Jessie Lascaux parked her pickup truck in the shade of a great spruce. She turned off the car, and the sound of the engine died down. She remained still for a few moments, soaking in the sudden silence.  

In the mirror, she could see the bluish sheen of her black hair. Her eyes were gray. People often told her there was something eagle-like about her face.  

She didn’t lock the truck as she exited. There was never anyone here. She followed the road to the cemetery at the top of the hill. The graves were overgrown with weeds.  

She found the graves she was looking for and cleared the weeds off. In the summer heat, Jessie wiped the sweat off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. Then she lit a candle and put wild roses on the graves.  

She knew most of the graves well. They were her ancestors: a long line of English, French, and Native names. Yet there were two gravestones at the very beginning of the line she knew nothing about. The date was worn away by the weather, but the names were still readable: Kimi and Pierre Lascaux. 

Kimi advanced through the bushes, an antique rifle in her hands. She moved soundlessly in her leather clothes. Mere moments had passed since she heard the first screams. She spotted a meadow through the dark trees. Far below, the river rushed past.  

In the middle of the sunlit meadow, two shapes struggled. One shape was black, stocky, and covered with fur. It was grunting and growling. The other shape was bright, tall, and slender. It was a man! And he was screaming.  

Kimi didn’t want to shoot the man, so she aimed wide on purpose. There was a loud crack, and smoke erupted from the gun’s barrel. The bear recoiled in terror and ran for the trees. She took aim once more, but the animal was too fast.  

Her ears were ringing. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of gunpowder. The man was lying on the grass, groaning softly. One of his trouser legs was black with blood.  

Kimi realized he was wearing jeans, boots, and a light blue shirt. The importance of what she had done suddenly overwhelmed her. The man’s face was pale and freckled. His eyes were gray. She had saved a white man. A murderer. An enemy. 

Fortunately, there was no time to think. The man was bleeding out rapidly. Thinking would have to wait. Kimi grabbed his leg above the knee and pressed down. The man screamed loudly. She wrapped his leg tightly with a scarf.  

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Nevertheless, he said, “Thank you.” 

Kimi knew some English, but the way this man spoke it was different. 

“Your name?” she asked. 

“Pierre,” the man said. The “r” sounds came from the back of his throat. 

“I’m Kimi. Here, grab my hand.”  

She helped him to his feet.  

“Oof,” she groaned. The man was two heads taller than Kimi and very heavy. She put his arm around her neck and helped him limp toward the trees. 

“No,” he said. “The other way.” 

“Where is your camp?” she asked. “I can’t go there. They’ll do horrible things to me. Kill me.” 

“No,” he replied. “No camp. Boat. The river… It was too fast. I crash there,” he explains in broken English. “The men leave me there. They take my things. They say if I come by foot then they return things. I know they lie. I hear them talk. They call me ‘French scum.’  

“There was a war in the old country. So they don’t like me. Even here. So no new life for Pierre. No new start. The French kill the English families. Or maybe the reverse. So now they hate, forever.” 

Kimi understood only half of his mumblings. She knew who the French and English were. But war in the old country? She didn’t know what he was talking about.  

It was clear that he had no place to return to, and his leg was in bad shape. He wouldn’t make it far. She did the only thing she could think of: she took him home.  

“And the bear?” she asked as they staggered through the woods. 

“I come from the river, and I come upon the bear. I think the bear is surprised and frightened, like me. I hope it runs, but instead it attacks. The claws, they cut me, but I fight. And then I hear a shot.” 

They made it to a small clearing in the hills. There were two huts in the clearing. The rest of the tribe had already migrated into the mountains, ever since the white trappers and miners had begun to move into the region. Kimi’s grandfather, Mingan, was too old to make the journey. She stayed with him. Years ago, he taught her how to hunt and forage. Now she provided for both of them.  

“What did you do?” Mingan asked as they approached, his eyes wide with fear. There was an axe in his hand. 

“Nothing,” Kimi replied. They spoke in their native tongue, and Pierre couldn’t understand them. “He was attacked by a bear.” 

“What have I told you a hundred times? If you see a white demon, you run in the opposite direction as fast as you can.” 

And yet he helped her gently lay Pierre down on the ground.  

“Do what you want with him,” Kimi said angrily. “If he is so bad, you will have no problem disposing of him.”  

She turned her back and stormed off. She didn’t know if she was angrier with herself or with Mingan. She should have let the bear finish him off, she thought. Then neither she nor Mingan would have to kill him. 

The white man went through a bad fever. He tossed and turned in fevered dreams. He cried in an unknown language. Mingan anxiously watched his trembling body. Mingan waited for the fever to kill the white man. But instead, the white man got better. 

“We cannot kill him,” he told Kimi on the third day. “The spirits saw fit to put him in your care. We will help the demon and pray that he does not harm us.” 

Kimi smiled. In the evening, Pierre was well enough to drink some soup. Within a week, he was cheerful again. He sang loudly in French and limped from tree to tree. He tried to help Mingan, who watched him with fear and mistrust. To Pierre’s delight, Kimi taught him some native words. 

“What is he doing?” Mingan complained to Kimi. “He should be building a canoe to get back to where he came from. Instead, he chose to stay here and annoy me.” 

“I don’t think he has anywhere to go,” Kimi replied. “I think he is trying to help because he is ashamed of being a burden.” 

In two weeks, the man’s leg was nearly healed.  

“I think I can make the trip back now,” he said to Kimi in a mixture of English and her native tongue. Kimi looked into his serious, gray eyes and saw that he meant it. The next morning, she rose early and helped him prepare for his trip. 

As the sun rose, Pierre turned toward them once more.  

“Thank you,” he said. “You are friends to Pierre more than you know. You help me more than anyone in the white man’s world. I never forget it.” 

As he turned to leave, Mingan suddenly collapsed. 

“There is a terrible weakness in my body,” Mingan said, gasping. 

Pierre threw off his pack and raced back to help Kimi. Together, they carried Mingan into the hut.  

In the following days, it became clear that there was no way Pierre could leave. One side of Mingan’s body was paralyzed. Pierre, now almost well, was a strong man and could carry Mingan around easily.  

“I am healed now,” he told Kimi. “I will make traps. You will see, Pierre is a good trapper. Lots of food and fur.” 

“He is right,” Mingan said. He spoke with difficulty. “We need him now. He needs to repay his debt. You helped him before, and now he can help us,” Mingan told Kimi. 

Kimi noticed that Mingan did not call Pierre a demon anymore.