Spuzzum, 1888
A whisper of cold wind brought the refreshing smell of snow to Amelia's waiting nostrils. Her stance atop the ridge, solidly watching and waiting as the sun drew away from the mountaintops, would have gladdened any husband's heart; but as yet there was no sign of Cataline, no echo of hooves upon the canyon walls.
She stood so until the darkness gloomed everything but the very tips of the snowcaps, and the wind raised a howl, which sent her near shivering down the trail to the warm glow of her home.
Her peoples five winter pit houses sprawled comfortably alongside the clear tumbling waters of Spuzzum Creek. An aura of laughter and song enveloped her as she trotted along to her family dwelling, sniffing hungrily at the smoky salmon aroma as she neared the entranceway.
The keekwillies, as they were called, were all built on the same principle and plan. Aside from its location, only someone who had helped lay every pole and branch, and lived in it every day, could tell one pit house from another.
Amelia had helped to scrape away every bit of last year’s ash, bark, and dirt build-up before reconstructing the all-important frame and roof of her family keekwilly. The main dug-out pit and postholes were used year after year, generation upon generation, but the roof itself was upgraded annually to withstand the often windy, always cold Fraser Canyon winters.
Now her feet took her unerringly to the familiar dirt and pine-covered roof. She called out a word of warning before she descended the notched log protruding from the smoke hole, allowing the cooks time to protect the food from any debris her skirts might brush downward as she entered.
" Mama! Mama!" her children cried, running to hug her as she reached the bottom of the log. Amelia stooped to hug them, and her mother sent her an inquiring look. She shook her head, and shrugged in puzzlement. Cataline should have been here yesterday, and most certainly by today, but he was a busy man, and could have been delayed by many things. Amelia was not worried, just wishful.
Cataline was the best-known and favourite packtrainer and trader around, and she knew he would be home when he got there. He had just arrived in Spuzzum four days ago on his way through to winter his horses and mules at Yale, stopping only a few brief hours of the night. They had not seen each other for two months, and their eager greeting had been as silent as possible in their little family corner of the pit house while everyone slept. He had promised to return by yesterday, in plenty of time for the Christmas Eve celebration. She had expected him before dusk for two days now, and she wished desperately that he would appear.
The women of her family were busy putting the finishing touches on the Christmas Eve dinner. Wooden platters of bannock waited as roasted birds received their final browning on sticks over the fire. Several soups and stews stayed warm beside the heated rocks, including Amelia's own specialty, dry fish and wild potato soup. Her mother, shwat’pet’kwn, spooned some of her venison and brown mushroom (chanterelles) stew into a bowl for her to taste.
Amelia smacked her lips appreciatively, then said, " You need more mushrooms."
Shwat'pet'kwn nodded and told her " I need some of your good white ones (pines) for the best flavour."
Amelia hurried to comply with her mother's request. She had a talent for finding and curing the best mushrooms, which were always in demand, and her opinion on food was unfailingly accurate; everyone trusted her taste buds for the final touches. A handful of Amelia's dried white mushrooms would turn her mother's mowitch stew into a delicacy.
Amelia gave each of her children a spoonful of their granny's stew, then waylaid their hunger with little huckleberry-pemmican cakes and a stick of dried salmon.
(This italicized part was not included in the story as my Writers Guild found the details confusing and unnecessary to the story.)
Amelia's children were not all her own; the oldest was Henry James, as we know him in English, her brother's only child so far; a future chief whose mother had gone away from her husband and infant son. As far as little Henry knew, his Auntie Amelia was his only mother.
Her next two children were sons; William Graham was from her first husband of the same name. William Benjamin was the son of Cataline, her present husband and the absolute love of her young life. It was beyond her to ask why the missionaries had named both of her sons William, but that did not matter, they had their own proper Indian names.
Rhoda was the baby, and an added joy to her mother's life. Barely a toddler, Rhoda shone as Cataline shone. Flashing white teeth and thick black curls; mesmerizing dark eyes captured her soul as she looked into them. The Creator had blessed them both, physically, mentally, and spiritually, and knowing this, Amelia prayed her thanks to happy fate.
She took her children to their corner and dressed them in their best. She had fine garments of doeskin for them, but over these she put the white man's clothing Cataline had brought. It seemed that the main concern at church was to look as much like the white people as possible.
As she was combing their hair she heard a commotion outside, and hurried to tuck the children into their furry boots and parkas. The chiming of a lovely bell was growing closer as she ushered them up the log stairway into the cold night. Placing Rhoda into the cradleboard and hoisting it onto her back, she grabbed her pot of soup and a basket of bannock, and rushed up and outside, not wanting to miss any of the excitement of the Eve.
Reverend George Ditcham had walked down from the church to call his flock to the Christmas Eve Mass. He was ringing his hand-held bell, with its enchanting tone, and when a suitably large crowd had gathered, he announced that the Celebration of Christ was soon to begin.
After a solemn service, the reverend led beautiful carols sung in English, accompanied by the few white men in the church. Soon after, everyone got to feast on the carefully prepared food supplied by the devoted women.
The men in black, Oblate priests, showed up to enjoy the feast; then told the people that their souls would be secure if they only came to Mass at the new Catholic Church just up the hill.
Everyone dutifully followed the priests, even the Anglican minister, who could not miss out on anything, even a rival church service.
Amelia enjoyed a little chuckle at the religious men vying for their souls; did they not know that if a person was good, they were just good? Why did one have to choose between one version of God and another? The Creator was the same; it was just men's foolish aspects that made their views of him (or her) different.
After a hushed and reverent mass in the tiny Catholic Church, everyone exited into freshly falling snow. Despite the solemn tone of the services, Amelia was feeling quite jovial on her way back home, due, no doubt, to the freshness of the weather and the happiness of belonging to such a loving community. Joking with her mother as she was passing by the Anglican Church she laughed to see familiar-looking horses in a shoving match, attempting to get out of the wind and close to the warmth of the church.
It only took a split second to dawn on her. Cataline's horse! " He's home!" she shouted.
She raced to the church door and rushed in, several excited children in her wake.
There was her own Cataline standing there, as handsome as could be, roaring with laughter and filling himself with leftovers from the feast. Obviously the Reverend Ditcham and he had just shared a joke, despite the language barrier he struggled through with most Europeans. Of course, the Rev. Ditcham was growing fairly fluent in Chinook Jargon, the universal trading language of Western Canada.
Cataline's grin broadened when he set eyes on her, and he shot her a special, secret look just before he was mobbed by the children; his, hers, and everyone else's. He tousled a few heads before the men reached him, slapping his back and calling greetings of warm welcome. Finally he had a moment to reach out and draw her close to him in a happy hug, and then to turn her around for a look at his little daughter. " Mon chere', Mon bebe." he crooned softly, kissing the sleepy cheeks.
Everyone waited while Cataline and his two men, who had taken wives from among their people, ate their fill of the ample food still left on the table. Then they watched in delight as the newcomers hauled out gifts that they had brought for their families.
Amelia's grandparents, Chief Kowpelst and his wife, were the first to receive their gifts of blankets, pots, flour, sugar and rice. Her parents, telxkn and shwat’pet’kwn got similar items. For the children in his own family he brought each of the boys a wide-brimmed hat and a carved wooden toy horse and rider; and presented his little daughter, now wide awake, with a wonderful rag doll with finely carved features on its wooden face, hands, and feet. The other children, to their great pleasure and excitement, all received candy and whistles.
What a rich and generous man!
Everyone exclaimed over the gifts, and waited to see what he had brought for Amelia. His two men went out to the horses, and returned carrying a small wooden trunk between them. They set it down in front of her, and she stared at the brass clasps, suddenly shy in front of the crowd. She looked to Cataline, and he came to her rescue, kneeling beside her to unlatch the latches.
She caught her breath as he lifted the lid for her. Peeking out from under some rich red cloth was the blue and white edge of a large platter. The cloth felt smooth and heavy in her fingers as she moved it aside to inspect the dish. It was white with blue scenes on it, like nothing she had ever seen before. It would be years before she learned the name of this crockery as Blue Willow, but she was enthralled with the pattern. As she lifted the platter to show everyone, the red material fell away to reveal more dishes that looked just like the first.
Her relatives and friends oohed and aahed as she removed each piece. They had never seen a set of china before, in fact most were used to using wooden or tin utensils. They passed each piece around as reverently as if it were a holy object, and congratulated Amelia on her great fortune. Then, right at the bottom, just when she thought that was all; she discovered a set of silver cutlery that flashed brightly in the glow of the lanterns.
Amelia was overcome with silent tears of happiness, and the people smiled at each other, averting their eyes to avoid embarrassing her.
Cataline soon distracted her when he gathered up the bright red material to show her how long it was, and how many garments she could make out of it. Before long he was twirling it around her, then dancing her around in it. Everyone clapped and danced and celebrated into the night.
It was late when they returned to the pit house, Cataline and Amelia carrying the two younger children and his two men packing the precious crate. After the men left and the children were abed, she would give him the exquisitely crafted gifts she had made him; gauntlet gloves, moccasins, leggings and shirt, all made of deerskin and beaded in matching designs. Then he would tell her again of the cabin he would be building for her in the spring.
This would be Amelia's last winter in a pit house, and so then it was to be her last Christmas in one. How happy she was that it was such a one she would remember so well.
By Irene Bjerky
Copyright to Irene Bjerky
The characters in this story were real people. Amelia, or c’ey’kn as she was called by her people, was my great-great-grandmother, and Jean ‘Cataline’ Caux was her second husband. I have confirmed that Amelia did own a set of Blue Willow china, and that she always wintered in pit houses before living in a cabin on the banks of Spuzzum Creek. I cannot confirm that the china was given to her by Cataline, or if he was the one who built her the cabin. Cataline and Amelia, however, were together for many years, and even after he left he always sent support money for his family. They must have had some wonderful Christmases together, so I took literary licence and made one happen.
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