JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Book 1 of 3
Chapter 7
Before John was chosen to be a “Seeker,” he had been a graduate of the Order, an automatic social pass among the elite of the Golden Coast. A tall, wonderfully handsome, smartly dressed young officer, he would have made a fine catch for any blue blooded daughter of the Renaissance. He had been to the grand balls, he had walked the red carpet and danced with the beautiful young ladies, their hair in great braided crowns adorned with jewels. Their dresses richly embroidered, the wonderful scent of perfume all about their uncovered shoulders, their eyes painted with such skill as to be art. Their efforts had not been wasted on John Summerfield and his entourage of young officer companions. But our hero had only gotten a taste of that seemingly ample world when, to the chagrin and disappointment of many a hopeful young lady, the Order chose him to go in search of the Data Block, their ‘paradise lost.’
Laureal Emerson’s world was no paradise, particularly in winter but also in summer when swarms of blood sucking mosquitoes came out of the bogs. Not to forget that wolf packs roamed the forest, always happy to eat the ill-prepared human alive. In spite of this, however, Laureal’s life had been good thanks in large part to what Laureal’s mother and grandmother called the, ‘art of living.’ The art of living included the ability to start a fire even when snow and ice covered the earth. It included being able to build snares and catch rabbits in the dead of winter, and catch fish even when one had to chop a hole in the ice and push a net down into the river below. It included digging up caches of tasty and nutritious seeds buried by chipmunks. It meant one knew how to prepare a wide variety of game meat, fowl, and fish. It was knowing how to harvest, process and store wild wheat and rice, walnuts, hazelnuts, acorns, berries, apples and pears. It was harvesting, processing and storing an array of spices and herbs from the forest.
And there was more. With Emerson family knowledge, skill, and mastery of the forest realm, one could fill a market stall with fine fare both healthy and delicious. With their knowledge and skill, one could stock a small pharmacy with effective medicines. One could forecast the weather by looking at the sky, feeling the wind and humidity on their skin, and observing the behavior of birds and other animals. With Kasskatchen knowledge one could build a house from their immediate surroundings. A house to withstand wind, rain, and snow, its roof of birch bark and sod able to last a lifetime. From willow, Laureal could weave a basket so tight it would hold water. With her people's skill and knowledge, her mother, grandmother, and cousin made boots that surpassed even the best modern synthetic gear of the 21st Century. Laureal could make thread, rope, and nets. She knew how to make clay fired pots. Her brother knew how to make wooden plates. They could make all these things from the natural world that surrounded them. It was their survival, their art and entertainment. And in their art, there was art, sometimes realistic, sometimes abstract, brought to life with natural paints and dyes in wall hangings, pottery, and basketry. Animal figurines of ivory and onyx, sometimes with jewels for eyes. And not to forget hand-tooled leather. And of course there was storytelling. Rich sagas skillfully told by animated Kasskatchens around campfires. Natural poets that engrossed their audiences with tales that conveyed lessons of life with heartfelt gratitude for all of the above because, as we shall see, they looked upon all of it as gifts from the hands of their Creator.
Receiving and giving soft kisses, Laureal beamed up at John, “Mom suggested we take the day off.”
“That, would be wonderful,” also beaming.
Pursing her lips in contemplative fashion, Laureal shifted her eyes away before returning them to her lover, “Mom also gave a stern warning, which I believe I am to pass on to you.”
“Oh, and what would that be,” suddenly concerned.
“We are not yet married, and therefore, we are not to do as wedded couples do.”
Although not the way of the renaissance, John nodded with sincere countenance, “Yes, of course.”
“I brought lunch,” enthusiastically, “I know a special place I would like to show you. We could take your horse. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“I would like nothing more.”
Laureal turned to look back down the trail, “That basket is big and clumsy but, if you would help me, we can make a little basket to fit on my back in no time, just enough to carry what we need.”
John could only smile in wonderment.
“What?” asked Laureal, “Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, not at all! I mean, I should not feel unhorsed simply because you’ve thought ahead.” And smiling, “I like your plan.”
“I’m glad you like it,” and giving him a happy little kiss, “I’ll get my basket.”
Having fetched her basket, Laureal sat down cross legged and, as per her instructions, John cut and brought willow branches which she wove together quick and easy as a kid that had mastered shoelaces. She used her stone knife to trim the ends as she worked. John, meanwhile, having supplied her enough branches, sat to watch her progress and, finding the repetition of the weave somewhat hypnotic, he drifted in his mind to their first day working together in the aspen grove: He had scarcely gotten started with the big ax when, hearing a chopping sound, he turned to see Laureal hacking a branch off the first tree he had fallen. She had found his hatchet. He attempted to take it away, worried that she might injure herself. She refused to surrender it. It had been their first standoff. Him with an ax, her with a hatchet. A significant size disadvantage and still she managed to disarm him by explaining how, if he took the hatchet away, he would dishonor her in her world because, although most tasks were clearly divided between men and women, building large structures was shared work and, like all work, viewed as proof of value regardless of gender. He had reluctantly acquiesced even as he kept an eye on her, and the impression she made remained vivid in his mind. She had removed her cloak and was working away hacking branches from poles. Her breeches and blouse, tailored by her own hands, were made of thin but strong doe skin, soft and well fitted. It was her everyday garb, her only garb outside of one doeskin dress, each a compromise between a young woman’s desire to let the world know she’d arrived, her mother’s discerning eye, and her grandmother’s utilitarianism. Their combined efforts had produced, for lack of a better term, the classic savage look and Laureal modeled it to perfection with long legs and natural feminine curves. Her blond hair was in a copious braid as usual. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high. Her emerald eyes, being large and well-spaced, were animated with natural happiness.
Having seen his share of beauties, John doubted that Laureal knew just how beautiful she was. In his eyes she outshined them all. And best of all, she was his.
“All finished,” said Laureal, gazing lovingly at her fiancé. What had been a willow bush along the river now lay transformed into something entirely new, a wicker papoose, just there in her lap. It would serve as a backpack in their present situation, quick-made but functional nonetheless.
While Laureal transferred their lunch, John retrieved his horse from down the way and brought it alongside a modest boulder where they could easily mount up. Ellie had done what horse-people call ‘furring-up,’ meaning her coat had filled out for winter. Her riders, already in a state of bliss, found her wonderfully soft and warm.
Riding bareback, they made a brief detour to John’s camp where they picked up Ellie’s buffalo cloak (John had hung it there to air out). The cloak was more than big enough for them both, and would also serve as their picnic blanket in the warm midday.
Snug atop Ellie, Laureal held onto John and gave direction on the way ahead. At the far end of the glade, they entered an enclave of giant maple and ash. No undergrowth blocked their way. No path lay there, just a thick carpet of fallen leaves formerly buried beneath snow that had since melted away. Clean and pressed perfectly flat by the weight of the snow, leaves of faded red and gold made a smooth mosaic akin to the floor of an ancient temple. Not made from a million pieces of colored glass or stone but from the lingering magic of autumn’s glory reborn in an Indian summer. It stretched out and away amid the roots and trunks of deciduous giants while, near and far, shafts of sunlight angled down from the canopy above as though cast by an unseen hand to complete a magic spell.
Further heightening the enchantment, a sweet musky aroma rose from the decaying leaves to mildly intoxicate the lovers. Forest dwelling animals, seemingly set free from fear, came out of hiding. A pair of red squirrels scrambled out on a limb, eager perhaps to get the best seats possible, that they might see the young lovers off on their journey through life together. A pair of owls, their feathers white as snow, glided in without sound. They lit in an oak and slowly turned their heads to follow the she giant’s every step. Out of nowhere a great stag appeared in their path, its rack unquestionably that of an animal king. It gave the way to them, trotting aside but a stone’s toss before turning to watch as they passed. The young lovers shared few words but rather, they soaked it in together. And as they did, Ellie carried them with her smooth easy gait, her head held high with ears straight up, majestic queen of horses, proud walking, sure footed, eyes brightly lit by the animal spirit within.
Resting her head on the back of John’s shoulder, Laureal wrapped her arms a little tighter around his torso and softly sighed while the rhythmic motion of the she beast carried them deeper and deeper into the wood. For hours they traveled in a state of enchantment until at last the land dropped away into a shallow ravine. A crystal clear stream ran there, no more than a few feet deep and nearly narrow enough to jump with a running start. Once across the stream, the riders picked up an animal trail along the base of a rock cliff approx thirty feet in height. Through a gaping split in the cliff, they continued between worn walls of limestone up to a switchback above the cliff where the forest became a deciduous and conifer mix on a broad hillside. Further up they went until at last they emerged in a natural saddle. From there looking back through breaks in the trees, they could see the forest they had just come through, stretching out for miles.
Proceeding through the natural saddle, the lovers exited the wood to find themselves on high grassy slopes overlooking the old Saskatchewan River valley. Illuminated by sunshine, the ‘big river’ as the family called it, shown like a great silver ribbon stretching to the distant north.
“There it is, my darling,” pointing to a grassy flat nested atop a prominent outcrop, a natural balcony that overlooked the river valley, “my most favorite place in all the world.”
“Sweetheart,” turning to smile at her with delight, “it’s perfect.”
Having turned Ellie loose to graze the hillside, husband and wife-to-be laid their buffalo cloak out in the sun. And being made from two hides sewn together, it measured big as a king sized bed.
“Are you hungry, darling?” Laureal asked.
“Oh yes!” and turning to her, fearing perhaps he had spoken too soon, “Are you?”
“I am,” smiling.
Laureal sent John with a leather canteen to fetch water from a spring some seventy yards distant. Upon his return John saw their lunch laid out nicely on a reed mat the size of a large platter. The main course, smoked filets of Atlantic Salmon from the little river, the legacy of a 21st Century accident in which climate resistant salmon genetically engineered to survive a warming globe had escaped into the local ecosystem to make spawning runs in the little river a thousand years later. To explain, the salmon had been legal in 21st Century Canada and had escaped before the fall of civilization at a number of places, including the local Diefenbaker Reservoir where fishery nets had failed, thus releasing unknown numbers of ‘farm salmon’ into the massive reservoir. There the species had remained nearly undetectable for decades, their only known documentation coming from fishermen. The population grew slowly but surely over time and, after the fall of civilization, when the manmade dam failed due to lack of maintenance, the salmon easily found their way to Lake Winnipeg where they multiplied. Centuries later and they made fantastic spawning runs every fall up the Saskatchewan River and its tributaries including the little river. Of course, this is not to make a case for or against such salmon but only to explain how such a thing had happened.
Also on the lunch menu, smoked tenderloin of wild boar, another invasive species from a thousand years prior when feral pigs had nearly overrun the province of Saskatchewan. The pigs were only brought under control when, after the cataclysm, wolves moved down from the north. Rounding out the menu were fresh bread cakes made from climate resistant wheat, not genetically engineered but developed a thousand years prior by means of careful cross-breeding. The wheat, like many other species, had survived the fall of civilization and, over the course of centuries, established itself in the wild. For dessert, a pair of pears and a handful of dried haskap berries, the berries possibly being the only food we would consider both native and natural.
Blissfully ignorant of the above, our 31st Century lovers settled in for lunch. It was just past noon. The midday sun felt cozy, the autumn air mild and fresh, the breeze light, and no insects to bother them.
Sampling a bread cake, John shielded his mouth so that he might get his thought out at once, “I’ve never tasted cake this good!”
Laureal broke into a smile, “My mother and I made them this morning.”
“They’re the best!”
“My grandmother’s special recipe.”
“I must thank your grandmother, and mother, when I see them next.”
“How about tomorrow evening? We’ve made such good progress, we could quit work early and have our first family supper together as husband and wife-to-be.”
Lifting his cake as if to make a toast, “I’m in! Tomorrow evening it is!”
Beaming, Laureal harkened back in memory to a girl of fourteen, laying in her bed at night, imagining herself there in her favorite place with the man of her dreams. Things hadn’t worked out the way she’d imagined. John had not come out of a dream but a nightmare, and still, there they were and she could not help but love him.
“This is so good,” his expression that of savory delight.
Contemplating, Laureal watched as he finished his cake, “Darling?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Now that we women have moved into the longhouse; would you like to move into one of our huts? I think it would be much more comfortable for you. We could do your cooking for you. It would only be fair, what with you helping us.”
Summerfield shifted his eyes away, seemingly lost in uncertainty.
“It was only a thought,” Laureal quickly added.
“It is a very kind thought,” spoken earnestly, reaching for a piece of smoked pork. Then, lifting his eyes to her, “How about this. I will move into one of the huts providing it is okay with everyone. And I will continue to make my own breakfasts. And if you would be so kind as to continue making our lunches, then all of us can sup together like we do most nights at the long table.”
“I would like that so very much! And I am certain it will be okay,” and pausing in thought, “Having you in our camp will be especially good for Cody (now that he’s accepting you).”
When they had finished their meal, Laureal took her toothbrush and headed for the spring. No more had she done so, however, than she turned to walk backward and ask, “Are you going to clean your teeth, John Summerfield?”
“Yes,” he replied, “when I retire to my camp tonight.”
“Okay, have it your way,” and turning to walk away, “just don’t expect any more kisses today.”
Summerfield shook his head in disbelief. Then, slowly rising from their blanket, he followed her to the spring. “May I use your brush?”
“I brought one for you,” placing it in his hand.
To make them a nice pillow, John folded the end of the buffalo blanket atop a few flat rocks he had selected. He then lay down on the blanket with his head propped up on the makeshift pillow. Undoing her braid, Laureal shook her hair out and rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes turned up to his. Sharing kisses, they spoke few words there on their natural balcony above a vista so vast as to reveal the very curve of the earth itself.
The mild autumn sunshine seemed naturally accommodating and, as natural feelings grew warm between them, their kisses grew deeper. Finally John rolled up on his side and, with Laureal on her back directly beneath, set to kissing her neck. Her breathing grew heavy. His hand on her side and seemingly with a mind of its own, his fingers slowly inched up her torso until, he felt her hand close around his wrist.
“John,” said Laureal, her normally sweet voice somewhat stressed.
“I apologize,” rolling onto his back with a sigh. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” laying her head on his shoulder, “it came over me too. We just can’t…not yet.”
As they lay together, the silence played on Laureal’s mind, “John, are you okay?”
He did not reply.
She felt her chest tighten until, alas, she could scarcely breathe. “John, I would do anything to make you happy.”
He turned to her with pained eyes, “You did exactly as you should…and I am happy you did.”
Holding on to one another, a feeling crept over them both. A feeling that said they were going to be okay. And when John spoke, his voice carried a reflective tone, smooth and effortless, as if looking back in time to a place he knew well.
“Before I became Seeker I was a Graduate, and before that a Cadet. And all along the way we boys were brought up on a Code of Conduct. It was not the way of the world around us. There was no might or might not. There was no maybe or maybe not. Rather, doing what one should not do always ended the same, with the rod. And when we reached our teenage years, that included what one should and should not do in the presence of young ladies. And now that I’m older, it seems funny but I’m only now coming to understand why they thought it necessary to pound those rules into our heads.”
“I know what you mean,” lifting her head from his shoulder, her expression only a little painful. “In my world the tool of choice was a willow switch.”
John's lips turned up at the corners.
Smiling back at him with unanimity, Laureal returned her head to his shoulder and together they gazed out at the vast world before them.
Still thinking about rules, John’s thought of his quest and how he had broken one rule after another until alas, he’d lost control and gone down in a tailspin. He accepted it. He would not give up his love for Laureal. He would rather break his oath to the Order and be put to death.
“John.”
“Yes,” realizing she’d been watching him.
“What are you thinking?”
Searching for words, “I was thinking that I love you.”
“Really? You seemed so far away.”
“I was thinking about my quest, and that I love you.”
“I love you too,” warmly. And fiddling with his collar, “John, I don’t want to be selfish. I want to do all I can to help you in your quest.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. That means a lot to me. But we don’t have to talk about it today.”
“Let me say one thing, and then I’ll be quiet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Please promise me you’ll use our summer home. It’s like our place here but bigger. We call it our summer home but it’s built for year-round living. You can use it going and coming. You can fall back on it in an emergency. It has a really big hearth. I know I’ve already told you, but you can build a fire and get warm. And you can sleep off your exhaustion, which I fear may be terribly heavy on you.”
John cupped Laureal’s cheek in the palm of his hand, “I promise I will.”
Although by no means ungrateful, John Summerfield had no idea how fortunate he truly was in comparison to all other Seekers regarding his odds for success thanks in large part to the savage girl and her family. Nor did he understand that, if he succeeded in his quest, the odds were strong that the only world Laureal had ever known would end. And yet, there is reason to take heart, for their world, like ours, was not without heroes and heroines.
“You made me a promise,” a smile brightening her face.
“I will come back to you!”
“Well yes, you’d better!” And sitting up, she pushed her hair from her eyes, “but that’s not the promise I’m thinking of.”
“Oh?”
“Mr Summerfield, I showed you how Kasskatchen people dance. And you promised to show me how your people dance, except you are yet to keep your end of the bargain.”
“I haven’t had the chance,” John protested.
“Well, you have now…unless of course, you wish to renege.”
“Me…renege?” sitting up. “Not on my life.” And taking her hand, he helped her to her feet.
Leading her off their blanket and onto the grass, John placed Laureal’s hand on his arm at the shoulder, “Hold on to me there. That’s good.” Next, placing his hand on the small of her back, he took her free hand in his and drew it to his chest, “We’re going to wing-it but don’t worry,” a reassuring smile in his eyes, “I’ll lead and,” extending his hand and hers as if to promenade, “we’ll do what comes natural—
“First, let’s take one step forward,” leading her. “Good. Now two more. Good. Now three steps; left, right, left, and you turn like this,” helping her with his hands.
Giggling, Laureal spun to face him.
“You’re a natural!”
Winging it, they promenaded about in a circle atop the natural balcony. And as they went, John sang a ditty, “Ah, da-da-da. Ah, da-da-da. Oh, I once had a girl and she was good, but one of her legs was made of wood.”
“That’s awful!” dancing and giggling.
Smiling, he shrugged his shoulders as they promenaded, “Ah, da, da, da. A turkey in the straw. A turkey in the hay. A turkey in the straw. Hey! What did you say?”
Laughing and dancing, Laureal joined in, “Ah, da-da-da. Ah, da-da-da…!”
Sprite as a pair of kids on stick ponies, laughing, promenading and spinning they went atop the grassy balcony, a dance floor in the midst of a crystal blue sky. And below, all the world they could ever want or need stretching out to forever in a magnificent river valley.
They fell in one another’s arms upon their picnic blanket, her giggling, him chuckling. Then, almost unconsciously, he gathered up a handful of her hair and, lifting it to his face, inhaled her scent. She turned and, pressing her lips to his neck, began a line of gentle kisses, slowly moving towards his ear. John closed his eyes and let out a low masculine sigh. It was nearly more than he could bear. After a while, not very long at all, they once again had to restrain themselves. Then, as before, they lie in one another’s arms, looking out over the valley below.
Ellie came lumbering and, stopping before them, lowered her massive head, sniffed their feet, then continued on to graze a short distance away.
“Was she checking on us?” asked Laureal.
“Yep,” John replied.
“Probably thinks we’ve gone mad.”
“Probably,” chuckling.
“She’s so majestic.”
“Everybody loves Ellie.”
“Especially you?”
“Well, yeah. I’ve gotten mighty close to that girl.”
“And she loves you.”
“I’m not sure if horses can love us. They’re different from dogs. But I know this for certain, they know if we love them.” John turned his eyes to Laureal, “We’ve been partners for so long now, I can take her ropes off and she’ll follow me anywhere.” And chuckling, he added, “Until she sees a patch of clover, or another horse…then she’s gone.”
“That’s funny,” giggling. And turning to watch the big draft graze, “It’s surprising how smooth and easy she is to ride on.”
“Everybody gets Ellie wrong.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
“Everyone assumes that, because she’s so big, she’s also slow and cumbersome, and they’re dead wrong. From a standstill she can launch so hard and fast as to throw an unsuspecting rider off the back. And her agility can be equally surprising, if not downright astounding.”
As John continued, he became more and more animated, “She loves to run, and when she does, she just flies, doesn’t hold anything back. She’ll make the wind whistle in your ears, and the only other sound you’ll hear is the thunder of her hooves pounding the ground! And yet, up on her back, crazy as it is, with over three-thousand pounds of muscle going wild beneath, everything goes smooth and…it’s just pure joy! And in the dark of night with all the stars above, it’s like flying through space!”
Laureal felt like she was flying, not because of a horse story but because John was so full of life, absolutely full of life. She buried her cheek in his chest and held tight, “John Summerfield, I love you so!”
“And I love you, Laureal. I love you with all my heart!”
Unable to see Laureal’s face, John leaned forward a bit, “Sweetheart, are you okay?
“Yes…I’m just, really happy right now.”
“Well, if you like, when I get back from my quest, I’ll teach you to ride.”
“Oh darling, would you please!” lifting her head.
“Yes, I will,” kissing her. “I’m already looking forward to it.” And thinking further, “We’ll get one or two more horses. And they'll bear us wherever we go. And come winter we’ll build a sleigh…like a dog sled but pulled by horses with rows of seats for a whole family. On sunny winter days we’ll go sleighing on the frozen river like our own personal highway in a winter wonderland!”
“Oh John! That sounds almost too good to be true!”
“Almost, but I am certain we can make it come true.”
“Yes John…I believe we can.”
