We dared to hope that spring was on the way when the sun began to spend more time in the sky and the days began to grow longer and warmer.
For Wynn, the winter had been uneventful. There were no major epidemics within the village, no disasters, and very few troublesome incidents.
For this we were truly thankful, for we weren’t sure what the response of the people would have been if some calamity had fallen on the tribe soon after our arrival. Perhaps with their superstitious leanings they would have felt that the disaster had come because of us.
On one of the first warm days, Wynn suggested that I might like to go on an outing with him. I wholeheartedly agreed. It seemed forever since I had been beyond the exercise trails where I walked Kip.
I bundled up, for the temperature was still cool, and put the leash on Kip until we got beyond the settlement. The trip would not be long, so Wynn decided to dispense with the sled dogs. That way we could walk together and enjoy the signs of spring.
“If you want to pack a lunch, we’ll celebrate the departure of another long winter,” Wynn had said, so I prepared a picnic. Like the Indians, I was ready to celebrate almost anything.
There was enough winter snow left for us to lace on our snowshoes.
Kip was excited. He could sense this was a special outing when we were being joined by Wynn.
Wynn walked slower than his normal pace in order to accommodate me. I still had not become truly adept on snowshoes. Besides, I wished to enjoy every minute of the day. As we walked, I was full of my usual questions about everything from squirrels to ferns. Wynn pointed out trappers’ boundaries and told me the names of some of our neighbors.
“Do you think they’ll ever accept us?” I asked him. “I mean, as part of them, not as the ‘Force’?”
“I don’t know, Elizabeth. They don’t seem to know much about the white man here. They don’t have anything to base their trust on, as yet.”
“But wasn’t there a Mountie here before us?”
“Yes . . .” Wynn hesitated. “That might be some of the problem.”
I looked at Wynn, concern showing in my eyes. “You mean they had a ‘bad’ officer?”
“No, not bad. He did his duty as the King’s representative honestly enough. But he held himself apart from the people. From what I have heard, he might have even taken advantage of their belief that he might be . . . ah . . . different. If they wanted to think he was in cahoots with the spirits, then that was fine with him.”
“Oh, Wynn! Surely he wouldn’t—”
“Oh, he didn’t foster it, I don’t mean that, but he didn’t mind if the Indian people thought him a little different—a little above them.”
“But why?”
“It’s hard to say. Some men just like having authority. He was a loner and didn’t like to be bothered. One way to keep the villagers at a distance was to keep them believing that there was a ‘great gulf’ between them and the lawman, so to speak.”
“I think that’s terrible!” I blurted out. “And now we, who would like to befriend them and help them, have to bear the brunt of it all.”
“We’ll just have to keep chipping away at it. I think I am feeling a little less tension on the part of some of the men.”
“I’m glad someone is making headway.” I shook my head. “I sure haven’t. This has been about the longest winter I ever remember—at least since the one when I had both the measles and the chicken pox as a child.”
Wynn chuckled and hugged me.
We trudged on for a few moments in silence, both busy with our own thoughts. The brightness made me squint against the morning glare, and the snow squeaked with a delightful, clean sound as our snowshoes made crisscross tracks across the unbroken whiteness.
A bush rabbit streaked across the hill in front of us, and Kip was off on the chase. I could have told him not to bother. There was no way he was going to catch that rabbit. But I said nothing. Let him have his fun!
“You didn’t tell me where we are going,” I commented to Wynn.
“Oh, didn’t I? There’s a trapper out here who was burned when some of his clothing caught on fire—he fell asleep too close to his campfire coals. I thought I’d better check him out to see if he needs any attention.”
“Was he badly burned?”
“I don’t think so, but best not to take chances with infection. Some of these wounds aren’t cleansed too carefully. An infection could give him more trouble than the original burn.”
We found the cabin with no difficulty. I sat on a tree stump and waited while Wynn went to check on the man. When he came out, he said the injury fortunately wasn’t deep, and the man had seemed to care for it properly. The burn was on his left leg, from his knee nearly down to the ankle. Wynn left him some medicated ointment and promised to stop by to see him in a couple days.
We retraced our steps to the brow of a hill and sat down on a log to eat our sandwiches. How good they tasted in the fresh air, especially after our exercise of the morning.
The sun climbed into the sky and sent down such warm rays that we both removed our heavy jackets.
“Do you think it is really spring?” I asked with great longing.
“Why not?” responded Wynn. “It’s that time of year.”
“I’m always afraid to hope for fear it will storm again,” I confided.
“It might,” Wynn replied, “but even that won’t keep spring from coming. Slow it down a bit maybe, but spring will still come.”
It was a good thought. Springtime and harvest, God had promised, will always come to the earth.
I breathed more deeply.
“I’m glad,” I responded happily. “Glad that winter is almost over. Glad that I won’t have to melt snow for water. I’d rather carry it by the pail from the stream. I’m glad that I’ll be able to let the fires go out for part of the day. And I’m especially glad that I will be able to hang the laundry outside again—all of it. I am so tired of dodging under shirts and dresses and of having to move socks from bedpost to chair to bedpost.” I sighed a deep sigh. “I really will be glad to see spring.”
Wynn reached out and stroked my hair.
I broke the silent moment by turning to him. “Wynn, we haven’t found a garden spot yet.”
He smiled his slow, easy smile.
“Well, we need to pick one.”
“Guess there is plenty of time. You won’t be planting for a few days yet, Elizabeth.”
“I know, but we need to find a good one before—”
“There is all of the woods and all of the meadow. You can take your pick,” he answered. “From what I hear, you’ll be the only one in the whole area in need of one.”
“It’s a shame,” I said, “that’s what it is. All this beautiful soil—just going to waste.”
Wynn looked around us at the heavy stand of trees. Under the snow we knew that grasses and plants grew in abundance.
“Well, not exactly to waste. All the forest creatures seem to feed very well.”
“You know what I mean. It could be supplying nourishment for the people of the settlement.”
“I guess it’s doing that, too,” said Wynn. “LaMeche tells me that they eat very well from the land.”
At the name of the trader my back straightened somewhat. I still didn’t feel comfortable with the man.
“Wynn,” I asked, “do you know anything about him?”
“Who?”
“LaMeche. He seems so strange. So . . . so . . . sullen.” I thought that my choice of word may be a compliment to the man, but I didn’t want to do him an injustice.
“Louis LaMeche? Not much. His father was French and his mother Indian. His father moved into the area east of here about forty years ago and staked out a claim. He did well as a trapper until an epidemic hit. Both of the parents and all of the children were ill, though LaMeche seemed to make out the best. LeMeche was nine or so at the time. He struck out on his own to find help for his family. He got lost and it took him several days to find his way to a cabin. Even then he stumbled across it accidentally. By the time help got back to his cabin all his family were dead.”
It was a dreadful story. My original assessment of the man needed altering. No wonder he was withdrawn and—and sullen. What an awful experience for a young boy to endure.
“What did he do then?” I found myself asking.
“Some of the local trappers got together and scraped up enough money to send him ‘out.’ Supposedly he had an aunt or someone near Winnipeg. He stayed for a few years, but he didn’t like it, so he ended up coming back. He started the post about ten years ago. Been here ever since.”
“Who told you all this?” I asked Wynn, wondering if LaMeche himself had shared it.
“It’s in the files. It’s not marked confidential—still, I don’t think it’s for common knowledge. Just thought that it might help you to understand the man a bit.”
It certainly did. Now I was ashamed of myself for the way I had felt about Mr. LaMeche.
Wynn stood to his feet. “We’d better be getting on home,” he stated. “I need to write up the report on Red Fox.”
I stood too. I didn’t want to return to the village. I disliked even more the thought of returning to the small cabin. I was so thankful that it would soon be spring again and I could enjoy more and more of the outdoors.
“Thanks for taking me along,” I smiled at Wynn with deep appreciation. “I needed that.”
Wynn reached out and took my hand.
“I needed it, too,” he said. “I wish I could include you more often, Elizabeth. You’re great company.”
“Why, thank you, Sergeant Delaney,” I teased. “Now that spring is here, I’ll see if I can fit you into my crowded calendar again some time.”
Wynn gave me a wink and a smile, and we headed for home.