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Updated: May 28, 2025
Wanamee was her indefatigable nurse when her husband was away, as he was compelled to be in the daytime. On a few occasions she insisted that Rose should read from some old volumes of poems. She used to watch, with strange, longing eyes. Ah, if she could be young again, and strong. Did M'sieu Ralph often think of the years between, and that some time in the future she would be an old woman!
Miladi was neither better nor worse, some days so irritable that nothing could please her. "She would keep M. Destournier beside her all the time," said Wanamee, "but a man has business. He is not meant for a nurse, and to yield to every whim. She is not a happy woman, miladi, and one hardly knows how much of her illness is imaginary.
She had been wont to laugh and make echoes ring about, but now her heart, in spite of all she could do, was not light enough for that. Wanamee was sore troubled by her reticence, for she was too proud to make any complaint. Indeed, she did not know what to complain of.
Mawha was brewing some herbs. Wanamee entered with a plate on which there was some wheaten toast. "She will not take it. She does nothing but fret for Monsieur, and say dreadful things about ma fille" then she stopped in a fright, seeing her master. "Where is Rose?" he asked. "She has not been here all day. I sent Pani to look for her, but he has not returned."
Rose sat up in affright. How near it had been to her. Was she always to be in debt to this Indian? "Go to sleep again," he said, in a low tone. "We shall have no more alarms to-night. I am keeping watch. I would give my life to save you from harm." Wanamee drew the trembling, shrinking figure closer. Rose felt as if her heart would burst with the sorrow she could not confess.
And now you must help me to get well. Your freshness will be an elixir that is what I have wanted. Wanamee is good for a servant nurse, but I have needed something finer and better." She held out her hand and Rose pressed it to her lips. It was bony, showing swollen blue veins, and had a clammy coldness that struck a chill to the rosy lips. "Did you like them at the Héberts?
"Art afraid? Well, I promise nothing shall harm thee. Lie down again. I will send Wanamee with the word. Will it make thee happy content?" The child looked at her hostess as if she was studying her, but her intellect had never been roused sufficiently for that.
In one of the Sieur's books there is a story of some people who believed there was a spirit in everything. There were gods of the waters, of the trees, of the winds, and the Indians are much like them. I've never found any of their gods, have you?" "No" rather reluctantly. "But Wanamee has. And sometimes they bring back dead people." "Then they don't always eat them," and the boy laughed.
Pani had been so much with women that he had lost many of the virile Indian traits. Yes, they would go, but Wanamee did not quite approve of the journey. No one could tell how deep a snow would set in. "But it will be only a six days' journey, and most of it through the forests. Savignon will be an excellent guide. And no one must speak of the great sorrow that awaits him here."
And the men there are officers and counts and marquises, and their habiliments are well, I can't describe them so you would understand, but a hundred times finer than those of the Sieur de Champlain. And the women oh, if I had worn a ball dress yesterday, you would have been speechless." She laughed again gayly at the child's innocence. And just then Wanamee came in with the broth.
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