Annie nodded. They all looked to be starving, she said. They made no sign at first, no movement or sound, as if they thought the visitors might simply remove themselves if they remained motionless long enough. Her father smiled at them and made calming gestures, and after several minutes of miming back and forth, the young man followed Annie’s family back to their canoe where they gathered several portions of the meat and carried it to the shelter. They roasted the venison and ate together and in the course of their interactions they gathered that the family had had little luck hunting caribou and were afraid to venture too much into the open to do so.
In the morning her father left much of the rest of the meat with the Red Indian family. He brought a rifle to the mamateek that he intended to leave with them as well. He tried to show them how to load and fire the weapon, but they refused to touch it and seemed somehow afraid of its very presence. Her father was exasperated by this and continued his demonstration and encouragement until Annie’s mother finally took the rifle from his hands and carried it back down to the canoe herself. They left the family later that morning in much the same condition they’d found them.
There was a long moment of silence around the table.
Reilly said, “They’d come down here on occasion.” He motioned with his head towards the river. “Looking for a few salmon.”
“Red Indians?” Buchan asked.
Reilly nodded. “They never caused no harm.”
“The Reds were on fairly friendly terms with this one, Captain,” Peyton said. “They’d walk out on his weir and take their pick of the fish. They called him by his Christian name.”
Buchan sat back in his chair. “Why hadn’t I been told of this before?”
Reilly laughed. “Let’s say it wouldn’t do much for my standing on the shore if it was general knowledge.”
“Do they still come through here?”
“You know yourself,” Reilly said. “They aren’t around in numbers like the old days. And the ones left are on terms with no one but themselves.”
“Yes, well,” Buchan said. There was just a trace of a smile on the officer’s face. He seemed perplexed by something. “It is hard to know who to trust, isn’t it?” he said.
Early in the evening Mary took herself off into a corner of the room and lay down with a blanket of caribou hide. Annie Boss went to her then and pressed the poultice she’d prepared in the afternoon to the woman’s chest, using a long length of muslin around her torso to hold it in place. The men walked down to the beach where they joined the marines around a bonfire.
“When I was speaking with Mr. Richmond,” Buchan said, “he mentioned a Micmac furrier you encountered on your way from the lake in March.”
Peyton and Reilly hesitated, as if they were each waiting for the other to speak. “Noel Young,” Peyton said finally and he nodded his head. “He come upon us on the river and spent the night in camp.”
“He has worked in this area for some time?”
“As long as my father has been here at least. Runs traplines through the winter near New Bay Pond. Spends his summers off of Tommy’s Arm River, out past Sop’s Arm.” He paused for a moment. “He’s a hard man, Captain, and not much to be trusted. By his own count he’s killed ninety-nine Red Indians in his day and wouldn’t pass up the chance to make it an even hundred.”
“Is that a fact?”
“There’s no love lost between the Micmac and the Reds as a rule,” Peyton said.
Buchan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Reilly, this is obviously not the case with your wife.”
“It’s the Irish and the English, sir,” he said. “There’s some look upon us with Christian civility and more wish us dead and buried because we speak a different language and visit a different kirk.”
“A preposterous oversimplification, Mr. Reilly.” The Irishman nodded. His face glowed a bright copper colour in the firelight. He said, “It’s sometimes the simplest explanation is closest to the truth.”
In the morning as the marines prepared the cutter and gig for departure, Buchan requested a private interview with Reilly. “Just a few moments really,” he said, “to confirm testimony given to the grand jury in the spring.”
“All right,” Reilly said. He looked around the room. There were children scattered about the corners like furniture pushed aside to accommodate dancing. Annie Boss was clearing up from breakfast with some assistance from Mary. “We might find a bit of peace and quiet at the river.”
On their way to the shoreline Buchan said, “Her breathing does seem a little less laboured this morning.” Reilly was walking ahead on the path and seemed not to hear him. “Mary’s breathing,” he repeated. “It seems to have improved somewhat.”
“Perhaps,” Reilly said without turning his head. “I didn’t take notice.”
“From what I understand from your wife, that poultice is quite the miracle potion.” They had reached the wide sand beach and were walking side by side. The marines milled about the two boats that had been dragged partway up out of the water. Buchan said, “She tells me it did wonders for the injury to your hand.”
Reilly turned to look at the officer for only a moment. They had reached the point where the weir curved out onto the river and Reilly went ahead of Buchan and sat on the dam, facing upstream away from the marines. “You wanted to talk to me about what happened on the lake,” he said.