Kootenay Silver

curious.

Chapter One

Addy! A-a-d-d-y-y!

Her stepfather’s bellowing voice resounded over the treetops. Addy shrank lower in the tall grass. She fixed her eyes on a small marmot a few paces away, sitting on its haunches, tiny hands clasping a blade of grass that was gradually disappearing inside the bulging cheeks. Its beady eyes stared back.

Wish I could just crawl into a hole in the ground like him, she thought.

A-a-d-d-y-y-y!

The voice was closer now and more insistent. On hands and knees she crawled rapidly toward the grove of tall cottonwoods. If she could make it there she could shimmy up the backside of her favourite big tree and climb high in its branches. He’d never think to look up. He had a hard enough time watching where his feet were going, never mind anything above his head.

She was halfway to the grove when she heard him splashing clumsily across the small stream that meandered through their property. Good, she thought, I have plenty of time to make it to the trees.

Still, she crawled a little faster, thankful for the heavy denim pants she wore. They’d belonged to her brother, Cask, and were more than a little too large. But a few good turns at the ankle and a rope through the belt loops to keep them up gave Addy something to wear. She missed Cask. Wearing his pants made her feel a little closer to him.

She reached the cottonwood just as her stepfather rounded the curve at the top of the hill and started across the field. Addy was praying he wouldn’t see her trail in the tall grass.

Ducking behind the cottonwood, she grasped the lowest branch and swung herself up, taking care to stay out of his view. She climbed the branches like a ladder, slithering quietly to avoid rustling the leaves. The second branch, then the third, until finally she reached the thick, gnarled limb that twisted and turned out over the ground space beneath her. It was massive, broad enough for her to lay prone, flattening her lean body against its rough bark, moulding to its contours until a roving eye could not distinguish between tree and girl.

She heard his muffled footsteps coming closer, heard the tall grass as it slid past the legs of his heavy canvas pants. His breathing was laboured from the hike up the hill and across the grassy field, and intensified by his anger at not being able to find her. Addy laid her flushed cheeks against the cool bark, pressed her body closer, and willed her own breathing to slow. She could make out his greasy hair with the balding spot as he passed beneath her, cursing under his breath.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he began to walk in wide circles. Know yer out here somewheres, girl, he growled. Can’t hide forever, y’know. Sooner or later ya gotta come home. Gotta eat. He chuckled to himself. And when y’do, I’ll tan yer stinkin’ hide fer ya!

Addy shivered. She knew just what he meant and she cringed in fear. With a loud belch, the figure beneath the trees stumbled back, mumbling incoherently, and Addy released her tightly guarded breath in a soft rush.

She lay against the branch for what seemed like an eternity. She knew she would have to make her way home sooner or later. If she waited long enough he’d pass out and she’d be able to sneak into the house. It would take a bolt of lightning to wake him after that. At the rate he’d been drinking that day she figured it wouldn’t be too much longer before he was out for the night. Below her the evening breeze stirred the tall grass and the fat marmot that had followed her stared up at her curiously. Twilight was casting its long shadows when Addy, stiff from inactivity, made her way down from her perch. Her stepfather was right about one thing: she was hungry and wanted to eat. But it wouldn’t be the first time she had gone without food.

She reached the ramshackle cabin called home just as darkness was setting in. She could see the twinkling lights of town in the valley. She thought of the kids in town, safe and warm in their beds. Don’t know how lucky you are, she thought. She tiptoed up the path that led to the back door and pushed gently on it, trying to avert the inevitable creak that always emanated from its hinges. She opened it just far enough to poke her head inside. It was quiet except for the rattling snore escaping from the inert figure on the filthy couch. She breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the door all the way open, slipping inside.

The lamp on the kitchen table had died down to a soft glow, enough for her to see her way to the cupboards. Didn’t matter — she could make her way around any room in the house without light. She was used to scouring the cupboards for food in the dark. She spied a half-eaten can of beans on the counter, probably abandoned by the old man. She found a dirty fork in the sink, wiped it on her pants, and wolfed down the contents of the can. Shielding the top of the glass chimney on the lantern with her hand, she blew out the light with a soft puff of breath then picked her way to the ladder that led to the loft.

Her bed was an old buffalo coat on the floor, covered by a dirty, grey woollen blanket. The coat was smelly but warm. Addy crawled beneath the blanket, not bothering to remove her clothes. She stared at the ceiling while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the silence broken only by the sounds of the old man’s snoring. As she waited for sleep, she thought of Cask.

She imagined he was snuggled in a warm, dry bed with a thick homemade quilt, perhaps in one of the rooming houses in town, paid for with the money he’d earned on the paddlewheelers. Maybe he’d bought a pair of boots and a new coat for winter.

Why hadn’t he come back for her?

She’d taken to trapping squirrels so she’d have something to eat. Setting the string snares the way Cask had shown her and skinning them with the knife they had hidden beneath the painted rock.

The old man went to town only once a month to get supplies and the food soon ran low. She rose early in the mornings, did what chores needed to be done — laundry, hauling water, or firewood — then disappeared for the day, returning only when he had passed out for the night.

Images of the night Cask left crowded her mind. She tried to push them away but they wouldn’t go; her enraged stepfather towering over Cask, a broad stick in his hand. Cask was no stranger to his stepfather’s brutal beatings, but that time it was different.

Addy had rushed to his side when the old man left the house and helped him up the ladder to their loft. She laid him on the old buffalo coat and covered him, then brought water and cleaned his wounds. Cask shivered and moaned. When he finally drifted off to sleep, Addy snuggled beside him, getting as close as she could to his warm body.

She was woken sometime later.

Addy, Cask had said. Wake up.

What is it? she’d murmured, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Addy, I’m leaving.

Cask — no! You can’t go! Don’t leave me! Addy had cried, coming fully awake.

I have to. I can’t stay here any longer with him.

But where will you go?

"I’m not sure. I just know I have to go. Maybe I’ll get a job on the paddlewheelers, I hear they’re hiring on the Moyie."

But you’re not old enough, you have to be fifteen!

I’m big for my age. I can pass, easy.

Please take me with you, Addy had pleaded.

I can’t. Not now. I’ll send word as soon as I get some money. I won’t forget about you, I promise.

Cask! Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me here with him!

Don’t worry, he won’t be as hard on you. You’re a girl and you’re younger. Besides, he always says you remind him of Mom. He’ll go easy on you. He’d pulled her into his arms and held her close, smoothing her hair.

Please, Cask, please! she’d begged. She held him tightly, refusing to let him go. After a while he pulled her arms from around his neck and held her hands in his.

I promise you, Addy, I’ll be back for you, he’d whispered. Then he was gone.

In the darkness she’d cried deep, uncontrollable sobs that robbed her of breath. Please don’t leave me, she’d whispered. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

~*~

That had been five months ago and still she had heard no word. From her favourite spot in the old tree she could watch the paddlewheelers as they plied the waters of Kootenay Lake. She imagined he might be on one, working hard and saving his money so he could send for her. She missed him terribly. He was all she had in the world since their mother had died.

Addy’s memories of her mother were vivid, though she had only been eight and Cask ten when their mother had died giving birth to their little brother. Helen Block, a neighbour woman, had come to help with the birth. She had been their neighbour, but she was no midwife. After three pain-racked days, she knew enough to tell Addy’s stepfather that the doctor was needed. The baby wasn’t coming out on its own, it needed to be turned. But her stepfather had refused to let the doctor come, because the doctor was a man. He’d bellowed, Ain’t no man goin’ to see my wife naked.

Helen didn’t know what to do. She was afraid the labouring mother would die without help. She wanted to try and turn the baby herself, but she knew she would need something to lubricate her hands. She asked the old man if he had any skin cream in the house. He replied that he didn’t, but she could use the bacon grease. She sent Addy to fetch the filthy tin from above the stove. Desperate, Helen rubbed it on one hand, took a deep breath, and reached inside.

She felt the tiny body squirming in her hand and, applying pressure with the other hand on the stomach, she grasped the baby tightly and gave it one good turn. It had been a gamble, but it had worked. Within the hour, the tiny, squirming boy was delivered into her hands, and an exhausted, thankful mother dropped into a much needed sleep.

He was funny looking, Addy remembered. Awfully small, and he made strange noises. Her mother had named him Abel and let Addy hold him. Addy looked down at the wiggling bundle in her arms. He was wrinkled and he squeaked like a newborn puppy. Addy giggled when he wrapped his hand around her finger and clenched it tightly. Tired, her mother watched with a weak smile. Helen agreed to stay until she got her strength back.

On the second day she developed a fever, which got worse toward evening. She tossed and turned, moaning, as the sweat glistened on her flushed face. Addy sat by the bed and held her hand, but by the next day her mother barely knew Addy was there.

She’s got the milk fever, Addy, Helen told her. It happens sometimes. She’ll get better.

But she didn’t. Her body swelled and her skin turned black. Four days after the birth, Addy’s mom died.

Helen had cried with Addy and Cask. Their stepfather had been drunk since the baby was born and didn’t seem to care that his wife was gone. They dug a grave up on the hill and placed her tired, worn body inside. Helen took the two children aside. Your mama’s gone and there’s no one to take care of the baby. His father doesn’t want him. He can’t stay here, she said.

But we want him, Addy said, looking at Cask, who nodded in agreement. We can look after him. He has to stay — he’s our baby.

"You’re just a child yourself, Addy. You can’t be raising a baby. Lord knows you’ll have enough just taking care