FOR THE REST OF THAT NIGHT I helped Father, Joe, and my brothers save what we could of the mill. The waterwheel wasn’t too badly damaged, though the driveshaft was burned. Father thought about replacing it, but then he thought about how much business the mill was likely to see, given how the mood in the valley had swung against us. So the mill sits there as we left it that night, the east and creek-side walls mostly still standing, but the insides charred and in ruins.
At first light I went looking for Gypsy. I found her lying on her side behind a moss-covered log, the fur around her neck sticky with dried blood. Her throat had been cut by Tom Breckenridge. I knew we should count ourselves lucky that it was only the dog that died that night, and not one of the family, but I cried anyway—for Gypsy, for Louie Sam, and for the wrong I was part of and knew then I would never be able to put right, not with the whole Nooksack Valley bent on whitewashing the business of who really murdered James Bell.
For the next few months we heard rumblings about the Canadian government trying to find out who led the lynch mob, but Governor Newell stopped being governor in July, and the new governor, Mr. Squire, didn’t take the same interest. Joe Hampton told me that most of Louie Sam’s people, the Sumas, moved away from Sumas Prairie up the Fraser Valley while they waited for justice—because they felt safer farther away from the International Border.
After a while, people around Nooksack acted like they’d forgotten all about Mr. Bell and Louie Sam—mostly because neither was a subject for polite conversation, or any other kind of conversation, for that matter. Bill Moultray, Robert Breckenridge, Bert Hopkins, Dave Harkness, and Bill Osterman have gone on with their lives like nothing bad happened at all. So my guess is that the Sumas will be waiting for quite a while before they get the justice they expect for Louie Sam.
Late in the spring, Dave Harkness married Mrs. Bell, making an honest woman out of her—more or less. Mr. Moultray held a dance above the livery stable to celebrate the occasion. I hear that Kitty’s father, Mr. Pratt, played his fiddle. We Gillies were not invited, not that I wanted to set foot near a Harkness ever again after what happened, nor near their kin Bill Osterman. Abigail stayed home that evening, too, even though she loves to dance. When she found out what Pete and Tom did to our mill and to Gypsy, she would have nothing to do with them. I’m happy to say that at least Abigail is still my friend. Well, more than my friend. I guess you would call us sweethearts.
Agnes has gone back to live with the Nooksack. As for Joe, he talks about clearing the land around their shack and becoming a farmer. Then in the next breath he says he thinks he’ll cross the border into Canada and go live in the wilderness, trapping and hunting like his mother’s people have done for centuries. If he leaves, we’ll miss him. We Gillies will never forget how he came to help put out the fire.
Once in a while, if I’m walking through the woods alone, I wonder if Louie Sam’s spirit might come to me again. Joe says he could come as a raven or as a coyote, you never know. I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say to him this time if I had the chance. I’d tell him that I thought he was brave the way he held his chin up that night with all those grown men shouting at him and calling him names. I’d tell him that I’m sorry that I believed so quickly the lie that Bill Osterman made up about him. And I’d tell him that I pray for him to God, and to all the spirits of this valley.