When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) by Janette Oke Page A

sipping cup after cup of tea! I turned to grab the loaf of bread—though why, I’ll never know—and hurried for the door. Mrs. Sam took her time following me.
    I wanted to walk quickly—no, run —but Mrs. Sam kept her usual pace, which was unhurried and ambling. I wondered if it would be impolite for me to run on ahead.
    “How is Nimmie?” I finally thought to ask, though I was a bit fearful of the answer.
    “Good,” answered Mrs. Sam.
    “Is she—is she—?” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question of an Indian woman with limited English. “Is she—in labor? Pain?”
    “Nope.”
    “But she sent for me?” That wasn’t like Nimmie.
    “Yah.”
    “Was the midwife with her?”
    “No more.”
    “No more?”
    I couldn’t understand it. Why would Nimmie send for me, and why would the midwife visit her and then leave? It all seemed very strange. And it was only August the first.
    “Is Nimmie okay?” I asked again.
    And Mrs. Sam’s answer was the same as before. “Good.”
    “What about the baby?” I asked in exasperation.
    “Her good, too.”
    I stopped in my tracks, trying to understand what Mrs. Sam had just said. She might have responded that way about an unborn child, but when the Indian women spoke of the unborn, they used the pronoun “him,” not “her.” Did that mean—surely not? But when I got my breath I asked anyway, “What do you mean, her ?”
    “Her,” stated Mrs. Sam again as though it was clear enough. “Her. Girl baby.”
    After one wild look at Mrs. Sam I forgot to be polite any longer. I picked up my skirt and ran the rest of the way to Nimmie’s cabin, causing the village dogs to nearly go mad on their tethers as I rushed.
    Out of breath and trembling, I slowed down enough to rap gently on Nimmie’s door; then without waiting for an answer, I pushed it open and walked in.
    The small room of the cabin was filled with a strange odor, like nothing I had ever smelled before. I hurried to the bed in the corner, deciding the smell must be some herb medicine from the midwife.
    And there was Nimmie, with a contented smile and a small bundle with a red, wrinkled face held possessively on her arm.
    “You said—you said August the fifth,” I stammered.
    “No,” said Nimmie shaking her head and beaming at her new baby girl. “I said the doctor said August the fifth. Nonita did not wait for doctor’s due. She came when she was ready.”
    I looked back to the tiny, beautiful baby in Nimmie’s arms. A prayer arose in my heart. She was here, and she was safe, and she was about the prettiest thing I had ever seen.
    “A little herb-gatherer,” I said with tears in my eyes. “Oh, Nimmie, she’s beautiful!”

NINE
    Nonita
    I stood for many minutes looking down at Nimmie’s tiny new baby girl. Her dainty curled fists lay in a relaxed position on her chubby cheeks, her dark hair slightly curled over her forehead. Her eyes were closed and just a trace of eyelash showed because of the slight puffiness due to her recent arrival. I had proclaimed her beautiful. There may be those who would have argued with me. A newborn is really not too beautiful. But she was healthy and whole, and given a few days to adjust to her new world, I knew she would look beautiful. I felt a twinge within me again—that something which told me that just at this moment, Nimmie was one of the most blessed people I knew.
    I suddenly returned to reality. “When did she arrive?” I asked Nimmie.
    “About an hour ago. I think the clock said 10:45.”
    It was now ten minutes to twelve.
    “What does Ian think of having a daughter?” I asked, not because I needed to ask but because I thought Nimmie might wish to express it.
    “He still doesn’t know,” said Nimmie, a bit of impatience in her voice.
    “Doesn’t know ?” It was incredulous to me that Ian had not been informed.
    “He went to the woods with the men this morning to fell some more trees for the trading post.”
    “But—” I began.
    “He left