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

at six,” Nimmie went on.
    “Didn’t you know—?” I started to ask, but Nimmie interrupted.
    “Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I thought, but I didn’t want to keep him from his work.”
    “Oh, Nimmie!” I said. “Don’t you know Ian would have wanted to be here? The logs can wait, but your baby—”
    “Yes, babies won’t wait,” said Nimmie. “I learned that much. I told the midwife I wanted to wait until Ian got home. He said he would be here shortly after midday. But, Nonita—well, she wouldn’t wait.”
    I looked again at the clock. If Ian said he would be back soon after noon, he should be coming any time now. I heaved a sigh of relief and turned back to Nimmie.
    “Would you like anything? Soup? Tea?”
    “The midwife gave me some of her birthing herbs,” she said. “I feel just fine. A little tired, but just fine.”
    Nonita suddenly squirmed in Nimmie’s arms and screwed up her face. She began to cry, her face growing even more red. She had not yet developed the lusty cry of an older infant. Nimmie adjusted her on her arm and held her to nurse, crooning comforting words to her in her own native tongue.
    The baby stopped her fussing and snuggled up against Nimmie. The deep red drained from her face. Nimmie cradled her and then began to sing her an Indian lullaby.
    I discovered I was still carrying my loaf of bread, somewhat misshapen due to my run. I wanted to laugh at its ridiculous shape now, but I was afraid I might disturb Nimmie or the baby, so I crossed as quietly as I could and placed it on the table.
    Nimmie’s song soon ended. She looked at me, her eyes still shining.
    “That is the song my mother used to sing to me. Perhaps every Indian baby has listened to that song. I will sing it to all my children as well.”
    “It’s a pretty song,” I said, crossing the room to her bedside.
    “It speaks of the forests, the rivers, the moon in the sky, and promises the baby that all of nature will be her new home.”
    “That’s nice.” I touched her arm and smiled at her precious bundle.
    Nimmie closed her eyes. I didn’t know if she was visualizing her child in the years to come or if she was just tired.
    “Nimmie, perhaps you should rest now. Would you like me to stay or to leave?”
    “There’s no need for you to stay, Elizabeth. Ian will soon be here. I sent for you because I was anxious for you to see Nonita. It wasn’t because I did not want to be alone.”
    “I don’t mind staying.”
    “I’m fine—really.”
    “Then I will go and let you rest.”
    I was about to leave when she looked up at me and smiled. “Would you like to hold Nonita before you go?”
    I didn’t even answer; my heart was too full and my throat too tight. I reached down for the sleeping baby as Nimmie lifted her gently toward my outstretched hands.
    She was so little and so light in my arms that I felt as if I were holding only a dream, only a fairy child. She opened one squinty little eye and seemed to wink at me. It was an uncontrolled action I knew, but I laughed anyway.
    “She’s beautiful,” I declared again, and I meant it with all of my heart.
    I laid the baby on the bed beside her mother. Nimmie smiled contentedly.
    “Someday, Elizabeth,” she said, “it will be your turn—and then you will know the deep river of happiness flowing within me now.”

TEN
    Summer
    Nimmie was soon back on her feet. Even with her new baby she still found time to work in her garden and tend the store and manage the other tasks she had been used to doing. I tried to help some, but she usually caught me at it and laughed at my concern.
    “I am as strong as ever, Elizabeth,” she assured me. “Where do you white women get the idea that having a child makes one weak and unable to do one’s own work?”
    So we went to the garden together and hoed the weeds and pulled the vegetables for use on our tables. We opened the store and cared for the customers who came for supplies. We even went to the berry patches