Read Online Warbird by Jennifer Maruno - Free Book Online Page B

worse, the snow, the fleas or the dogs,” Douart said to Father Brébeuf, who stood nearby. “Not ten priests in a hundred could bear this winter life with the savages.”
    â€œWe are all instruments of God,” Father Brébeuf replied, helping Douart to his feet.
    To the haunting chant of the Pater Noster, Etienne followed a path through the snow to the river. The bright sun had melted some of the snow, but it only gave the drifts a tough top crust. He placed his feet with care; it was icy where water from their buckets had slopped.
    Using a chisel, Etienne chipped at the ice on the river until he had enough space to dip his bucket. He stared into the black hole and thought about the fish in these very cold times. As he knelt to scoop up the icy water, arrows of cold shot up his knees.
    Etienne covered the hole with snow and left the chisel beside it. Not only would he be able to find the hole again, next time it would be easier to use.
    Tsiko’s winter life took place beside the warm fires of the longhouse. Squash, beans and pumpkins filled the birch bark casks buried in the floor. Ears of corn decked the rafters, and large kettles of fish simmered. There were no set times for meals. Everyone ate when hungry.
    At night, Etienne went to the longhouse to visit with Tsiko, to listen to the men’s stories and to watch the women make clothes. He grew accustomed to the smells of rotting flesh and tanning hides.
    Kneeling on the ground, the women pushed long, sharp bones across a damp hide. Over and over they scraped tosoften the skins. Then they stitched the hides together.
    One morning, after exchanging greetings with the French sentries in the guardhouse, Etienne wondered why they continued to patrol the rampart.
    â€œMaster Gendron,” he asked as he entered, “why do the soldiers still watch?”
    At first the doctor did not answer.
    â€œThe rivers are frozen,” Etienne continued. “They cannot be watching for canoes.”
    The doctor put down his mortar and pestle. “There is never a time when we are free from the danger of the Iroquois,” he said. He stared into the contents of his mixture and paused. Then he frowned and stared off into the distance.
    Etienne moved to the fire and stirred the flames without speaking. He did not want to interrupt Master Gendron’s thoughts.
    â€œI was in Trois Rivières,” the doctor said in a low voice, “during the epidemic.”
    Etienne held his breath. Nicholas had told him that the first doctor hadn’t even made it to the mission. The Iroquois had captured him en route.
    â€œSuddenly they were everywhere, yelping and leaping about like devils.” The doctor looked at the doorway. “Two stopped at my door. One carried a flaming torch.”
    Etienne followed the doctor’s gaze. He could picture the warriors as Master Gendron described them. Their bodies shone with grease. Bands of blue and white streaked their faces. His heart filled with fear.
    â€œThe one with the torch touched the wood pile insidethe door, and it burst into flames,” said the doctor. “The other was advancing when two shots rang out, and they both lay dead at my feet.”
    â€œThen what happened?”
    Master Gendron looked at Etienne in surprise. He set about pounding his herbs with great vigour. “I left the cabin, of course,” he said. “It was on fire.”
    That day, Etienne learned to make tea from raspberry leaves and sweeten it with a few grains from a
makuk
of rough brown sugar. There were maple trees on his family farm, and Etienne wanted to learn how to collect the sap. Then he could show his father. A smile crossed his lips. How surprised his parents would be at how well he knew his catechism. Even his reading had improved.
    â€œNicholas holds the Bible in front of him,” Etienne said, “but he says the words differently each time.”
    â€œNot all boys are as clever as