Chapter Thirty-Seven

Edmund and Sheridan settled themselves at the table and set about downing the contents of the stone jar. Perhaps only I noticed that Sheridan didn’t drink any more than was required to be polite. The children crept into the pile of blankets and lay down, huddled together. Josie pulled a fish net onto her lap and began to sew. Her eyes were round and watchful and, I thought, frightened.

Before anyone could offer us bedding, I told Sheridan it was time to put up the tent. He looked almost grateful at the suggestion and pushed away from the table, patting his belly and burping loudly. He was not uneducated and not ill-mannered, so I assumed he was putting on this show for the benefit of his new friend Edmund.

No one came outside with us, and Sheridan erected the tent in considerable haste. “May I come inside tonight, Fiona?” he asked in a most respectful voice. “I promise I won’t lay a hand on you until we’re properly wed.”

“Very well,” I said with a deep sigh, as though I were making a great concession. I had, in fact, decided this night I’d be safer with Paul in the tent than without.

I woke to the sound of the dogs barking. Sheridan was sitting up, pulling on his boots. “I suggest we leave immediately after breakfast,” he said.

I agreed.

We had nothing to contribute to the morning meal, but it appeared that Edmund kept his family well fed, if nothing else, so I didn’t feel guilty on that account.

Josie was stirring a pot over the stove when I knocked politely on the open door. Edmund was nowhere to be seen. The girl came over and touched my dress. “Pretty,” she said with a shy smile.

Pretty was most certainly not the word I would use. The hem was thick with dust, mud splattered all up the back, one sleeve was torn from when I’d fought with Sheridan back in Dawson, the neckline was ripped, and the right shoulder had a gash where the branch of a tree had grabbed at me. It must stink to high-heaven of horse and smoke and unwashed Fiona. The first night on the trail, I’d removed my pearl necklace and earrings and tucked them away in one of the packs. I went outside and found them and presented them to the girl. I held the gifts out, and her black eyes opened wide. She stretched her hand to take them, but her mother hissed at her with a glance at the open door.

“They’re not genuine pearls,” I said, understanding. “No value. Like a toy.”

She nodded at the girl and the child grabbed them and dashed across the room. She buried herself in the blankets to examine her prize.

Breakfast was lumpy porridge and powdered milk. I added a several spoonfuls of sugar to give myself a boost of energy. Edmund was his typical scowling self. If he noticed his daughter proudly wearing new jewellery, he didn’t mention it.

Sheridan excused himself, saying he had to pack up our things, and Edmund and the children followed him. I heard the trapper explain that if he found us in his territory after today he’d shoot us.

Pleasant host.

Josie cleaned away the bowls and then, to my considerable surprise, brought out a large fruit to serve as dessert. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. It was about the size and shape of two cricket balls lying together and had a thick, lumpy green skin.

Rather than take a knife down from the shelf by the stove, she picked up a good-sized hunting knife from Edmund’s place at the table, pulled it from its sheath, and sliced into the fruit, revealing bright green flesh surrounding a single large brown pit. She dug out the pit, scooped out the flesh, and placed a generous slice onto a plate, which she passed to me.

“Try,” she said. “Very good.”

I expected it to be crisp and clean, like an apple, instead it was as soft and creamy as butter. Absolutely delicious.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, picking up the discarded rind and studying it. I could not imagine anything this wonderful growing in the near-Arctic. I thought about the lemon I’d enjoyed with yesterday’s tea.

She shrugged. “Strange people pass by in the night. They don’t come to the door, but they leave food and small things for the children.”

She got up from the table, pressing her hands into the small of her back, and went to a shelf over the beds. She sorted through it, pulled out a sweater, and held it out to me. I almost declined, but didn’t. She was offering me a gift, and it would be unkind to refuse it. I had quickly discovered she had no clothes or shoes that would come near to fitting me, but this sweater was very large and well knitted.

If the nights started getting cold, I’d need it.

“Ready Fiona,” Sheridan yelled from outside.

“Thank you,” I said.

Josie returned to the table and picked up the knife she’d used to slice open the strange green fruit. With a quick glance toward the door, she shoved it back into its sheath, and then handed it to me. “Take. Hide.”

I grabbed it and wrapped it in the sweater. “Tell me where your people live. I’ll go there. I’ll send them to you.”

She shook her head and rubbed her giant belly. “They will not come,” she said. “Go now. Do not return to this place.”