The hunt lasted until the middle of October. A few days after its end, there was an uproar down at the river. Thomas could hear the yelling and screaming from inside the storeroom. He put on his great coat and followed the noise, standing beside Luke and Jarvis on the bank above the river.
“What is happening?” he asked.
“Someone has spotted a canoe,” Luke replied, pointing up the river.
As Thomas watched, the first canoe was joined by more fur-laden ones, until it seemed as if they would swamp each other. The Indians paddling them had no shirts on in spite of the cold weather. They seemed to pause out in the middle of the river and a few waved to the people gathering on the shoreline.
Word had spread fast that the Uplanders, as they were now called, had returned and the shore was soon lined with spectators. When the reception was big enough, the paddlers steered the canoes towards shore and leaped out as soon as they hit the beach. They were greeted by hugs from the women, slaps on the back by the men, and children leaping into their arms. Everyone spoke at once, each trying to be heard above the din.
“Are these the men who went inland last spring?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” Jarvis said. “Your brother should be with them.”
Thomas searched the men for Edward, but they were all Indians. Somewhere on the journey Edward must have died. Thomas stood, feeling a sorrow like the sadness he had felt when John was swept out to sea. He wondered how long it would be before he heard the story.
* * *
Little Bird and Spotted Fawn were walking through the woods near the village gathering dry branches that had fallen in the wind when they heard the clamor. They stared at each other.
“He is back,” Spotted Fawn exclaimed. It was close to winter and she had had a worried look on her face for days now.
“I will go get Mother and Grandmother,” Little Bird said.
Spotted Fawn dropped her wood and rushed towards the river. Little Bird carried her branches to the teepee, setting them just outside the door. She pulled back the flap and saw that her mother and grandmother had already put on their wraps. Her grandmother set her pipe carefully by her mat before leaving the teepee.
They walked slowly to the river, her grandmother taking small careful steps as if unsure of where she was going. At the river bank, they watched the canoes land. Little Bird saw Spotted Fawn run down to the water and jump into White Paddler’s arms. She laughed and shrieked with glee.
Little Bird was happy for her sister, happy that her white husband had returned to her, but then her thoughts turned bitter as she remembered the other white man in her life, the one who would never return. She wondered what he was doing now. Was he in Stromness with the other woman? Had he told her about her son’s death and that he had left his family for her? Did he think of his family and what his leaving had done to them? Did he think of his country wife?
* * *
“Come on, men,” the Factor yelled, as he waddled his way down to the shore. “This is no time to be standing around. Get these furs unloaded.”
Thomas listlessly followed the other men to the canoes where he automatically picked up a bundle of furs. He did not feel like working; he only wanted to get away by himself and mourn his brother. As Thomas walked by the Factor and the Indian who seemed to be in charge, he heard Smith say.
“How did the trading go, Edward? Did you get the better furs as you hoped?”
Thomas spun around, his heart pounding. He watched the two men walk away. The Factor had his left arm as far around the man’s shoulders as he could reach and waved his right as he talked. The man he called Edward was tall, muscular, and had long, braided hair with a feather in it. He was dressed in skin pants and moccasins, and like the other Indians, had no shirt. But Thomas began to notice a difference he had not seen before. The long hair was not as black as the other Indians, and while his skin was dark, it did not have the same reddish tinge. And down from the Factor’s arm, Thomas could make out the scar on Edward’s side from when he fell off a wagon at the age of ten.
Just as Thomas recognized the scar, Edward turned and looked at him.
“He says he is your brother Thomas,” he heard the Factor say.
Thomas felt a great relief and joy. Edward was not dead. He wanted to run up and hug him, but felt awkward after four years apart. Thomas put down his bundle of furs and walked over to Edward. He was now as tall as his older brother but not nearly as broad. They faced each other, not knowing what to say.
“Well, I wondered if you would ever show up here,” Edward finally said, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.
“I came as soon as Father would let me, Edward.” Thomas hugged him back, both embarrassed and pleased with his brother’s gesture.
“Call me White Paddler. That’s my Indian name.”
“White Paddler,” Thomas repeated. “It has a nice sound to it.”
“How is everyone back home?”
“They are fine.” Thomas thought about all the news he had to tell. “Although Mother always wondered why you did not write?”
“What was there to say?”
“Well, you could have let Mother and Father know you were still alive.”
Edward shrugged. “I tried, but I am not much of a letter writer.”
“Get a move on, Thomas,” Mr. Manchester shouted. “There is work to be done and winter is coming.”
“We will talk later,” White Paddler said. “I want to find out more about our family.”
Thomas walked back to his bundle of furs and hoisted it on his shoulder. There was lots to tell Edward, uh, White Paddler, but there was also plenty of time to tell it.
* * *
Little Fawn watched White Paddler go up to the boy who had introduced himself as Thomas to her and hug him. She had been right. He was White Paddler’s brother. Would he be bringing White Paddler news of his family and would that news make White Paddler want to return to his homeland? She had seen other men leave after receiving a letter about a family illness, or a death or because, after reading the letter, they just missed their white family. And White Paddler’s five years would be up when the supply ship arrived next year.
Little Bird saw Spotted Fawn also watching White Paddler and his brother. Was she thinking the same thing? Was she scared that White Paddler would leave her next summer? Little Bird glanced over at her grandmother. Patient Woman had grown old in the short time since her husband left. She was a stooped, spiritless woman where once she had been a straight-backed, proud one. She had lost the will to live now that she did not have the yearly visits to look forward to.
Little Bird hated her grandfather, hated him for saying he was not coming back, hated him for taking away her best friend.
* * *
When the furs had been unloaded, the feast was prepared. Fires were lit on the sand by the river and geese and ducks roasted on the coals. Cheeses were sliced, biscuits made, and brandy and wine poured.
After the meal, wood was laid on the coals until huge bon fires blazed along the shore. The fiddle was brought out and the dance began. White Paddler squatted near one fire and told tales of his trip inland. A group of men, including Thomas, sat around him eagerly listening to his stories.
“There were so many rivers and lakes. We paddled on the same river for days. We reached rapids which we had to portage around, and then we paddled for days more. When we came to a lake, we followed the shore until we arrived at a river flowing into it and then paddled up it. There were plenty of deer, and bear, and moose, and they stood on the banks of the river and watched us go by.”
“You did not get lost?” one man asked and the others laughed.
White Paddler grinned. “No, even though I had a guide this time, I remembered the rivers from last year. I could go inland myself without a guide now.”
Thomas could see that his brother was very popular. The men hung on his every word.
“Did you see the Frenchmen?”
White Paddler nodded. “Yes, they are still taking the trade to the Indians. They have seven forts now.”
“They have not tired of canoeing all that distance from Fort William, or Montreal?”
“It is worth it to them to get the best furs,” White Paddler said. “I just wish I could convince the Company it has to do the same.
“Are you going again next year?”
“If the Factor will let me. There is so much land to explore, so much to see.”
Thomas listened and felt an urge to see the land his brother described. Maybe he could go inland with him next year.
“Now I want to dance with my wife,” White Paddler said.
His wife? White Paddler was married to that Indian woman? Thomas wished he and his brother could sit down now and talk. He could see White Paddler had much news to tell him about his life here and he wanted to hear it all.
* * *
“You mean there is still a farm?” White Paddler asked. “The way it was producing when I left I thought all of you would have starved by now.”
He and Thomas were walking along the shore of the bay. It was windy and cold, but it gave them some privacy.
“Yes, there is still a farm,” Thomas answered. “Stuart has been working hard on it.”
“And well he should,” White Paddler said. “It will be his someday.”
They walked in silence. “How are Mother and Father?” White Paddler asked.
Thomas hesitated before saying. “Mother is fine, but Father is sickly.”
Edward nodded. “He is getting old. And little...?” White Paddler was at a loss for the name.
“Bruce. He is twelve.”
“Just about the same age as you were when I left. Does he want to come here, too?”
“He talked as if he did when I was leaving.”
“I remember how much you wanted to come. You even wanted to stowaway.”
“It seemed like such a long time until I would turn sixteen. I am just glad Father decided to let me go at fifteen,” Thomas said.
“And Isabel and Molly? They must be married by now.”
“Molly is, and she is going to have a baby. And Stuart got married this summer.”
“To whom?”
“To Emily Isbister.”
White Paddler whistled. “That is a surprise. A Gunn marrying an Isbister. The farm must be doing very well if old man Isbister let his daughter marry one of us.”
“It is one of the best on the islands now.”
“That is good.”
“Mother hopes you might go back when your five year service is up,” Thomas said, quietly.
“I do not think there is anything for me to go back for.”
* * *
Just before freeze-up every available man was put to work fishing for arctic char. Henry and Francis helped with the nets, while Thomas was assigned to the cleaning crew. When the first net was brought in, the fish were thrown in barrels and carried up the bank to the men waiting at the makeshift tables. Thomas had been raised on a farm and had spent little time on the sea. He stared at the fish with their green backs and coral bellies flopping in the barrel. His fish cleaning ability was negligible. He watched as the men quickly began their work. Most of them were so skilled that Thomas could not keep up with what they were doing.
“Like this,” Jarvis said. He picked up one of the fish and cut off the head, tail, and fins, with his knife. He then split the fish up the back, and deftly removed the bones. He pulled out the insides and threw them in a pile with the others. The meat and skin of the belly was left intact. He walked over to the washing barrel, with Thomas following, and washed the fish inside and out. He then set it on a pole rack in the shade to drain.
“Are we just going to leave them here?” Thomas asked.
“Just until evening.”
“Then what happens to them?”
“They will be opened and layered in a metal tub, skin side down, and each layer will be sprinkled with salt.”
Thomas grimaced. “More salted food? I have been living on salted food for months now, ever since I left home.”
“Get used to it. We have been eating salt pork, salt fish, and salt geese, for years.”
Thomas sighed. “So what happens next?”
“The tub will be left in a cool place for ten days, and then the fish will be transferred to a cask. After the lid is put on the cask, the juice from the tubs will be poured over the fish through the bung hole. The cook tops up the cask for ten days with the pickle then puts the stopper in. The fish keep for most of the winter.”
Thomas picked up a fish. It flopped and squirmed and he had a hard time holding it down on the table while he cut off the head. The tail was easy, but the fins gave him some trouble. He watched Jarvis again to see how to slit the back and remove the bones.
“Make sure you get them all,” Jarvis warned. “The men do not take kindly to fish bones in their food.”
Thomas went deep with his knife, digging for the bones, totally mutilating the fish. The men around him laughed at his efforts and some gave advice.
“Pull back the flesh from the bone and cut it off, instead of digging the bone out.”
“Lay the fish on its side like this.”
Once the bones were out, Thomas pulled the intestines and threw them on the growing pile. He then washed the fish and laid it out to drain with the others. His looked in sad shape compared to them.
“We will remember which one is yours,” Jarvis said. “And when it is cooked, we will make sure it is served on your plate.”
Thomas’ next efforts were better, and by the end of the day he had mastered the craft of fish cleaning. After the evening meal of fresh fish, he sat leaning against the fort, watching the next shift pick up the fish and begin layering them in tubs. Luke sat down beside him.
“It is a lot of work to get ready for winter,” Thomas said.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Luke replied. “The winters are long and cold, and there is not much to do except eat and try to keep warm.”
The fishing lasted until all the tubs were filled and stored.
“Well,” Jarvis said, on the last day. “We are ready for winter. The wood pile is well stocked and the food preserved. Who wants to bet on the day the river freezes over?”