JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 33
Up and working at first light, Mia prepared a dress she’d made over the course of several years prior to her husband’s death. Emma had given her blessing to bring the dress along on their journey even as space on the sled and packsaddle had been considered precious. What made the dress worthy of such a decision cannot be attributed to its seemingly magical quality but rather to the knowledge of what it took to produce it. Meticulously made from the skins of snow geese with only the downy feathers removed, the summer dress of flowing white feathers was a sight to behold. Not as durable or practical as doeskin, it would nevertheless wear and weather better than one might expect unless, of course, one were to forget the toughness of geese.
While Mia prepared, John snoozed in his and Laureal’s hut, a small wickiup shingled in birch bark just a stone’s toss behind the family’s longhut.
“Mr. Summerfield,” pulling the covers off her husband’s head, “are you ever going to teach me to ride your horse?”
“That depends,” opening one eye.
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on your grandmother's worklist for me today.”
“Well, I just spoke with her, and she said there will be no work today.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Well then,” opening his other eye, “I guess I’ll go fishing.”
“John—” pleading musically.
“Just kidding.”
“Just half-kidding is more like it.”
“No, seriously, I’ll teach you.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Laureal, feigning disappointment.
“I want to.”
“Really?” searching his eyes.
“Yes, really,” sleepy-eyed, relaxed, and happy to have a day off.
“Oh, sweetheart, thank you!” lighting up all over again. “Mom and Grandma are fixing to put a special breakfast on. The sky is blue, and the sun is nearly up. It’s the perfect day for it!”
John gestured to Laureal’s tummy, “I take it our little bear is okay with riding?”
“Of course!” straddling him, up on her knees, pulling her doeskin dress up and looking at her tummy. A picture of health, the savage girl did not yet show a bump at only twelve weeks. Nor had she suffered much morning sickness. Nor had she suffered from severe mood swings related to pregnancy, which is not to imply that she had no moods, or that her savage life had a superior aspect to that of civilized life. To the contrary, in a world without refrigeration, it may have been advantageous that Laureal’s first trimester passed during the crux of winter, putting the biological threat at its lowest for microbial bad guys that might get to her fetus through her bloodstream via her diet. And that was only the half of it. Out in the forest, bears, big cats, wolves, and wolverines were all programmed by nature to look for the very young. But now we have gotten our wagon ahead of our horse. So let us return to our hero and heroine as the first rays of sunshine touched the lawn around their little hut, opening up a variety of wild-flowers, that they may add their scent to that perfect elixir we call Nature.
Ducking out their door, John stepped into the mild morning air where, from the forest just a stone’s throw behind, sunbeams angled into the meadow. He broke into a smile as Laureal skipped past, sashaying like a girl, smiling over her shoulder.
Meanwhile, out in front of the longhut, Emma knelt on a reed mat beside the large fire pit, shaving fresh strips of bacon from the belly of a boar that John had shot and butchered a few days before. The boar had been stored in an underground cellar that John and Cody had dug on the edge of camp under a cluster of white birch trees that cast heavy shade there. Hard-won from earth, roots, and rocks, it was not a big cellar but large enough for one person to climb down into. A frigid cavity with slabs of lake ice insulated in feather moss, it served to store bacon and duck eggs, among other things, both of which Cody had brought out that morning at Emma’s request.
“Good morning, Emma.”
“Good morning, John.”
“Where is everyone?” asked John, looking around.
“When’s breakfast?” Laureal asked.
“Breakfast will be ready when it’s ready.”
“Grandma, I’m only asking so that John and I can know when to be back here.”
“I take it that means you’re going to do what you asked about earlier?”
“Yes,” shooting a smile at John.
“Well, alright then, but don’t ride too far away. Our guests are coming for breakfast, and your attendance is required.” Then, looking to John, “Perhaps this afternoon you can give rides to the kids and young Julien if he wishes. And I know Cody is dying to learn.”
“Grandma,” a humble protest in her tone, “John and I were hoping for some time to ourselves.”
“We can work it out,” John mitigated. “This evening might be just the time to give rides…after supper.”
“Thank you John, that would be good for everyone. “And turning to Laureal, “I understand what you say, dear, and I want you to enjoy yourselves. But for the sake of our family, I want you to remember our special guests and your cousin Mia. And oh, that reminds me, Weya is back.”
“Where?” looking about.
“I just saw her…over there, on the edge of the wood. At least, she was there a few minutes ago. She’s more standoffish than usual, probably on account of our guests.”
“She’s probably hungry,” and looking to John. “I’ll feed her while you get Ellie.”
“I doubt she’s hungry,” said Cody, coming along just then.
“Why do you say that?”
“She's stained, like she brought something big down. Anyway, she must have come in the night to share with Yike and Nemo again because they’re both stuffed.”
Laureal gazed about, her eyes searching for Weya. It was not uncommon to see the wolf on the lawn with the dogs, lying about, chewing bones, and even playing. Laureal understood that Weya was not a dog and never would be. And yet, in a realm between the wild and the tame, something of a sisterhood had grown between a pair of pregnant girls. Weya, who had begun to show, allowed only Laureal to get near.
“We can’t let her run free anymore,” Laureal lamented, as though the realization had only just dawned on her. And turning to John, “She’ll be killed.”
“She’s safe for the time being.”
“Anders and Julien are privy, but what about all the people that will come?” and with a troubled sigh, “We should have seen to this earlier.”
“With what time?” gesturing incredulously.
Laureal retorted loudly, “John, if we don’t do something, she’ll be killed!”
“Keep your voice down,” Emma hissed. “Our new neighbors will think us a group of loons.”
“We can’t tie her up,” Cody’s voice was low, his tone hushed. “She’d chew through her leash like nothing. We can’t pen her up either. She’d dig her way out in no time.”
“We’ll come up with something,” John stated as if everything would be okay. Then, offering his hand to Laureal, “Let’s go get Ellie.”
Laureal shook her head stubbornly, “No John, we have to make sure Weya is protected.”
“And we will,” yet extending his hand.
“John, we have to figure this out...now.”
John didn’t say a word as he retracted his hand, but Laureal saw the wind go out of him. No one spoke a word, except for the birds, singing as if to praise the beginning of another perfect day. Meanwhile, it just so happened that Emma had been kicking a plan around in her head. A plan that had nothing to do with protecting the wolf, but rather a plan to capitalize on the material opportunities that the rendezvous would soon bring with regard to trade and family profit. And just then, she realized how one thing could be used to kickstart the other.
“I know how we can protect Weya.” And turning to her granddaughter, “What food does she like in particular? Something she will gobble without waste?”
“She’s crazy for honey-baked walleye,” perking with hope.
“You fed my honey-baked walleye to the wolf?” taken aback.
“Uh…well, no, not exactly, Grandma. I mean, not anything more than a few tiny morsels.”
“It was more than a few.”
“No it wasn’t!” and turning to Cody, “You’re always trying to get me in trouble!”
“That’s enough!” ordered the Matriarch, looking from one to the other, “We are not going down that path today!”
Emma glanced in the direction of Anders and Julien’s camp before returning her eyes to Laureal and Cody, “For the sake of your cousin, you two will be on your very best behavior today. Now, Laureal, you are the oldest, so you go first and make peace with your brother.”
Giving Cody a curt little hug, Laureal made an indiscernible little huff.
“Not good enough,” said Emma, shaking her head, “Try again.”
“I’m sorry, Cody,” hugging him, albeit not very warmly.
“That’s better. Now, Cody, it’s your turn.”
“I’m sorry, Laureal,” returning her hug in kind.
“Alright then,” said Emma, setting her bacon and shaving stone aside. “This is how we’re going to do this, and I only have time to tell you once, so listen closely. Cody, I am certain I saw several deposits of red clay along the lake shore when we first came here. I think you saw them too, bleeding out and staining the snow. The nearest is about a mile north in a collapsed section of bank…looks to be more dirt and clay than rock.”
“It’s just off the path,” said the boy, “not a mile north of here.”
“I want you to go there and cast fishing lines in the lake with worms for whitefish. Then, while your lines are in the water, fill a bag with the purest red clay you can dig. Bring it home along with a stringer of five or six whitefish.”
Emma had spoken with knowledge of the local whitefish population. She knew Cody would have no problem catching them on account of them being so plentiful—
“It’s important to keep you catch fresh,” she continued, “so on your way back here, you may have to stop and let them recover in the water. As soon as you get back, put your stringer in the lake,” referring to a rock catch pen the family had built along the shore to protect their catches from snapping turtles, pike, and other predators. “Once you’ve done that, take the clay out back to the fire pit and lay it out around the fire, like mud cakes to dry.
Cody turned to go but Emma stopped him, “You have to be back here for breakfast with our guest.”
Cody looked on, his face a picture of astonishment.
“You can make it,” Emma assured, “if you run. Ten minutes to get there, twenty or thirty minutes there, and ten or fifteen minutes to get back. Take the rifle with you. Later, after breakfast, excuse yourself like a gentleman and get the fish. Take them to the fire pit out back and scale them. Wrap the fish fillets in pine needles like usual, and put them in the cooler. Then lay their scales out on a piece of leather to dry in the sun. The scales will dry fast, and as soon as they are, you can crush them into small pieces. Be careful not to mix rocks or dirt with them. Do not crush them into powder; just break them into tiny pieces. Then store them in a clean pouch. When you’re done, help John and Laureal.”
With Cody off and running, Emma turned to the Seeker, “John, go into the forest and find a fallen pine tree with its root ball exposed. Make certain the root wood is dry. Cut the root wood up into pieces that you can carry home. An armload will be enough. Put the pieces beside the fire pit. When Cody gets back, help him spread the red clay out on the rocks around the fire pit to dry. Laureal will have a fire going for you. While the clay dries, dig a hole next to the fire pit out back. Not a very big hole, about like so,” showing the size with her arms and hands. “Stop when the time comes for breakfast. Then, after breakfast, cut the root wood into chunks…fist-sized or smaller. Then take the dry clay and grind it into powder. Put the powder aside in a place where it can’t blow away or get dirt in it.”
“Is that it?” asked John.
“That’s a start. Laureal will know the rest…but before you go, give your knife to Laureal. She’s going to need it.”
Trading knives with his wife, John trotted off.
Laureal then turned to receive her instructions, but Emma only stared back at her.
“What is it, Grandmother?” growing uncomfortable.
“The next time you’re of a mind to give my best cooking to that wolf, ask me first.”
Dropping her eyes, “I apologize, Grandmother.”
“Apology accepted.”
A brief silence passed, whereupon Emma hinted at an industrious smile, “Granddaughter, when the crowds arrive, they are going to need bug repellent, lots of it, and we will have it…for a price.” That’s what we're doing, we’re going to make bug repellent.
“When?”
“Today!”
“Then why do I need fish scales?” knitting her brows in confusion. “And how is this going to help Weya?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, I need you to modify the rice jar.”
The rice jar was a clay-fired cooking vessel shaped like a crockpot, with a recessed lid that could be tied down with sinew straps. It was not as valuable as their big cast-iron pot, mainly because they knew how to reproduce it, although doing so would require building a stone kiln.
“Go out back and get a substantial fire started,” Emma instructed. “Once your fire is going, get the rice jar. It has a low spot on its bottom (I’ve noticed it while cleaning it). Find the low spot and drill a hole in it with John’s knife. To get started, you may have to hammer it a little. It won’t hurt John’s knife if you use a piece of firewood for a hammer. Tap lightly, very lightly. Otherwise, you might knock a chip out of the pot. Keep the hole small, no larger than your thumb. Go to the bone pile. Select a good strong bone, nice and straight. Its inside should be at least as big as your little finger. Cut it about this long (3 inches). Hollow it out. Then size the hole in the bottom of the rice jar to fit the bone. Make the fit as close as you can. The bone will act as a drain tube, so it must be a little less than flush with the bottom of the jar. You know how to do this. Use a dab of the clay that Cody brings to seal between the bone and jar. You can use John’s small steel pot as your catch pot. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready. Got it?”
“I got it, but I can’t see how this is going to protect Weya.”
“I’ll show you how, later. Now go!”
As Laureal hurried off, Emma glanced up to the sky, “Thank you. That couldn’t have worked out better.”
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