Henry Saves a Life

Henry lay silently staring into deep space, wishing on the tiny distant specs. The distorted clouds and brilliant Northern Lights were dancing around the full moon, changing it’s face from orange and green, to hues of pink, and then to a bright white. “Surely someone that made a universe so beautiful could help me with my Father” he prayed. Tears flowed down his cheeks again as he thought about his Dad’s diagnosis; so broken hearted, so shattered.

He strained to hear if his Mom and Dad were calling for him, but nothing. They too needed time to digest the devastating news; they too were crying; and they too could not hide their sadness. All he could hear, was the sound of the light wind, his own occasional sniffle, and his nylon snowsuit rubbing on the frozen lake.

He reluctantly got up crushing the bitter snow with his Mukluks. The loud squeaky crunch of his footsteps shattered the night and made the Northern Lights dance even more around him, like he was being hugged and guided by God himself. The cadence of his stride toward the house was like a soothing drum as he began to sing the “Honor Song” he learned at a Pow Wow last summer with his Dad.

He was silenced abruptly, when something made a resounding ‘whumpf’ under his foot. He looked down to see his step uncovered something black laying in the snow. Dropping to his knees, he dug out a little black book made from leather. Henry squinted up and down the frozen river studying the shadows. He frantically jumped up and twirled looking in every direction, and the only tracks showing up in the moonlight were his own, and some evidence of a recent rabbit; no snowmobile, no snowshoes, no boots. There was only one explanation. He looked directly up at the Northern Lights as he started to make a beeline for the house, thanking God for his discovery. He ran straight in the front door, scurried past everything and everyone to throw himself on his bed and examine the new find. Henry’s Mom never said a word about his boots, or hanging up his snowsuit, or about the mess he was making at the door as the tracked snow melted.

At first glance the little black book looked quite normal, about the size of his Grampa’s cigar box he carries in his shirt pocket. The book was kind of old looking he decided; it, kind of smelled pungent; and it seemed kind of boring and plain. The heavy fancy boot stitching made it look like it was made in a huge factory in the city. When Henry lifted the cover, it made a crackling noise like it was going to break. He opened the cover the rest of the way ever-so gently and peeked inside. He could see it was filled with fancy looking writing that reminded him of cooked spaghetti. As he carefully leafed through the pages, he realized it was notes, like a journal. He turned back to the first page where he usually puts his own name in school books, and found “Henry Louie Norwest – January 1915”. “His name! My name! Henry!”, he exclaimed in disbelief. Stunned, he began to read.

Reading was not Henry’s favorite thing to do, but this was so different! He felt an immediate kinship sharing a name with the mysterious writer. It was so exciting! The handwritten tale captivated Henry from start to finish: from the man’s first entry in 1915, when he joined the Army to his entry on April 11th, 1917, when he “fought at “the Pimple” of Vimy Ridge”. He went on to say “my troop tells me I saved many lives with my sharpshooting”. Henry could not put the Journal down. He read every word he could decipher, about the man’s memories of ranching and the rodeo, his adventures hunting and fishing “back home”, his time being a police officer, and about ‘The Great War’ and the ‘sickness’ that took many friends from him. It was obvious though, it was his Mother and 5 children whom he missed dearly, and who brought him the most concern and sadness. Even until one of his last entries in the little black book on August 6th 1918, when he told his journal secretly “I believe my time is coming, but it doesn’t bother me”, Henry was held captivated. Henry read every last entry in the little black book, sometimes more then once and he knew it was special, and not just to him but maybe Henry Norwest’s family. He knew what he had to do.

“Mom, Dad” he shouted. They must have heard the shrill excitement in his voice because they both quickly burst into the room.

“Henry, are you ok? What happened?” his Mom said.

Henry lifted the book from his pillow, feeling like he did something wrong. His Mom ran to take it from Henry, examining it closely with one eye closed. She burst into tears sputtering, “how... when…” but not getting the whole sentence out. Henry was just about to cry again, when his Dad picked him up and threw him in the air like he was 5 again. They were both so happy! Henry, well, he was just really confused.

In the days that followed, Henry found out that his Mom’s Grandfather Henry Louis Norwest, the Great Grandfather who Henry was named for, was a famous Metis hero in the first World War, “the Great War” they called it! He fought as a Sharpshooter and saved many men with his skill as a marksman. He felt it was his mission to help. Henry found out that his Great Grandfather’s Journal was worth well over $750,000 dollars at auction, and the money was going to pay for the medicine to cure his Dad.

“It fell out of the sleigh when your Dad and I were taking it to auction last week. We looked everywhere but the wind blew the snow over our trail after we crossed the lake. We thought we would never find it! Thank goodness you found it! You have just saved your Dad’s life just like your Great Grandfather Henry would, and because of this extra money now, we are giving you $20,000 to go to school when you are older!