Tisha Page 23

  I promise you that. I won’t even say hello to you if I should see you. I’ll act as if I don’t even know you. I know how you feel now and I’ll respect your feelings, so please don’t stay there just because of me.

  I signed it “Your friend (and I mean just that), Anne.”

  In a way that was the most peculiar time I ever went through. I’d never felt more alone in my life, and yet at the same time I felt more whole than I ever did. I didn’t seem to need anybody, as if there was a protective shell around me that made me so sure of myself I couldn’t say or do anything wrong. I didn’t know what it was, but I took everything in stride. Not that I didn’t feel things. I did. I just felt them in a different way. The night that Nancy finally accomplished what she’d set her heart on, for instance, I was so composed I hardly recognized myself.

  We were just sitting around not doing much of anything that night. Nancy was looking through a Third Reader and I was practicing on the harmonica. As long as I didn’t have a piano I figured I ought to have a musical instrument to play when we needed music for songs and games, so I’d taken it up at the same time Jimmy had. When Nancy and I had been feuding she’d always asked me to stop while she was studying. Now nothing seemed to bother her. I was playing Home on the Range and not doing bad at all when I heard her say, “Anne?”

  I looked over at her and there was just no way to describe the wonderful smile on her face. Even before she said a word I knew what had happened.

  “I can read,” she said.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Go ahead.”

  “‘Once upon-ay-time,’” she read, “‘ay-crab-left-thee-sea-and-went-out-upon-thee-beach-to-warm-him-self-in-thee-sunshine …”’ She went on, sounding out each word the way a little kid would. Once or twice she almost got stuck, but she kept going. It was the first time she’d ever read anything without my help, and she read it perfectly. I didn’t know anything about psychological blocks. I did know that if that was what had been holding her back up to now, it was all gone. When she finished she was glowing.

  “Was that reading?”

  “That was reading.”

  We tried her with a newspaper just to be sure, and she read some headlines from the Fairbanks Daily News—Miner. She didn’t do too badly with a few paragraphs from Collier’s either. She was so happy about it she almost started to cry. A couple of months before I’d not only have joined her, but I’d have wanted to run out and yell the news up and down the length of the settlement. Not that I wasn’t as happy as she was. I felt wonderful for her, and we stayed up late talking about plans for her future. I just wasn’t surprised. It was as if I’d known all along it was going to happen and accepted it that way—as something I’d expected.

  Too excited to sleep, she sat up reading long after I turned in. The next morning she told me she’d been up till two. She wasn’t the least bit tired either. She could barely wait for the class to show up to tell them all, and before the day was over everybody in Chicken knew she was able to read.

  Maggie Carew invited us both over to supper to celebrate. It was the first time she’d had me over in quite a while, and it meant she wanted to bury the hatchet. Now that Fred was gone she felt more kindly towards me, or maybe she was even feeling sorry for what had happened. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I liked her. At least she was honest and straightforward. She’d been about the only one in the settlement that really said what she thought and she hadn’t made any bones about it.

  After supper she asked me if I was looking forward to teaching in Eagle next year.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Whattaya mean ya don’t know,” she said. “You got a contract, ain’t ya?”

  “Yes, but I hear the school board has some doubts about me.”

  “Well, I oughtta have something to say about that,” she said. “End of next spring we’re movin’ there. I bought the roadhouse right alongside the dock. I’ll put in a good word for you—unless a course you got other plans.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  I didn’t have any at all.

  I’d always kept a scrapbook of poems that I liked to read over and over. My favorite was “Waiting” by John Burroughs. When I reread it it seemed as though it was almost written for me.

  Serene, I fold my hands and wait,

  Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;

  I rave no more ’gainst time or fate,

  For lo! my own shall come to me.

  It was exactly the way I felt. I was just waiting—for what I didn’t know. Something. There was an empty space inside of me, but what was going to fill it up I couldn’t say.

  Came February I almost wondered if I wanted to teach anywhere in Alaska at all because suddenly the weather turned so mean it felt as if God had gone away from this part of the world. Day after day the sky stayed so dark you couldn’t tell whether it was day or night. For almost a week the temperature dropped to fifty and lower and stayed there. Even if there’d been no thermometer we’d have known how cold it was: all the moisture was sucked out of the air, leaving everybody thirsty all the time—no matter how much tea or water we drank we still felt dry.

  People began to get as mean as the weather. With the holidays over everybody had cabin fever—aggravation from staying indoors day after day—and they started quarrels with each other over everything. Uncle Arthur swore Ben Norvall had stolen a pick from him and just for spite went out and sprang all of Ben’s traps. Then, in a drunken rage one day, Angela Barrett threw a pot of scalding water over one of her dogs when he barked too long. Maggie Carew’s husband had to put it out of its agony by shooting it.

  Maybe if I hadn’t had the class to keep me busy I’d have felt the same kind of aggravation. Sometimes I’d find myself getting annoyed over small things, but most of the time I was calm—not hard or cold or anything like that—just kind of detached, as if I was still waiting for something to happen.

  When it did finally, it was a day I’d never forget.

  It was just after the class came back from lunch. It was sixty below that day and the little children were using my bed again. I was beginning to think the bed was the most important article of furniture I had. Besides the kids using it when the floor was too cold, Nancy and I had had to put our sack of potatoes in it because it was the only place we could be sure they wouldn’t freeze.

  We were tidying up in my quarters when I heard Evelyn Vaughn start up with Rebekah in the schoolroom. “Hey, Rebekah—how much two and two?”

  “Fo’.”

  “How much one and two?”

  “Tree.”

  “How much free and two?” she mimicked.

  “Fi.’ “

  “Rebekah, me think you one damn smart woman,” Evelyn said, “right Eleanor?”

  “That’s right.”

  At first I used to interfere when anybody made fun of her, but by now she could take care of herself.

  “Oh no,” she said to Evelyn as I walked into the room. “You not think Rebekah smart, little lady. You think you too much smart. Think you not speak good English and Rebekah not know.”

  Evelyn looked as though she was sorry she’d started, but Rebekah wasn’t going to have any mercy on her. She was as tough as Evelyn anytime, and a lot smarter. She opened her eyes wide and pointed a finger at her. “You not be nice I make bad medicine. Send Brush Man get you at night.”

  “Who’s the Brush Man?” Evelyn asked, uncertainly. Rebekah’s expression was so horrible the whole class was spellbound.

  “You not know Brush Man?”

  “No.”

  “He live all over—in tree, in hole, anyplace—only come out when dark.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Evelyn said. She was afraid of the dark and everyone knew it.

  “Aagh!” Rebekah cried. The sound was as terrible as her expression. “You say this, Brush Man get you for sure! You know how when too much cold you see little blue light in bushes?” I’d
seen it myself once in a while—static electricity. “That tell you Brush Man near. But you never see him till he grab you—then you see him, ha ha.”

  “What’s he look like?” Evelyn asked. She was trying to make out that she didn’t care, but she was worried.

  Not taking her eyes off Evelyn, Rebekah raised her hands over her head and bared her teeth. “Ten feet big,” she growled, “maybe more. Much hair. Face all black from cold and long teeth like grizzly. Yellow eyes like punkin. My father big medicine man, tell me how bring him. You make more fun me,” she warned Evelyn, “I send Brush Man for you!”

  In the silence that followed we heard three distant rifle shots, one right after the other. We all knew what that meant. Someone was calling for help. I asked the class to sit quietly while Nancy put on her coat and went outside to see if anyone knew where they’d come from. She came back a few minutes later. “The Carews think they came from somewhere over towards the Purdys,” she said. “Your mother and father’s goin’ over,” she told Jimmy. “They said you and Willard could go along.”

  After that there was no keeping the rest of the class in, so I let them all go, with the exception of Joan Simpson. Three more shots came as they all ran out.

  “I think maybe come from Mary Angus, Tisha,” Rebekah said.

  “You feel like going over?” I asked Nancy.

  “If you want.”

  Outside, even though I had a scarf over my face the first breath I took caught in my throat. Before we could head over to Mary’s we had to take Joan Simpson home. She was too young to let her go alone. For the first few steps our warm moccasins slipped on the snow, but then the bottoms coated up and we were able to walk. Joan lived in the opposite direction. It took us fifteen minutes to get to her cabin, and then we started back for Mary Angus’ place. A gray-black mist hung over everything, and the cold made it impossible to talk, so we trudged all the way in silence, moving fast enough to stay warm, slow enough to avoid perspiring.

  The kids were playing outside the shack when we got there. A couple of them were riding in Mary’s hand sled while Robert Merriweather pulled it and Jimmy pushed from behind yelling, “Mush!” As soon as they saw Nancy and me they came running over.

  “Mary’s dead, Teacher!” Jimmy yelled.

  “Dead as a doornail,” Willard chimed in.

  “And there’s blood all over the place. They won’t even let us come in. Ask ’em if they will, Teacher? We wanna see.”

  Jake Harrington was standing outside the door with Rebekah.

  “Is it true?” I asked them.

  Jake nodded. I pushed the door open. There were a lot of people inside, but only a sputtering candle for light so at first I could only make out Angela, the Carews and Joe Temple. “Close that goddamn door before this candle goes out!” I heard Angela yell.

  I closed it

  “Well, it’s our little teacher,” she said sarcastically. She was drunk, smiling at me in a way that made it plain she didn’t have any use for me. She’d been drinking more than ever the past few weeks and getting worse every day. A few days ago in the roadhouse Ben Norvall had said something she didn’t like and she went after him and gave him a couple of good wallops before anybody could stop her. He was in a corner with Chuck, the two of them bending down over what must have been Mary’s body. Ben was covering her up with a wolf robe.

  “What happened?” I asked Maggie.

  “She musta hemorrhaged,” Maggie said. “When they get as far gone as she was they go fast.”

  Mr. Vaughn was there too. “Take a slant at her,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the corner. “See what a good klooch looks like.”

  “There’s no need for that kinda talk, Arnold,” Maggie said. “We’re tryin’ a decide what to do,” she said to me. “Joe here’s gonna get his sled and mush the body over to our place. We’ll keep it in the extra cache till Strong can tote it up to the Indian village, but we ain’t figgered out what to do with the kids yet.”

  Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness I saw Ethel. She was sitting on a box, with nobody paying attention to her. She was wide-eyed and scared from all the commotion. I went over to her.

  “How about it, Joe,” Angela said. “You gonna take the kids?”

  “What am I supposed to do with them?”

  “All you gotta do is keep ’em a week or so,” Maggie said. “Then Strong’ll mush ’em outta here.”

  “I don’t know anything about taking care of kids,” he said.

  “That’s what they all say,” Angela said. “They can make ’em, but they don’t know how to take care of ’em.”

  Ben and Chuck got up from Mary’s body. I was glad Ben had covered it with the wolf robe. I didn’t want to see it There was blood on the edge of the mattress and a big pool of it on the dirt floor that was all frozen and blackened. Chuck was in shock. I put an arm around him and he just let me hold him without making a sound. ‘This one had it the worst,” Ben said, putting a hand on Ethel’s head. “I was going by and didn’t see any smoke coming from the chimney. Came in and she was sitting alongside Mary there.” He patted her head. “If ol’ Ben hadn’t happened by,” he said to her, “you’d liable to have froze to death.”

  “Maybe she’d of been better off,” Maggie said.

  “That’s sure as hell true,” Angela said. “She certainly ain’t got nothin’ to look for’ard to in that Indian village.” She took out a flask and drank a couple of mouthfuls.

  Mr. Carew spoke up. “Unless we’re gonna stand around here jawin’ all day, let’s decide what we do with the kids.”

  Chuck was limp against me. I put a hand on his shoulder.

  Angela said, “I vote Joe takes ’em. Teach ’im a good lesson.”

  “That’s not funny. I told you before I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

  “How about you, Maggie?” Angela asked. “You got the bunkhouse.”

  “I got my own to look after.”

  “I’ll take them,” I said to Joe.

  “You’ll take ’em!” Angela said.

  “Yes.”

  “How are you going to take care of them and teach school too?” Mr. Vaughn asked.

  “I can manage it.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Joe said, relieved. “Thanks. Anne.”

  “I don’t think it’s right,” Mr. Vaughn said.

  “I agree with ’im,” Maggie said. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Then why don’t you take them?” Joe snapped at her.

  She looked as if she was considering it and for a few seconds I held my breath. I wanted them. I wanted them badly.

  “I got my own,” she repeated.

  “They’re all yours,” Joe said to me.

  I picked up Ethel. “You take Chuck,” I said to Nancy.

  “Sure.” She was a little surprised.

  Nobody made a move to get out of the way. They just stared at me as if I was some kind of a circus freak.

  “Anybody else want them?” I said.

  Nobody answered.

  “Then if nobody minds, we’ll take these children home.”

  XVI

  Ethel was quiet until we reached the door. Then she realized that I was taking her away and she began to scream. By the time we were outside she was fighting me tooth and nail and I had to let her down. Even then I could barely stop her from running back inside the shack. She was just too young to realize her mother was dead.

  If it hadn’t been for Ben Norvall I don’t know how we’d have gotten her home. He went and got Mary’s hand sled from the kids, then helped me tuck a blanket around Ethel and tie her into the sled. It was the only way we could get her out of there. She wouldn’t even pay any attention to Chuck when he tried to talk to her.

  Harnessing myself to the sled, I started pulling, but I hadn’t gone twenty yards before my lungs felt as though I were breathing fire. I was so rattled I’d forgotten to put a scarf over my mouth.

  It was hard going, the snow so dry that it tu
gged at the runners like sand. After ten minutes Nancy took over, and all the way back to the house Ethel kept screaming and struggling. When she threw her head back the first time and I saw her face I thought for a second something terrible had happened to her—until I realized it was her tears. They’d frozen all around her eyes.

  By the time we were inside the house, Nancy’s cheeks and nose had turned white, and from the numbness I felt I knew mine had too. Ethel ran straight under the table and sat there crying. And no sooner was Chuck inside than he started crying too.

  Nancy put the kettle on for tea while I tried to console him. It took a while before he was able to stop, and then he wanted to know when his mother was going to wake up. I had to tell him that she wasn’t going to, that she was dead. Even though he knew what the word meant he couldn’t accept it as meaning he’d never see her again. “Who take care me now?” he asked me.

  “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “When my mudda come?”

  “She’s not going to. You’re going to stay here with me and Nancy. Chuck—” He looked as though he was going to start crying again. “I need your help. Can you help me? The first thing we have to do is explain to Ethel that she has nothing to be afraid of here. She doesn’t understand what’s happened. You’re going to have to tell her. Can you do that?”

  He went over to the table and kneeled down beside his sister. She was still sniffling, but she listened to him. She almost started crying again at one point, but he made her stop. They exchanged some words, and when they were done she looked kind of lost. She let Chuck lead her out from under the table. My sense of smell had been frozen up to then, but it came back just as Ethel stood up. The worst odor in the world hit me. Her parka was covered with grease and old food, but that wasn’t what it was coming from.

  Nancy wrinkled her nose. “She must have done something in her pants.”

  “We’ll have to give her a bath.”

  “The sooner the better,” Nancy said. “Pee-yew.”

  While the water was simmering on the stove there was a knock at the door. It was Maggie and her husband with Chuck’s and Ethel’s things, some moccasins and clothing, a .22 rifle and a couple of pairs of children’s snowshoes.