Dark Boundary

By Anne Purdy

First published in 1954, this book is an intriguing glimpse into the early days of the Alaskan village of Eagle, along the Yukon River. Anne Purdy, author of bestselling book Tisha, tells the story surrounding the lives of the Eagle Village Indians. She describes the end of the Gold Rush era changes that took place in the early part of the twentieth century, painting a vivid picture of life’s struggles here and of a woman who reaches out to those in desperate need of love and care.

A tale of joy and sadness, with a final twist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valmy Publishing
• Release date: Jun 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781787205383

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Text originally published in 1954 under the same title.

© Valmy Publishing 2017, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

DARK BOUNDARY

by

ANNE PURDY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

DEDICATION 4

FOREWORD 5

CHAPTER ONE 6

CHAPTER TWO 10

CHAPTER THREE 16

CHAPTER FOUR 20

CHAPTER FIVE 25

CHAPTER SIX 31

CHAPTER SEVEN 34

CHAPTER EIGHT 38

CHAPTER NINE 41

CHAPTER TEN 44

CHAPTER ELEVEN 47

CHAPTER TWELVE 50

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 53

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 55

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 57

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 60

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 62

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 67

DEDICATION

To my beloved friend

ANNE THACKER

whose untiring efforts

made this book possible

FOREWORD

This book does not aim to criticize missionaries, churches, or any other organization. DARK BOUNDARY describes the Alaskan Indians as they are, not as they should be. The language used herein is the way Indians talk.

CHAPTER ONE

YOU Siwashes knock when you come to the teacher’s house, and don’t ever come here at night, I yelled at the small Indian woman who stood framed in the doorway against the Alaskan darkness. The word Siwash" is an ugly term of derision and contempt for an Indian.

At this moment the building gave a terrific heave and creak—it denoted fifty-below-zero weather. The force of the Arctic blast slammed the door and threw my unwelcome guest to the kitchen floor.

Regaining her feet, the native woman stood by the wood stove, clutching a small dirty-looking bundle.

What do you want, Sharon Porcupine? I shouted angrily.

Still the Indian woman said nothing. As the clock struck midnight, she looked about the disorderly room, her gaze lingering on the empty bottle on the table and on my bloated face.

Her tired dark face had tobacco stains at the corners of the mouth. Her lips opened and closed, but she said nothing. A faint cry escaped from the bundle. Sharon pulled back the dirty piece of blanket. Horrified, I gazed at the pinched face of a tiny infant.

Take it away! I screamed. Why do you bring me naked babies in the night?

The room rocked before me. Naked babies were every-where. My head ached.

Get out! Get out! Go home! My voice rose with the shrieking wind. For a long, long year I’ve been a teacher in your filthy village. I hate all you good-for-nothing Indians!

I paused for breath. Sharon’s squatty, little body assumed an expression of poise and dignity.

Teacher drank. Lots times drank when you no make school.

It was I who kept quiet this time.

Your dogs make noise. You no feed two or three days. I feed your dogs. Find baby there. You white woman; this baby white. My house cold. Not much wood. No milk. I bring baby here. Teacher help baby.

Shoving the baby into my unwilling arms, she soon had both the kitchen and the living-room fires roaring. The half-frozen child was placed in a clothesbasket with blankets and hot-water bottles. Given a few drops of whiskey in water, the blue-looking infant opened its eyes. This brought a smile from Sharon, which showed her perfect teeth. We labored to keep the little stranger alive until it began to get light about nine in the morning.

Eagle, the white settlement, was three miles distant. The Indians got their mail and supplies there.

After breakfast I ordered Sharon to take the child to the marshal at Eagle. You can take my dogs. I will not have a baby in my house. Go now!

Baby too young. Maybe week old. Sharon looked through the double windows at the thermometer. Seventy below zero. Too cold. Freeze lungs. Freeze dogs, too. Baby stay here. I help you.

Out of the night a strange child and an Indian woman had been thrust upon me. No school sessions would be held in the schoolroom, which opened off my quarters, until the weather broke.

A vacation suited me fine. I hated teaching dirty Indian kids who said nothing but Yiss or No. Their silence irritated me and they understood nothing I said.

I had taken this job on the Yukon River a year ago because I had been broke, and I had also hoped I might find romance here. I had had no intention of visiting native homes or of messing in their problems. My work was praised by the home office—long detailed reports in quintuplicate were easier than teaching!

For two weeks, the weather raged between sixty and seventy below zero. The baby greedily drank canned milk, and began to blink her large black eyes at me. Sharon slept on the floor by the baby’s basket and kept the fires going twenty-four hours a day. When the baby gained a little strength, we gave her a bath. My dislike vanished, for she had bright red hair like mine.

Our breathing made a cracking sound in the great cold. We only went outdoors for firewood and for snow to melt for water.

Sharon brought the dogs in each night. Dry frost off. Maybe freeze. Put sacks, dried grass for beds. Dogs warm, no eat much, she explained.

Each day we looked out on a vast white world of frozen stillness, with blue ice fog hugging the earth. The double windows frosted over. The old, poorly constructed building creaked and groaned, and the cruel cold crept in.

Sharon’s tiny log cabin was close to the school, but during this frigid weather she stayed at my place. At night she sat on the floor and fashioned baby clothes out of an old nightgown. I read, made reports, and watched her. No lice crawled in the heavy black braids pinned around her head. Her dark face was pleasant and intelligent. Many faded but clean skirts enveloped her slight form.

Where’s your family? I asked one night.

Dead,

Her small dark eyes grew hostile and remote. I asked no more questions.

On the first of February the sun came out for about an hour. The temperature went up to twenty below zero. The air was warm and mild when I rushed into the snowy yard and stumbled over a frozen dog. I was finally able to jerk open the snow-covered outhouse door. On the icy floor a native boy of thirteen or fourteen years lay sleeping. Crawling out of the toilet seat was a living skeleton of a Husky dog. My screams brought Sharon