Evan Hunter - The Chisholms - A novel of the journey West

“I shot us some fine birds—”

“Hey, so did I,” Gideon said.

“Yeah?” Will said. “Now how about that?” and he laughed and went to the other side of the tent, where he picked up a basket brimming with gifts. Carrying it back to the robe, he set it down before his brothers and said, “I marked all these with your names. This one’s for you, Gideon, and let me see... Catherine, where’s — wait a minute. Is this the one for Bobbo? Wrapped here in hide? With the blue thong here?”

Catherine nodded.

“Yeah, take a look at this, Bobbo,” he said. “Catherine made it. Well, go on take a look at it. Gideon, open yours, go on now.”

“We brought some things for your — for the women, too,” Gideon said.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Will said.

Bobbo slipped the thong off the hide wrapping. The wooden flute was delicately carved, decorated with paint in orange and blue. He looked at it and felt the way he had that time he’d seen Timothy’s drawing. Tears suddenly brimmed in his eyes.

“Hey,” Will said.

“It’s beautiful,” Bobbo said. “Thank you, Will. Thank you, Catherine. Sister.”

“Will, you got to forgive Ma not...”

“I understand,” Will said. “I really do.”

“Open your presents, Will. We want you to please open your presents.”

“Yes,” Will said, and lifted his drink again. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” Gideon said. “Catherine, you too. This one’s for you, wrapped here in the polka dot. And Sister...”

“Mair-creez,” Sister said again, and drank.

“Case you don’t know it,” Will said, “that’s ‘Merry Christmas.’ ”

“In Indian?” Bobbo asked.

“Hell, no. In English!” Will said.

Catherine laughed. Sister laughed with her. And suddenly, they all were laughing.

Gideon was alone with Bonnie Sue when the first pains came. He’d sprained his ankle in the woods the day before, tripped over a damn root hidden by snow. Hurt like hell now. Bonnie Sue was rocking by the fire. On the mantel the clock ticked. There were times he wanted to pick up that damn clock and hurl it across the room, finish the job the mules had started.

“You’d think he’d have been discouraged,” Bonnie Sue said.

“Yeah,” Gideon said, and got up, and began limping around.

“Or angry, or whatever.”

Still hurt like hell.

“But no, he’s been coming back up here every day since Christmas.”

“Well, maybe he’s daft,” Gideon said.

“Do you know what he said just the other day?”

“No, what’d he say?” Gideon asked. Hated not being able to move like he normally did.

“He said it was my pride made me refuse him.”

“Yeah, he is daft,” Gideon said.

“Said I thought he’d proposed out of pity, and my pride wouldn’t let me accept. I told him it had nothin to do with pride, it had only to do with not loving him. You think it’s got to do with pride, Gideon?”

“I don’t know what it’s got to do with. It’s you he’s asking; how should I know?”

“Hobbling around that way ain’t going to help your ankle none,” Bonnie Sue said.

“Well, your chatter ain’t helpin it none either,” Gideon said. “You want to marry the man, then why don’t you just up and marry him, stead of—”

“I don’t want to marry him. I’m only askin do you think it’s pride or not.”

“What’s my opinion got to do with it?” Gideon said. “Ain’t me has to love him, it’s—”

“Oh!” Bonnie Sue said.

He turned to her at once. Her eyes were opened wide in surprise. She grimaced, and then clutched for her belly, and then said, “Oh” again, and sat with her arms crossed over her belly, looking straight ahead of her into the cabin.

“Sis?” he said.

“It’s all right,” she said.

“Sis?”

“It’s all right, Gideon. Run on down the fort, go fetch Mama.”

“Sis?” he said. He was on the edge of panic now.

“Do what I say, Gideon! Fast!”

He went out the door without putting on a coat. He went limping through the woods on his swollen ankle, stabs of pain shooting up into his leg each time he put the foot down, tripping once in the snow and almost twisting the other ankle, getting to his knees, and catching his breath, and then standing up straight, testing the ankle, and beginning to run for the fort again. He passed the tree where they’d hanged Lester Hackett, whose baby it was, the branches spreading bare and black against the gray winter sky, the sun barely showing as a white ball hidden in the gray.

The river was frozen over almost completely, save for patches here and there where the water ran black through chunks of ice. The trees looked like pencil sketches, black scratchy lines against the gray, everything quiet around him, his footballs cushioned by the snow till he began climbing a small hillock that the wind hit full, and there he broke through crusted snow with each step, crashing into the stillness. He came over the top of the hill and started down toward the fort again, his ankle hurting something fierce, his heart pounding in his chest to burst through his ribs.

The postern gate was open. He came in through the back of the fort and ran past the mules and horses in the corral and then across to the other side, where the kitchen was, and where he guessed he’d find his mother. The cook was dozing on a barrel turned upside down, his back against the kitchen wall, his feet up on a smaller keg. Gideon came in yelling, and the cook sat upright and said in alarm, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” his voice coming out like a squeak, his eyes opened wide in fright, as though he’d been dreaming of marauding Indians.

“Where’s my mother?” Gideon said.

“Ta mère?” the cook said.

“It’s my sister’s time!” Gideon said.

“Ta soeur?” the cook said, and finally made the connection. This was the brother of the one who’d been made pregnant by the horse thief. He got up off the barrel at once, and looked around the kitchen in bewilderment, as though he’d put Minerva away someplace, perhaps in a bin or a drawer, but could not remember exactly where. Gideon, breathing raggedly, his chest afire, his ankle swollen and throbbing, looked at the man helplessly, waiting for him to say something, to do something. Schwarzenbacher burst into the kitchen just then, having heard the commotion from his office next door. When he saw Gideon, he asked immediately, “Is it Bonnie Sue?”

“Yes!” Gideon said.

Schwarzenbacher ran out of the kitchen.

In the courtyard outside, Will was holding up a pair of dead rabbits to an Indian woman who sat cross-legged before a goat. The woman had milk and cheese to sell, and Sister was negotiating with her. The woman shook her head, said something to Sister, shook her head again. Her attention was suddenly captured elsewhere; they turned to follow her gaze. Schwarzenbacher was running wildly across the courtyard, Gideon limping along behind him.

“Will!” Schwarzenbacher shouted. “Where’s your mother?”

“What?” Will said.

“Your mother, your mother! She was here a minute ago. Where...?”

Bewildered, Will opened his hands, shook his head.

“Bonnie Sue’s having the baby!” Schwarzenbacher yelled, and seized Sister’s hand and pulled her toward the main gate.

There should have been a hut apart from the house; that was where the baby should have been born. Or lacking such a hut, there should have been a part of the house separate from the rest of it, with a screen of wood and hides constructed to protect the others from the glances of the woman giving birth. It was not permissible for men to be present in the hut or in the house, but here in the cabin were Will and his brother and the clerk from the fort. Sister would not permit it. She went to them at once, and pushed them out, and closed the door behind them.