When they arrived at the quarters, they studiously ignored each other. Thomas pretended he needed something from his bag. Henry turned back the covers of his bed. Francis went over to pull the blanket over Richard’s shoulders. Then with a sheepish grin Thomas glanced sideways at Francis. Francis grinned back and looked at Henry. Soon they lay on their beds laughing at the joke pulled on them.
“I thought the veil was a strange custom,” Francis said.
“Yeah, I wondered why the girls had put on those robes.” Thomas’ sides hurt from laughing so hard.
“I guess I should have known something was wrong when her hands felt so rough,” Henry said.
Luke and Jarvis entered the room along with the other men. “Do you want to visit the village again tomorrow night?” Luke asked.
“No,” Francis said. “Once is enough.”
“They will let you kiss them again.”
The boys shook their heads.
“You did not have to let it go that far,” Henry grumbled.
“Hey, it was pulled on us when we came,” Jarvis said. “And you can help us trick some of the new recruits next year.”
“How do you get the Indian women to go along with it?” Thomas asked.
“They enjoy it as much as we do,” Luke said.
* * *
Little Bird stood in the shadows as the joke was played on the new boys. Most of the villagers hid behind the teepees and trees and watched as the switch was made. They snickered when the boys held hands and then kissed the old women. Occasionally, in the past, when the truth was revealed one of the boys would get mad, but mainly they would be shocked and embarrassed before running back to the post.
Spotted Fawn had taken part in the fun in past years but refused this year because she was married to White Paddler. When Little Bird asked her to come and watch she had said no. Moon Face and Patient Woman usually joined her but they, too, would not come. They were in mourning for her grandfather. Little Bird knew that she should be in mourning too, but she was still angry at him for choosing the other woman over her grandmother.
She recognized the boy she had seen on that first day, the one she thought might be White Paddler’s brother. She saw him walk away with one of the old women and then return with her. She moved closer so she could see his face in the candlelight. She saw the shocked look and heard the laughter around her when he and the other two ran away, but for some reason the joke was not funny anymore. Little Bird did not know if it was because of her grandfather’s news, or because she was older, or maybe because the trick had been played on the boy she had seen. She wished she could find out his name and learn if he was White Paddler’s brother.
When she walked back to the teepee, she could still hear her grandmother keening the mourning song. She had started soon after her grandfather left the teepee and continued throughout the night and today. Little Bird knew she would have to stop soon. Her voice was almost gone.
She lifted the flap and stepped in, going over to her mat. Spotted Fawn lifted an eyebrow in question. Little Bird shrugged her shoulders. “It was the same as always. They cry out, they wipe their mouths, and they run away.”
“Yes, I think the only ones who find it funny are the ones it was played on last year. They enjoy getting some revenge.”
Little Bird looked over at her grandmother. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back as she lamented her loss. Moon Face also had her eyes closed, but she had quit singing. Spotted Fawn was stitching a dress for herself.
Why was she sitting as if nothing had happened? Little Bird wondered. Why was she not mourning him or angry at him? “Are you not upset at him?” Little Bird demanded.
“Yes, I am,” Spotted Fawn said.
“Then why are you stitching so quietly?”
“Because anger will not bring him back. He has made his decision and it is up to us to adjust to it.”
“Well, I cannot. He should be here with us, with grandmother. We can look after him better than that other woman can.”
“I think to him it is a question of who needs him more,” Spotted Fawn said.
“We need him. Grandmother needs him to look after her in her old age.”
“You, and I, and Red Elk can do that. The other woman has no one.”
“It is not fair. He is our grandfather. He should be with us.” Little Bird picked up the hide she had prepared for her grandfather’s moccasins. She held it thinking of the hours she and her grandmother had spent in the scraping and the rubbing and the chewing to tan it just right. She threw it over on the pile of hides for the moccasins her mother made. And she dumped the special colored beads she had selected from the bag back with the others. She did not need them anymore.
“You can still make moccasins out of it,” Spotted Fawn said.
“For whom?”
“Red Elk, or one of the men in the village, or even for yourself.”
Little Fawn shook her head. “It would not seem right to make moccasins for someone else from the hide meant for grandfather. If I make a pair for myself it will be a constant reminder of him.”
“And would that be so bad?”
“Yes, it would.”
* * *
“We are harvesting the garden today,” Henry said one morning, as they were leaving the mess.
“I did not know they had a garden here,” Thomas said.
“Where do you think the vegetables in the stew come from?”
Thomas shrugged. “I really had not thought about it. How big is the garden?”
“It is not much, just turnips, carrots, and potatoes.”
“Where is it?”
“On part of the plantation,” Francis answered.
“What is the plantation?” He began to realize he was missing much by working in the stores. Henry and Francis seemed to have the more interesting jobs.
“It is a clearing near the fort. Luke said the Indians come from inland and set up their teepees there during the trade. He said sometimes there are a hundred teepees side by side. The garden is on one edge of the clearing.”
Richard passed them on his way to clean the tables. Thomas saw he was as pale as he had been on the ship and he seemed to have shrunken into himself. He did not look in their direction.
“It seems your father was wrong,” Henry said. “Sending Richard here has not improved his health.”
“Yes,” Francis admitted, “and it has hurt his spirit. He goes to the cookhouse, does his work, and then returns to his bed. He hardly talks.”
“I do not blame him with that cook for a boss,” Thomas said, remembering the incident. “I am just glad to see he has not hit Richard again.”
“Me, too,” Francis said. “If he does, though, I will take care of it.”
Francis had been grateful to Thomas for stepping in to defend Richard. Even so, he had told Thomas that he alone was responsible for Richard and wanted to know about any problems so he could confront the cook himself.
“Maybe they will let Richard go home next summer,” Henry said.
“I hope he lasts until summer.”
“Stop your gabbing,” Manchester growled behind them. “There is work to be done.”
The two boys hurried ahead. Francis fell in with Henry and the other woodcutters. Every day the men went out to the bush to chop down trees. Then they were cut into pieces and hauled to the fort to dry for use in the stoves. Because of the years of cutting by the bay men, they now had to travel far from the fort to find large enough trees. Thomas watched them leave with their axes over their shoulders.
* * *
“What do you want me to do?” Thomas asked, when he arrived at the storehouse.
“We have to restock the shelves with the new supplies,” Wemple said. He went and got a ladder which he leaned against the shelves. “Come help me carry the things out here.”
They went in the back where Wemple handed Thomas a stack of blankets and picked up some powder horns. They carried them to the front, putting them on the counter.
“The Company discourages us from letting the Indians inside the fort, although no one really follows the directive,” Wemple said. He climbed the ladder. “In fact, Factor Smith encourages the Indians to bring in any furs they have, even if they are pelts from small animals. We will trade beads or shot for them.”
Thomas handed Wemple some blankets which he put on a top shelf. “It is when the Indians come in a large group that you have to be careful.”
“Why?” Thomas asked, holding the ladder steady.
“They know we cannot watch all of them and sometimes they make off with a few of our supplies.”
“I have not seen any Indians in here since I started.”
Wemple descended the ladder and pushed it along the shelves. “That is because I do not allow them in until I have gone through the supplies brought by the ship and checked to make sure we have everything. Then I only have certain days when I let them come to trade. Tomorrow is one of them.” He stopped beside the knives and climbed again. Thomas handed him the powder horns which he put on the shelf above the knives. “And because there will be a large group of them, we only allow a certain number in the store at a time.”
On the next trip to the storehouse they brought out some cooking pots, cloth, and powder, which they arranged on the lower shelves.
“Now we are going to check the barrels of salt pork and beef that were brought by the ship,” Wemple said. “It should have been done before the ship left, but the Master was in too much of a hurry to leave.”
He led the way into the room where Thomas had rolled the barrels after they had been counted. “Open that one,” Wemple said.
Thomas picked up a bar and pried the lid from the first one. A foul odor rose from the contents. He immediately took a step back and held his breath. The stench was familiar. The last time he had smelled it was when one of the cows in the herd had lain down on a slight hill. She overbalanced onto her back against a large rock and was unable to stand again. She bloated and died, and in the hot sun quickly began to rot. The animals were out in the pasture and were not checked every day, so by the time Thomas found her, the flies crawling on her were as thick as black fur on a cat.
“We are not going to eat that, are we?” Thomas asked.
“We will get the Factor in to look at it and he will decide.”
They opened and checked the rest of the barrels and found only one more putrid container. Some of the meat had maggots on it, but that did not seem to worry the apprentice clerk.
It was mid-afternoon before Factor Smith waddled into the store room. He grumbled at being called from his office.
“Where are those barrels?” he demanded.
“In the back,” Wemple said. “I will show you.”
Thomas watched the Factor as he leaned over and looked at the meat. The smell did not seem to affect him. He frowned, and then straightened.
“Get the cook to dress some of it for my supper tonight,” he said.
Thomas wrinkled his nose at the thought of someone actually eating the meat, but he felt if someone had to, it might as well be the Factor. He knew if it ever was set in front of him, he would go hungry.
At the evening meal, Thomas cautiously looked at the cooked meat in front of him. It was salted beef that had been cut in chunks and boiled. He bent and smelled it. The cook had put spices in the water and he knew spices were used heavily when the meat was rotten. But from past meals, he also knew the cook liked to use spices in all his cooking. He watched as the other men ate the meat. They did not seem to notice anything different from the usual salt beef. Thomas cut a small piece and put it in his mouth. He could not taste a difference either and decided to eat the meal.
The next morning Wemple said. “Factor Smith says they are not fit to eat.”
“What am I supposed to do with them?”
“He said to take them over to the Indian village.”
“The Indian village?” Thomas thought he would be told to dump them somewhere away from the post.
“Factor Smith seems to think they will eat anything.”
Thomas hated the idea of taking the barrels to the Indians. It was not right to expect them to eat the rotten meat.
“Do not worry. They will not eat it.”
“What will they do with it?”
Wemple shrugged. “That is none of my business. I just have to make sure the Factor’s orders are carried out. Now get busy.”
Thomas went into the back for the first barrel. He rolled it out of the compound and over to the Indian Village. He was not sure who he was to give it to. The Indian maiden who had watched him on his first day was walking alone near the bush.
“Pardon me,” he called to her.
She turned and looked at him and as their eyes met he was startled to see hers were a sparkling blue color. He quickly dropped his gaze. She walked over to him.
“Yes?” she said, her voice soft and musical. The sound sent shivers up and down his spine.
“Uh, Factor Smith sent this meat over to the village.”
“What is wrong with it? Is it rotten?”
Thomas nodded.
She laughed. “He thinks we are like wild animals and will eat rotten flesh.”
“Do you want me to take it back?”
“No. We have dogs that might eat it.”
“There is another barrel.”
“We have lots of dogs.”
Thomas hesitated a moment, then said. “My name is Thomas.”
“I am Little Bird.”
When Thomas returned with the second barrel, the first one was gone, and so was Little Bird. He felt a great disappointment as he left it where the first had stood.