort. At the gate she stopped and turned. The two canoes paddled away from the dock and down the river. Avery sat in the center of the lead canoe, looking prominent with his top hat. He stared forward, not even bothering to wave goodbye as his canoe disappeared around the bend.

Willow stepped back inside her winter prison. She shuddered as the gate’s double doors clacked shut behind her.

Part Six

The Jesuits

61

Montréal, Quebec

Two Weeks Later

A horse carriage dropped off Brother Andre at the Notre-Dame Basilica. He felt small and humbled standing before this grand cathedral. The twin towers seemed to stretch toward the heavens. The setting sun cast a bright orange glow on the statues.

Andre inhaled a deep breath.
It’s been a long time
, he thought. Three winters had passed since Andre last stepped foot inside the cathedral. Grabbing his suitcase, he entered the front door. As he was heading down a massive hallway toward the sacristy, a member of the clergy approached. “
Bonjour
, may I help you?”

“
Oui
, I have an urgent message to deliver to Father Xavier.”

“Give it to me. I must first take it to Bishop Rousseau.”

Andre said, “I would prefer to speak with the bishop face to face. I have other news to report.”

The clergyman, who was tall and crane-thin, scowled down at Andre like he was some beggar off the street. “The bishop is very busy.”

“This is of dire importance,” Andre insisted. “Can you tell him that Father Jacques’ messenger has arrived to offer a full report about the mission work at Manitou Outpost?” He handed over the letter, but secretly kept the diary.

“Wait in the nave.”

Minutes later the clergyman returned. “The archbishop will speak with you.”

Andre entered a room that was wall-to-wall books. Interspersed between the bookcases were paintings of angels and saints. Bishop Rousseau stood at a window, watching the snow falling in a courtyard. He was a heavyset man with gray hair. He wore a shimmering white robe and around his neck hung a pallium, a white band with six black crosses that signified his authority. A violet skullcap called a zucchetto covered his head.

As the archbishop turned, Andre was suddenly overcome by shortness of breath. Bishop Rousseau had intimidating blue eyes set in a plump face. He held Father Jacques’ letter in his hand. “I appreciate you making the journey to deliver this message.”

Andre bowed. “
Merci
, it is an honor to meet you, sir.”

“Have a seat.” The bishop pointed to two plush, winged-back chairs.

They sat across from one another. “So you have his diary for me?”

Andre handed it over.

The bishop scanned the pages, reading. His eyebrows knitted, as if he understood the coded passages. “You have additional news to share?”

“
Oui
.” Andre told him about the massacre at Manitou Outpost and the unfortunate demise of Father Jacques. How a disease that turned people into violent cannibals had reached Fort Pendleton and the neighboring Ojibwa village. A pack of killers, who might be carrying this disease, were still roaming the woods.

Andre took this opportunity to share his progress as a missionary. “I have successfully converted all the residents at Fort Pendleton, as well as a few of their Ojibwa neighbors.” Andre felt his cheek twitch as he remembered he’d failed to get Anika Moonblood to accept Jesus Christ as her savior. “I want to show them that God is on their side. I am devoted to doing whatever is needed to serve the Church’s divine mission.”

Bishop Rousseau nodded, his eyes deep in thought. “You wish to become a priest one day?”

“
Oui
, your holiness, very much.”

“I might be willing to ordain you sooner.”

Andre’s heart lunged.

Bishop Rousseau leaned forward over his desk. “But first, I have a mission for you. Father Xavier could use a new apprentice.”

62

Grief struck Father Xavier’s chest like a dagger when he heard that his mentor, Father Jacques Baptiste, had been brutally murdered.