[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring by Janette Oke

suffocating. I wished for the out-of-doors
so I could breathe freely again. But when I heard the howl of the wind
and the lashing of the rain, I closed my eyes and tried to be thankful for the warmth of the smelly little cabin. Wynn patted my shoulder in
sympathy.

    When supper was ready, a makeshift arrangement of a table was
dragged up close to the stove. Wynn came to help me to it. I told him
I really wasn't hungry and would gladly settle for just a hot cup of tea
or coffee. He realized then that I was still in my wet clothes and shivering with the cold.
    "I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he said. "I was so anxious to get some hot
food in you that I forgot about your wet things. I didn't realize you got
as wet as you did. I guess the slicker didn't keep out much of the rain,
eh?"
    "Oh, it did," I insisted bravely, comparing his soaked appearance
to mine. "I only have a spot here and there, that's all."
    Wynn reached out to feel my clothing. "You're wet," he argued,
"through and through. We'll get you out of them as soon as you get
some hot soup down you."
    I wanted to protest further, but Wynn would have none of it. I
allowed myself to be helped to the chair, and Wynn poured me a cup
of the soup he had made. I sipped it slowly. It wasn't the best meal I
had ever eaten, but it was hot, even tasty in a "canned" sort of way.
My clothing on the side closest to the stove began to steam. I shifted
around some to direct the heat on another section. I didn't really warm
up, although a few spots of me were actually hot. It was a strange
sensation to feel so hot in places and yet chilled at the same time. I
finished my cup of soup and motioned to Wynn that I was ready to
return to the heap called a bed.
    "Got a couple of blankets, Charlie?"
    Charlie lumbered up from the barrel on which he was sitting and
spit at the stove as he reached up to a shelf.
    "Hudson's Bay," he grumbled. "Hardly used."
    "They'll still be hardly used come morning," Wynn answered, not
to be intimidated by Charlie's growling. Wynn moved to where he
could screen me from view with the blanket. "Now," he said, "get out
of those wet things."
    I looked at him, wondering if he really meant what he said. The
room was full of men.

    He meant it. I shrugged, unfastened my wet skirt and let it fall. I
then removed my shirt and my petticoats, casting apprehensive glances
at the blanket Wynn held for me.
    • I could tell by the noises on the other side of the makeshift wall
that the four men were now enjoying Wynn's supper soup. There were
slurps and smacking, and I was glad I wouldn't need to see as well as
hear them eat. I wondered if Charlie could eat and chew tobacco at the
same time, or if he actually disposed of his wad while he was dining.
    "Now climb up there and lie down," Wynn spoke softly, "and I'll
tuck you in."
    He did as promised, using both of the blankets Charlie had provided. I lay there shivering. Wynn went back to the stove, took the cup
I had used, and poured soup for himself. He then got a cup of coffee
and came back to my bed. `Are you warming any?" I thought I was,
though my teeth hadn't really stopped chattering.
    Now that Wynn no longer claimed the stove for his meal preparation and I no longer occupied the one chair in the room, the men
moved in closer to the heat. Their clothing began to steam and smell,
not improving the odor in the room. I was glad I had already eaten. I
couldn't have swallowed with that strong, offensive smell in the room.
    I tried to move over to give Wynn room to sit down on the bed
beside me, but this was truly a one-man bed. Wynn crouched beside
me and sipped his coffee. I could see the clothes hugging tightly to
him.
    "You're still wet," I stated. "You'll get sick."
    "I'll dry soon. I'll be okay. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"
    I wanted to retort, "Here?" But I knew that "here" was the best he
could offer, so I simply nodded.
    Wynn moved back to the stove where the men were busy