Early the next morning the group gathered up the few tools, skins, and food in order to abandon their campsite. Mishbee hated to leave, but she was used to this nomadic way of life. Every season they followed their food supply.
“You had an uneasy sleep,” Oobata said. “It was as if something were frightening you awake every hour.”
“I’m worried about the settlers,” Mishbee answered truthfully.
Every summer they came to the coast to hunt birds and fish and gather eggs. But the coast was quickly becoming dotted with the settlers’ communities, making it more difficult for Mishbee’s people to access their coastal lifeline.
After everything was packed, Mishbee’s people huddled together with all their earthly possessions to plan their trip. “I saw them inland a little to the east,” Mishbee’s father said. “We should head west.”
The elders of the tiny council agreed, and the group decided to move westward along the coast. It was still too early to go inland where they lived during the winter, and hopefully there wasn’t a new settlement of the foreigners to the west.
The wigwams were left behind, but they would build new ones. The group headed down to the water and into their large canoes. Mishbee remembered watching her father and mother make their canoe. The Beothuks’ canoes were quite different from the settlers’ boats. They were long and had high, curved fronts and backs to protect their occupants from the ocean spray. The canoes didn’t have flat bottoms. Instead the two sides came straight up from the centre, giving the vessels a lot of depth for the unpredictable ocean waters. Rocks were placed in the centre to provide balance and moss was used to provide comfortable upholstery.
To make a canoe, Mishbee’s father stripped sheets of birchbark from the trees, and her mother sewed the pieces together to form a single sheet. Later the birchbark sheet was put on the ground and a piece of spruce was placed in the centre to form a frame. The bark had to be folded to make the sides of the canoe. Then her father strengthened the vessel with tapered poles of spruce, which her mother latched to the bark with split spruce roots. Finally, her father put crossbars in the middle to hold the canoe sides open. Mishbee recalled helping to waterproof the boat with a thick coating of heated tree gum, charcoal, and red ochre.
Now this canoe would save their lives. A half-dozen people climbed into her family’s canoe. The women and children huddled in the middle where the sides extended much wider and higher than the rest of the vessel.
“I haven’t forgotten what we talked about yesterday,” Oobata said quietly into Mishbee’s ear.
Mishbee wished that Oobata would forget.
The canoes and paddlers were efficient. Mishbee loved and feared the ocean all at the same time. It gave them food and travel, but it could also be angry and unpredictable. A great monster lived in the sea, and it was important to respect and not disturb that creature.
Travel was easy today, and they found a suitable site about an hour later in a quiet inlet. After unloading, they quickly busied themselves by building the cone-shaped summer wigwams.
A few of the younger women started digging out a round pit, slightly lower than ground level. The centre of this structure would become the fireplace. The men quickly cut down and gathered birch trees for the frame of the wigwam. Mishbee loved to latch these birch poles together. Many found it difficult, but it was one of her special talents. She was pleased as she worked skilfully and quickly. Oobata helped her, but she wasn’t as good as Mishbee. As the two sisters worked, Mishbee’s father cut birch trees and her mother attended the fire.
Oobata seized this quiet moment for conversation. “Mishbee, you can’t keep secrets from me. The spirits won’t allow it. I’m your only sister! You have to tell me what happened yesterday.”
“Won’t you give up, Oobata?”
“No, I won’t. Not until you tell me your secret.”
Mishbee continued to latch the poles together. Their conversation stopped abruptly when Dematith returned with yet another pole. Impatiently, they waited for him to leave.
Mishbee glanced around to see if anyone was close. “Oobata, the spirits want me to be quiet,” she hissed.
“I was right. Something did happen. Tell me, tell me!”
“No, Oobata, I can’t. As I said before, the spirits want me to be quiet.”
Oobata reflected for a long moment, then sighed. “If the spirits want you to be quiet, you must do as they say.”
“Thank you, Oobata,” Mishbee said, relieved.
“Let’s go get more birchbark.”
The two set out to gather layers of birchbark to tile over the wigwam. This natural shingling would protect them from the weather. Mishbee looked around as they walked about their new camp collecting bark. The rocky coastline was very rugged, and the icy ocean melted into an ominous grey sky.
When they returned, they carefully layered the bark over the frame with their mother. Oobata added some skins and furs to the exterior, leaving only a small hole at the top over the fire hole. When they were finished, the girls went inside their newly created structure to inspect it.
“It looks good,” Oobata said.
“Yes, it is good,” Mishbee said. “I like our new home.”
“We’re good building partners.”
Mishbee smiled at her sister. “And good friends.”
It was hard to believe that this small group of people could construct this temporary home in little more than an hour.
Mishbee went back outside to gather firewood and some tree boughs. She dug out a fire pit in the centre of the wigwam, then scooped out a little hollow for herself to sleep in. Mishbee lined the hole with several boughs and a caribou skin. She was looking forward to curling up in her new bed tonight.
They finished setting up the new camp just in time. The sky grew quite dark, and before long rain fell in great sheets. Lightning illuminated the sky and the thunder spoke. The small band of people eagerly took refuge inside their wigwams.
“When the sky is blue, it’s bluer than the sea,” Oobata said to Mishbee, “but when it’s grey, it’s truly dismal.”
Mishbee heard the pelting rain hit the birchbark exterior. She was grateful that her father had already started a fire in the centre of the wigwam.
“Yes, it’s certainly a dismal night outside,” Mishbee said. But it wasn’t dismal inside the wigwam. She stared at the flickering fire as the flames danced and cast warm shadows on the faces of her family. She didn’t care that it was pouring outside. The past two days had been long and tiring for her. The hours had been filled with hard work, terror, and travel. It was a great relief just to sit around the fire in the comfort of her family’s shelter.
Mishbee’s mother had taken a cormorant that her father had caught and skewered it to roast it on the fire. Mishbee took some of the berries she had picked the day before and ate them with the pieces of flesh off the bird. It felt good to eat, good to be here, and good to be alive.
“Mishbee,” her father said as soon as they finished their supper, “you worked well today. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said, pleased with herself.
“You’re a good girl.”
That night Mishbee curled up into a very contented ball. Unlike the previous evening, she closed her eyes and slept well.