When March came, I began to think spring, but Wynn warned me that this was much too premature. No one else in the whole village was looking for spring at this early date. I chafed. Winter had been upon us for—for years, it seemed to me.
I was restless and I was lonely. My Indian friends had been too busy to come for tea for quite a while. Nimmie had been down with the flu, so our Bible study together had been missed. I still didn’t feel very much at ease with Miss McLain, though I had now been given permission to call her Katherine. I could have talked myself into visiting her, but she was busy nursing Nimmie. I would have liked to have been Nimmie’s nurse myself, but I knew it was important to Katherine to be able to do this. So I stayed home.
There was no sewing to be done, my mending was all caught up. I had read all my books over and over. It seemed that the extent of my day’s requirements was to get three meals and do the dishes.
I was tired of the meals as well. It seemed as if I just fixed the same things over and over—from tins. Tinned this and tinned that. We did have fresh fish and fresh wild meat. But I was tired of them also. I really didn’t enjoy the wild meat and craved even one taste of beefsteak or baked ham.
I longed for spring. But in the North, spring is slow in coming.
I decided to take a walk to the store. Maybe I would find some food item on the shelves that wouldn’t be too expensive and would be a delightful change for our daily menu.
I bundled up and pulled on my mittens. Kip was already waiting by the door, his tail wagging in anticipation.
“You want to go for a walk?” I asked him, an unnecessary question. I struggled into my snowshoes and started out. It was a bright sunny day and I dared to hope that maybe this once Wynn was wrong. Maybe spring really was coming.
We walked through the morning sunshine, Kip frolicking ahead or running off to the side to check out something that only dogs knew or cared about. I was feeling good about the world again.
I had not given even fleeting thought to the village dogs, so intent was I in getting out for a walk again. Had I thought about it, I might not have proceeded any differently. I had finally made up my mind that Mr. McLain and Wynn were right: I could not go on protecting Kip against real life.
Mr. McLain greeted me heartily about halfway into the village. I asked how Nimmie was, and he seemed relieved and said she was coming along very well now.
We were walking toward the trading post together when there was a rush and a blur at my side as a dog ran past me. I jumped slightly with the suddenness of it; then a yip to my left whirled me around.
Kip had been busy poking his nose into a rabbit burrow, and this dog from the village was heading right for him. I gasped, my hand at my throat.
Surprisingly, the dog stopped a few feet from Kip and braced himself. From where we stood, we could hear the angry growl coming from his throat. Kip stood rooted, unsure as to what this was all about. Mr. McLain reached out a hand and placed it on my arm.
“They’re going to fight, aren’t they?” I said in a tight voice.
“We’ll see,” said McLain. “Kip might be wise enough not to take the challenge.”
“Wise enough? But you said he’d have to fight.”
“Not this one. Not Lavoie’s Buck.”
I swung around to look at McLain. “What do you mean?” I threw at him in alarm.
“He’s boss here, Miz Delaney. He’s licked every dog in the settlement.”
I looked wildly about me in search of a club or a rock or anything that might stop the fight. There was nothing. “We’ve got to stop them!” I cried. “Kip might be killed!” I took a step forward, but McLain stopped me.
“You can’t go in there. If there’s a fight, you could get all chewed up.”
The Lavoie dog was circling Kip now, fangs bared, his throat rumbling. Round and round he went, and I think he must have said some very nasty words in dog language. Kip looked insulted—angry. I expected at any moment the dogs to be at each other’s throats.
And then a very strange thing happened. Kip’s tail lowered and began to swish mildly back and forth. He whined gently as though to apologize for being on the other dog’s territory. The big dog still bristled. He moved forward and gave Kip a sharp nip. Kip did not retaliate. The Lavoie dog gave Kip one last look of contempt, circled him once more, and—still bristling and snarling—loped back toward the village houses.
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or ashamed.
Mr. McLain just grinned. “One smart dog,” he said. “But ol’ Buck better watch out in a month or two.”
I didn’t know what Mr. McLain meant, but I started to breathe again and hurried on to the village. The day didn’t look nearly as sunshiny as it had previously, and I was rather anxious to make my purchases and go home.
———
Finally Anna and Mrs. Sam came for tea. I was especially glad to have Anna, because it meant that I could catch up on some of the village news. We talked now of the families and how they were faring. The life in the village seemed to be made up getting through the winter and coasting through the summer; and the summers were all too short.
Evening Star and her baby were both doing fine. I had not seen them since I had taken over the new sweater and a container of soup soon after the baby had safely arrived. He was a nice little fellow and Evening Star was justifiably proud.
We had had another death. An Indian woman in her forties had died from the flu. She had not been well for some years. She had given birth to fifteen children, and each time another child was born she seemed to weaken further. Of her fifteen, only seven were now living. Her body, also, had been blanketed and left in the burying trees. The ritual drums had thumped out the message, and the open fires had gleamed in the night.
Another baby had been born, too. This time the midwives did not need help from Wynn.
There had been some sickness, but no major epidemics. Everyone seemed to hold his breath and speak softly when the possibility of an epidemic was mentioned. The people lived in fear of a dreadful disease sweeping through the camp while they sat helplessly by, with no doctors, hospitals, and very little medications.
Our conversation turned to brighter things. I talked about my longing for springtime. Of learning from the women about finding edible herbs and plants in the forests. Of planting my own garden. Of finding the berry patches. We all looked forward to the days of sunshine and rainshowers. Even the dreaded mosquitoes would be endured when spring came.
“How is Nanook doing?” I asked.
“He runs,” said Anna, her eyes lighting up.
“That’s wonderful. Good. That’s good.”
“I often wonder about poor Mary,” I went on. “I don’t know how she ever manages to care for her trapline with some of her toes missing.”
“She crazy,” muttered Anna, slurping her tea.
I wanted to argue but instead I said, “I feel sorry for her. First she lost all her children, and then her husband died. Poor thing.”
But Anna only said, very calmly, “Husband not die.”
I looked at her. Surely she knew better. She lived right here and had for years.
“Are you sure? We were told that her husband was dead.”
“Dead. But he not die.”
I didn’t understand. Anna finished her tea and stood to go. Mrs. Sam Lavoie stood also and began to shuffle toward the door. Anna followed and I followed Anna. When we got to the door, she turned to me.
“She kill him,” she said deliberately and simply. “She kill him for the traps. My Joe see.” And she was gone.
I could hardly wait for Wynn to get home so I might tell him what Anna had said. She certainly must be wrong. Surely poor Mary had not done such a thing. If she had, and Joe had seen her, he would have reported it. Something was all wrong here.
When Wynn did arrive home, he had news for me instead. Mary was now locked up in the settlement’s makeshift jail. Wynn had to bring her in. She would need to be escorted out for trial and sentencing. Not only had she moved her traps onto Smith’s territory, but Wynn had found her in the very act of robbing from Smith’s traps as well. It was a serious offense and Mary had to answer for it.
I felt sick. “Where is she?” I asked.
“There’s a little room at the back of McLain’s store. He uses it for skin storage when it’s not needed otherwise.”
And now it was needed otherwise. It was occupied by Mary.
“Can I see her?” I asked.
Wynn looked surprised; then he answered. “Certainly. If you wish to.”
I did wish to. I went the next day, taking fresh bread and stew with me. Mary took the food but did not even look at me. I spoke to her, but she ignored me completely. I could see she really didn’t need my food. Mr. McLain or Nimmie had looked after her well.
I tried to talk to her. She still would not look at me.
“I want to help you,” I said. “Is there anything I could get you or do for you?” She turned from me and went back to curl up with a blanket on the cot in the corner.
I came home feeling even sicker than I had before I went. I decided to discuss it with Wynn. Surely there was some other way to deal with the situation.
“Do you really have to do it this way?” I asked him.
“I’m afraid so, Elizabeth. There is no masking the evidence. I caught her red-handed. She was stealing from Smith’s traps.”
“But couldn’t she be—be—scolded and given another chance?” I continued.
“She isn’t some naughty schoolgirl. She knows the seriousness of her offense.”
“But surely if she knows that you are on to her, she won’t do it again,” I insisted.
“Elizabeth, if I let Mary go, none of the people will have respect for the law. Besides, Crazy Mary would try it again—oh, maybe not right away, but she would try it again, sure. She has an inner drive to accumulate pelts, and she will stop at nothing to get them.”
I thought of Anna and her words. I had not passed them on to Wynn yet. I remembered them now with a sick heart.
Wynn went on. “She will get a fair trial,” he assured me. “They will take into consideration her mental state. She will be cared for better than she would be out on her own on the trapline.”
“But it will kill her,” I blurted out. “She couldn’t stand to be confined. She couldn’t even stay here with us!”
There was sadness in Wynn’s eyes. To lock Mary up, even with tender care, would not be good for Mary’s emotional state. She needed freedom. Without it, she might not be able to survive.
“There is another thing to think about, Elizabeth,” said Wynn. “If I didn’t handle this properly and carry out the demands of the law, Smith or someone else would handle it in his own way, according to his own laws. Mary could be killed or beaten so severely that she would be left too helpless to work her trapline or even to care for herself. Either way it could mean death.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
Wynn dismissed further discussion. “I was sent up north to uphold the law, Elizabeth. To the best of my ability, I intend to do just that, God helping me.”
I knew Wynn would follow the dictates of the law, not his own feelings.
———
Mary was not sent away for trial and sentencing. Two mornings later, Nimmie found her dead on the cot in the corner, where she had died in her sleep.