Winter Shadows (34 page)

“Go to the kitchen. Now!” I commanded
.

He hesitated, then called out, “Even Beatrice wishes me to play the fiddle. I’ll grab yours, too, Minty!”

I followed him down the hall. When the door shut behind us, I pushed him so hard he lost this balance and banged against the table
.

“How dare you interfere in my life! I was about to tell Robert I could not marry him, but he told me you’d already tried to force him to take back his proposal!”

“I did no such thing. I told him to think of you and not his household needs. He needed testing!” Duncan was looking haughty and hurt at the same time
.

“So you decided to manipulate things in your usual bullying way! Robert told me I did not have the temperament to be a minister’s wife! You suggested that, didn’t you?”

He sat back on the edge of the table, arms folded. “So he has been trying to figure out how to wheedle his way out of it all along. You see? I warned you!”

“He’s too much of a gentleman to do such a thing. I turned
him
down!”

“Of course, he would have married you! He sees himself as a man of honor. But I knew you were going to leave with a man who didn’t love you, just to spite me!”

“You? What makes you think you had anything to do with my decision? You are an arrogant rooster!”

“What you’re really angry about, Beatrice, is that you turned him down, only to find out that’s exactly what he hoped you would do!” He laughed loudly
.

“That is a lie!” I shouted, my ears roaring with rage
.

“Think about this, Beatrice. I’ve saved you from going to church every Sunday to admire the dull droning sermons of a dull droning husband; from tending to his frivolous, sickly, hypochondriac sister; from tea at precisely four, rising at precisely six; and especially from books of carefully chosen anemic poetry. Now you are free to read dangerous novels, maybe even write a book of your own, and to enjoy musical evenings of quadrilles and Red River jigs.” He nodded his head at the door, where the lilt of fiddles and violins playing their mix of Celtic and Indian tunes drifted in
.

“I had already decided not to marry him, you buffoon!”

He put up his hands. “But how was I to know that, lass? All I knew was that I must warn him off. Don’t you see? You would have withered away in that barren, stale life. And I would have wandered the world, grieving for you every day of mine.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“I love you, Beatrice. Marry me.”

“Don’t you dare tease me! As if I would share my life with someone who wouldn’t treat me as an equal. Who would always try to control me. I would wither and die in that life as well!”

He stood in front of me, saying softly, “Your decision not to go with Robert Dalhousie – I had nothing to do with it?”

“No.”

His face came close to mine. I could feel his breath on my
cheek. “Nothing? Nothing at all? Be honest with me, Beatrice. Please.”

I wavered. “No. Nothing. Oh, I don’t know!”

He put his hands on my shoulders, and this time I didn’t push him away. “You must know me well enough now, my dearest girl, to realize that a marriage between us would be one of equal companionship, interests, and great affection. I cannot promise to be an undemanding husband, and I would not expect you to be a timid and easily controlled wife. In fact, I demand that you be difficult and bossy!”

I looked up at him. His hair was wild from brushing his hands through it. His cheeks were flushed. “Yes, I think I know you well enough,” I said
.

He shook me gently. “Then you will marry me?”

I touched his warm face with the tips of my fingers. “Do you love me, Duncan Kilgour?”

“ ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’ ” He grinned. “Yes, I got to read your father’s gift to you as well. Do you want to see me wasting away for love?”

I laughed. “No. I suppose I will have to marry you. But for one thing.”

“And what in heaven’s good name is that?” he cried
.

“Minty and Dilly must come with us wherever we go.”

“Done!”

When Dilly danced into the room, humming the tune from “Strip the Willow,” she found us lost in each other
.

After composing ourselves, Duncan and I rather awkwardly announced our engagement to the group assembled in the parlor. Robert Dalhousie and his sister clapped hands, as
if delighted. The students shrieked, and Minty grinned. Papa pounded Duncan on the back. Nôhkom pressed her hands to her heart and smiled in a knowing way that made me laugh outright. Ivy didn’t faint or shriek, but turned white, as if ready to oblige us with either at any moment. Fortunately, Papa wrapped one arm around her shoulders, so she pasted on a valiant smile
.

Later, when I was preparing pots of tea, Miss Cameron came to the kitchen. “I must congratulate you again,” she said, pressing her cool lips to my cheek. “I am so happy for you. Duncan is a wonderful young man.”

I blushed. “I do love him, it seems.”

“That, my dear, has been obvious for some time. And I have news that I hope will make you happy for me. Mr. Dalhousie has quietly offered me his hand in marriage. I have accepted. We won’t announce it until just before he leaves. My dear friend Miss Stiles will be happy to take over the school.”

“Robert? He asked you? Already?” I blurted. “I mean, are you sure about this?”

“Lately I have found myself longing for change, Beatrice. Robert is a kind man. I think we will do well together. I would like a family. I’m older than him, but still young enough to have children.” She smiled. “I’ll learn to love Robert. He is all that is good. I do know he asked you first, Beatrice, and that you turned him down.”

I embraced her and laughed. “It was mutual, I assure you. He told me I would not have made a good minister’s wife, in any case. I’m sure he will soon love you as I do.”

She touched my hand. “You are the lucky one, Beatrice. For you have already found love. I hope I will be as blessed.”

We hugged, and I watched her leave with great sadness
.

Soon Robert, his sister, Miss Cameron, and their girls left. The rest of us danced the evening away – to “Reel of Four,” “Double Jig,” “Rabbit Chase,” “Tucker Circle,” “Red River Jig,” and “Drops of Brandy” – with Duncan and the other men taking turns fiddling until sweat poured down their faces. At midnight, our guests cheerfully prepared to make their way home
.

After I tucked nôhkom into bed, and the girls struggled groggily to their pallets, Duncan and I sat in the parlor. We were reluctant to part
.

“No sign of your little pin?” he asked, his thumb gently caressing my hand
.

“No. Perhaps, one day, we’ll stumble upon it,” I said. “I hope it’s in the church somewhere. I’m sure it can’t be lost forever.” He nodded and I said, “I wonder where we will be this time next year, Duncan?”

“Beatrice, I’ve been a traveler for a long while now. I will willingly settle here, if that is your wish.” He clasped my hand firmly. “I only want to be with you. Where does not matter.”

“I would love to see the things you’ve seen, Duncan. Go to some of the distant places you’ve traveled. But not until the spring has come to the river.”

He pulled me gently toward him, “But we will marry before then?”

I leaned over and kissed him. “Oh, yes, we will marry before then!”

T
hat’s where it ended. But a paper pouch had been stuck to the inside of the back cover. In it was a thick photograph, browned with age, and a small envelope. In the lower left corner of the photo was written Humphrey LLoyd Hime, photographer, 1857. I sucked in a sharp breath.

The photograph showed a young woman with large eyes and wing-tipped eyebrows, wearing a creamy white dress and lace collar. She was seated in a chair, holding a bouquet of spring flowers. On her head, a ring of smaller flowers shone in her black hair like tiny stars. She wasn’t able to smile because the exposures for photographs of that time took ages, but she radiated happiness. Behind her stood a young man with a barrel chest and a mop of dark curly hair, dressed in a formal suit. He was not smiling either, but the photographer had captured the humor in his eyes. One hand rested on the young woman’s shoulder. I could see the toe of a polished boot. Beatrice’s decision, no doubt!

I hungrily studied their faces, their clothes, every inch. Then I sat on the floor, hugging the picture. Finally, I turned it over and read T
O
C
ASS, FROM
B
EATRICE
. O
N MY WEDDING DAY TO
D
UNCAN
K
ILGOUR
, A
PRIL 12TH, 1857
. With trembling fingers, I opened the small envelope.

What can I say, my spirit girl, dearest child of my ancestors and future children, for I know from nôhkom that you are of my blood. She died three weeks after Christmas, and she returned to me in my dreams to tell me who you are. It’s true that the soul is everlasting, Cass. When we die, we experience only a bodily death. Our spirits continue our passage
.

I know the future holds many blessings and hardships for both of us. But I look eagerly toward every new day. I wish we had been able to know each other. We would have become the best of friends. But thank you
, nitâniskocâpânis,
for helping me
.

Christmas Day was a happy one, despite the loss of my brooch. But then, like a flash of lightning, came the day when I suddenly knew, with a rush of joy, that it was you who found it. It is my gift for you to pass on to your children and their children. You gave me a greater gift by telling me to turn away from Robert Dalhousie and toward the one thing I’ve longed for since my mother died – a dear friend to whom I can say anything and still know I am loved … my husband, Duncan
.

When you read this, I will be gone. I smile when I say this, for what I mean is, I will be gone from this parish – for Duncan, Minty, Dilly, and I will soon be off on great
adventures together. Papa has insisted that we go. We will return one day, and I know from nôhkom that I will be blessed with three sons and one daughter, who will bear the child that leads through four generations to you. Of course, you will understand that I will also be gone from this earth when you read this. Do not grieve for me. For I have much to see and do before that time arrives!

My greatest wish would be to talk with you … to know more about you. I know so little, and yet you greatly affected my life. Perhaps that is the way it was meant to be. I hope, in some small way, I helped your sadness. I will always hold dear the vision of you when I first saw you, with your halo of red hair. My Christmas angel. How did this happen to us? We will meet again, I know. Be strong, nitâniskocâpânis. With love and trust, Beatrice
.

I saw something flicker at my window. The light outside dimmed, and the small smiling face of Beatrice’s grandmother was reflected in the frost-swirled glass. She faded, and, as soon as she was gone, Mom’s smiling face appeared and quickly faded.
Did I really see her?
I don’t know. But I know, like Beatrice, she is with me now. Really with me.

I want to extend my sincere thanks to two people who guided me through the compiling of this Cree Glossary:

Arok Wolvengrey
– associate professor, linguistics coordinator, and head of the Department of Indian Languages, Literatures, and Linguistics, First Nations University of Canada. My heartfelt thanks for your help – and your patience and kindness.

Phillip Paynter
– Swampy Cree elder and teacher, who hails from Norway House. Your knowledge of the Swampy Cree dialect was invaluable.

Most of the words in this glossary are Swampy Cree from the Norway House area in Manitoba, except (as said by Mr. Paynter) in the case of “badger,” for example, for which no word exists in the dialect. As Beatrice’s family lives in a community not far from the Red River settlement and the aboriginal parish of St. Anthony’s, Cree words from different dialects would have been incorporated when necessary.

The glossary is alphabetized as per the conventions of the Cree Standard Roman Orthography (SRO): a, â, c, ê, h, i, î, k, m, n, o, ô, p, s, t, w, y, (th).

All spellings with short vowels (e.g., “a,” “i,” “o”) precede their corresponding long vowels (e.g., “â,” “ê,” “î,” “ô”). In other writing systems, particularly those used for eastern dialects of Ojibway, long vowels are often represented by double vowels. Phillip Paynter sent me his words using the double vowels, but I chose to use the SRO format for clarity and ease of understanding in the novel’s text.

A further convention of the Cree SRO is to avoid all capitalization. This convention, however, is not necessarily unanimously accepted throughout Cree-speaking territory. I have used capitals only when the words are at the beginning of a sentence.