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every quarter mile." Vincent reported upon his return "They're betting we're somewhere south of
this point and that they can flush us into their net."
"So we're stuck here," Cyril concluded.
"No. There is bend in the road about a half a mile up. It creates a blind spot between two of them
when they walk to the furthest point of their patrol. We may have to wait awhile, but I think we
can get across if we're quick about it."
We tracked silently to the vantage point and waited in the bush for our opportunity. The sun was
quickly setting through the white haze of snow
"I'll go first and signal for Meya' and then for you." Vincent scuttled across the road and plunged
into the ditch. I waited, my heart pounding in my ears and then sprang forward when I heard his
muffled voice through the snow. Pain seized me in the middle of the road and I dropped to my
knees breathless. I struggled to get up but could not find the strength. Vincent and Cyril
converged on me just as one of the point men rounded the corner. The shot whistled through the
snowflakes high above our heads. They hauled me to my feet and we bolted into the tangled ditch
on the other side. We lay flat and listened as they called out to one another, running to where we
had crossed.
"She's in hard labour now, Vincent." Cyril pleaded.
"No. I can still go on." I spat in my defense.
Vincent looked from Cyril to me and then searched the road for signs of the enemy.
"The deeper we get into the bush, the better our chances." He whispered. They supported me on
either side as we stole into the thick scrub. Once there, he hollowed out a spot and had Cyril and I
crawl into it. "You stay here. I'll lead them away and then circle back. It may take a few hours. If I
am not here by daybreak, make your way to the creek again and follow it north to the cabin. I'll
meet up with you there." He smiled his cocky young buck smile and then slipped silently into the
swirling snowfall. For a few moments we could hear him brushing away our snowshoe prints.
Pain seized me again and I clutched silently at Cyril's coat for support. All around us we could
hear voices and movement in the snow. "Over here" One of them called. "There's fresh prints
over here." Their footfalls went off to a spot removed from our hiding place. "Looks like he's
headed in that direction. Let's go."
We lay huddled together like fawns in the grass, as the movement and the voices melted away into
the distance. Cyril ventured a peek outside our brush cover as I struggled to all fours.
"Lie down, Annie."
"No, I feel better like this." As I sat upright and back onto my knees, I felt a warm and wet
sensation slide down my inner thighs. It only confirmed what I already knew was happening.
"Cyril, the child is coming."
Pain gripped me again. I shoved my fist into my mouth to stop the scream from emerging and
then fell forward. "Blanket." I managed as the contraction mounted across my back. I listened
through the pain as he spread it beside me and then touched my shoulder. I rolled onto it. The
pain had subsided. Cyril reached under my petticoats for my underwear and rolled them down
over my hips. They felt cold and clammy. When they emerged in Cyril's hands I could see them
soaked in pinkish fluid.
"It's your water, Annie. Nothing to be worried about."
Night fell quickly like a protective shroud over us and for the next long while I careened between
two worlds. Cyril kept vigil, rubbing his knuckles hard into my back when the contractions came,
mopping the sweat from my forehead when they gave me respite. In the mist rising from the snow
I saw my mother form beside us, smiling, singing a windsong into the night. Behind her, my father
emerged with a plait of burning tobacco. He fanned it toward me with a long goose feather. How
I wanted to call out to them. But voices deep inside my head told me to be silent.
Vincent appeared in the midst of my mother and father and moved forward to stroke my cheek.
"I am here now Meya'." He wrapped his arms around me, whispered power words into my ear,
and guided me into a squatting position between his legs. My pain soared into the night, up into
the clearing sky and the stars that winked out from behind dark rushing clouds. My body bore
down, pushed outward, opened up to Muzzu-Kummik- Quae, the earth mother in her snowy
mantle. The wind rushed in my ears and through the branches of the thicket. The warmth of
Vincent's arms encased me, the smell of the forest in his snowy hair strengthened me.
"I can feel its head now, Annie. Stop pushin' for a moment so I can check for the chord." Cyril
whispered from somewhere close. I bit my lip and willed my muscles to stop while his hands
moved inside me.
"It's not around his neck. But I'll keep my hands on his shoulders just in case. Okay Annie, push
hard now."
I clenched my teeth and bore down with all my might. At some point I heard a whimper.
"Keep pushin', Annie, only his shoulders left," Cyril whispered.
And then it was over.
"You have a son." Cyril laughed. "And he's a good-sized healthy baby."
"You did it, Meya'." Vincent buried his face into my neck. I laughed to feel the tickle of his warm
breath against my skin.
Cyril rubbed the tiny form vigourously with his spare shirt until it called out for him to stop.
Careful to keep the chord from tangling, he wrapped the baby in the blanket and handed it to me
as I relaxed against Vincent's chest. The boy baby stared wide-eyed into the sky where the stars
winked their approval. Suddenly the aurora burst out above us, like a bird flexing its broad wings.
"Gitchi-Manitou has sent a name to this child." Vincent whispered. "He calls him Weza'wange."
I nodded as I reached for his hunting knife. Cyril took it from me and washed it in the fresh-fallen
snow. Vincent tore a piece of rawhide from his beaded hilt and wrapped it tightly around the
chord a couple of inches from the baby's belly. Cyril handed me the knife so I could separate the
baby from my body.
"Wesa...." Cyril tried to repeat the Ojibway word.
"Weza'wange." I smiled to him.
"What does it mean?"
"Yellow Wing," Vincent answered.
"Let's see about deliverin' the afterbirth now." Cyril whispered. "You'll have a few more cramps,
Annie. Just bear down when your body tells you."
At the first brightening of the sky we gathered our packs together and prepared to leave the
thicket. I tied the baby across my chest with Cyril's spare shirt and then covered myself in layers
to keep him warm and secure. Vincent approached me as I finished wrapping the deep red
afterbirth in several large rubbery leaves.
"Bury it so the Wayaabishkiiwed will not find it."
"No, it is manitou," I replied and I stuffed it into my pack.
Along the way to the creek we took time to lay false trails and diversions so that our pursuers
would lose themselves in the snow. Once there, we removed our snowshoes and waded upstream
in the shallow water to leave no trail at all. Mercifully, the day had turned bitter cold, enough to
freeze the still-flowing creek water to ice on our feet and keep us dry. Weza'wange slept for most
of the journey and when he did wake to feed, he looked quietly to me as if he knew that his very
survival depended on his silence.
We reached the cabin an hour after sunset. Liam Connell had left wood to dry by the hearth and
plenty of clean blankets and pillows on the two rope beds. I went outside and filled the kettle with
snow as Cyril and Vincent lit the fire. At last we could shed our ice-etched clothes for the warm,
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