The sun was low when the sisters finished with the old man’s treatments. For part of them, Ziibi had been called to help. Misko-amik was sleeping now, his face relaxed. Wiinizik said, “Thank you for your kindness.”

Mitiogokaa handed the girl a pouch filled with bear grease covered plantain leaves. “Save these for winter. Use these fresh ones, before you begin your journey to the winter hunting ground.” She gave her a second pouch. She asked, “Do you remember what to do with these?”

Wiinizik said, “Yes, I chop the leaf and the root and make poultices for Nimishoomis’s joints.”

“Good, we must go now.”

“Are you sure you would not like to spend the night here? It is getting late.” Though tightly controlled Ziibi noticed a trace of longing in the girl’s voice.

Mitigomin shook her head. “No we have others to see before we too go to our winter hunting ground.”

Wiinizik hid her disappointment. She lifted brave eyes to the sisters and said, “Blessings on your journey.”

Together the sisters said, “And a blessing on yours.” They each placed a hand on Wiinizik’s stomach.

“Is the baby all right?” Wiinizik asked not even trying to hide her anxiety.

“Yes,” said Mitigomin. “This child is strong. Do not worry. The baby will wait until you reach the hunting grounds.” From her medicine bag the woman pulled another leather pouch with three knots tied in the twine around the top of it. “When your time comes. Put a pinch of this in boiled water. Make sure you use this.”

Wiinizik nodded.

Ziibi knew what this was, she had helped her father prepare it. This medicine was a mixture of four ground up dried bees mixed with alder root and golden rod. It was for a hard labor, not an easy one. Her father had taught her how to keep her face a mask when giving our prescriptions. A good Mide could convey to the patient the importance of the medicine without alarming them. She was behind the sisters and could not see their faces only Wiinizik’s. She seemed to take their words seriously.

In unison the sisters turned and faced Ziibi, their expressions betrayed nothing. Ziibi followed them out into the twilight. Wiinizik was behind them, she started to accompany them to the ladder, but Mitgokaa stopped her. “Stay and warm the stew, your man will soon be home and he will be very hungry.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Relief broke out over Wiinizik’s taunt features. Her eyes filled with light. Ziibi wondered what it was like to love a man so. Her mother’s eyes did not fill with such light for her father, nor did Miinan’s for Maang. How fortunate this woman was.

Once the sisters were in the canoe, Ziibi, with the small drum tucked in her own bag started down the ladder. She looked up at Wiinizik. Her eyes were gazing out over the sea. Ziibi felt a strange stirring in her heart. She did not know what it meant, but it was similar to what she felt whenever Mikwam was near. Was he near now? Would she see her spirit guide once she reached the sister’s village? She prayed so.

*

The island hovered in the light of the setting sun. Almost home. Ajijaak was hungry and tired. He pushed himself to go faster. Soon he would be warmed by Wiinizik’s food and her presence. He was eager for both. He slid his canoe to the place in the stone where the ladder was. The ring was slightly twisted. He had not left it so. Sudden fear raced through him. If anything had happened to Wiinizik, he would not forgive himself. He quickly tied the canoe and scaled the stone ladder. On swift legs heran up the trail. A curl of smoke was coming from the house. He pushed open the door flap, and there was Wiinizik. Her eyes lit like two signal fires when she saw him. Her face shone with her beautiful smile. In an instant she was in his arms. He could feel the movement of their child between them, he could feel the softness of Wiinizik in his arms. He had never expected such blessings to be his. He also knew, he would not raise his child on this island. They would go to live in the village when the seasons turned. He would never leave his wife again with just the company of an old man.

When he pulled away from her he did not need to ask if they had visitors. The air was still pungent with the smell of the sisters’ remedies. As Wiinizik ladled his stew into a bowl she told him in a low voice about the sisters’ visit. He could tell by the way she spoke that being able to talk with other women had helped ease her loneliness. He was ashamed at his part in her loneliness. He could not carry on normal conversations with her, and then there was his shame. The reason they did not live in the village was not only because Misko-amik did not like it, it was also because Ajijaak feared he would lose Wiinizik’s respect when she saw him among other men on a regular basis. Deep down he feared that the only reason she had loved him was because there was no one else to love on this lonely island. Now, with a baby on the way, their bond would be stronger. At least this was his prayer. He was about to sign out his decision to move to the village when he stopped. What had Wiinizik just said?

Often he treated Wiinizik’s voice like the song of the bird. Something he listened to with joy, but did not pay much attention to its content. She had just mentioned the small drum. He had worked hard on that small drum. Her chatter continued, “Yes, she looked so sad and lost. She had just left home for the first time. The way she held that drum made me know she was the owner it had been made for.”

Anger flared inside of Ajijaak. That drum had been made to hang from his baby’s cradleboard. It was supposed to be presented to the child at its naming ceremony. How could Wiinizik do this? He noticed that his partner had stopped talking. In a low voice she asked, “Why are you angry?”

With his fingers he formed the shape of the small drum and then he pointed at her bulging stomach.

“The drum was for the baby?”

He nodded.

As was her habit these days, she burst into tears. Until she had become pregnant she had not been an emotional creature, but his baby stirred up her insides. In a broken voice she said, “I am so sorry. I did not know.”

The anger left Ajijaak. He could make another drum. He held out his arms to her and held her tightly when she came to him. Her tears were warm against his neck. He ran his hand down the shining smoothness of her hair. He felt her relax in his arms. Tomorrow, when they had finished packing their canoe to go to the winter hunting ground, he would tell her about their move to the village. She was too high strung to night to give her such news.