Free The Lynching of Louie Sam by Elizabeth Stewart Page A

says.
    There’s the cry of a newborn from inside the cabin, making her meaning clear enough—while we were gone, the new baby arrived! Father leaps down from the saddle and tells me to see to Mae, then he barrels into the house. Agnes follows him into the cabin, slow and easy, like she lives here. Anxious as I am to see my new brother or sister, I feed and water Mae and Ulysses. I see from the way the two cows are shifting in their stall that they need milking, so I do that, too. After riding all night and being alone with too many thoughts, it feels good to keep my hands busy.
    By the time I go inside, the new baby already has a name. He is to be called Edward, after Mam’s father. Teddy for short. The baby and Mam are both asleep in my parents’ bed, behind a curtain they have rigged for privacy. I go around the curtain and take a peek. Teddy is bundled in Mam’s arms, looking no different to my eyes from any of my other brothers or sisters when they were born. I let the curtain fall and step as quietly as I can over to the table near the stove, where Annie is pouring tea for Father out of the old china pot that Mam brought from England. The boys come out from the back room, wiping sleep from their eyes. I tell John that he should have done the milking. John says he was up half the night bringing in firewood for the stove while Teddy got born. Father shushes us, so as not to wake Mam. It’s strange to see Agnes taking Mam’s place at the stove, a full-blooded Indian stirring the porridge just like a white woman would. Her face is cut deep with wrinkles, but she can’t be that old.
    â€œWe owe you thanks, Agnes,” my father says quietly. He takes a long sip of the tea, even though it’s scalding hot.
    Agnes nods toward John. “Man mam’-ook cháh-ko ni-ka.” She seems sad, even when she smiles.
    â€œShe means I went for her,” says John. “When Mam’s pains started, I didn’t know what else to do—or when you’d be back.”
    We all fall silent at that. I wonder if Agnes knows where we were last night, and what we were doing. She shows no curiosity, but John does. He whispers to me, “So what happened? Did you get him?”
    He says it with such eagerness that I want to smack him. I wish I could tell him right there and then about how complicated it is, but Mam is sleeping—and it doesn’t feel right to talk about Louie Sam in front of a native woman.
    â€œI’ll tell you later,” I say.
    Father gives me a sharp look and I remember that we’re not supposed to say anything at all. He takes another sip of tea. I take a seat at the table, and thank Agnes kindly when she puts a bowl of porridge in front of me.
    I T’S T HURSDAY, BUT NOBODY even talks about going to school today. After breakfast, Father heads straight away down to the mill. Agnes stays and kneads some dough so we’ll have fresh bread for the evening meal. Mam wakes up and Agnes brings her a bowl of yesterday’s bread softened in some warm milk. From behind the curtain on the other side of the room, I listen to Mam and Agnes talking in soft voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Female talk, oohing and aahing over the new baby. I suppose it’s the same in any language. At the table, Isabel is singing softly to her dolly, pretending that she has a new baby, too. Annie’s peeling potatoes. Everybody’s calm. It’s nice.
    O NCE THE BREAD IS BAKED , Agnes says she’s going back home, to the shack she and her sons built in the woods a half mile up Sumas Creek, after they had to move out of the ferryman’s house at The Crossing when Mr. Hampton died. Without asking, she takes two of the fresh loaves with her.
    I go into the back room and lie down. I am so bone weary that I expect I could sleep standing up, but the minute I close my eyes I see Louie Sam hanging from that cedar, and the fear in his face. I