Read Online A Dark and Promised Land by Nathaniel Poole - Free Book Online

traded with the English on the Bay. It had never before occurred to her that the depravity of the poor could be a moral reflection of the powerful.
    As Isqe-sis speaks, it becomes Rose’s turn to reach out and run a hand along Isqe-sis’s honey-coloured arm. Pale skin, wrapped skin, skin hidden from the rare sun was the norm among Rose’s people, and the only colour she ever saw among her countrymen was in the faces of the fishermen and the shepherds — people whose skin turned red and purple with the gnawing of the seasons.
    Now it is Isqe-sis’s turn to blush at the caress; she pulls her arm into her capote and looks down. Her infant mews, and she lifts it to her swollen breast. The crucifix swings free.
    Seeing it, Rose asks about her faith, Isqe-sis revealing a deep passion for Christ, and how she hungers to be confessed. Journeys to the isolated Jesuit mission on the Nelson River are sporadic at best, and she suffers greatly during the long intervals in between.
    There is a kind of animism to Isqe-sis’ faith, a way of looking at Christ that differs from other Christians — Protestants or Catholics. She sees the holy within not just the Body of Christ, but within all creation. The trees, the soil, even for the lowliest of crawling things she feels a religious respect. Rose wonders how her confessors could approve.
    When she takes her leave and sees the body in the muddy path, the warmth she shared with Isqe-sis fades. The killing had been too brutal, too sadistic. The dead boy reminds her that even if some of them are ostensibly Christian, she must maintain her guard against the sanguinary aspect of the breed.

    â€œThese people cannot stay, Mr. Turr. We have neither the provisions nor the accommodations to provide for them.”
    Although his words are flat, inside the factor is fuming. Selkirk should have known they would not be able to supply his peasants before he arranged to bring them here , he thinks. The man seems to believe that Company resources are his to use as he sees fit. A pox on him.
    â€œI am deeply sorry for their misfortune,” he says without the least hint of concern in his voice. “But they must depart as quickly as possible.”
    They are standing beside the signal cannon at the entrance to the factory. The wind is blowing hard from the northwest and Turr’s thin hair flows from his scalp like red smoke. Several ravens are squabbling over the ox carcass behind them.
    â€œThey have had a very difficult time,” Turr says. “Many have lost family. “They will have an even harder go of it to arrive at Red River before winter.”
    â€œIt is over late to debate the wisdom and ethics of Lord Selkirk’s designs,” the factor replies. “My order is as firm as my conviction: they must leave tomorrow.”
    Below them, an Indian pushes off in a canoe. Two men stand on shore playing out a net, which the man ties to several tall poles sunk into the river bottom. The canoe bounces and pitches in a steep chop set up by the wind running against the flood. While struggling with the last of the poles, the canoe suddenly rolls and throws the man into the river. The Indians on shore laugh.
    â€œHave you decided who will guide them?” Turr asks.
    â€œI spoke with Alexander McClure this morning. He is willing to take them on to Red River.”
    â€œThe Half-caste?”
    â€œHe owes the Company a great deal,” says the factor, his frown deepening. “Unpaid credit from last year’s season; he brought in few furs and of low quality. I did not give him a choice.”
    â€œI see. Well, I will speak to the colonists and let them know.”
    The man in the river grabs the gunwale of his canoe and kicks toward shore. He stands up, shaking off the water while his companions mock him. With a rueful grin, he sits down as a small liquor keg is brought out and passed along.
    â€œAnother thing, Mr. Turr: I want you to go with