When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) by Janette Oke

to believe that it was just the northern lights we were watching. Though I had watched them in awe many times since coming north, I had never seen such a marvelous display.
    We sat on through the evening, enjoying the night even after the last lights of our great northern fireworks faded from the skies. The deep blackness around us seemed to hem us in, promising protection. The stars shone even brighter as Wynn pointed out different constellations to me.
    As I sat there in the warmth of Wynn’s arms, I realized there might be many anniversaries stretching before us. I prayed to God that He would make it so. But there would never be one that could outshine the one we were sharing now.
    August the first. I looked at the date on my calendar with some apprehension. I had seen Nimmie the evening before and she had looked fine. She had talked about their coming baby, her eyes gleaming. “Soon,” she had said, “we will know if it will be a hunter or an herb-gatherer.”
    I managed to laugh at Nimmie’s description of her boy or girl, but inside I felt a little twinge. Part of the twinge was nothing more than envy. I was still not with child and my daily prayers had not changed. The other part of the twinge was for Nimmie and her baby. The mortality rate among the Indian people was high, and I knew how much Nimmie wanted this baby. What a terrible thing if she were to be denied.
    Again the thought surfaced that I would not be nearly as worried if it were I who was soon to deliver, for the mortality rate was not nearly as high among my people. It didn’t even occur to me that a baby I carried might also be in danger at delivery. I just expected that when it was my turn, all would go well.
    That was what Nimmie expected, too, I suddenly realized. She wasn’t even considering the possibility of something going wrong.
    And so I looked at the calendar with both trepidation and anticipation. In a short time we would know. What had the city doctor said? The fifth of August. The baby was due in only five more days.
    I decided to drop in on Nimmie. I would bake a batch of bread as planned, have my prayer time and then go to see her.
    My quiet time was longer than usual as I pleaded with God again for Nimmie’s safe delivery—of the hunter or the herbgatherer, I didn’t care. When I was finished praying, I went to check on the rising bread. While it baked I turned my attention to some mending. Some buttons had been torn from Wynn’s shirt when a trapper’s unprovoked lead dog had ferociously attacked him. As I sewed, I was thankful that only the shirt had been damaged in the incident. I had to mend some little tears before I could replace the buttons, and by the time I was finished I could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread.
    I carefully wrapped one loaf for Nimmie. I had just said no to Kip, who looked at me pleadingly, and reached for the loaf when there was a noise at the door. It was Mrs. Sam. She had not been to my house for some weeks.
    I welcomed her in. Though I would be delayed now, I could not possibly tell Mrs. Sam that I was just leaving. She would expect her usual cup of tea.
    I put the bread back on the table and pulled the teakettle forward on the stove. Thankfully the water was already hot. I made the tea and we sat and sipped it and ate sugar cookies while we chatted about village life.
    Mrs. Sam said the berry prospects looked good. “Many, many,” she stated and I was glad for that. I hoped to pick and preserve a number of jars of berries for our winter use. That along with our good garden would make the thought of another winter not nearly so dreary.
    Mrs. Sam drank slowly while I fidgeted a bit. I was polite enough to offer a second cup of tea. Then a third. After the fourth, Mrs. Sam rose from her chair and pushed her cup back into the middle of the table.
    “Nimmie say, ‘Come now,’ ” she stated simply as my eyes widened in surprise and horror. Nimmie had sent her to get me, and here we had sat