Northwest Angle

THIRTY-EIGHT

Rainy Bisonette made tea and brought out cold biscuits left over from the dinner she’d made that evening, which had been fish and wild rice stew and which she offered to reheat. They accepted the tea and biscuits but declined the stew, though it was clear to Jenny that Stephen would gladly have eaten a bowl or two. The only room in the cabin was clean and simple. The walls were hung with items that recalled Henry Meloux’s long history among the Iron Lake Anishinaabeg: a bearskin, a bow ornamented with feathers, a deer-prong pipe, snowshoes crafted from spruce-wood frames and strips of moose hide, a lacquered rack that cradled an old Winchester rifle. The only furnishing that looked new was the iron cookstove in the center of the room. There were four handmade chairs around the rough-hewn birch table. Aaron insisted on standing, and he leaned against the wall near the door, looking uncomfortable, as if prepared any moment to bolt. Jenny held the baby in her arms. Walleye lay in the corner with his old head cradled on his paws, blinking at the gathering and probably blinking back sleep as well. Henry Meloux sat with a blanket around his bony shoulders and listened as Stephen told their story.

“Waaboozoons,” the old Mide said when Stephen had finished. “A little animal who knows how to hide from the wolf.” His dark eyes rested on the child, and he seemed pleased with the name.

“Mishomis,” Stephen said, respectfully using the Ojibwe word for “grandfather,” “my father sent us here. He hopes that you’ll help us keep the baby safe until he can catch the wolf who hunts Waaboozoons.”

“It is a long way to come,” the old man said. “Why here?”

“Because on the Angle we don’t know for sure who to trust.”

“I have an old friend who lives on that great lake,” Meloux said. “His name is Amos Powassin.”

“We met him,” Stephen said.

“And you would not trust him?”

“He pretty much sent us here,” Stephen replied. “He was afraid, I think.”

A troubled look came over the old man’s face, a darkness in every line. Jenny saw that his hands shook with a slight but uncontrollable tremor. “An animal that has made Amos Powassin afraid? Tell me about this wolf who hunts a child.”

Stephen said, “I haven’t seen him, but Jenny has.”

Everyone looked to her. She shook her head. “I’ve only seen him from a distance, maybe a couple of hundred yards away, when he raised his rifle to shoot at us.”

The old man seemed interested in this information, which hadn’t been a part of the shortened story Stephen had told. “Two hundred yards? Did he have a scope on his rifle?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Did he shoot at you?”

“No.”

“Two hundred yards is nothing for a good hunter, but he did not shoot.” Meloux seemed puzzled. “Is he not a good hunter?”

Stephen said, “Mr. Powassin seemed to think he was.”

“A predator that does not behave as a predator should,” the old man noted.

“Mr. Powassin said something to me, mishomis. He said that in everything that’s good is the possibility of evil, and in everything that’s evil, the possibility of good.”

The old Mide nodded, and his eyelids drew nearly closed as he considered Stephen’s words. To Jenny, he looked immeasurably tired. “I think I will have to sleep on this,” he finally said. “Niece, will you make our visitors comfortable?”

“Of course, Uncle Henry.”

There was a bunk in the cabin, and that was Meloux’s. There was also a cot, where Rainy Bisonette slept. She offered it to Jenny, who refused. “I’d prefer to be outside so that if our little guy gets fussy I can walk him without disturbing anyone. I have a sleeping bag, and he can sleep there with me.”

Stephen said, “I’ve slept in the meadow before. It’s pretty comfortable.”

“That’ll be fine,” Jenny said.

“Will he need a bottle in the night?” Rainy asked.

“Probably. I have a thermos if we could heat some water now.”

“Of course. I’ll stoke the fire in the stove. Uncle Henry, why don’t you lie down.”

“Migwech,” he said, thanking his niece. With some difficulty, he stood and returned to his bunk. As soon as he lay down, his eyes closed, and he appeared to go immediately to sleep.

Stephen and Aaron headed outside to arrange things in the meadow. Jenny stayed in the cabin with Rainy, who busied herself adding wood to the embers she’d banked in the stove and blowing a flame to life. There was a sink with a hand pump for water. From the cabinet above the sink, Rainy took out a steel saucepan, filled it, and put it on the stove.

“Uncle Henry and I drink the water straight from the pump,” she said. “But to be on the safe side, I think we should boil it for Waaboo.”

Waaboo. The moment Stephen had said the name, Jenny had liked it. It fit her little guy. He was becoming fussy, and as she held him, he turned his head to her breast.

Rainy saw and smiled. “Any port in a storm.”

“When we were stranded on the island, I let him have my breast,” Jenny said, as if it were a confession of some kind. “Just to keep him quiet.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

It seemed at first an odd question, but the truth was that she had. “Yes,” she admitted.

Rainy smiled. “There’s nothing at all unnatural in that. Or, for that matter, in a woman breast-feeding a child not her own.”

“I’ve got nothing to offer him.”

“Not now maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

Rainy leaned against the sink counter with her arms folded across her chest. “I’m a public health nurse. I’ve seen women adopt a breast-feeding baby and, with time and patience, begin to lactate, though they’re not and, in some cases, never have been pregnant. There’s a tea I can make.”

“That will help me lactate?”

“It may. But it will take some time.”

Jenny said, “I don’t know how much time I have. Waaboo is mine for only a little while.”

Rainy looked at her, and Jenny saw nothing but utter compassion in the other woman’s face. “You’ve stepped onto a difficult road, Jenny.”

“I know. But I don’t think I had a choice.”

“Uncle Henry would say that the choice was made for you by Kitchimanidoo and that there’s a reason.”

“I felt . . .” Jenny hesitated, realizing she was confessing again.

“Yes?” Rainy encouraged her.

“I felt something from the moment I first saw him all alone in his basket with that horrible devastation everywhere around him. I fell in love with him, Rainy. Another woman’s child.”

“Do you know what, Jenny? If I were Lily Smalldog, I’d be happy that my child found you.”

“He found me?”

“I believe that, where love is involved, we find each other, no matter how random it may seem.”

Rainy went to the stove and checked the water. Jenny watched her, this stranger who, in only a few minutes, had begun to seem a good friend.

Aaron opened the door and came in. The moonlit meadow lay at his back, visible through the doorway.

“Everything’s set outside,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You and Stephen go ahead and lie down. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. We’re fine.”

When he’d gone, Jenny glanced in the direction of the bunk where Meloux’s breathing was quiet and regular. “What is it with Henry?”

Rainy put a finger to her lips and said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The water boiled. Rainy let it cool a bit, then filled the thermos. The baby had gone back to sleep, and Jenny laid him in the bedding inside the ice chest. She faced her new friend, who unasked, took her into her arms and whispered, “You’ll come through this, Jenny, and on the other side will be answers to all the questions that trouble you right now.”

“Is that a promise?” Jenny asked.

Rainy smiled and laid a warm hand on Jenny’s cheek. “It’s a fact.”