Settlement. Ann Birch

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      Cradling his firearm, Jacob crept towards the beast. A shudder rippled through its hide, and it was still.

      “Aim for the head,” Jacob said. “When the brain dies, spirit leaves.”

      “You saved my life,” Sam said. He took deep breaths, afraid that if he said more, he’d make an ass of himself. Cry like a baby.

      In its last charge, the moose had propelled itself upwards from the marsh onto the dry oasis, so they did not have to lever the body to a place where they could work easily on its carcass. With the knives that Jacob produced from a deerskin pouch, they were able to get right down to the task of skinning and gutting.

      Sam paused to sharpen his knife on a whetstone. “I promised my small son a fine set of antlers for the nursery.”

      “Then I sever the antlers,” Jacob said, “so they do not break.”

      The sun was hot as they worked, and Sam’s hands grew tired from hacking at the flesh. “Don’t think I can stand this much longer, Jacob.”

      “Think, my friend. You work hard now, and I give you a reward: one grilled kidney when we carve him up.” He smiled and shook a bloody finger at Sam. “No work, no reward, white man.”

      Sam laughed, forgetting his fatigue for a minute. “Now I understand why my fine white friends call you folk savages.”

      They resumed their work, stopping only when they heard the sound of splashing. Looking up, they saw five Indian men crossing the marsh towards them.

      “We hear rifle shots,” they said. “We come to help.”

      “Just in time,” Jacob said. “Poor old white friend here is worn out. Let us go back to the camp and eat first. Then we leave him to smoke pipe while red men do the work.”

      So they took some pieces of meat from the carcass and slopped back through the marsh to the place where he and Jacob had slept the night before. Jacob got a good fire going, and they impaled the moose meat on sharpened sticks and set it to roast.

      “For you, my friend,” Jacob said, handing him a choice piece of the kidneys.

      “Ah, so I get my reward after all. Thank you. Roasted moose kidneys with salt, a cup of strong tea and sugar, a hard biscuit: it’s a feast for King William himself.” They munched in silence.

      Jacob looked at the sun. “Time to get to work.”

      “Poor old white friend will help you,” Sam said. “I’ll take my pipe and smoke while we work.” He turned to the other Indians. “Let us work well together, and at the end of the day, we shall divide the moose among us.”

      The sun was low in the sky when they finished carving up the carcass and smoking some of the pieces. There were several hundred pounds of meat. Sam saved a portion for his family, and the other men took their fair share and departed, single file, down the narrow bush trail.

      “A good day, Nehkik,” said Jacob that evening as they sat at the campfire. Jacob had grilled two moose steaks in the coals and filled their tin cups with scalding tea.

      “A good day, Jacob.” Sam set down his tin plate and sighed. “Tomorrow, alas, we must start our voyage south.” Back to paper-shuffling. Back to his debts, to the insatiable demands of his large family. Back to Mary, who no longer wanted him in her bed. And goodbye to promotion now that the new Gov had seen him consorting with a “savage”.

      They made themselves comfortable beds of dried bracken and tender balsam tips and lay down for a sound sleep. They rose at dawn and loaded their canoe in preparation for the trip.

      “I’m going for a swim,” Sam said. “Just a few minutes’ more respite before we launch the canoe.”

      Taking off his clothes, he swam out into the cool lake waters, his destination a small island a few hundred yards off shore. “You swim like an otter,” Jacob had told him once long ago. “So I call you ‘Nehkik’.” It was one of the few compliments he had ever received from his Indian friend, though they had known each other from childhood, when his parents had struck a friendship with Jacob’s Chippewa grandparents.

      He climbed up on the rocks of the little island and looked back at Jacob, who waved to him from the shore, then disappeared into the bush.

      His fingers cupped around his mouth, Sam called out, “WOOOOO!” And again, “WOOOO!”

      A few minutes elapsed. He called again, “WOOOO!”

      Then Jacob reappeared on the shore. He’d strapped the moose antlers to his head somehow, perhaps with the beaded sash he wore on his buckskin jacket. “WOOOO!” he called back.

      Laughing, Sam dived from a rock back into the chill waters and headed for shore.

THREE

      Anna’s husband must have known that she had arrived in Toronto. At this time of year, there was but one steamboat a day from Niagara, and this vessel had been the last to make the crossing till spring. But he had not come to meet her. She stood alone on the dock, her trunk and portmanteau beside her on the slush-covered planks. The bay had nearly frozen over, and three feet of snow lined the shore, blowing into her face. The other passengers had already commandeered cabs or rushed into the waiting arms of family and friends. What to do next?

      In the one letter she had received from Robert weeks ago, he had mentioned a pretty little house he was building with a view of the lake. Where was it? Would it have a hot fire? An obliging maid to serve a tasty dinner? She looked up towards the town, a dingy place of frame and log buildings against the dark gleam of a pine forest.

      On the street facing the bay was a tavern towards which a man in a greatcoat and top hat appeared to be heading. She saw him pause to look out towards the lake and the departing steamboat. Then, seeing her alone on the wharf, he moved towards her.

      “Help you, ma’am?” He removed his hat and bowed.

      He had friendly blue eyes that looked straight at her. Not a young man, middle-aged like herself. Up close, she could see that his coat was well-cut superfine and his gloves, good leather. Evidently a man of stature.

      “I’m Anna Jameson. I expected my husband to meet me here, but something must have delayed him.”

      “Mrs. Jameson? Ah, you are the Attorney-General’s wife. Welcome to Toronto. The town has been expecting you to arrive.” He smiled. “Do not look surprised. You will soon find that there are no secrets in this place. I’m Sam Jarvis. At your service, ma’am.”

      In an instant he had hailed a two-horse wagon on runners, driven by a red-cheeked yokel who made no effort to help. Two swings of Mr. Jarvis’s arm, and her luggage was aboard. Then he steadied her up the step to a wooden plank which served as a seat.

      “No. 1, Bishop’s Block, Newgate Street,” he said to the driver, slipping a coin into his outstretched hand. And to Anna, “He’ll get you there safely. Good day to you. Undoubtedly we shall meet again soon. I look forward to it.”

      They went west along the street bordering the harbour. It was called Palace Street. What СКАЧАТЬ