Free Woman of Courage by Wanda E. Brunstetter Page B

The rug gave the room a feeling of warmth, even when it was cold outside.
    Mary stoked the embers in the fireplace, then went to check on the woman fitfully sleeping in the next room. Sometimes, when the fever spiked, the woman would moan or cry out for someone or something she called
Pa-pa
. Mary wasn’t sure what that word meant.
    Thinking about her husband, Mary wondered once again why Jim had reacted so strangely when he’d first seen the white woman. She had asked him about it, but he’d pushed her aside and said, “It’s nothin’ for you to worry about. Just do your doctoring and stop askin’ questions.”
    It had been seven days since Buck brought the woman to Jim’s cabin, and she’d been running a fever most of that time. She had opened her eyes a couple of times, but not long enough to ask who she was. On more than one occasion, Mary had thought the woman might die, but she seemed to have a fighting spirit and had hung on. That was good. It took a fighting spirit to survive in this wilderness. Courage, too. Mary knew that better than anyone. Still, seven days with a fever was not something to be taken lightly. The blond-haired woman looked so small and frail lying in that big bed.
    Mary thought about the day Jim had brought her to his cabin. Mary could hardly take it all in, for she’d never been inside a white man’s home before.
    Although larger than what she had been used to, the cabin felt confining. She remembered hearing for the first time the door shut behind her. She had to take in deep breaths, almost suffocating without fresh, outside air. As each day passed, Mary had gotten used to her new routine and became more accustomed to her surroundings.
    At first, Mary had been puzzled about many of the things she’d seen in the cabin—especially the big fire-box in the kitchen. She had watched curiously as Jim opened the fire-box door, piled kindling inside, and set it on fire. Mary’s people’s source of heat, and for cooking, was an open fire, and Mary didn’t have the vaguest notion what to do with such a strange-looking thing. As Jim had continued to feed the fire, Mary wandered through the cabin, clutching her parfletch to her chest. When she’d peered into Jim’s bedroom, her eyes had become pools of confusion, seeing the huge bed. She’d never seen anything like it, and had no idea what its purpose could be.
    Jim had stepped into the room then, and shouted something at Mary, wagging one finger in front of her face. Then he’d pointed to the ladder leading up to the loft and nudged her in that direction. It didn’t take Mary long to realize that was where he expected her to sleep. Fortunately, sleeping in the loft was easy to adapt to. Like a bird high in the trees, finding shelter in a nest, Mary felt comfortable there. Even now, while heavy with child, she was content to sleep on the floor of the loft, although it was getting harder to climb the ladder.
    The other thing that had surprised Mary was the big gray-and-white dog sleeping near the fire. The camp dogs among the Blackfeet, where she’d been living since being taken from her own home, had been downright vicious, often snarling and snapping at anything that moved. Mary wasn’t sure if she could trust having the animal in the cabin. It hadn’t taken her long, however, to realize that the dog Jim called “Thunder” and who was part wolf wasn’t vicious at all. He’d quickly become her constant companion. She felt safe with him around, especially whenever Jim left for several days to check on his traps. Many times while Mary sat by the fire, the dog would come over and lay his head in her lap, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. Thunder and Mary seemed to bond with each other in a silent understanding.
    In all the moons she had lived here, there were many things Mary had adapted to. But always in her heart was the life she’d been ripped away from so long ago.
    Mary had just bent down to put another log on the fire,