“Isn’t there any way I can help?” I asked Wynn.
He had been working almost day and night ever since the fire in order to make sure the settlement had food. I had been doing nothing—except ache for Nimmie.
“There is, Elizabeth. A very important way,” Wynn informed me. “I would like you to keep a sharp eye on all the families for sickness. I think we’ll pull through this winter just fine if we don’t run into some kind of epidemic. The only way I see to prevent that from happening is to detect early anyone with symptoms and try to isolate them from the rest.”
“So what do you want me to do?” I questioned. I certainly wasn’t a nurse, nor did I have medical knowledge of any kind.
“Just visit the homes. Go around as much as you find the time to do so. Keep your eyes and ears open for any coughs or fevers or symptoms of any kind. Note the cabin and I will take it from there.”
That didn’t sound too difficult.
“How is it going, Wynn? I mean really?” I asked him.
He looked at me, and I knew I was going to get an honest answer. “It isn’t good. We are managing so far to keep food in the cabins, but the real value of a little meat boiled with a few roots leaves much to be desired. Still, we will make it if we can just keep sickness away. Everyone is cooperating well, so far. If we can keep up the morale and keep them from giving up, we’ll be all right.”
“Surely it won’t be much longer,” I said hopefully.
“Until the snow goes—no. Maybe not. But, when the snow goes, the rest of the men will be back. True, that will be more men to hunt and fish, but it will also be more mouths to feed. And it will still be several weeks after that before the forests and fields start to bear fruit.”
Wynn drew me close and held me for several minutes before he left to resume his duties of another exhausting, long day.
I went to work on the dishes and cleanup. Since the fire, I no longer threw out tea leaves or coffee grounds after one use. Instead, I dried them and put them in a container to be used again. I saved any leftovers of our food as well, no matter how small the portion. It could be used in some way. Our meals were skimpy enough and were carefully portioned out. Meat had become our main staple as well, with only small servings of any tinned vegetables to complement it. Desserts were now only a dim memory. The nearest we came was to sprinkle a small amount of sugar on an occasional slice of bread. The bread was rationed as well. We allowed ourselves only one slice per day, and sometimes I cut those very sparingly, though I tried to make Wynn’s a little thicker than mine—not too much different or he would notice and gently scold me.
I had been so happy for Nimmie when she told me of her coming baby. I had been longing for a baby of our own. Wynn and I had talked about it many times. Each month I had hoped with all my heart that God might decide to bless us; but now I found myself thanking God that I was not carrying a child. Our diet simply was not good enough to be nourishing a coming baby.
I’ll wait, God, I prayed now. I’ll wait.
As soon as my tasks were completed, I donned my coat and mittens and went out. We were now in April. Surely I wouldn’t need heavy clothing much longer.
I visited several of the homes that morning. At each home I had to insist to the hostess, “No tea. No tea,” and rub my stomach as though the tea would not agree with me. I did not want them to use any of their meager supply each time I came to call in the days ahead.
Many of these women I knew by name. They had learned to trust me, though they must have been wondering why I had nothing better to do than to wander around the settlement while everybody else was busy working. I kept close watch for anything that looked like potential trouble. At first, there was nothing more than one or two runny noses. I mentally noted them, just in case Wynn would want to check them out.
In the Arbus cabin, one of the children was coughing, a nasty sounding one that brought fear to my heart. Please, not whooping cough, I prayed silently and told Anna to be sure to keep him in and away from other children until Wynn saw him.
“But he get wood,” said Anna. “His job.”
“Not today. I will help with wood today. You keep him in by the fire.”
Anna was surprised at what I said and the conviction with which I said it, but she did not argue further. I was Mrs. Sergeant and should be listened to.
I went for wood as I had promised. It was not an easy job. The snow was deep and the axes dull. It was hard for me to walk in snowshoes and carry wood on my back. I was not nearly as skilled as the Indian children. I had to make extra trips to get a pile as high as the others, and by the time I was finished, it was getting dark and I knew Wynn would soon be home. I had not made the full rounds of the cabins, but I would finish the rest the next day.
When Wynn returned home, I reported what I had found. “Good work,” he said. “I’d better check them out.”
“Why don’t you wait until after you have eaten?” I suggested, “and I will go with you.”
Wynn agreed and we ate our simple meal.
We walked over the crunching snow together in the moonlight, long shadows playing about us. From the cabins surrounding the little clearing, soft light flickered on the billowy banks of snow.
“It’s pretty at night, isn’t it?” I said to Wynn.
“But not pretty in the daytime?” Wynn prompted.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that—not really. It’s just—that—well, in the daytime all of the gloom and grime of the tragedy shows up, too. Some days,” I went on, “I wish it would snow ten feet just to bury that terrible reminder heaped up there in the village.”
“It’s not a pretty sight, is it? But I thought you were very anxious for the snow to go.”
“I am. I don’t really mind the snow itself—it is pretty and I have enjoyed it—walking in it, looking at it. It’s the wind I hate. I can’t stand the wind. It just sends chills all through me. It seems so—so—vengeful somehow. I hate it!”
Wynn reached over to take my hand and pull me up against him as we continued to walk.
“I wish you could learn to appreciate the wind, Elizabeth. God made the wind, too. It has many purposes and it is part of our world. You will never be really at peace here until you have made friends with the wind. Try to understand it—to find beauty in it.”
He pulled me to a stop. “Look, over there. See that snowbank? Notice the way the top peaks and drops over in a curve—the velvet softness of the purple shadow created by the glow of the moon. See how beautiful it is.”
Wynn was right.
He continued to point out other wind sculptures around the clearing. I laughed.
“All right,” I assured him. “I will try to find beauty in the wind.”
“Its greatest beauty is its song,” Wynn continued. “I still haven’t had the opportunity to take you out camping under the stars, but when spring comes we’ll do that. We’ll camp at a spot where we can lie at night and hear the windsong in the spruce trees. It’s a delightful sound.”
“I’ll remember that promise,” I told Wynn.
We were at the first cabin. Wynn looked carefully at the throat of the child and felt for fever. There didn’t seem to be any cause for alarm here, but he did give the mother a little bit of medication, telling her to give one spoonful every morning. She nodded in agreement and we went on to the next cabin.
Again we found no cause for concern. Wynn didn’t even leave medicine with the family. He told me to keep an eye on the child during the next few days.
When we reached the third cabin, we could hear the coughing even before we got to the door. Wynn stopped and listened carefully.
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t like the sound of that at all.” Whooping cough was one of the dreaded killers of the North.
“Do we have medication?” I asked Wynn, counting on the worst.
“Not nearly enough if it turns out to be whooping cough,” he said quietly.
We went in then and Wynn did a thorough examination of the throat, chest, and ears of the child, with the little equipment he had.
“How long has he been coughing?” he asked Anna.
“Two,” she said.
“His cough is bad, Anna. I want you to keep him in. And keep the other children away from him if you can. Wash any of his dishes in hot, hot water. Let them sit in the water and steam. Give him this medicine—once when the sun comes up, once when it is high in the sky, and once when the sun goes down. You understand?”
“Understand,” said Anna.
Wynn repeated all his directions in her native tongue to be sure Anna had fully understood.
“Understand,” she said again.
“Mrs. Delaney will be back tomorrow to see how he is feeling.”
“Beth come,” she said with satisfaction. I felt a warm glow to hear her use my given name.
“Is there any way to get more medicine?” I asked Wynn on the way home.
“Not in time. We would have to send someone out and then have him bring it back. By that time half of the town could be infected.”
“What will we do?”
“We’ll just have to wait, Elizabeth, and hope that we are wrong. Wait—and pray.”