I did not allow myself to think before I tossed one in my mouth and began to chew. Biting down into the soft body, I began to retch but quickly ate some huckleberries and forced myself to swallow. “Ahh,” I said. “Not bad!”
“Then why you look like you about to bring it back up?” he asked.
“I’m just getting used to the fine flavor,” I teased, and was rewarded with a flicker of a smile. “Come on.” I handed him one, taking another for myself. “If your daddy ate these to survive, so can we.”
The next one went down more easily. Though the taste was bitter and the texture appalling, I forced down a few more of the large globs. Pan ate two. When we knelt to drink water, a sizable grasshopper landed between us, and Pan snatched it up. “He ate hoppers, too, but the legs got spikes and got to come off first.” He plucked off first the head and then the legs. “Here,” he said. I was unsure if the offer was a token or a challenge, but I knew it was edible and accepted it. It crunched as I chewed and I swallowed plenty of water to get it down.
“Not bad,” I said. “Now let’s find one for you.”
“Maybe later,” Pan said, and again gave me a ghost of a smile.
Our stomachs rumbled, but we retained the food, so we gathered some grubs and huckleberries for Sukey. She chewed and swallowed some berries but refused a second grub. As though the effort had taken all of her energy, she closed her eyes and let the babe slip down beside her, where it lay mewling. Finally, I took it from the cave.
Pan followed me to the water’s edge and watched over my shoulder as I lay the bundle down to unravel the soiled petticoat. A ray of sun broke through the green canopy to cast golden light on an infant so minuscule that I might have held her in my one hand. Her wrinkled body squirmed as she squinted against the sun, while the sparse downy hair on her head stood out like that of a newly hatched bird. Unexpectedly, my heart twisted with tenderness.
Her umbilical cord had been tied off with a strip of fabric. Again I marveled at Sukey’s determination to save her child’s life. The cloth around the baby’s bottom was crusted to her. “You got to get her washed off,” Pan said, testing the water with his hand, “but you got to do it quick.”
“Get ready,” I said, lifting her up and dipping her in to soak while Pan rubbed her clean. Her little breaths came in surprised puffs while her extremities reached out in an odd quivering stretch. “Best get her out now,” Pan said.
On impulse, I slipped her shivering body inside my torn shirt to warm her against my own skin. Pan fetched another piece of clean petticoat, then lined it with soft moss, fashioning a clout before we swaddled her into a bigger piece of cloth. Through it all, the tiny bit of life made soft mewling sounds.
Sukey slept on. We kept the babe with us and sat under the pine to study the now fresh-smelling bundle. As she looked out, I was astounded to see curiosity in her large dark eyes. When she mewled, Pan reached over to pat down her hair. “You sound like a kitty,” he said. “Let’s call her Kitty.”
“Don’t get too attached,” I warned. “I doubt she will live.” She gave a huge yawn, and when I gently tapped her tiny chin, her fingers quivered up and grasped mine. In spite of my own warning, I felt my heart give over.
THE AIR DURING the day was hot and often humid, but it did not rain, and the days passed swiftly as I sought to care for the four of us. I gave to Pan and the baby what was left of the bear grease and fought to keep from scratching at the oozing raised red rash that covered my legs and arms. While my unshorn facial hair served as a barrier against the biting flies and hoards of mosquitoes, my torn and tattered clothing did not. As Sukey weakened, the baby increasingly became my focus. Each day she survived felt like a victory.
In spite of my best efforts, by the third day Sukey was no longer lucid. Pan had found an old turtle shell, and though she drank water from it readily, she always turned her face away from the grubs. The morning I found three duck eggs, I rushed in with one for Sukey, but was disheartened when she turned her head in refusal. I later cracked open all three, and Pan and I gratefully swallowed the rich nutrients, a welcome change from the usual grubs, grasshoppers, and huckleberries.
By the fifth day, Sukey refused even the berries. Thinking it was the effort to chew that stopped her, I chewed the food myself before pushing it into her mouth. That almost ended in disaster, for the paste dropped back in her throat and choked her. Though I was able to have her cough it up, the episode left her drained. When I cleaned her that evening, fresh blood, a great deal more than usual, soaked through the packed moss.
The following morning Sukey was no longer responding, though she still swallowed water when I put it in her mouth.
Kitty suckled vigorously when I held her to Sukey’s breast. I wondered if she was getting enough nourishment, and as her mother’s life ebbed away, I argued with myself about what to do. Should we just leave and try to save Kitty? How many hours could a baby survive without milk? Yet I could not abandon Sukey while she was still alive; at night there were too many carnivores about. Finally, on the sixth day, Sukey provided the solution.
Around noon, while Pan gathered grubs, I took Kitty for another feeding and there discovered that Sukey had died. I had sensed her death coming, but the reality of it shook me. Clutching Kitty, I scrambled from the cave and called for Pan.
He came at a run. “She’s dead,” I said abruptly. “We have to leave.”
He hung his head for a moment, then lifted it again. “We got to bury her,” he said.
“We can’t. We have no tools. And you know she would want us to take care of Kitty first. We need to find some milk for her as soon as possible.”
“How we gonna do that?” he asked.
I handed Kit to him as I reached for the primitive basket that I had fashioned from the plentiful reeds in preparation of our departure. “I don’t know, but we don’t have a lot of time,” I said. I lined the basket with plenty of moss and then added what was left of Sukey’s petticoat. Settling Kitty in the basket and tucking my jacket into the waist of my tattered trousers, I announced that I was ready to leave.
Pan looked lost and walked back to the entrance of the cave. “At least you got to say something,” he said.
“You’re right,” I said, joining him. I tried to think of some words, but when I lowered my head, nothing came. The baby squirmed, and while I readjusted her, Pan grew impatient. “You can say something nice about Sukey, and then I suppose you can ask my mama for some help, but she don’t seem to be around since I got took.”
“How about your daddy?” I asked, feeling more comfortable invoking Henry.
Pan shrugged.
“Sukey was a good woman—” I began.
“But now we need some help,” Pan interrupted. “Daddy, if you see us out here, you got to get us some help.” His voice choked at the mention of his father, and my own eyes blurred. I looked up and took in the beauty of the long green swags and red flowering vines that draped across the cathedral-sized trees. Under this protective canopy, an unexpected peace washed over me and gave me newfound strength. Through Pan’s sobs, I spoke out in a strong voice. “Henry and Sukey,” I said, “you were both brave and good, and because of it, we know you are with the Lord. Please ask Him to help us out.”
I was rewarded for my effort when Pan rubbed his face dry and looked up at me. “You did that good, Mr. Burton,” he said. “Now we best get going!”
I DECIDED WE would go north to the cross-canal, but there, instead of going east to the large canal, as instructed, we would turn west, where I had been told civilization was close by. I didn’t know what story I would tell, but our only hope to save Kit lay in that direction.