I said nothing. What Mrs Connor does not understand, and I am unable and unwilling to explain, is that my love and loss are precisely what I am about.
I am not even sure I will know it when I see it, yet I possess in my mind a scene. The gentle, warm light of early evening. A slender branch. The promise of an unbroken egg-shell; life aquiver in feather and flesh. Yet it is the light that holds my desire.
May 26
It is this time of night, when the house is quiet, that I miss Allen most painfully. During the day, I am wholly diverted by my search for birds, and I work late into the evening to mark my bottles of solutions and organize my dark room, but inevitably I must go to bed, and here is where I find my loneliness.
I’ve taken to sleeping in one of his night-shirts. Excessively sentimental, I know, but it still smells of him. I wonder if it does more harm than good, to indulge myself in this way, for even as it comforts me, it causes my heart to ache all the more.
I am afraid, Allen. I am afraid my barrenness will become a dead weight that will drag upon our marriage. I’m afraid my condition will mark me as incomplete or, more terrible still, repulsive to you. And deeper in my heart, in a place that is dark and unrecognizable, I am afraid that you will no longer love me.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
May 25, 1885
We wait while the Midnooskies finish packing up their village. I have done as much as I can to repair my clothing & pack. I mostly pace about the camp in boredom.
Samuelson & Tillman have pulled out playing cards, resort to hands of poker to occupy themselves. They have persuaded Nat’aaggi to join them. They have explained the rules to her as simply as they can. Samuelson advised that they switch to betting pebbles, so as to not take advantage of the novice.
Samuelson’s raucous laughter just drew my attention. When asked what was so amusing, Tillman grumbled something to the effect that Nat’aaggi has clearly played this game before. In front of her was a sizeable heap of pebbles.
May 26
If this were my troop, we would be well on our way. We were to leave this morning. Yet still the Midnooskies cook meals, gather their children. It is most painful for me to watch the disorder. I am near tempted to march down the shore with my men, leave the boats. For now, I wait.
Tillman says he is in no hurry to go. Most of the morning he has tried without success to provoke Nat’aaggi into another hand of poker. It seems being beaten so soundly yesterday did not sit well with him.
He admits, too, that he fears throwing himself at the mercy of the river.
?—?Have you cast your eye on those rapids? he asked.
I had. Though not as impressive as the vast, gray sweep of the Wolverine River, the Trail River flows swiftly over boulders so that in places the water churns into a white froth. The Indians’ skin boats are but crude structures?—?odd-shaped moose hides stitched with sinew, stretched taut over a flimsy pole frame. They are impressive in dimension, each of the three boats being more than 25 feet long, five feet wide, two deep. Every part of the frame, from keel to gunwale to ribs, was carved with knife & ax, then assembled with rawhide & willow sprout. These Indians accomplish a great deal with the little they can scrape from this country.
It’s as if we prepare to take to the river in a giant hollowed animal corpse. Let us hope they carry us safely.
I have just come to understand how this village in its entirety will make the journey to the Wolverine River. The baidarras will be filled with the heaviest supplies, & only the men will board! The women will go by foot with loads upon their backs, leading the pack dogs.
I asked Samuelson to relay my disapproval to the tyone. He advised against it.
?—?It’s how they do things, Colonel, Samuelson said. —?We’re just along for the ride.
A dispute then arose when Nat’aaggi indicated she would ride along with us in the boats.
The tyone spoke sharply to her, but she held firm.
?—?He says our slave woman must walk with the others, Samuelson translated.
She does not belong to us, I said. She travels with us. If we are to ride, she does too.
The tyone at last agreed. Several of village women observed the disagreement with much interest.
At long last. Word that we will launch.
61°30’ N
144°23’ W
46°F, exposed bulb
39°F, wet bulb
Dew point: 27
Relative humidity: 47
Night cool.
Let me keep to that skin boat. Let me ride the roar and swell. Alive, at the bow, in the face of sun, wind, and freshwater spray. Carry me on and on to the edge of the earth, with children’s laughter like a wind-full sail, then carry me beyond. Bent willow boughs and moose hide. Wild ways, bear me well.
Deliver me. I am in your hold. “Make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days; that I may know how frail I am.”
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester