The Place Beyond the Winds | Page 2

all the other happenings in that
spot known to the Canadian Indians as The Place Beyond the
Wind--the In-Place.
Across Priscilla's straight, young shoulders lay a yoke from both ends
of which dangled empty tin pails, destined, sooner or later, to be filled
with that peculiarly fine water of which Nathaniel Glenn was so proud.
Nathaniel Glenn never loved things in a human, tender fashion, but he
was proud of many things--proud that he, and his before him, had
braved the hardships of farming among the red, rocky hills of Kenmore
instead of wrenching a livelihood from the water. This capacity for
tilling the soil instead of gambling in fish had made of Glenn, and a
few other men, the real aristocracy of the place. Nathaniel's grandfather,
with his wife and fifteen children, had been the first white settlers of
Kenmore. So eager had the Indians been to have this first Glenn among
them that it is said they offered him any amount of land he chose to
select, and Glenn had taken only so much as would insure him a decent
farm and prospects. This act of restraint had further endeared him to the
natives, and no regret was ever known to follow the advent of the
estimable gentleman.
The present Glenn never boasted; he had no need to; the plain
statement of fact was enough to secure his elevated position from mean

attack.
Nathaniel had taught himself to read and write--a most unusual
thing--and naturally he was proud of that. He was proud of his stern,
bleak religion that left no doubt in his own mind of his perfect
interpretation of divine will. He was proud of his handsome
wife--twenty years younger than himself. Inwardly he was proud of that,
within himself, which had been capable of securing Theodora where
other men had failed. Theodora had caused him great disappointment,
but Nathaniel was a just man and he could not exactly see that his
disappointment was due to any deliberate or malicious act of
Theodora's; it was only when his wife showed weak tendencies toward
making light of the matter that he hardened his heart.
In the face of his great desire and his modest aspirations--Theodora had
borne for him (that was the only way he looked at it) five children--all
girls, when she very well knew a son was the one thing, in the way of
offspring, that he had expected or wanted.
The first child was as dark as a little Indian, "so dark," explained
Nathaniel, "that she would have been welcome in any house on a New
Year's Day." She lasted but a year, and, while she was a regret, she had
been tolerated as an attempt, at least, in the right direction. Then came
the second girl, a soft, pale creature with ways that endeared her to the
mother-heart so tragically that when she died at the age of two
Theodora rebelliously proclaimed that she wanted no other children!
This blasphemy shocked Nathaniel beyond measure, and when, a year
later, twin girls were born on Lonely Farm, he pointed out to his wife
that no woman could fly in the face of the Almighty with impunity and
she must now see, in this double disgrace of sex, her punishment.
Theodora was stricken; but the sad little sisters early escaped the
bondage of life, and the Glenns once again, childless and alone, viewed
the future superstitiously and with awe. Even Nathaniel, hope gone as
to a son, resignedly accepted the fate that seemed to pursue him. Then,
after five years, Priscilla was born, the lustiest and most demanding of
all the children.

"She seems," said Long Jean, the midwife, "to be made of the odds and
ends of all the others. She has the clear, dark skin of the first, the blue
eyes of the second, and the rusty coloured hair and queer features of the
twins."
Between Long Jean and Mary Terhune, midwives, a social rivalry
existed. On account of her Indian taint Long Jean was less sought in
aristocratic circles, but so great had been the need the night when
Priscilla made her appearance, that both women had been summoned,
and Long Jean, arriving first, and, her superior skill being well known,
was accepted.
When she announced the birth and sex of the small stranger, Nathaniel,
smoking before the fire in the big, clean, bare, living-room, permitted
himself one reckless defiance:
"Not wanted!" Long Jean made the most of this.
"And his pretty wife at the point of death," she gossiped to Mrs.
McAdam of the White Fish Lodge; "and there is this to say about the
child being a girl: the lure of the States can't touch her, and Nathaniel
may have some one to turn to for care and what not when infirmity