Heart of the Wilderness Read Online Free PDF Page A

dead. Do you—do you know about—about what it is like to be dead?”
    She nodded slowly.
    “Have you seen anything that was—dead?” he pressed further.
    She nodded again.
    “What?” he asked her.
    “When—when Papa shoot things—they be dead,” she answered him.
    So her father had been a hunter. At least the child had an idea of what death was.
    “But nobody shoot my mama and papa,” went on Kendra, shaking her head vigorously. “They got dead in the river rapids.”
    He nodded in agreement.
    When he found his voice, he went on. “Do you know what—what happens to people who—who die?” he asked with difficulty.
    “They get buried—in the ground. They make a grave and they— they bury them in a special place so that we always know where they are.”
    He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. He knew that someone had been trying to explain to her what had happened. He was thankful for that “someone.”
    “I’m going to your old home to see—to see the graves of your mama and papa,” he told her. “So that—so that I’ll always be able to remember—where they are.”
    “Can I come?” she asked again without hesitation.
    “Do you—do you really think you’d like to do that?” He still wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.
    “I want to,” she said simply. “I want to see where they really are, too.”
    He nodded. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Weatherall about it,” he promised her. “We’ll see what she thinks.”
    He lifted her back down from the post and they turned their steps toward the Home.

    He told Mrs. Weatherall about the conversation he’d had with Kendra that afternoon. The woman said very little as she listened. Just nodded her head occasionally.
    When he finished his little account he was stroking his dark beard vigorously. “What do you think we should do?” he asked.
    She turned the question back to him. “What do you think?”
    “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. She—she seems to understand. But I don’t know.”
    “How do you feel—about visiting your Mary’s grave?” asked the woman.
    His head came up quickly. “I have to go. You know that,” he responded.
    “Why?” she asked softly.
    “Well—because—” He stopped, impatience edging his voice. He had felt that she understood him, and now she was asking this—this question to which the answer should have been so obvious.
    “I need to see her one last time.” He hesitated. “Oh, not her—I know I won’t see her. But I mean I have to—to sort of make that last contact. I have to—to know where she is—to say that final goodbye before—before I can have any rest—get on with life.”
    She did not speak. She just sat silently, letting his words hang in the air between them. Letting them echo back in the big empty space that had been Mary in his own heart and mind.
    “And Kendra?” she asked softly. “Do you think she might need that too?”
    “She’s a child,” he argued, but his tone was thoughtful. “She’s so young.”
    “But she’s also a person,” spoke Mrs. Weatherall. “A person—a very small person—with a great big loss.”
    “I don’t know,” he said after the silence between them had lingered long enough.
    “I don’t know either,” said Mrs. Weatherall. “Perhaps we’ll have to let Kendra guide us.”
    He nodded and rose to his feet. Already he knew in his heart that when he visited Mary’s grave, Kendra would be at his side.

Chapter Four
    An Exciting Adventure
    “I ’member that house.”
    There was excitement in the small girl’s voice. The building she pointed out was nothing more than a log shack along the riverbank, but the sight of something familiar seemed to please her.
    She released one hand from holding her doll and swatted at the mosquitoes that buzzed about her face, then turned her little face behind her. “Grandfather. Do you ’member it?”
    “Can’t say that I do,” he answered as he took a long stroke on the canoe paddle.