Totem (10 page)

The Trade

“There's a lot of stuff I never found use for in that old chest,” Old Tom told the crowd on the beach as he emptied the contents of his battered trunk. Everyone in the village had gathered to watch the old miner make his trade for a canoe. “I'm sure there's enough to buy myself some transportation.”

Jonny examined the prow piece attached to the hull of the black dugout. “Look,” he whispered to Ernie as he ran his fingers over the inlay pieces of the carved fish design. “They've added otter teeth.”

Both boys remembered the men cutting the cedar to make this canoe. After they'd hollowed out the trunk, they'd filled it with water and hot stones. The men added the cross boards once the wood had softened and would stretch. Finally, they singed the inside with torches to harden the wood and polished away any splinters with dogfish skin.

“Don't tell me you're going to trade the entire lot,” Mr. Cameron said in surprise.

“As long as I got my rifle, compass, tools, and a set of warm clothes for winter, I don't need much more,” Old Tom replied. He pulled items of soft leather out of the trunk. “I'll be keeping these mitts and moccasins, though,” he said. “My mother made them.”

Jonny and Ernie lined up the collection of shoes along the sand. The men in the village inspected the miner's gum boots and pairs of overshoes. The felt lace-up boots looked new.

“They can have one of each pair, if they like,” Old Tom told Tommy-Two who was mediating the exchange. “Those felt lace-ups I never used. They probably won't want them either, as they're no good for travelling in a canoe.”

“They would be inside a lodge,” Agnes piped up. “Offer them to the Chief's wife.”

Old Tom did and she accepted them with grace.

Two pairs of heavy woolen socks went on top of the shoes, along with a woolen sleeping cap and a couple of yards of towelling. Ernie held up an unworn English corduroy suit. Two men grunted their acceptance at the same time and then scowled at each other.

“Could they use some burlap sacks?” Old Tom asked. “Now that I've banked all my gold, I won't need them.” He tossed several burlap sacks on top of the pile. “I'll keep the money belt, though,” he said, “just in case I stumble across another mother lode.”

Mr. Cameron raised his eyebrows, seeing the number of empty sacks.

Old Tom draped undershirts, top shirts, flannel drawers, and stockings across a beached log. “Here,” he gestured to the men. “Have a look at these.”

Sister Cecile cleared her throat. “I wouldn't mind having a pair of those flannel drawers,” she said. Her face turned red with her words.

“Got anything that isn't churchy?” Old Tom asked.

The young nun dipped her hand into the pocket of her cape, and then opened her palm. “It's the commemorative medal I purchased before boarding,” she explained. “There's an impression of the steamer on one side and Christopher Columbus's
Santa Maria
on the other.” She cocked her head to one side. “It seemed an appropriate token at the time, but it's not much good at keeping me warm,” she said with a wry smile.

“Now you know why I prefer trousers,” Agnes said with a great laugh.

Old Tom took the disk, put it between his teeth, and bit down. “That's copper all right,” he said. “Go ahead and pick out a pair of pantaloons.”

Sister Cecile selected the pair with yellow and green stripes. Seeing Sister Bernice's frown, she rolled them into a ball and held them under her cape. “It's not as if anyone is going to see them,” she commented to Agnes.

“What about your sou'wester?” Agnes asked. “It's still in my tent.”

“It never looked as good on me as it does on you,” Old Tom said. “If you plan on heading north you better keep it for yourself. You'll be glad of it.” He put out his hand to shake hers. “For payment, you can send me some of your photographs, care of the Hudson's Bay Company.” Agnes took the grimy old miner's hand and kissed him on the cheek, much to his embarrassment.

Everyone knew the trading was over when the men of the village handed Old Tom a set of paddles.

Across the bay, Jonny and Ernie cleared a runway through the pebbly shore where Old Tom could draw up his canoe. They helped him cover it with cedar matting to prevent cracks.

“Best I build a shelter while the weather holds,” the old miner said, looking up.

“We can help you with that,” Ernie offered. He slapped Jonny on the shoulder. “We could even build you a chicken coop.”

“Why would I need one of them?” Old Tom asked. “Don't plan to farm. I just want to explore in the summer and sit with my pipe in the winter.”

The next morning they trudged about the forest looking for a spot to settle. On a rise above the ocean, in the undergrowth of ferns, they spotted a spruce of such incredible colour it stopped them in their tracks. With a stem as straight as a sunbeam, its pale needles made it look as if it grew directly out of a vein of gold.

“You might as well chop that one down,” Ernie said. “It's dying.”

“Reminds me of the seam of gold I came across,” Old Tom said. “Think I'll leave it.”

“Well, you chopped gold out of the ground,” Ernie argued. “How it is any different?”

“I don't know,” Old Tom said. “I think it's special.”

Tiny orchids grew from the carpet of moss at its base. Snails the size of a kernel of corn moved along the trunk. Jonny examined the needles of the spruce. “It's alive,” he said, “and it looks healthy. It's just a funny colour.”

“Could be an albino,” Old Tom said. “I met a guy like that once in Dawson. His hair was pure white and his eyes pink. I thought I had seen a ghost.”

“A golden tree on a mountain,” Jonny murmured to himself.
The Old man said I was to find my way to Golden Mountain.

“Why don't we just use some of the planks from a lodge?” Ernie suggested. “Like everyone else.”

Heading across the bay to the village side, Jonny, Ernie, and Old Tom paddled past the sightseers as they made their way back to the steamship. One canoe accompanied them back. Mr. Cameron had promised Chasekin, the great warrior, a chance to come onboard.

Cold Sickness

Jonny and Ernie helped Kalaku cover and lash the newly carved pole to the side of his canoe. He was delivering it to another village.

“How long will you be gone?” Jonny asked.

“The village is two days away and there will be three days of celebration,” he replied.

“Let's go with him,” Ernie said to Jonny. “There'll be a feast and gifts.”

“We promised to help Tom,” Jonny reminded him.

The boys watched the old man paddle away. “
Kloshe nanitch
” they called out, and then headed back to the village. Many had already left for the summer camp. The open walls of the lodges gaped like toothless mouths.

The nuns had removed the small statue that the women all loved and left a snail shell frame with a picture of the Virgin Mary in its place.

“There's Chasekin,” Ernie said pointing at the water. “I thought he'd be gone by now.”

The warrior's canoe wobbled. When it reached shore, Chasekin staggered from it sweating and shivering at the same time. He dropped his paddle and sank to the ground, so weak he couldn't stand.

“He looks sick,” Jonny said.

They watched those left in the village rush to him and help him to a fire. They covered him with blankets. But despite the warmth, he shook and shivered with cold.

“Is he okay?” Ernie asked.

Jonny shrugged. “It looks like he's got some kind of fever.”

They followed the crowd to the door of the lodge.

Silver Cloud filled her wooden medicine bowl with sharp pungent leaves, crushed them, added a smear of fat, and made a paste. She kneeled at the warrior's side to smear his forehead and shoulders.

A memory of a time when Jonny had been ill drifted into his mind. He remembered how the days had come and gone and how he had dreamed of the smoking pipe over and over again. When he woke in sweat-soaked pajamas, a man with a black leather bag sat beside his bed. The doctor put a cold stethoscope to his chest and looked in his ears. He told the nun Jonny had a low-grade fever. Jonny thought it had something to do with his school marks and worried. When the doctor asked Jonny if he was getting enough to eat, the nun interrupted him and moved him on to the next patient.

Within a few hours, Chasekin, the strongest and bravest of all warriors, was dead.

Jonny listened to the moans and whispers of the villagers as he and Ernie removed planks from the lodge to build Tom's cabin.

“It must have been a poisoned object,” one of the women said as she clutched her small child. “If only Silver Cloud had found it.”

“She felt his arms and legs,” another woman said in a hushed whisper.

“I watched her search his chest and neck,” another added.

Ernie and Jonny paddled back to Tom's camp site with the planks. The three of them worked all day building the cabin and talked much of the night away by the light of the fire.

Something's wrong
, Jonny thought the next morning, when he saw the smoke from the village seep across the sky like black ink. He waded into the water up to his knees.

“Were you planning to swim across?” Ernie called out from behind. He and Tom were in the canoe, ready to make the crossing.

A bone-chilling wind swept acrid smoke across the beach. Black clouds from burning tar poured from fires outside the lodges in the hopes of cleansing the air. Ill people lay everywhere.

Ernie and Tom helped to carry the dead to the burial ground near the mountain stream while Jonny went in search of Silver Cloud.

The shivers came so strong Jonny thought her teeth would shatter. “Chasekin's cold-sick has spread.” Silver Cloud whispered through cracked, dry lips. “What is the cause of this fever with shivering? They die, one by one, and I cannot help.”

Ernie appeared at his side. Jonny felt his fingernails dig into his arm as he pulled him away from the medicine woman. “We can't stay,” he said. “We've got to warn the others.”

“Kalaku,” Jonny said with widening eyes. He knew he would stop at the cave at the end of his journey to give thanks. “We've got to get to the cave to warn him.”

“I'll stay,” said Tom. “You two go.”

They set off back across the bay. The sun was high above the trees, but clouds hung low in the northwest. Their pale greyness crept toward them as the wind brought odours of seaweed and salt. They paddled on. In a whoosh of air, dozens of seals surrounded their canoe. Their heavy breathing broke the silence.

The growth of the forest seemed to close in upon them as they followed the path up the mountain. They heard the thunder in the east. A flash of light moved across the sky. Soon drops of rain pelted the leaves. The limbs of the tree swayed and branches rattled as the wind rose and the storm reared its ugly head. They arrived at the cave just as the rain began to fall.

Jonny started a fire while Ernie lit the torch and placed it into its bracket.

They added wood to the flames and lay spears of salmon meat across the hot coals.

“He might be a few days,” Ernie said.

“We will wait,” Jonny replied. He removed the small smooth stone from the woven pouch around his neck and moved his thumb across it. “He has to be warned not to go near the village.”

Ernie took the stone from Jonny's hand and turned it over. “An owl,” he said. He looked up at Jonny with a smile and repeated Silver Cloud's first words to him. “You are not taking him anywhere.”

“I hope she gets better,” Jonny said.

Ernie placed the stone near the fire, rose, picked up the torch and headed through the passageway. Jonny followed.

“We didn't even know what that guy was doing when we first saw that picture,” Ernie said as he approached the school of fish.

“And I didn't know that was a wolf,” Jonny said. “Look, someone's started a new drawing.”

The boys walked to the charcoal sketch of the ship in the cove. Around it were the canoes that came to greet the passengers. In the front of the bow, the artist had depicted the old priest.

“I am sure glad they are gone,” Ernie said. He spit on his finger and reached up to the charcoal drawing. “I'm going to rub that guy out.”

“These pictures are sacred …” Jonny said, grabbing his arm as Ernie touched the wall.

Once again the cave echoed with an ear-shattering thunderclap. In an explosion of brilliant light, the boys fell to the floor.

Return

When Jonny woke, it was so dark he thought he was back in the workshop. The dense brush at the mouth of the cave blacked out the sun. He heard a wolf howl, but it was so far away it could have been the wind. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of the train whistle that Jonny knew there would be no point waiting for Kalaku.

He set out to find Ernie hoping that what he thought wasn't true. Were they really back where they started or was it nothing but a dream?

Ernie was on the beach hauling a battered canoe from the water. It was the one they used to get away. “This thing's got a few holes and I only found one paddle,” he said. “We'll have to take turns bailing.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the farmhouse,” Ernie said. “Didn't Mr. McCutcheon say he still had Old Tom's canoe? Once we get our hands on that, we are back on the water, priest or no priest.”

Jonny stopped helping Ernie push the canoe into the water and turned to look up Golden Mountain. He was sure he heard the old man's voice, but it was just the wind on the waves.

The cabin was bright with light when the boys stepped on to the porch and pushed open the door. Tom McCutcheon sat with his wife talking by the hearth.“Thank God!” the chicken farmer said as he jumped up. “You're both safe.”

Jonny gave him a brief smile.

“You must be Jonny and Ernie,” the woman said, “and you must be half-frozen.” She rose, took the knitted afghan from her rocker, and threw it around Jonny's shoulders.

Tom removed his sweater and gave it to Ernie.

“Both of you need a warm drink, a set of warm clothes, and a good night's sleep,” Mrs. McCutchen said. The farmer sat back down in his rocker. “That storm came out of nowhere,” he told Jonny. “We lost the dock and most of the boats.”

“What about the chickens?” Jonny asked. It was all coming back.

“This morning I found them in their crates up on the shore.” He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Madder than wet hens, they were.”

Jonny stared into the flames of the fireplace as he warmed his hands. “And Father Gregory?” he asked.

“He went off with the Mountie this morning to report the two of you missing,” he told Jonny, shaking his head. “He thought we'd never see you two again.”

“It was the worst storm I've seen,” Mrs. McCutcheon said as she handed each of them a sandwich of two thick slabs of bread, meat, and mustard. “We saw the clouds gathering, but never thought it would turn into such a two-headed monster.”

Ernie stopped chewing. “What did you say?”

“The storm,” she said. “You didn't get hit by any falling branches or anything, did you?”

Jonny shook his head as he wolfed down the sandwich.

The woman returned to the kitchen.

“Where did you end up?” the farmer asked. “We went down the road but there was no sign of either of you.”

They don't know we tried to run away,
Jonny thought.
They don't even know about the canoe.
“We decided to do a bit of exploring,” he said. “Ernie said he knew about a cave.”

“Did you find it?” asked the man.

Ernie nodded.

“Good thing,” the man said. “My grandfather used to tell about all kinds of special Indian places around here.” He rose from his chair and stared across the lawn. “Did you know there used to be a whole village across the bay?”

The farmer's wife came into the room with a large cup of steaming liquid. Jonny took the cup from the woman into his hands and stared into the tea's milky brownness. “Once you get that down you can both get to bed.”

“Do you think they believed us?” Jonny whispered as they crawled under the covers.

“Do you want to try and tell them what really happened?” Ernie asked.

“I wouldn't know how,” Jonny said.

“We better keep this between the two of us,” he said. “Everyone thinks Indians are crazy anyway. This will just convince them more.”

Jonny moved through a difficult dream that night. Kalaku was in the clutches of the two-headed serpent. Jonny fought the reptile as best he could, trying not to look directly into his eyes.

When he woke, the twisted and rolled blankets had entrapped his body.

Mrs. McCutcheon cracked four eggs next to the bacon smoking in the pan and gave them a shake of salt and pepper. Leaving them to cook, she pulled a plate from the cupboard. Then she flipped the eggs over and pulled a knife and fork from the cutlery drawer. She fried two slices of bread alongside the eggs and tossed them on the plate. She dumped the eggs on top of the bread and the bacon on top of that. She put the plate down in front of Ernie.

“Come to the table,” the farmer said to Jonny, who was standing in the doorway. “You must be starving.”

“Did you hear the news?” Mrs. McCutcheon said to her husband as she poured him a cup of coffee. “Redemption Residential burnt down.”

Jonny's hand wobbled as he pulled out the chair.

Ernie glared at him. “Hopefully it was hit by lightning,” he said.

“In town,” she said, “everyone was talking about some of the things that went on there.”

“Did you know any of the kids that ran away?” the farmer asked.

“Not really,” Ernie said, kicking Jonny under the table.

“The man at the post office said there was one boy they could never account for,” said Mrs. McCutcheon. “The priests said he went home for the holidays. His family said he never showed up. Can you imagine?” She put her hand across her heart. “It's almost as if some forest monster stole him,” she said.

Jonny's glass missed his mouth and milk dribbled down his chin.

“The police should investigate,” her husband said.

“You want to come home with me?” Ernie asked Jonny.

Jonny just shrugged. He couldn't think straight.

Mrs. McCutcheon placed her hand on Jonny's back. “You are welcome to stay with us,” she said. “You could help Tom fix the barn, and chop firewood until you are sorted out.”

“The hatchet!” Jonny cried out, turning to Ernie in alarm. “I left the hatchet in …” He stopped speaking and glanced at the farmer. “I must have dropped it during the storm,” he said.

“I got one you can use,” the farmer said. “Luckily it was the only thing you lost.”

Jonny, Ernie, and Tom spent the next few days fixing the barn. Ernie talked non-stop about finding his family.

Every now and again, Jonny stopped working to gaze off into space.

“Do you want to go back and see the school?” the farmer asked.

“No boat,” Jonny replied.

“You could try that old Indian canoe in the storehouse,” he suggested. “I should put it in the water more often anyway.”

The terrified squawking of the hens made them all stop working.

The farmer grabbed the rifle that leaned against the wall of the barn. Following the direction of the sounds, they came face to face with a large timber wolf snarling in the corner of the coop. Tom raised the rifle.

Jonny looked into the animal's eyes. “Wait,” he said, putting his hand on the barrel of the rifle and lowering it. “He hasn't killed any chickens.”

The chicken farmer looked about the roost. Jonny was right. All of the birds were aloft. There were no signs of a kill anywhere.

Jonny lowered his body to the animal's level and began to sing his spirit song.

The wolf stopped growling.

Jonny crawled toward the wolf. “I am your brother” he sang in a language the farmer did not understand. “I will help you.”

The wolf lay down.

Tom watched in disbelief, while Ernie folded his hands across his chest and smiled.

Jonny examined the animal's legs and back. As he ran his hand down the dark, furry throat, the wolf yelped. A long splinter of wood pierced its fur. Jonny pulled the wood from the fur and examined it. “You will have to be more careful in the woods,” he told the wolf as he examined the wound.

“I've got stuff back at the house I use for the dogs,” the farmer said, “but I can't leave you alone with this wolf.” He handed Ernie the rifle.

“I'll be all right,” Jonny said. “Once a wolf has submitted, he will not bite. This fellow is very tired from pain.”

“Yeah,” Ernie said, taking the rifle. “Wolves are good neighbours. They know how to live with people. It's people that don't know how to live with wolves.”

When Tom returned, he found the wolf lying across Jonny's lap, fast asleep.

“He'll wake up hungry,” Ernie said. “It's best we get these chickens out of the way.”

On the way back to the farmhouse, Tom McCutcheon looked at Jonny with admiration. “You really have a way with animals,” he said. “I could use someone like you around here.”

Jonny had never given any thought to what he would do when school was finished. And now there was no school to return to.

“Will you give me a place to sleep?” he asked.

“You can stay in one of the extra bedrooms.”

Jonny looked at the derelict hut under the old tree. “Could I use the cabin?”

“Nothing would make the ghost of my old grandfather happier,” the farmer said with a laugh. “Who knows, he may even come to visit you.”