When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (23 page)

I went to the bedroom and brought the small calico horse I had made, entering the room with it hidden behind my back, and then while Samuel sat with a bewildered look on his face, Wynn and I sang “Happy Birthday to You.”

“You first,” said Wynn, and I pulled the toy horse out from behind my back and kissed Samuel as I presented it to him. He reached for it with a smile on his face and stuck one small hoof into his mouth.

“No,” I told him. “It’s not to eat. You’re not that hungry, are you?”

“I hope he doesn’t do that with my gift,” said Wynn and I was even more curious.

“Well, give it to him and we’ll see,” I urged.

Wynn pulled his hand from his tunic and there was the fluffiest, smallest, brightest-eyed little huskie pup I had ever seen.

“Wynn!” I squealed, “how did you keep him so quiet?”

“It wasn’t easy.”

I reached for the puppy but Samuel beat me to it. I do think that Samuel would have put the puppy into his mouth as well if he had had opportunity, but after holding the puppy close so that Samuel could feel its softness, Wynn took him back and placed him on the floor.

He sat there, blinking his big blue eyes and looking at this strange new place. Kip joined the act then. He had been watching the whole procedure, his head cocked to one side, but now he came forward to sniff at the puppy and see if it really was a dog.

The puppy immediately turned to Kip, rejoicing to see one of its own kind, and greeted Kip with such exuberance that Kip backed off and eventually retreated, the puppy tumbling along after him.

We laughed together at the sight.

I turned to Wynn. “How are we ever going to fit another body in this house? We already have three people and a dog.”

“He’s quite capable of living outside,” said Wynn. “He doesn’t need to be in the house at all. Every boy needs a dog of his own.”

I shook my head. I was sure Wynn already knew that I would never be able to put that puppy outside alone. He would be sharing the fireside rug with Kip.

We had our breakfast then and together prepared for our journey.

I don’t know when I ever enjoyed a day so much. Samuel seemed to understand that this great outdoors—this wilderness— was a part of himself. He studied it all with big, black, serious eyes, pointing his finger and chattering about the things that caught his attention.

Both Wynn and I were pleased at the small child’s response.

“He’s a sharp little fellow, isn’t he, Wynn?” I couldn’t resist
asking.

Wynn agreed.

We ate our birthday dinner on a blanket spread out on the soft floor of the forest, cushioned by years of pine needles. Wynn gave Samuel a large pine cone to play with while I arranged the picnic lunch. As usual, it went to his mouth.

We traveled on to the beaver dam and let Samuel watch the beavers at work, telling him the native word for the small energetic animal. We even pretended that he tried to say the word after us but, to be honest, I think it was just more of his baby gibberish.

We took Samuel down to the pond’s edge and Wynn held him so he could splash his hand back and forth in the cool water. His eyes brightened and he splashed so hard that even Wynn was getting wet.

When we took him from the pond he coaxed to go back, pointing and complaining as he was carried away.

The sun was in the west and beginning its descent when we turned toward home. We had not gone far when I noticed that Samuel, on his father’s back, was sound asleep, his little dark head nodding with each step Wynn took.

“We’ve played the poor little fellow out,” I said sympathetically.

Wynn chuckled. “I think he’s enjoyed every minute of it.”

“I think so too. I’m so glad you thought of it, Wynn. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

Wynn reached for my hand and we walked home together. Kip ran on ahead, searching out rabbit burrows, or squirrel hide-outs. Samuel slept on. Perhaps his dreams were of wilderness things. He looked contented and healthy.

“We must get home to feed his puppy,” I said, and Wynn tightened his grip on my hand.

Two nights later we were sitting by the open fire, Wynn working on some records, I doing some hand sewing and Samuel sleeping in his nearby bed, when there was a sound at our door. Kip rose quickly with a sharp bark, upsetting the puppy who slept beside him.

“Hush, Kip,” I commanded, afraid that the barking might waken the baby.

Wynn got up and went to the door, expecting, as I was, someone with a problem.

It was young Joe Henry Running Deer who stood on the doorstep.

It took me awhile to recognize him, but when I did a slow smile crossed my face. He had come to see his son. I was sure he would be pleased to see we had taken good care of him.

Wynn greeted him and motioned him in. He came, rather hesitantly, urging a woman ahead of him. She looked young, hardly more than a girl, and very shy. I wondered if it was his sister.

He did not come farther into the room, did not ask to see his child, but instead pushed the girl forward a bit more and spoke in broken English, “New woman now. I come for son.”

The blood drained from my face. I hoped I had misunderstood him. I looked at Wynn. His face was white, too, and I looked back at the young man again, about to ask him what in the world he was talking about. Wynn said something to him and the man answered, but I didn’t hear or understand what either of them was saying.

“What is he saying?” I demanded of Wynn. “Why is he here?”

“Stay calm, Elizabeth,” Wynn told me. But I couldn’t stay calm.

“Wynn,” I demanded, “what did he say?”

Wynn turned to me then, his eyes filled with anguish. “He has come for his child. He wants him back, Elizabeth.”

I wanted to scream, to protest, but my throat would let no words come. I looked imploringly at Wynn, begging him with my eyes to get the two of them out of our cabin.

Wynn was still talking softly to the young man. I couldn’t hear his words, but surely he was explaining the situation.
Samuel is our baby now! We will not give him up.
Joe Henry and his young bride could have many more children of their own.

I looked at the crib. Samuel was stirring. The noise in the cabin must have disturbed him. I jumped to my feet and rushed to his bed, ready to take him in my arms and shield him. He was still sleeping. I looked up again. Wynn was easing our visitors from the cabin.
Soon this whole nightmare will be over—it has to be!
Wynn closed the door, standing for a few moments with his head leaning against it. There was a droop to his shoulders I had never seen before. I wanted to cross to him, to tell him that it was all right now, but my legs wouldn’t work. I sat back down slowly on the cot, and Wynn straightened his shoulders and turned to me.

“We should have been prepared for this, Elizabeth,” he said sorrowfully. “We should have known.”

“It’s all right now,” I told him. “I’m sure he understands. After all, it’s been almost a year since he gave him to us. He can’t just walk in and—”

“Elizabeth,” cut in Wynn, “it’s his child.”

“He gave him to us.”

“Not—not the way we thought.” Wynn sounded very tired.

“But he’s gone now.”

“He’ll be back.”

I was on my feet then, terror bringing the strength back to my legs. “What do you mean? What are you saying?” I demanded.

“You sent him away, didn’t you?”

There was a defeated look on Wynn’s face. “I sent him away, yes, so that we’d have a little time, a little time to think, a little time to prepare ourselves.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I don’t know. Something—something about the baby being asleep and we didn’t want him to lose his dream or something. I’m really not sure. I just said the first thing that came to my mind.”

Wynn shrugged his shoulders.

“And he’s coming back?” I said in an empty voice.

“In the morning,” said Wynn.

“Well, we won’t let him go.”

“There’s no way to stop it, Elizabeth. He wants his baby.”

“We’ll go to court; we’ll fight it.”

“And only delay the agony. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I started to cry then—deep, agonizing sobs that shook my whole body. Wynn moved to comfort me, to hold me in his arms, and then I realized that Wynn was weeping, too. I don’t suppose anything would have brought me to my senses more quickly. Knowing of Wynn’s deep pain brought me out of myself. Wynn needed me. We needed each other. We were losing our baby. In the morning Samuel would be gone and there was nothing we could do about it.

For a moment I hated the young man. How could he do such a thing? And then, I dared to go a step further. I became very angry at God. Why was He letting such a thing happen? I tried to push the anger from me, knowing that it wasn’t right, but it would not go away. I clung to Wynn and cried some more.

There was very little sleep for us that night. We talked, we prayed, I cried, but we did not rid ourselves of the deep pain within us.

I arose quietly about three o’clock to go out and check on Samuel. I crept quietly so that I would not waken Wynn, but when I entered the room, Wynn was already there, bending over the small boy, watching him sleep in the semidarkness, the open fire sending shivery little shadows over his face.

I went to Wynn’s side and wordlessly took his hand. Again the tears fell.
We loved him so. We had thought him ours. We had planned his future.

I went to make some coffee. We drank it together silently, our eyes on the baby. Kip seemed to understand that something was wrong. He came to me and pressed his muzzle into my hand, whimpering deep in his throat.

“We need to talk,” said Wynn.

I nodded.

“They’ll be here in a few hours.”

Still I said nothing.

“What do you want to send with him?”

I couldn’t name the things one by one—all the things Wynn and I had made for Samuel. I knew I would send all of them. I wanted him to have familiar things. Besides, they only would be hurtful reminders left with us.

“I’ll pack his things,” I managed through numb lips, and got up to do so.

I guess I cried over everything I packed. The little clothes, the blankets, the Christmas toys, the gifts that had come. I emptied the drawer where I had kept his things, and then I reached for the little calico horse and wept some more.

“Why, God? Why?” my heart kept crying, but there was no answer.

When I had all of his things packed and my tears under control, I rejoined Wynn by the fire.

“What about the puppy?” I asked Wynn. “We haven’t even picked out a name for him yet.”

“Samuel should name him. If Joe wants him, he can go.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Jim Buck has always wanted a dog. He can take him if his parents say it’s okay.”

The sky was beginning to lighten. I knew that Joe and his new wife would soon come. They were traveling to the big village and would want to leave early. I thought I should invite them for breakfast, but I could not bring myself to do so. I went to the bedroom and dressed. Wynn was already in his uniform.

I came out and walked to the crib again, looking down at the sleeping Samuel. “Wynn,” I said, “I don’t think I want to be here when they come.”

Wynn nodded his head in understanding.

“I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if you’d like me to take Samuel to them, so they won’t need to come here?”

I hesitated, thinking over Wynn’s suggestion.

“I—I think so,” I agreed.

“Then we’d better get him up and get him fed and ready.”

Wynn got the baby up and dressed him while I fixed his morning porridge, and then we gave him his breakfast. We had prayer together, asking God to go with our Samuel, wherever his path led—to keep him, and protect him, and most of all to give him opportunity to know Him as we had planned that he should.

Samuel seemed to think it was just another morning. He squealed at his puppy, chewed on his little horse and grabbed handfuls of Kip’s fur. We gathered all his things then and Wynn took the small baby in his arms and the bundle on his back, the puppy tucked within his tunic as he had brought him home such a short time ago, and set off for the village after I had given Samuel one last squeeze.

I wondered as I watched them go with the tears streaming down my cheeks if life would ever again have meaning for me.

THIRTY-THREE

Sorrow and Joy

The next weeks were the worst days of my life. I wandered in an empty world, void of feeling except for pain. The house was empty, the bed in the corner—which I had insisted remain where it was—was empty, but worst of all, my life was empty as well.

At times I tried to pray but God seemed far away. I knew it wasn’t God’s fault. He hadn’t moved. I had. I no longer felt close to Him. I couldn’t understand how He could have let this happen.

I didn’t even feel close to Wynn. He quietly went about his daily tasks. I tended to mine. He tried to communicate, to hold me, to get me to talk it out, but I resisted, putting him off with one flimsy excuse or another.

I lost weight, which was not surprising. I wasn’t eating. I still couldn’t sleep. I just lay in bed at night, wondering what was happening to Samuel.

Nimmie came to see me, and brought her children. Where before I would have enjoyed their play and their laughter, now it was only a cruel reminder; and when Nimmie invited me to her house, I found reasons to stay at home.

There was nothing to do at home. No sewing, little washing, no reason to make special food or plan special childish games. Jim Buck came to see me, wondering when we would be starting classes again; but I put him off with some evasive answer and told him that I would bang on the drum when I was ready for classes to resume.

I took in my garden and stored the vegetables—not because I found pleasure in it, but because it was something to do. Almost daily I went for long walks with Kip. I didn’t enjoy the walking, but it got me away from the village and I would not need to try to act civil to other people.

I knew Wynn was worried about me, but I really couldn’t make myself care.

When winter’s snow swept in, burying all the uncleanness of the village beneath a blanket of white, I watched without comment.
It would be nice,
I thought,
to be able to bury one’s feelings as comingpletely.