Wynn now had great cooperation from the chief on running the affairs of the camp. Though the chief had not been openly hostile in the past, he had been at times withdrawn and rather arrogant. It was much easier to work together with him in his present frame of mind.
The women chatted and laughed as they did their laundry in the lake water or carried their water supply from the swiftly flowing stream. Now that their men were back, the experience of “camping out” was not a difficult one for them—except on the days and nights when it rained. Even with reinforcements to the pine shelters, there was no way to keep all the water out, so people walked around drippy, wet, cold and rather miserable. I feared an epidemic of colds or fever, but they seemed to stay healthy.
Wynn found more canvas in our supply wagon that he draped around our shelter. We almost had privacy, a great relief to me. I was able to change my filthy clothes and take a bath of sorts. I did as the Indian women and washed my hair in the lake water. It was cold, and I had no soap of any kind, so it was not a very satisfactory job. But it did wash some of the woodsmoke smell from my hair.
The Indian women now shyly included me in their chatter, even coming to my campfire for a cup of tea.
The children, too, smiled and even waved occasionally when they went by the campsite on their way to gather wood. It helped, I am sure, to have the two orphans, Kinook and Kinnea, at our campfire.
I wondered about the two young girls. I had been told that they had lived alone since the death of their mother, having lost their father several years previously. Now that their cabin was gone, would the settlement people rebuild it for them? Would they be forced to find refuge with another crowded family? Or would they be married off early—too early, in my opinion—to one or another of the village men as a second or third wife?
I wished to keep them with Wynn and me. But remembering our small, one-room cabin and expecting our new home to closely resemble it, I realized there was no way we could crowd them in. I hadn’t yet had opportunity to speak to Wynn about them, but I promised myself that at my first chance, I would do so.
Some of the women found a berry patch to the northwest of us where the fire had not burned, and we all set off one morning with newly woven baskets.
Our spirits were high on this bright, clear, late-summer day in spite of our meager existence. The chatter of the women and the giggling of the young girls swirled around me as I walked slowly, enjoying the outing.
Silver Star dropped back to walk beside me. She had left her two young children in the care of the elderly woman who shared our campfire.
We walked in silence for some time and then she spoke, softly, “Has sergeant heard from the braves?”
“No,” I replied, “not yet.”
Her eyes looked sad.
“Is Silver Star worried?” I asked gently.
She only nodded her head slightly, lowering her eyes. But not before I could see the concern in them.
“You worry about one of the braves?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
“Then you worry about the trader?”
Her eyelashes fluttered and her face flushed slightly. She said nothing.
“He will be fine,” I assured her. “He has lived in outside world before. He knows all about it.”
“Silver Star knows that,” she whispered.
“Then why do you fear?” I asked her.
Suddenly I knew the answer. She was afraid LaMeche might not come back—that he might decide to stay in the outside world where the way of life was so much easier than facing forest fires, disease, and famine far from any help.
“He will come,” I comforted, hoping with all my heart that I spoke the truth.
Silver Star dared to look at me, her face still anxious, yet hope shining in her eyes.
We reached the berry patch and all set to work filling our containers. The berries were small and scarce because of our lack of summer rains, yet they tasted delicious and were a real treat after our days on a limited diet. I sneaked a few every now and then as I picked. The others did, too—I could tell by the blue stains on tongues and teeth.
There would be no way to make a pie or can what was left over, but we would enjoy them fresh and perhaps even have a few left to dry in the sun.
We cleaned the patch before we left it, though we had not even filled our containers. We would need to do more scouting in the area to look for additional patches if we wanted further picking.
We silently started for home, walking single file or two-by-two. Again Silver Star walked at my side, but she offered no conversation as we walked and, respecting her silence, I did not talk either.
Nanawana, the youngest wife of the chief, walked just ahead of us, her sleeping son strapped to her back. I couldn’t help but watch the child as she walked.
What a darling baby! my heart cried. His black hair and eyes, his pudgy, dimpled cheeks, his tightly clenched fist near his mouth just in case he needed something to suck on reminded me of Samuel.
A tear came unbidden, and Silver Star saw me wipe it away. She looked at the baby, his little head nodding with each step of his mother, and I knew she understood my empty arms.
I was glad when we reached the village and I again was too busy to think about anything other than the tasks at hand.
———
The days did not change much. Our biggest task was to keep everyone fed. My little garden was nearly depleted. There would be nothing to store for our winter use.
Without admitting it to one another, we soon began to watch the southeastern horizon for a glimpse of the returning men. If we were to have decent homes constructed before the winter set in, we must begin immediately. Every day counted.
Wynn said nothing to me of his concern, but I saw his eyes shift often to the southeast. I knew he was willing the return of those he had sent out.
About sunset of the twelfth day, we had just finished washing the dishes for the last time after our evening meal. A shout went up from someone in the camp.
All eyes quickly lifted toward the southeast where three horses appeared, the riders answering with upraised hands. Three—but there should have been four! I quickly stole a glance at Silver Star. Her head was lowered, concealing her face. I knew she was quite aware that one of the men was missing.
How could he? I accused LaMeche silently, knowing that Silver Star’s heart would be broken. How could he do this to her?
But when the three reached the village and were greeted by the villagers circling around them, it was not LaMeche who was missing. He pushed his way through the crowd and approached our campfire.
I smiled my welcome, more relieved than I dared show, and looked around for Silver Star. She was not there. Sometime during the commotion, she had slipped quietly away.
I saw LaMeche glancing around as well, and I guessed that he, too, was looking for her, though he did not ask. Instead, he picked up a cup and asked for some coffee.
“There is still hot soup, too,” I informed him. He welcomed a bowl and sat down at the fire.
“How was your trip?” I asked.
“Good to be home,” was his answer.
I knew his report would be given in full to Wynn, so I did not ask further questions.
“It is good to have you home,” I said instead.
He sipped slowly from the steaming cup. “Things have gone well?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said with some hesitation, thinking of the days of rain and the difficulties of wet clothes and blankets. “As well as one could hope.”
Wynn joined us then, and LaMeche stood to his feet, extending a hand. Then he reached into his pocket and produced a bulky envelope. Wynn accepted it, sat down on a log, and slit open the envelope to review the contents. He was silent as he read. When he folded the official letter and returned it to the envelope, I could stand it no longer.
“Well?” I questioned.
“The supplies will be coming just as soon as they can get them through,” he said with some relief. “They will also send in some men to help with the rebuilding.”
I heaved a big sigh. It was such a weight off our shoulders to know that there would be help coming to furnish the villagers with adequate shelters before the coming of winter.
“How was your trip?” Wynn asked LaMeche.
LaMeche just hunched his shoulders.
I thought he was going to refuse to talk about it, but he surprised me. When he had finished his soup, refilled his coffee cup, rolled himself a cigarette and settled back on his log with his back to a tree, he began to tell all about his trip out, the braves he traveled with, the people he met, where they stayed, the reaction of the three young men to the things they saw. Then he told of the “fire water” that the three braves had somehow obtained, how they managed to drink themselves into a stupor that eventually ended up in a fight resulting in one of the braves being locked behind bars for a two-month period.
Try as he might to reason and barter, LaMeche was not able to get the young man released from jail. At last he gave up and was forced to return home without him.
I knew the young man by appearance only, but he was cocky and swaggering even around the camp. It was not hard for me to picture him getting himself into trouble when he reached a place where he was not closely supervised.
“Why did the chief send him?” I asked Wynn later when we were alone. Wynn shook his head.
“Perhaps he thought he needed a lesson—I don’t know.”
“Have you talked to the chief?” I asked.
“LaMeche went to report to him. If the chief wants me, he will send for me.”
Wynn was right. In a few minutes the chief’s son came asking Wynn’s presence at his fire.
I stirred up the coals and added a few more sticks to our own fire, still wondering about Silver Star.
I did not wonder for long. She was soon back, her eyes heavy. I was about to break the news about LaMeche’s return, but she spoke first.
“Silver Star might need to leave your campfire,” she said solemnly.
“What do you mean?” I asked quickly.
“Grey Wolf leaves me gifts.”
My head jerked up. Leaving gifts was the way that an Indian man proposed to a desired maiden.
But Grey Wolf? He was loud and cantankerous. He already had one wife and was known to beat her with a good deal of regularity. I held my breath, not knowing what to say.
It was clear from Silver Star’s face that she did not like the idea. And then I realized that Silver Star did care about the trader and had been hoping LaMeche might make his move before Grey Wolf would demand his answer.
“But—but—” I stammered, “can’t you wait?”
“He says he has waited long enough. He looks at me with anger in his eyes.”
“Can’t you just say no?”
Silver Star lifted herself from her squatting position, her eyes met mine and she spoke softly, yet forcefully. “I am widow, with two small children. I am burden to village people. If someone wish to marry me and care for my needs, it is my duty to accept.”
“But—but Grey Wolf?” I said, hating the thought. Silver Star lowered her eyes again and squatted down by the fire. Her head and slim shoulders drooped in resignation. She made a pitiful picture. I was reaching to place a hand on her shoulder when a voice behind us spoke forcefully, cutting the stillness of the dark night.
“Never,” he spat out, and a curse followed. “Never would I let him take you.”
It was LaMeche. He had returned in time to hear at least a part of our conversation. Silver Star gave a startled gasp and involuntarily her hand went out toward LaMeche, but she quickly recovered her poise and dropped her gaze and let her hand fall.
Silence fell and seemed to linger. No one was doing or saying anything. Why didn’t LaMeche continue? He just stood there, looking angry and upset, his eyes still on the trembling Silver Star.
I took a breath and moved back a step. I wanted to shake them both. I wanted to make them talk to each other.
“And how can she stop him?” I dared ask rather pointedly.
LaMeche did not look at me. His eyes were still full of Silver Star. They softened, and she glanced up at him, with love and hope in her gem-black eyes.
“By her accept my gifts,” he said gently, and Silver Star lowered her flashing eyes again. Then she was gone, slipping away quietly into the darkness of the night.
I looked at LaMeche. He nodded at me, his face still serious, and then he, too, was swallowed up by the darkness of the night.
———
When I reached our fire the next morning Silver Star was already there, stirring the boiling pot with flushed cheeks. I wasn’t sure if the new flush was due to the heat or to whatever was causing the sparkle in her eyes.
She was wearing a new skirt as well—one with bright colors that circled the fullness, standing out among all of the worn, faded skirts worn by the rest of us. She had a silver chain with turquoise stones about her neck, glistening in the morning sun.
I asked no questions, though I suppose that keeping silent right then was one of the hardest things I had ever done in all my life. It was obvious that someone had “gifted” Silver Star and that she had indeed accepted what he had given. I was nearly sure I knew the giver.
I did not wait long for confirmation. LaMeche and Wynn soon came for the morning meal. I saw Wynn’s questioning eyes fall on the attractive young widow, and then I quickly switched my glance to LaMeche. He attempted to be very casual as he took his place, but I saw him look at Silver Star and his face relaxed. He smiled slightly, and then their eyes met and a promise passed between them. I knew our settlement would soon be celebrating a wedding.
As I passed by Silver Star to get the steaming pot from the open-fire spit, I reached out to give her hand a little squeeze. She understood my message and returned the pressure slightly. I had wet eyes as I served the men their morning coffee.