The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific Read online

  “I know that feeling,” Sarah said.

  “On the way home Jack pulled the buckboard to a stop when we saw two bear cubs playing next to the river. They were only a handful of yards away. They noticed us, started bawling, and shinnied up a tree.” Kathleen appeared lost in thought for a moment then continued, “I remember our horse seemed anxious when we stopped. He kept tossing his head and wanted to continue but Jack held him back. We should have heeded his warning.” Kathleen looked at the anxious faces surrounding the table. “We were laughing at their antics when the cubs’ mother attacked us.”

  Myra gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

  “She sunk her teeth into Jack’s shoulder and flipped her head, throwing him to the ground. He landed like a rag doll. The bear slugged my face with a huge paw, knocking me unconscious. The blow tossed me onto the back of the buckboard—fortunately as it turned out.”

  The children’s faces were horror struck.

  “I have no memory of it, but the commotion must have spooked our horse. A farmer and his wife who live just outside town, noticed a buckboard without a driver. They brought it to a halt. I was barely conscious and not coherent. They brought me in their house and found a doctor to check on me and dress my wounds. The scars on my cheek are from the bear’s claws.”

  “What happened to Uncle Jack?” Abbey asked.

  With tears welling up in her eyes, she still attempted to smile. Kathleen sat up straight, looked at each of them, and said, “A number of men went to look for his body but couldn’t find it.”

  “Did the bear drag him away?” William asked.

  “We don’t know for sure but…probably.”

  “Poor Uncle Jack,” Nathan said, shaking his head.

  “Too bad you didn’t have a gun or a rifle,” William said.

  “Everything happened so fast, I don’t know if it would have made a difference. If we’d known better, we’d have avoided the cubs.”

  “It’s getting late. Bedtime children,” Myra said. “We have lots to do tomorrow. Say goodnight to Aunt Kathleen.”

  “I’ll tuck them in,” Sarah said.

  Abbey walked up to Kathleen and gave her a hug. “I’m going to miss Uncle Jack.”

  “He told us such funny stories,” Nathan said, wiping a tear off his cheek.

  “Uncle Jack taught me how to be a scout,” William said.

  Kathleen nodded. The children hugged her and ran upstairs with their Aunt Sarah.

  David asked, “The bear grabbed his shoulder?”

  “Not really. I said that for the children’s benefit.”

  David hesitated for a moment, then asked. “What happened?”

  “It ripped his throat out and grabbed the back of his neck in its jaws.”

  “Oh no.” Myra said.

  “I heard bone breaking. According to the doctor who treated me, Jack was likely dead before he was tossed off the buckboard.”

  Myra wrapped her arms around her sister. The two held each other and wept.

  Ten minutes later, David asked, “Why has it been hell running the business?”

  Kathleen crossed her arms. She replied in an angry tone. “You mean besides men yelling and cursing at me because they don’t want to do business with a woman or the fact that I haven’t slept much as I’ve had to do all the accounting myself; even with a degreed accountant working as a laborer for us and not being able to use his ability?”

  “Why not?” David said as Sarah rejoined them.

  “He’s negro. I’ve been advised a negro and a single white woman working in the same office could cause problems.”

  “Disgusting,” Sarah said shaking her head. “My dad hired negro men at the ironworks. They worked hard like anyone else; but I understand your predicament.”

  “He’ll be working in the office tomorrow.” David said.

  Kathleen folded her arms as if hugging herself. “I felt so alone. Only this baby and the knowledge you would be out here gave me the energy to keep working.”

  Myra put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You’re not alone now.”

  Kathleen relaxed her posture and smiled. “I know. They’ll be no more yelling with David and Sarah around.”

  “How big is the Jewish community?”

  “About fifteen families plus six or eight single men.”

  “Are you enjoying Portland?”

  “It’s more pleasant now than in the winter.”

  “Because of the weather?” David asked.

  “Not the weather so much,” Kathleen said. She sighed, folded her arms across her chest before continuing. According to the eighteen-fifty census, Portland has two-hundred woman and eight-hundred men. The majority of the men are lumberjacks and spend the warm months logging in the mountains. In the winter they descend on the town for boozing and whoring. You avoid the area around the docks in the winter because of the drunks and ruffians. Half the two-hundred women earn a living by servicing the lumberjacks.”

  “The police?” Myra asked.

  “Barely effective and decidedly crooked. Currently, there exists one bar for every forty men, women, and children. Most of the women work at the bars which are mostly owned by politicians. There are rumors of men being Shanghaied to work on ships. In fact, the word Shanghaied was invented here. Mr. Breuer thinks we’ve lost a few men who got drunk and ended up forced onto ships. This is more of a frontier town than we expected.”

  Chapter Four: Andre

  A light snow fell as Andre Gaultier de Varennes de la Verendrye, a stocky Frenchman in his mid-thirties, arrived at a clearing in the mountains north of a lake which, years later, would be named Chelan. Andre found the remnants of the lean-to he used on previous stays. His worn leather and fur clothing blended well with the forest environment which contrasted with his ruddy complexion. The trapper’s face and hands evidenced more wear than age. He cut and crafted branches for repair and pine boughs for bedding. A buffalo hide was unrolled which he stretched over a frame to create a roof. The trapper squinted at the sky which remained leaden grey as a light snow fell. He shrugged knowing the snowfall would likely continue into the night.

  Andre knelt to start a fire. In the distance he noticed the outline of someone, lightly dusted in snow, sitting back against a tree. Rocking back on his feet, he approached. Andre discovered a squaw having weak shivers every few seconds and apparently little life left. Dusting the snow from her face, he picked her up and carried her to his lean-to, placed her on the pine boughs, and wrapped her in a bear hide. The trapper noted her lack of proper clothing for cold weather; thin moccasins, no head covering, or decent jacket.

  “Why did you come out here by yourself?” he asked.

  She didn’t appear to understand him. Kimimela studied his face and gave him the tiniest of smiles.

  He returned her smile. “Yes, your clan visits here in the summer. Good people. I believe I’ve seen you, but what are you doing by yourself?”

  She closed her eyes and made no attempt to reply.

  Andre hastily built a fire and heated water. Pieces of pemmican, made from dried meat and berries went into the water. As soon as it was warm, Andre patiently fed her spoonsful of the stew interspersed with sips of water.

  Kimimela put up a hand, indicating she’d eaten enough, weakly smiled at him, pulled the fur up to her neck, and closed her eyes. She no longer shivered, he noted.

  * * *

  Late the following morning, Kimimela awoke with a fright. Someone had removed one of her moccasins. She hurriedly pulled her feet under the bear hide. The trapper held up the fur-lined leather boots he’d crafted. She allowed him to slip them on. They were immediately cold but soft. Lined with fur and extending up to her knees, they quickly warmed.

  Andre held up a deer hide and pantomimed putting on a jacket then pointed to her..

  Using a knife and needles made of bone, they sat on pine boughs by the warmth of his fire and together crafted a hooded jacket with a long waist. Kimimela thought, “A kind a
nd generous man to give up his precious furs to clothe me.”

  While her nimble fingers sewed the edge of the coat, Andre edged the shearling lined hood with a wolverine fur ruff. The ruff would provide a warm breathing chamber on the coldest of days.

  Kimimela pointed to his worn, ragged hat.

  Andre laughed. He handed her a raccoon skin. She skillfully crafted it into a warm hat. It took the balance of the day to complete the clothing but with another meal, her young body was quickly recovering.

  “Quel est votre nom?” the trapper asked.

  Not understanding French, Kimimela simply shrugged.

  He pointed to himself. “Andre.”

  She pointed to herself. “Kimimela.”

  “Kimimela,” he slowly repeated.

  Putting her hands together and hooking her thumbs, she flapped her hands, imitating a butterfly’s wings.

  “Papillon,” he said, slowly nodding at her. “Kimimela… papillon.” He stared into her dark brown eyes and smiled. “Sedsuisant…yes, a beautiful little papillon you are.”

  “I speak some English,” she said.

  “Good. English it is.”

  The sky cleared as darkness enveloped them. She listened to the crackling fire. Gazing skyward, she noted a canopy of crystalline stars. They bundled themselves in fur and slept.

  In the middle of the night, Kimimela startled awake by the rasping sound of a two-man saw like the Europeans used to fell trees.

  She raised herself on one elbow and listened. It wasn’t a saw. Kimimela giggled and thought, “Having a snoring man next to me is annoying but less annoying than the silence of not having a man next to me.”

  She gently huddled against him, enjoying his warmth.

  * * *

  At first light, they packed his furs and camping gear. Without words, Kimimela’s actions indicated her desire to accompany him.

  “I’m traveling west on this lake below us to hunt in the mountains.”

  She nodded.

  He rolled his remaining furs together, gathered his camping gear, and secured lashings to tie the gear to a backboard. She touched his arm and pantomimed; she wanted to carry part of the load.

  “I could use help,” Andre said after a sigh. “My joints ache. I may be getting too old for this type of life.” He smiled at her. “And someone to accompany me would warm my soul.” Combining branches and leather strips, the trapper constructed a backboard for Kimimela. He gave her roughly one-third of the load. She easily hoisted it to her shoulders.

  Andre raised his eyebrows and smiled. “And a strong papillon you are.”

  She smiled. “Strong, yes thank you.”

  By late afternoon, they trudged out of the mountains and onto the eastern end of Lake Tsi Laan. In the distance, Andre spotted a deer. He pointed to it. They quietly lowered their loads. Andre loaded powder and a ball in his rifle. In slow motion, they began stalking. When fifty-yards away, Andre gradually shouldered his rifle. Kimimela noticed the deer’s lovely antlers, now partially hidden by a tree. She took one more step for a better view; in the process stepping on a small branch. It split with a sharp report. The deer bounded away. Kimimela blushed and hung her head, knowing the noise startled the deer.

  “Not every hunt is successful, Cherie,” Andre said.

  Chapter Five: Kimimela and Andre’s Journey

  Andre uncovered the canoe he’d carefully hidden.

  Kimimela looked away and shivered. She relived her one and only canoe ride. On a cool and windy fall day, her much older brother invited her into his canoe. Halfway across the same lake she and Andre were about to traverse, the canoe tipped and pitched her into the freezing cold deep lake. She had no knowledge of swimming and didn’t know where the surface was. Her brother rescued her but she coughed and sputtered lake water for hours and it took the rest of the day to warm up.

  “My canoe needs some work. We’ll stay here a day or so.”

  She left the edge of the lake and gathered firewood. With her arms loaded, she spied movement off to her right. Rabbits! Quietly but rapidly leaving the firewood at the beach, she retrieved her bow and arrows. Within five minutes she returned to the beach holding two fat rabbits.

  “So,” Andre said in his booming voice, hands on hips and chest thrust out. “My new partner is an excellent hunter.”

  She started a fire and cleaned the rabbits. After they ate she would preserve their fur.

  The following day, bright sunshine greeted them.

  Kimimela thought, “At last a warm day to enjoy. A good day to bathe.”

  Using her prized sliver of soap which she’d purchased from a settler earlier that year, she wet her body then soaped all over. The frigid water was uncomfortable, made her nipples hard, and turned her skin light blue. She glanced at Andre. He kept his eyes averted.

  After she dressed, Andre walked to the water’s edge, and removed his clothing. He dove into the water and disappeared.

  Kimimela sucked in her breath and held it until he resurfaced. His arms reached ahead of him and his feet splashed at the surface.

  “You travel like a fish,” she shouted.

  He left the water, picked up a bar of soap and covered himself in white lather.

  * * *

  They paddled his canoe up the long, dark-blue lake. Kimimela enjoyed the terrain. A mixture of gentle hills and mountains reached the water’s edge while snow covered, jagged peaks filled the sky to the north. A harsh avian cry caught her attention. Peering into a wetland populated with tall reeds, she listened to the raucous call of the yellow-headed-blackbird.

  “Welcome to your summer home,” she called out after spotting him.

  “What?” Andre asked.

  She pointed into the wetlands. “Bird with yellow head.”

  Many herons and egrets were stealthily fishing along marshy areas at the lake’s edge. As travel by canoe was almost silent, they were able to closely observe them.

  Kimimela and Andre stopped for the night at the water’s edge just as the sun reached the horizon. A full moon was visible in the darkening sky. They camped on a grassy knoll.

  “The days are getting longer,” she said while starting a fire.

  “A few weeks travel in the mountains and we’ll return to my cabin.”

  “Cabin?”

  “A tiny place but dry when the spring rains come. A friend and I constructed it some years ago.”

  “I saw a deer on the mountain side. May I borrow your rifle?”

  “Take careful aim. I’ll give you one ball and the powder horn. Don’t go far. No moon tonight. Easy for a bear or wolf to sneak up on you.”

  She entered the woods behind the grassy area. Kimimela’s legs were tiring as she plodded up the steep wooded mountainside. Spotting the deer, she carefully loaded the rifle. Moving to get a closer shot, she heard Andre shouting. Hurrying back to their campsite, she stopped at the edge of the woods. Two men stood over a prostrate and unmoving Andre.

  The taller of the two men said, “He’s unconscious but he’ll remember our faces. Best to kill him. Let’s take his furs, and get out of here.”

  Kimimela’s heart began pounding as she put powder in the rifle’s pan. She held the rifle barrel against the side of a tree to steady it. The second man aimed a pistol at Andre’s unmoving head. Kimimela moved the hammer to full cock, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle’s report echoed through the woods. Bird calls rang out as they flapped away from the sound. A cloud of smoke from the rifle’s barrel briefly obscured her view. The shooter was on the ground as his partner rapidly disappeared into the woods. Kimimela dropped the rifle and ran to Andre. She slapped his face a few times. He moaned. She tried to get him to his feet but he collapsed while trying to stand.

  She heard a raven’s cry and its wings flapping. Kimimela thought, “The other man is returning.”

  She ran into the woods and dropped to her knees. Scanning the woods she strained to see where he was. The tall fir trees filtered out any light
. Kimimela closed her eyes and gradually rotated her head from side to side. The insects to the front and right made their usual sounds but those to her left were quieting. Turning toward the silence, her hand slid down her side to grasp her knife. When the sound of a leaf being crushed twenty-steps-distant reached her ears, she threw the knife with all her might. A gun fired and it’s bullet ripped across her heel. Kimimela retrieved the rifle and grasped it with both hands near the end of the barrel.

  She approached her antagonist; who she sensed more than saw. He’d pull the knife out of his upper chest and swung blindly. Kimimela retreated out of the wood. Each time she put pressure on her right heel sharp pain raced up her leg. The minute the man appeared she swung the rifle, striking him in the head. He staggered back a step and lost his grip on the knife. They both dove for it but Kimimela reached it first. He landed on top of her, coughed and gagged on his own blood but still tried to wrestle the knife out of her grip. She sunk her teeth into his throat. While he gagged, he used one hand to pull on her braids, the other to restrain her hands. She freed the wrist holding the knife and sliced across his throat. The robber’s body quaked a few times and became motionless. She rolled his body off. Kimimela repeatedly spit his out blood as she limped to the lake. Kneeling at its edge, she rinsed her mouth numerous times. She returned to Andre who had managed to lift himself on one elbow. He shook his head to clear it. “You’re injured.”

  “I will wrap this and be fine.”

  He displayed a weak smile. “My papillon is a fighter.”

  “They were going to kill you.”