When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) Read Online Free Page A

boxes. At first all of the supplies were stored in Wynn’s office room, but soon that was filled to overflowing and the men began to stack the boxes in our living area.
    I knew as well as anyone that the need for those supplies was now. I knew too that there simply was no other place in the village where they could be unpacked. It was unthinkable to try to sort and distribute it all in the rain.
    By the time the last of the boxes were stacked high in our small quarters, our house no longer looked like a home. Nimmie, who had been the traffic director, of sorts, found one of their boxes, and with hammer in hand, busied herself looking for dry clothes for Ian. This reminded me that, with the boxes now all inside, Wynn, too, would be able to change into dry clothes. As Wynn shut the door for the last time and the men with the teams climbed aboard to drive off, leaving deep ruts in what had been our front path, I turned to Wynn and implored him to take the time to change his wet clothes.
    He did not argue but went to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, not wanting to waste time. I mournfully watched the muddy tracks as they followed him out of the room.
    Without comment to our two guests, I went for the mop pail and the mop.
    As soon as Wynn had returned from the bedroom, looking much better and safer in dry clothes, Nimmie sent Ian in to change from his wet things.
    Wynn reached for the mop. “Here, let me, Elizabeth,” he offered, but I held on to it.
    “You have enough to do without mopping floors,” I told him. “I can’t do much, but I can at least do this.”
    Wynn looked at the heaped-up crates and nodded his head. Ian soon joined him and the two went to work. With hammers pounding and boards squeaking their protest, the sacks, tins, and cartons with their intriguing labels—flour, tea, coffee, sugar, and such— began to stack all around us.
    I looked at Nimmie, hoping she would suggest we head for her temporary cabin again, but she didn’t. Instead, she began sorting things into piles. I gathered my energy up and joined her.
    We worked for hours, and then I looked at the clock and checked with Wynn.
    “Would you like me to fix us a cup of tea?”
    He straightened rather slowly, placing a hand on the small of his back, and he too looked at the clock—seven minutes to four. We had been working without a break since our noon meal.
    “That would be nice, Elizabeth,” he answered. “We could use that.”
    I went to work on it right away. I wished I had something special to go with the tea. But the cold biscuits from the night before spread with some jam Mary had sent would help to refresh us some. Our dinner soup did not stick to the ribs for long when we were working so hard.
    The men did not sit and sip their tea. I feared they might burn their mouths, but they were soon back at their task.
    It was shortly after five when Ian went to the door and began hammering on a tin drum. What a strange way to celebrate the unpacking of the last crate of the day, I thought.
    Ian saw my questioning look and smiled a tired smile. “It’s the dinner bell,” he told me.
    “The dinner bell?” My eyes traveled again to the clock.
    “We told them that we’d call them when we got the supplies unpacked so they could come and get something to prepare for their suppers.”
    “Oh!” I nodded in understanding. Many of the Indian people probably had nothing in their homes with which to prepare a meal, except perhaps a little meat from the day before. No hunting detail would have been assigned on this day as every available back had been bent to the task of getting the crates unloaded.
    As soon as Ian’s call rang out, lines of hungry people began to form at our door and make their way through to hold out baskets, pails or pots to be filled with food for their evening meal.
    It seemed like the rain-soaked stream would never stop—and stream it truly was. My mopped-up floor was soon a river of muddy water