Beacon of Light, page 23
The meat was all packed on the sled, tied down, and ready for the journey home. To travel at night would be inviting catastrophe, so they fried slabs of fresh bear meat, seasoned with too much salt and pepper. Rain laughed heartily, said it was the only way to eat bear meat.
“It’s sort of tough, it is,” she said, in her low, singsong voice, with the ending “it is” tacked on to most sentences. “But if we have a late spring, chunks of this here meat tastes pretty good with carrots and turnips from the cold cellar.”
Oba’s face shone as he lifted a seared chunk of the meat to his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then nodded thoughtfully. He smiled broadly, pronounced it delicious.
Jonas slapped his knees, laughed uproariously, and said he’d never seen it fail, the person who shot the game always tacked the delicious tag on his animal. Oba laughed outright, a full-throated gravelly laugh the Zusacks had never heard.
“Well, it is good. I mean, not like beefsteak or anything, but it’s my bear, so I’ll say it’s delicious.”
Jonas nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Works every time.”
The night was cold, freezing cold, filled with the mournful howl of wolves, the sharp barking of foxes, the rustling of spruce branches as the wind began to howl after midnight. Sam rolled up with her mother, as two bodies retained the heat more efficiently, and Oba rolled in with Jonas on one side, Brad on the other. The fire was kept going, a wave of cold washing over Oba every time one of the men left the warmth of the bedroll to replenish it.
In the morning, the dogs had feasted on the bear meat and were ready to run, but the journey became difficult with the wind howling in from the north, whipping the soft snow into clouds that obscured their vision. They battled deep drifts. Oba’s admiration for the two women bordered on worship, the way they moved gamely through any terrain, lowered their faces and yanked at their fur-lined parkas. Even Rain, short and squat, kept moving right along in the sled runners’ tracks without complaining.
Sam was strangely silent.
Oba had tried repeatedly to catch her eye, to speak to her alone, but she shifted her eyes or avoided him altogether. A few times he’d caught her dark eyes steadily fastened on his, but she always looked away before he could raise an eyebrow in question.
As they neared home, she drew back, till Oba was afraid she’d fall behind too far, unable to find her way back. He waited till she caught up, then fell into step beside her.
“You’re quiet, Sam.”
“Why didn’t you take me with you?”
“I don’t really know. I guess maybe I wasn’t sure you’d want to go. It’s pretty cold. I thought I’d set a few traps along the way.”
She nodded.
The only sound was the soft shh-shh of their feet moving through the snow, the sound of snow particles blowing across the top, the sighing of fir branches as the wind released fresh bursts of snow.
“You haven’t come to the cabin in a while,” she said, finally.
“Sam, you didn’t want me there,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
They plodded on together, neither one facing the other. She came to his shoulder, or slightly above it, so if he did look over, he saw only the top of her fur parka.
“Well, whenever I showed up, you were always busy finishing whatever you had to do, after which you didn’t seem particularly happy to see me. Just went about your business. So I figured you didn’t want to be with me anymore.”
“You were never happy. I don’t like unhappy people. They create a bad aura. As if they have a spirit that will eventually wreck my own. Your bitterness was eating away at my own happiness.”
Oba was taken aback, ashamed into silence.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Do you know I have never heard you laugh till last night?”
“But . . . I do laugh.”
She shook her head. “No. Never.”
“I did last night.”
“Once. We’ll see what the winter will bring.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“What I said.”
“Sam.”
“Hmm?”
“You know I have almost no experience with girls, and right now I’m really confused. How can I be the kind of person you want to be around?”
“Either you are, or you aren’t. And you weren’t always. I have never seen you like last night. You were a whole other person, but I’m afraid it won’t last.”
“Do you care whether it will or not?”
She stopped, so his steps halted. She turned, and her mittened hands went to his parka. Oba stopped breathing, the weight of her hands like feathers on his chest, her dark eyes enormous with feeling. In all of his thoughts of her, he could never have imagined the beauty of her small dark face framed by the fur on her hood.
“Yes, I care. I haven’t always because so often you were like a dead person, living because you had to, not because you wanted to.” She stamped one foot impatiently, as if she were mad at him. Yet her eyes shone with much more than anger or frustration.
She was too close to him, too beautiful with her eyes lit from deep within. He had no words. His eyes stayed on hers.
He wanted to hold her, tell her of his all-consuming love, the misery of his days without her, but he remained cautious. Yes, they had spent many hours together, but not once had they come close to expressing their feelings. Instead, they had focused on the love of the wild, the learning and teaching of wilderness skills.
Oba had always loved her. Had wanted her from the beginning. Perhaps, though, it had been a selfish love, and one that could not have lasted, the way he was warped by the hatred of his uncle.
He took her mittened hands in his, looked deep into the dark perfection of her beautiful black eyes, and told her with his whole heart that he would try to come up to her expectations.
She smiled, her white teeth flashing, then turned and resumed walking, leaving Oba to follow, guided by the soaring of his heart.
AFTER THE SUCCESS of that hunt, many more followed, with Jonas and Brad teaming up to create drives along the river where moose or elk often came to drink. The Zusacks had plenty of meat for winter use, but these days Jonas was in pain much of the time, and he wasn’t sure there’d be a day coming soon when he couldn’t be out there hunting. He wanted a good elk or a moose—maybe both—stored away, just in case.
He never complained, never made life hard for Oba, but Oba saw the way he winced when he swung an axe, grabbed at his shoulder when his rifle kicked at an arthritic joint. The cold weather was brutal for him, and Oba found himself wishing he had a soft mattress for Jonas, even an old lumpy one like the one the Zusacks were so proud of.
Feeding the dogs, carrying water to them, all of it fell on Oba’s shoulders now. Jonas found himself wandering to a window when he knew Oba was doing chores and was gratified to see him roughhousing with Eb, then playfully pulling Flo’s head under his arm, laughing as she scrambled for a foothold.
Oba had changed, that was for sure. Though Jonas refrained from asking the young man what exactly had caused the shift. He knew the wilderness life would be good for him, but these days Oba almost seemed like a different person.
Wasn’t that the way God worked sometimes? He came unannounced, did His glorious work in the heart, and it was only by the fruits, the change in demeanor, that mere mortals could tell. So he decided to remain quiet, ask no questions, and just appreciate the days filled with Oba’s talk, his smiles, and more frequently now, his laughter.
When Oba shot a bull elk not far from the cabin, the Zusacks joined them for a butchering day. The dogs lay sleeping in their insulated coats, sated with fresh meat and bones to gnaw. Inside, Rain kept the agate canner boiling with jars of meat, seasoned with salt and pepper.
Jonas beamed from his bunk, pillows propped behind his back, relieved and happy to have plenty of meat till spring. Rain moved from table to stove, short and round, like a little teapot, whistling low under her breath or singing outright in a throaty soprano that rose to squeaks from time to time.
She set the table for five, fried the best steaks in flour and oil, boiled carrots and potatoes, opened the last can of peeled tomatoes, and called everyone in, her voice carrying like a drill sergeant’s.
Jonas needed help to get to the table, for the first time. He stood for a long moment, unable to put weight on one knee, till Oba caught his eye and went to him. He knew Jonas hated being dependent on another person, so he said nothing, merely placed a hand on his own shoulder, grabbed his waist, and hoisted him to the table.
Brad observed this maneuver and told Jonas he needed a cane. “I’ll make you one. Carve designs on it and everything.”
Jonas shook his head. “It’ll take more than a cane.” He paused and looked around at these people he had come to love. “I guess we’ll give thanks for our food, then I’ll have to make an announcement.”
After the prayer, sober faces turned to him expectantly.
“I’m getting out.”
“What do you mean?” Brad asked, the shock on his face quite evident.
“What I said. I need medical attention, and that takes money. We’ve got our furs, and I have some money in Dawson. I need something to help bear this pain—some kind of medicine, I expect. My hip and knee are too far gone. I’ll come back once I’m fixed up a little. It’s up to Oba whether he comes with me or stays here with the dogs.”
The food was passed with somber faces, but hunger overtook other feelings and they ate well. They changed the subject. Oba’s brown eyes shone in the lamplight as he retold his story of the slain elk.
Rain mopped up her gravy with a slice of sourdough bread and tried to keep from staring at her daughter’s expression. It was clear something had shifted between Oba and Sam, and here he was ready to accompany Jonas out of the bush, which she knew Sam would never do. She would never leave Brad and her.
At the conclusion of the meal, Jonas explained that he would go out with Alpheus at the end of the month. He cleared his throat, looked at Oba, and offered him the cabin, the boat, everything if he wanted to stay.
Oba shook his head. “I can’t stay here, Jonas. You took me in when I needed you, and it’s only right that I return the favor. I’ll stay with you at least until you get a doctor and figure out what’s going on with those joints.”
Sam seemed to shrink smaller into her chair, her shoulders drooping and her large, dark eyes fastened on Oba’s face.
“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll be unhappy about,” Jonas said very seriously.
“I will be okay. It’s just until you get some help, right? I had no idea how serious your pain is. Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I’m getting older. It’s not just the arthritis. I feel short of breath. I’m getting weak.”
A sober group grappled with this knowledge, but each in his own way. Brad and Rain evaluated the loss by their daughter’s tremulous expression, though they felt their own sadness too. Somehow they all knew this wasn’t going to be a short visit to civilization. If it was bad enough for Jonas to leave at all, it was going to take time for him to heal up enough to come back—if he ever did.
Jonas actually hoped Oba would stay, for Sam’s sake, though it touched him deeply that he was so loyal.
Oba battled right from wrong, without fully understanding which was which. Should he show his dedication to the fast-declining Jonas, or stay and prove himself to Sam? Perhaps they’d only be gone a short while . . . or maybe it would be many months. Did he want to live here in the wild for the remainder of his life? If he stayed, would he always live here with Sam and her parents without knowing whether May was dead or alive?
Did he love Sam with the truly sacrificial love this lonely life would require? He breathed, “Show me” to the air surrounding the table, then smiled widely and said Rain had baked an amazing gooseberry jam cake, lightening the mood of the room enough to bring back a few smiles. Even Sam’s eyes lit up a bit. She couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious.
CHAPTER 19
AS IF MAY’S TIME WITH CLARA WITH HER LEG IN A CAST wasn’t hard enough, a winter storm began somewhere in the Midwest, gathering force as it blew across Indiana and into Ohio, bringing winds of hurricane force and a blinding, icy snow, creating a freezing vortex unfit for man or beast.
Clara drank cup after cup of black, scalding hot coffee and fretted and worried about the horses, the barn, the roof on the barn, the barn doors, the latches on the barn doors, the water pipes, the mare about to foal, the supply of oats, the lane drifting shut. And lastly, would May please turn that spigot in the sink? It was dripping and drove her absolutely batty.
Her skin itched inside the cast. Her toes were cold. Couldn’t May find a better place to dry those diapers than behind the stove? On and on she complained, till May actually wept into her dishwater.
Help arrived on horseback.
Andy Weaver rode in, put his horse in an empty stall, and fought his way to the house, where May met him in the washhouse, her eyes huge and full of joy at the sight of him. She lifted her hands to exclaim at his appearance, and he grabbed her hands and held them to his snow-covered coat, his eyes telling her how pleased he was to be here, in this house.
They entered the kitchen, flushed and laughing, obviously happy to be together, leaving Clara high and dry, stranded with her broken leg and ill temper.
“Hello, Clara!” he sang out.
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. I came to do your chores. Make sure the pipes are open. You should be glad to see me.”
“Hmph.”
“Come on, Clara, aren’t you going to offer me a cup of tea?”
“May can get it for you.”
May put the kettle on, then turned as Andy seated himself at the table. She brought a tin of buttermilk cookies, the kind with ground walnuts and rolled in confectioner sugar, his favorite.
He bit into one, rolled his eyes in appreciation, smiled at May.
She smiled back, withholding none of her gladness.
From the couch came the sour observation, “If you two don’t quit your smiling, your faces will break in two.”
Andy hid a grin. May turned her back. Eliezer chortled in the background.
“Come here, little man,” Andy said, then left his chair to scoop him up in his strong arms, while Eliezer turned his head to see who had picked him up.
May waited for his face to crumple, waited for the cry that was sure to follow, but when none came, she smiled again.
Clara barked from the couch, “You better get to the barn, Andy. It looks as if this storm is nothing to mess around with.” She wanted to say, Just go, get out of my kitchen with all your flirting and carrying on. And May, stop simpering about like a lost kitten.
But Andy took his time, drank his tea, and ate at least half a dozen cookies, with Eliezer grabbing whatever he could reach.
When he left to go to the barn, May turned to Clara. “What would be good for supper?”
“If he stays, you’ll need twice as much.”
“I’m thinking chicken and gravy, with fried potatoes. We haven’t had stewed tomatoes in a while.”
“Why don’t you two just get married?” Clara asked suddenly.
“Clara! He’d never ask me.”
“Think not? Well, I can tell you it’s not the horses he cares about, and it sure isn’t me.”
May turned to Clara with a serious look on her face. “Clara, I hope if the time ever comes for me to leave this house, you will always be blessed for your kindness. I will never forget what you have done for me. You gave me another chance, a whole new life. But I don’t know if I ever will. Our lives are not our own, but God’s. If it is His will, I will marry someday, but I am surely not expecting that to happen.”
Clara turned her head to stare out the window at the wind-driven pellets of snow, her face impassive, her jaw set. When she didn’t speak at all, May was afraid she had offended her in some way, unknown to her.
When she did speak, her voice had lost its hard edge, as if the blade of her sharp retorts had dulled. “Thanks, May. I didn’t deserve that. I know I’ve been a horrible shrew, laid up like this, but it’s hard on my good humor.”
“Is that all it is?” May asked softly.
“Of course. Well—” She paused, weighing whether to say more. “The other Saturday at the frolic, I felt kind of left out, the way everyone had a husband, and there was Andy, who may as well have grabbed you and kissed you right then and there. I don’t want a man, never have, never will, but no matter how often I say that, I still have my moments of feeling like a . . . I don’t know, an extra thumb.”
May’s voice was earnest when she replied. “Of course you would feel like that at times, Clara. I do understand. But with you and me, there is no difference. We marry someone if God wills it so. If not, we don’t. Either way, we always have God who is in us, through us, and all around us, every day of our lives.”
“But you will be blessed. Not me, necessarily. You’re a much better person than I.”
“Oh, that’s not true. Besides, God’s love is the same. He gave us our nature, knows everything about us, our inclination toward evil, our struggles to overcome it.”
“You really believe He’s that close?”
“I do.”
“Well, He probably has a fit about how I act with this cast on.”
“He knows how you feel.”
“Guess so.” Then she went right back to complaining about the itch under her cast, the fact that she could not take a long, hot bath, the roll of flesh around her middle that had grown since she sat on her backside all day, the brown tips on the African violet leaves, and didn’t May know she was burning the fried potatoes?
When Andy clattered into the washhouse, he was breathing hard, his eyes wide with the force of the storm. If things got any worse, he said, he had no idea how he would get to the barn in the morning, and by the way, he hoped it was okay if he spent the night.
