CHRISTMAS CHINOOK

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Volume 81, Issue 72, 17 December 1937, Page 29 (Supplement)

CHRISTMAS CHINOOK

ALIOE McINTYRE

PACK

(By

WELL, if you mnst have it, my darling, this is the way it was. (The mother took her place before tte fire and spread lier hands in invitation at lier sides. Outside, snow was falling like the trailing, silvery memory of that other Christmas.) I used to think Father was the pion-©er-ingst of the early American pioneers. Just going vtest didn't suit Tiirti at all. He had to go clear to the P&cifie Oeean. „ He was so hopeful and fearless he made iny mother feei that way, too. So she left their comfortahle farm home in Ohio and settled with him on the banks of a river, where it met the tide waters of Gray's Harbour and ian swiftly thrOugh a narrow gap to join the sea. My mother named the river Singing Woman. She thought the Indian names of the country were ugly. Gfeat' yirgin forests grew down to the very shores of the landlocked harbour like a vast green army, bivouacked* awaiting the advance of the enemy. And Father knew that he must start a sawmill, so he went to San Francisco for machinery. He went on the little schooner which always looked like a toy as it rounded the bend of the river t and disappeared from •ight. "What' shall I bring you, my dearest?" he asked my mother as we walked with him to Our landing, which jutted waveringly over the water. t'That is, what besides a brand-new ■awmill?" "Oh, John," Mother clung to his arm, "nothing for me, but if you find you can't get hom, do send the children something for Christmas. Doana wants a ring. And some toys for the little ones. You know the things. Christmas will be hard this year.." "I know, my girl." Father held her close, and their eheeks were wet together as they looked across the river to the Indian burial ground where we had left my bady brother John three months before. When he had died so suddenly in that new, far edge of a strange country, it had not seeme'' so lonely for him there. In the m'akeshift cemetery there were Indian children surrounded by their tiny possessions to keep them happy in the hunting grounds beyond. Two friendly squaws had come and kissod the soil above him and left food for his journey as was their custom. "But their men were not 'so friendly. One of them had advanced on Father as he .walked away. "No like, 3 * he said in a low guttural ▼oice. "No like paleface here." His companionx gazed stolidly and gave a harsh grunt. But Father did not seem- to hear as he stumbled from the grounds. " You're 13 years old now. Be a little woman, Donna," Father said as he kissed me good-bye. I cried and told him I would try to be. Mother stood quiet for a while after the schooner had disappeared. Her hands were clenched. "I must not fail these babies," she said as she turn•d back to the house. I knew that Mother was afraid of the woods. Father had cut the tall trees from- around our house so there was no danger of them erashiug on us In a storm, but she knew that lyns and even a cougar had been brought from the depths of that forest. I knew she went weak if a friendly Quinault Indian approached our house. She was the only white woman on the river for miles, although there were a few women at the little town of Hoquiam, and once the small steamboat which Btopped at our landing brought a millwright and his wife to consult with Father. The woman 's eyes went wide with surprise as she came into our house. Mother 's windows always shone as clear as sunlight. Cheerful paper which she had brought from the East covered the waTls, and the curtains at the windows were snowy, starched flour sacks bound with turkpy red. Father had built, a fireplace in each end of the main room,. and the firelight dancing in Mother's fine old mirrors lit up the home-made table and chairs. The millwright's wife said that Mother 'a house was a jewel of the wilderness. It Was just the week before Christmas that we looked out on the river and saw old Humptulips Joe pull his eanoe on to our landing. He was followed by three other Indians. "Here come the friendly Indians," my mother said in a gay voice. I could (see how fast her heart was beating under her dress, but Tad and Dannie and little Bette ran out of the door shouting. "Friendly Indians, friendly Indians!" Humptulips Jo6j as he was called from the river on which he fived and the other Indians did not wait to be invited into our house. They came in. Sullen and dirty, Humptulips Joe looked around the room until he saw Mother. "You," he said harshly, "you put pale-face papoosa in Indian ground. Ground for Indian fathers." "We did not know it was sacred burial ground, Joe," answered my mother. "My husband will be back after the New Year." Then she sent ns out of the room, but I heard Joe say, "No good New Year. Too late." We went around to the back stoop where Mother kept a wash basin and

bucket of water on a bench. Above it hung a comb tied to a string. . Such articles were easily lost and hard to replace. Joe and his companions came out of the back door. You could see they were angry. Joe picked up the comb and looked it over. ' ' Humph ! " he exclaimed in disgust and, removing his old black hatj ran the comb through his long, thick hair. Seldom had I seen my mother angry. But now her face tvas livid. She grabbed the comb from the Indian, broke the long string, and then threw the comb as i'ar as she could into the woods beyond. Then she called us children in, clored the door, and threw the bolt, and Humptulips Joe went away with his friends. We didnt see them again for a week. There were the chores to do with Father gone, so Mother and I would tuck the little ones in bed, blow out tha lamp for fear of five, and go out to the barn to milk the cow. The night was so quiet it seemed that we and the cow with her were the only ones in the world. The air was sweet with the small of fir and frost and wild hav. Tho night gave me a magnificent, unearthly strength. I ^ felt it ringing through my body like * bells, as I struggled with great forkfuls of hay and moved them down right under Fanny's nose. Three days before Christmas the ground was white with a loose, damp snow. It would be a white Christmas, we said, the first one since leaving Ohio. Snow was so much nicer than rain. We took the big axe and iset out to get our tree. Although a whole forest of Christmas trees grew right beside our door, they furnished no excuse for packing up salt pork, sandwiches and thin strips of smoked salmon and setting off in our home-made sled with Tad and Dannie snorting and trainlng at the bit, while little Bette with curls askew and cheeks ab'laze lashed her wliip and cried, "Giddap, Santa Claus!" She was only three, and the r3Te of Santa was not quite clear in hermind. We stopped by a roaring little stream and built a fire and warmed our swollen red hands, while mother made us hot gruel in a tin chn she had brought along. We had not yet found a suitable tree among the thousands we had passed. The ones Dannie picked out were always too big, and Bette 's were too small, and Tad had his heart set on finding one with a bird's nest in it. So mother told us the story about the girl who went , through the whole forest and then picked out a crooked stick. It was when we were almost home with our fine, straight tree tied to the sled and Bette settled into its branches like a sleeping doll that wo passed Humptulips Joe and three Indians. I noticed mother stopped and gave us a chance to draw close. She kept biting her lower lip as the Indians approached. "Good evening, Joe," she said. "Humph," answered the Indian, Later Tad turned around and cried. "Mother, Joe is shaking his fist at us." In the house mother rubbed our chapped hands with grease and made a thoughtful inspection of the rooms. "What's wrong, mother?" asked Dannie. "Nothing is wrong," answered my mother, and then she added, "I was just thinking it is about tinre to look out for the boat. " That remark was enough to erase all thought of unfriendly Indians from our ininds forever. The small steam schooner which plied the harbour with niail and supplies every two weeks was due before the holidays. It was on this boat that father's presents would come, perhaps father himself. The captain had said on the last trip that he would be back before Christmas. "Come, my lambs! Let's get to work," mother said. setting out flour paste and scissors, and papers of all kinds. And how we worked! It seemed as if we were doing it all for father. It seemed as though he couldn't help being there if we worked so hard to please him. The boys made the tree stand straight in a tub of sand from the river bed. Bette stuck her tiny fingers until they bled, stringing popcorn, and I made stars and covered them with tin foil from father 's tobacco. And almost every 15 minutes oue of us would rusli to the window to see if the boat was coming up the river. Mother said we could not waste our supply of flour and niolasses baking things, for father 's box would probably contain sweets we'd never even tasted before. At that we all rushed to the window again. By noon on the day of Christmas Eve there had come a real snowstorm. All night the forests had moaned and groaned. They stood around our clearing like a great circular shadow. We could barely make out the river. The wet snow ^gathered on the windows, clung for a while, then slowly slipped down the pane like the lowering of a white and scalloped shaie. Tad and Dannie deeided to stand guard at tho front window with their wooden guns, the agreement being that if the boat should go by in the storm and miss our landing, they'd lay a barrage of fire across her bow to remind her there was 4reasure aboard for the Carters. ® They stamped into the house, puffing out their brilliant cheeks. Mother took the end of her shawl and wiped off the

box. "Let's open it now," Dannie pleaded. "Not now," said mother firmly. "You must hhng up your stockings and get to bed." Never, never, had they obeyed so quickly and willingly. There was no calling of names like "cover-hog. " Little Bette ran in from the window to ask, "Mummie, is Santa coming 1'* "Yes, Pet," said my mother. "Is Santa an Indian?" "Not our Santa Claus," mother answered. "Then Indians is comin' to see Santa," said Bette. Mother looked out. A slow-movmg flle of squat, dark figures came shuffling through the snow along the trail which led behind the house. When they came tc the porch, they stamped across beneath its shelter, kicked the water bucket off the bench, and used it as a football as they went their way. I could see it worried mother, the boldness and defiance of old Joe. Just then Tad cried out; "Halt! Who goes there?" Dannie threw his gun into the air and began to scream: "She's come! She's come!" Bette waved her fat arni.;, jumped up and down, and cried, " Santa 'a come." Mother and I ran to the window. A large dark shape lay on the river. It looked like a boat through the snow, but mother said it was only a log raft broken loose. So we calmed down, and the watch went on. The tree was so green and brave with strings of gleaming white popcorn. and shiny isilver balls, and stars of tinfoil. Mother made little white boats of paper attached by a pin to a cork and fastened them on the tree. When the cold air rushed through a door or window, the boats spun around and around like gay little weather vanes, We cleaned, and dusted, and puffed up the pillows in father 's chair any number of times. It began to get dark, and still no sign of the boat. The boys were getting tired of their post and quarrelled a little, Dannie said: "Aw heck! I knew it wouldn't come all the time. " W a -Pri orl mir flnrnmflol mnoli -fnr e i i

kept shaking his head in a manly fashion to choke back the tears. It was hard for me to swallow past the lump in my throat. We took the children with us to the barn that night. The cold revived their spirits. They capered in the snow and took turns l'eeding wisps of hay to Fannie. While mother milked the cow, she told them the old story that all dumb animals at the stroke of midnight fmd their voices and talk like humans until dawn. Suddenly mother stopped and listened. Yes, there was a hoarse "Toottoot." The boys jumped for their coats. "It's come! It's come! Christmas has come!" they shouted. "Oh, father!" I heard Mother say. It sounded like a prayer, there was so much thankfulness in her voice. teiie took her shawl off its hook and hurried out. Bette and I followed, stumbling along unded one blanket. The boat lay pufhng at the landing. The lights were bright now, and I kept thinking how beautiful stones like the red and green running lights would look set into a ring. "Christmas gift!" called the Captain before any of us had a chance. "Your Pa ain't aboard, but here's a package from nim. Ten to oue it's some blue jeans and a switch apiece for the boys and a dish rag for Donna."

We laughed and called back, ""Christmas gift," and immediately there were orders and a clanging of bells, and the boat slid away. The boys struggled for possession of the box. "Leggo. It's not heavy. I can pack it myself. Leggo." Tad kept her shoes off. "Now, daughter," Mother said after wo were sure they were asleep, "we'll begin.' ' Frantically I began to feel through tho box. One of the paper bundles contained something hard. I undid it hastily, and out rolled a little red fire truck hitched to two racing chargers. You could also see flames snort from their red nostrils as they plunged to the call of duty. On the little seat were two helmeted, dare-devil drivers. A cunning little ladder was hooped on at the sides, and in the waggon bed was coiled at least a foot of hose. Two tiny buckets swung on behind, completing a perfect model of the fire-fighting equipment of the day. That was all. We smoothed out the last newspaper so that not even the tinest gold ring could liave hidden in tho creases. Mother's : outh was work- • ing piteously until she looked at me. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and said: "Steady, daughter. Let's get busy." I didn't know just what Mother meant, but there was that special note in her voice I'd heard her use to Father as she led him away from the Indian burial ground. Now it said to me. "Well, are we women, or aren't we? Are we going to let three little children lose their belief in Christmas because some sneak thief stole your father's gifts for them?" Finally I said, "All right, Mother, what shall we do?" What we did was to fire up the kitchen stove, measure and sift flour and sugar, get out the last of our lard. We mixed and fried doughnuts in the shape of jolly-looking fat men, made molasses taffy and cut it into little golden pillows and rope-like twists. While I popped corn and rolled it into sweet balls, Mother made Bette a doll out of one of Father's blue and white socks. She took the beautiful peacock feathers which she had brought from the farm in Ohio — the boys had begged for

them so often — and made two Indian head-dresses. She had just finislied the first one when the kitchen door was flung open and Humptulips Joe was in the room. Three red-faced Indians were with him, and there was a strange odour in the room from their breath. Joe lurched toward my mother. She swayed a little where she stood. Joe glowered at her. "You move papoose," ne said in a flat, angry voice. "You move papoose from Indian ground or Indians dig him up and throw him in the river!" His voice rose to a terrible pitch at the last. Mother's hands went together at her breast. Then she stretched them out to Joe. It seemed for a moment as if Mother's hands were crying. Then she said to me. "Cut thick slices of bread." She took the tliiek slices and spread them generously with the last of our lard. Indians loved lard on bread. "It 's Christmas, Joe. You must be hungry after your long, cold walk." She offered each the bread. "Christmas?" mumbled Joe. "Yes, you know about Christmas," said Mother. The muscles shifted the impassive bronze of Joe's face. "For many moons Indian eat only deer and salmon. Then paleface give food and maybe whisky. That Christmas?" Joe said. "Well, something like that, Joe,"

Mother began desperately. "You see, it's the time when you share what you have with your neighbour in memory of a little boy named J esus.*' "Papoose?" asked Joe. "Oh, yes," cried Mother in a glad voice, "just like yours and mine." Joe listened whilo Mother told him about Christmas. "It was about the timo when the big fir tree by . e river was a tiny seed that the Great Father," Mother uiade a gesturo the Indians would understand, "sent His son as a gift to tho world. 1 He was born in a barn, Joe, near the horses. No riches, no government lands. Nothing. But he brought the world its greatest gift — love. Peace and good will between all men — Indians and palefaces, you understand?" The other Indians shifted nervously, but on Joe'r face had dawned some light of understanding. "What for tree in house?" he asked. "Oh, the tree and food and presents are just a way for spreading that love on His birthday." J8e stood for a moment as if thinking, then he stalked to the door. Before Joe reached it, one of the other Indians spoke. "You move papoose," he said. "You move heem to-night. We see you do." Joe banged the* door, and Mother shot the bolt. She leaned against the door, her head buried in her arms. We looked out into the moonlight. The Indians had not gone. Instead they were perched on the woodpile holding a pow-pow. Soon a dull chant came to our ears, followed by a heavy fist upoh the door. Mother's eyes were black with despair as 6he went to open it. In the dim light outside Joe seemed to tower like one of the tall trees that Father had cut down. I held my breath, and I could see that Mother's hand on the door was trembling. But her voice was steady as she said, "Yes, Joe." "Papoose stay there," he grunted. "Indain and paleface all the same— - Christmas," Joe Explained briefly, as he turned away. In the reaction my heart seemed to stop. I heard Mother say softly, "Thank you, God," as she closed the door. Mother was up building the fires before the first shout of Merry Christmas. Then all the children rushed out together to see what Santa had brought. They all saw the little fire engine at

i \ 5 i 5 ) — — O auii quenched whatever ^park of flame she thought she saw, whether it was under the Christmas tree or down somebody's neck. We were having our porridge late that morning when we heard a great stamping of snowy feet outside the Humptulips Joe stepped in with a friendly, "How." He had a large tin can under one arm, and in the other I saw the beautiful bronze backs of a dozen golden plover. "Christmas," he said. "Papoose go merry." He poured the contents of the can right out on the table. Cranberriesl We clapped our hands at their bright beauty as they went hopping over the edge of the table and on to the boor like merry little Christmas elves. We scrambled for them, shouting with laughter, and Joe's black eyes crinkled closer and closer until he gave a pe •- fect bellow of a laugh. Mother said he must have canoed miles to find a cranberry swamp. She asked Joe to stay for dinner. He needed 110 urging. He sat down on the boor, with out removing his black hat, and examined the fire engine. All afternoon he otok turns at urging the little horses on their charging call to duty. At last, when the smells from the cooking food had become too tantalizing to bear, Mother called out "Dinner ! " "Merry Christmas, you raseals!" he cried as we swarmed over him. We had been so absorbed in playing we had not seen a small boat come up to our landing, nor heard him slip in to surprise up.