Wynn shook hands with many of the men who had gathered around and nodded his head to others as he moved about. For a moment I felt forgotten. I didn’t know whether to climb down from the wagon or to stay where I was until someone noticed me. Eventually I could feel eyes turning my way. Wynn invited the Hudson’s Bay Post employee closer to the wagon and smiled up at me. “My wife, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Mr. McLain.”
McLain reached up and gave my hand a hearty shake.
“Come in. Come in,” boomed Mr. McLain, but Wynn cut in rather quickly.
“We’ve had a long six days, and Elizabeth is anxious to get settled. If you could just point out the cabin for our use, we’d be grateful.”
Mr. McLain nodded in understanding. He pointed west toward a stand of trees. The outline of a cabin showed faintly against the last glimmer of daylight.
“Right on over there,” he informed us.
“Is there a place there to keep the horses?”
Mr. McLain took a look at the team and suddenly remembered something.
“Where’s Canoue?” he asked.
“Sleeping when I last saw him. He got to sharing whiskey with the boys and I wasn’t able to rouse him. I couldn’t wait, so we left him behind.”
The Hudson’s Bay man shook his head. “He has his problems with the bottle. I warned him. ‘Canoue,’ I said, ‘don’t you go messin’ this one up. I can’t keep findin’ you work if ya ain’t able to stay with it.’ Needed that money.” McLain shrugged his shoulders. “There ain’t no place for horses over to ‘the law’; you can bring ’em back on over here. I got a corral out back,” the man continued.
All the time this conversation was taking place, I could feel eyes studying me. Mostly we were surrounded by men, but now I saw a few Indian women and some young people and children. I smiled at them, though I must admit I felt as out of place and uncomfortable as I ever had in my life. I was anxious for Wynn to end his conversation and get us out of there and home.
At last he climbed back up into the wagon, turned the team around and headed for the little cabin which was to be our first home.
I felt tingles go all through me. What would it be like? Would it be in good repair? Would it have that private bedroom I wanted so badly? I fought the temptation to close my eyes until I actually got there. I was anxious and afraid—all at one time.
When Wynn said “whoa” to the team, I knew the moment was at hand. He turned to me and drew me close. “Well,” he murmured softly, “are you ready?”
I couldn’t get my lips to move, so I just nodded my head against him.
“What will you need tonight?”
I really didn’t know. I had no idea what I might find in the cabin.
Then we heard voices behind us and turned to see a group approaching. It was McLain’s voice that called out to us.
“Thought we might as well unload that there wagon tonight and save ya the trouble in the mornin’. Then ya won’t need to fuss with the team ag’in.”
It was a thoughtful offer, and I was sure Wynn appreciated it. I should have appreciated it, too, but I had wanted to enter our new home in privacy—just the two of us. Now we were to be ushered in by the Hudson’s Bay trader and a host of local trappers. I felt disappointment wash over me. If only Wynn would quickly send them all away and tell them the load could wait until morning. He didn’t. He withdrew his arm, climbed down from the wagon, and turned to help me down. “Appreciate that,” he responded. “Shouldn’t take long at all with the good help you’ve brought along.” I blinked away tears in the semidarkness and knew instinctively that Wynn would not understand how I, as a woman, felt about the intrusion. He would consider the practical fact that the wagon loaded with heavy trunks and crates needed unloading. I sentimentally thought that a man and his wife deserved to walk into their first home alone and together. Perhaps foolishly, I realized now, I had had visions of being carried over the threshold.
By the time my feet were firmly planted on the ground, the men were already bustling about the wagon.
“Perhaps you’d like to go in and show them where you would like things put,” Wynn suggested.
I wanted to sputter that I would prefer things left right where they were, but I knew that was foolish and would be misunderstood; so I walked numbly to the door as Mr. McLain, who had taken the first crate forward, stood aside to let me get the door for him. How romantic!
The door was stuck, and I had to put both hands on the knob and pull hard. It finally gave and, in the process, skinned my knuckles. The injured hand stung smartly, and the tears in my eyes multiplied and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
The house was dark. I had no idea where to find light. It was quite dark outside by now and the few small windows let in very little light. I hesitated. McLain shuffled his feet. He was waiting for me to make up my mind so he could rid himself of the heavy load he carried.
“Just set it down against that wall,” I told him.
I guess he realized I was a little at a loss, for he volunteered, “I’ll see if I can find the lamp.” He soon had it lit and placed where it could bring the most benefit to the men who were unloading our belongings.
In and out they went. Men I had never seen before were clumping in and out of my new home, never stopping to wipe their feet. One of them even spit on my floor. Wynn did not enter himself. He was far too busy overseeing the unloading. I stood dumbly in the middle of the room, wondering what I should do; and then I remembered I did indeed have a responsibility: I was to tell the men where to put things. How did I know where to put things? I still didn’t even know what rooms we had to furnish. So I just pointed a finger, which they probably couldn’t see anyway from behind their big loads, and said, “Over there,” until one wall was stacked high with our belongings.
Finally the stream of groaning, heaving men stopped. There was only the sound of their voices from the yard. Wynn was talking to the men before they returned to their own homes. I tapped my foot impatiently. Why did he take so long? Why didn’t he just thank them and send them away?
I noticed a soft hum, which was soon a whine. Then another and another, and I realized we had given the mosquitoes a wonderful welcome. The open door, with the lamp burning in the room to light their way in, had not been ignored. Already our cabin must be filled with hundreds of them. With an angry little cry, I rushed over and slammed the door shut.
Wynn was still talking to the men. I turned dejectedly to the stack of our belongings and wondered just where I might find some blankets to make a bed. Picking up the lamp, I went over and began to check the pile. Labels of contents didn’t help me much. All the crates on the top seemed to be things for Wynn’s use as northern-law-enforcer and area-medical-supplier.
How would I ever make a bed? The past few nights on the trail I had promised myself that I would need to endure sleeping in such makeshift ways only for a few nights, and then I would be in my own home and sleeping in my own clean and fresh-smelling bed. And now I couldn’t find my bedding. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know if there was a bed. Just as I was leaving the room, lamp held high, to find out if there was a bed in the cabin, Wynn poked his head in the door. I sighed with relief until I heard his words, “I’m going to take the team over, Elizabeth. I shouldn’t be long. You make yourself at home.”
I don’t suppose he could have chosen any words that would have upset me more. Make yourself at home. This was home? Piled boxes. No husband. No blankets for my bed. And me, bone-weary. All I wanted was a warm bath to remove the messy trail dirt and a clean bed to crawl into. Then I might have been able to make myself at home. And Wynn. I wanted Wynn—my husband. After all, it was because of him that I had come to this strange, faraway land.
I let the tears flow freely then. Wiping my eyes and sniffing dejectedly, I stumbled into another room with the lamp held before me. There was a table, a stove, some rough shelves, and a cot—but no bed, at least not one that would hold two people.
I did not stop to look further but went on through another door. This room had pegs along one wall, a dilapidated stand with drawers and, yes, a double bed. It even had a mattress rather than spruce boughs—at least it was a mattress of sorts. It wasn’t very clean, and it was rather lumpy; but it was a mattress. There was no bedding. I looked around for a shelf and found one, but there was no bedding on it either.
Going back to the other room again, I looked all around but still found nothing that would provide bedding for the night. There were three chairs I had missed before. Two of them were wooden and the third an overstuffed chair sitting in front of a fireplace. I was pleased with the fireplace, and then I realized it was probably more functional than anything else. It was likely the only source of heat in the cabin. I flashed the lamp around the room once more. It was quite bare—and not too clean. And then I spotted something I had missed in my first perusal. Over the fireplace hung a large fur that had been tanned and used as decoration or heat-retainer—I wasn’t sure which. I put my lamp down and walked over to it. I gave it a pull. The fur was firmly attached. I pulled again. It still stayed in place. I grasped it in both my hands and put all my strength into the pull. With a tearing sound and a billow of dust, it came tumbling down from the wall and I went tumbling down to the floor.
I pushed the heavy fur off and got to my feet. It felt rather unyielding and bristly, not soft like the furs I was used to seeing. I pulled it to the bedroom and worked it through the door. I then went back for the lamp. I did finally manage to get the fur up on the bed and spread out in some way.
I looked around me. This was my new home! It was bare and dirty and had a lumpy bed, with no sheets, no blankets, and a smelly fur hide. There were no curtains, no soft rugs, no shiny windows—nothing. Even the chimney of the sputtering lamp was dirty with soot. But, worst of all, I was alone! That thought brought the tears streaming down my face again. I carried the lamp back out to the other room and set it on the table—I’m afraid it was more to coax the mosquitoes out of the bedroom than to provide a safe and welcome light for Wynn. Then I walked back to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, crawled under the awkward animal skin, and began to cry in earnest. I didn’t even have my evening talk with God. I was so miserable I thought He’d rather not hear from me. And in my present state, I really didn’t want to hear from Him. I was very weary, so I did not cry for long. Sleep mercifully claimed me.