Even As We Breathe

by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle

  “No, different kind of guest at the inn now.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” His voice evened. “So who was the girl?”

  “The one missing?” I clarified.

  “Yes. She a prisoner or maid?”

  “Child of one of the diplomats. That’s why it’s such a big deal.”

  “I guess that’s why Jon wanted to be involved, too.”

  “Not sure he exactly wants to be involved. That was more my fault.”

  “So why do they think you have anything to do with it?”

  I couldn’t believe that Bud and I were having a conversation about this. Was he willing to hear my side of the story? I treaded lightly. “I told Essie, that girl that came when Lishie—”

  “Yeah, I know Essie Stamper.”

  “Yeah, so I told her about this bone I had found on the property. Anyway, she apparently told them I had a bone and they made some messed-up kind of connection to the missing girl.”

  Bud nodded. “They needed a body and you provided the first piece.”

  “I guess so. That damn colonel had me in a room for hours asking questions.”

  “You didn’t get caught trying to sell those bladders, did you?”

  “No. Don’t think so. I mean, maybe that’s part of it, too. Some guards saw me trying to talk to some guests, but I never got a word out about ’em.”

  “Good. You still have the bone?”

  “It was gone when they went looking for it.”

  “Gone? How the hell’s a bone going to grow legs and just walk away?”

  “Beats me. But I told them exactly where to find it and when they looked, it wasn’t there.”

  “Did you look for it yourself?”

  “No, they wouldn’t let me.”

  Bud cupped his chin with his left hand and cracked his neck. “Sounds like someone wants to make it look like you had something to do with this.”

  “Yes. Exactly. But I don’t!”

  “That doesn’t matter, Cowney!” Bud corrected me. “You think anybody gives a shit about you? You think anybody gives a shit about Indians except other Indians? Hell, no, they don’t! They’ve been erasing us for two hundred years.” He looked disgusted.

  And there was the old Bud. The one who didn’t care what I had to say. He grabbed for the thermos and opened it himself this time, keeping the steering wheel steady with his knees. I stared out the window. “No, I guess not,” I conceded. “Guess not.”

  “Sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.” Bud slid the thermos back onto the floorboard.

  I would have sat in silence the remainder of the ride had he not taken a coughing fit, cracking down his window, desperate for fresh air. “Dammit …” he barked. I looked at him, struck by the violence of his coughing. He held the steering wheel with his left hand and cupped his mouth with his right. I had already noticed a small bandage on his right hand when he took the thermos from me, but now, with his forearm extended across his chest and his rolled sleeve pulling back further, I could see a large, pus-stained bandage on his arm and sloughing skin outlining the adhesion.

  When his cough subsided, I turned away again. With my back to him, I asked out of curiosity, not necessarily concern, “What happened to your arm? That’s a large bandage.”

  “Nothing. I mean, I got a little cut, but this damn gangrene … Can’t seem to shake it. Should’ve had it looked at. Got caught between some trees falling, slipped, and between falling limbs and a rusty saw blade, got ripped up pretty bad. Would’ve been alright if it hadn’t gotten infected, though. It’s just acting up and my sugar doesn’t help. Nothing seems to heal anymore.”

  “You should take better care of yourself,” I said coldly.

  “I do the best I can. I don’t get to run off to a resort for the summer.”

  “Yes, Bud. That’s right. I’ve just been playing badminton with the Vanderbilts and Roosevelts. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing all summer.”

  “Just saying, maybe you should go a little easier on a veteran still feeling the effects of war.”

  “Yeah, I’ll never know what that’s like, will I?”

  Bud shook his head. “I’m done talking about it.”

  And apparently so was I because we sat in silence for the remainder of the drive. We had started the trip with so much promise. I might even have gotten answers about my father from Bud. But that moment had passed before I could hold tight.

  When we arrived in Cherokee, the dirt roads were busier than normal. Bud focused on steering and cussing while I continued to sit mute. As we passed by the string of tourist shops downtown (teepees and sale signs elbowing for attention), Bud rolled his window back up. “Where you want to go?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  “What do you mean?” I attempted to read his expression. “Home.”

  “Okay, but just so you know, there’s probably no food or firewood there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I lied.

  “If that’s what you want.” Bud turned the wheel, hand over hand, steering the truck onto a side road toward the cabin. “I’ll bring a few things over this evening.”

  “I can go to the store later.”

  Bud stopped the truck and then began backing up.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “Taking you to the store. You don’t want to have to walk, do you?”

  Bud pulled in front of the trading post and I got out before he had time to give me his list. I only had a few dollars in my pocket and figured Bud didn’t have any.

  Tsa Tsi was sitting outside the trading post on a bench whittling as I walked up.

  “Si-yo,” I greeted him.

  “Si-yo,” he responded. “You back already?”

  “Hopefully not for long.”

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Didn’t happen to see Edgar over your way, did you?” he asked, looking almost hopeful. “He’s been known to wander all the way to Buncombe County, you know. And these fires, they’ve got me worried.”

  “No, sir, sorry. I’ll be sure to let you know if he shows up while I’m home, though.”

  Tsa Tsi nodded and continued to scrape his pocketknife down a long strip of wood.

  Inside the store I bought a quart of milk, a small sack of flour, a jar of dried pintos, and half a dozen eggs. I gave Jones, the clerk, the wrinkled dollars from my pocket, and he agreed to let me pay the balance when I got my final paycheck from the inn, assuming I ever got one.

  Tsa Tsi was gone by the time I left the store. When I climbed back into the truck, Bud eyed my purchases. “Why’d you get eggs and milk?”

  “To eat,” I responded sarcastically.

  “You know I’ve got chickens and a cow. You’re wasting your money.”

  “It’s my money to waste.”

  “Well, now, that’s the truth.” He nodded. “But don’t think you aren’t going to help out with the milking while you’re home. You owe me for the gas I wasted picking you up.” Bud toggled the gear into reverse and we made our way to the cabin. When he parked, I grabbed the groceries, opened my door, and pulled my bags from the truck bed. Bud did not get out. I think he started to speak, but I slammed the passenger side door and made my way up the cabin steps before he had time to stop me. Rocks and broken branches crunched beneath his tires as he turned the truck and left down the drive.

  Inside, the cabin was still. The floors had been swept and everything was neatly stacked and arranged. Lishie had been such a slight woman, but her absence was all consuming. I put away the groceries and dropped my bags inside the door to my room. Sleep consumed the afternoon.

  I think I had been home a few hours when the phone rang, waking me from a nap that was quickly turning to a deep, full-night’s sleep.

  “This Cowney or Bud?” Gail, the evening switchboard operator, asked.

  “This is Cowney, Gail. Who you need?”

  “Call’s for you. Hold on while I connect you.”

  There was a click and then I could hear Craig clear
ing his throat on the other end. “Listen, son. We’ve got some trouble.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, as soon as I got back to the office Griggs called me.”

  “Did they find the bone?”

  “No. Still can’t find the bone … but there’s a soldier, think his name is Franks, that keeps making a fuss about letting you go. Keeps insisting Griggs question you more. I think he’s really gotten into Griggs’s head.”

  “Why, you reckon? I’ve never done anything to him. He’s a—” I stopped short of mistaking anyone for a friend.

  “Don’t guess you have to. Probably trying to make a name for himself.” Craig paused a moment. I could hear him taking a deep breath. “Cowney, he’s telling them that he thinks he saw you playing with that little girl a few days before she disappeared.”

  “What?” I howled into the phone. “I don’t know the girl. I may have seen her playing outside a couple of times, but that’s all.”

  “I know. I know. But, well, it’s his word against yours.”

  “What am I going to do, Mr. Craig? I have no idea where the bone is. Essie’s already sacrificed me for her boyfriend. Now Franks is just plain making stories up. What’s happening to me?”

  “I wish I knew, son. Are you sure there is nothing else you can tell me about all this?”

  “Sir …” I was too frustrated to offer more.

  “I know. I know. Cowney, trust me now. I believe you. I may be the only one that does, but we are going to get this cleared up.”

  “How the hell are we supposed to do that?” My anger grew too quickly to quell it.

  “I’m not sure, but we are going to start by finding that bone. If what you say is right, someone had to take it.”

  “Think it was Franks?”

  “Maybe. Doubtful, though. You know, Cowney, you have to accept that it may have been Essie. It’s just that she’s the only person who would have known where to find it, right? I’m sorry to say it. I know she’s a friend.”

  “Not sure I would call her that now.”

  “Well, let’s reserve judgment for now and hope they do the same. Listen. I need to go. Got to get back to work. You try to rest. I’ll call you soon as I can.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, son.”

  The phone clicked.

  The cabin was too quiet. I couldn’t reconcile how Franks had befriended me and then, only days later, jeopardized my freedom—maybe even my life. I found the coffee kettle high on a shelf, the wrong shelf, and filled it with water. I lit the stove beneath it. I opened the coffee canister, but it was empty. Someone had even washed out the residue. I turned the stove off and poured out the water. I was hungry, but too tired to cook. I walked to Lishie’s bedroom. I don’t know what I expected to find, but whatever it was, it was not there. Her bed was made; a new quilt, one that had likely been packed away in her trunk at the foot of the bed, was spread across it. I knelt by the bed, burying my face in the quilt. It did not smell of Lishie. It smelled of cedar. The smell, perhaps the absence of her smell, burned my eyes. I let the fabric absorb my tears.

  I stood and pulled the quilt back, exposing bleached white sheets. I picked up the pillow and held it to my chest. I inhaled deeply. Lishie had been washed from it as well. I put the pillow back and remade the bed. This is no longer her room, I reminded myself and closed the door as I left.

  My room, however, was just as I had left it. Apparently Myrtle, or whoever had taken care with the other rooms, had settled on leaving mine in its natural state. I guess she or they knew I would be returning. I pulled my suitcase onto the bed and began unpacking its contents. At the very bottom I found a small roll of film. I smiled, thinking of the images that were likely on it: 447, the impressive grounds of the resort, our canoe race on the French Broad, everyone posing goofily. My smile faded quickly as I thought about how those faces would look different to me now. I resolved to take the roll into the trading post the next day to have it developed. I would have to kill a few squirrels on the way in so I would have something to barter, but I felt confident that I would be able to make a trade. For some reason I can’t explain, those pictures seemed more important that anything I could purchase from the trading post. I wanted to make a square deal for them. As I rolled the film canister between my fingers, envisioning what was held inside, I thought that I might just add three new items to my wish list: a proper headstone for Lishie, my own camera (used would suffice), and a new roll of film.

  I fell asleep that night hungry and otherwise empty, allowing hand-picked Asheville memories to fill the void in my dreams. I did not care that I might not be wanted back; I would go no matter what. There was nothing for me in Cherokee. Not now.

  In the morning, I quieted my stomach with a scrambled egg and set the beans to soak. Before leaving, I grabbed my 12 gauge from beside my bedroom door, somewhat surprised that Bud had not already “borrowed” it while I was gone, and found an old, empty corn sack should I have any luck hunting on the way. Though the mist still hung low on the mountains, weighted down with smoke, it looked as though the sun was about to make its permanent entrance for the day. The chill was quickly subsiding. I was glad that I wouldn’t have to worry about rain even though we desperately needed it to slow the fires. I did not want to ask Bud for a ride into town and if I asked anyone else, I’d have to explain why I was home in the first place. As I made my way down the drive, I considered going to the waterfall again first, but thought better of it. It would take some time to get the film developed and I needed to get it to Jones as soon as possible, just in case I was able to return to the inn quickly. I had no idea when to expect a call.

  The walk into town took me close to an hour. I did stop and pick blackberries, though I could not manage to keep any for later; I was far too hungry not to immediately eat each one. I also managed to shoot two squirrels, and cleaned them by the river. Downtown Cherokee was practically deserted when I strolled into the trading post.

  “Morning, Cowney. Two days in a row. I feel honored,” Jones greeted me. He was a gangly young man whose Adam’s apple ran the length of his neck as he spoke. With the exception of his bright, blue eyes, he always looked as if he had just woken from a nap.

  “Don’t get too excited. Last time I was here, I put half my order on credit.”

  “Now that is a fact, but you’re good for it.”

  “You develop film here, right?”

  “Sure do,” Jones confirmed.

  I handed him the film canister. “How long until I can pick it up?” I asked, expecting it might be quite some time.

  “Well, I don’t have any other orders right now. Tell you what, I’ll work late tonight and get ’em done for you by tomorrow. Come by around lunchtime.”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I enjoy it. Kind of a hobby of mine, I’ve been doing it so much lately.”

  “I’d like to learn how to develop film sometime.”

  “Not sure I’d be a good teacher, but I can try. Have to do it before the fall, though.” “Why’s that?”

  “I’m heading off to college.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

  “Black Mountain. I’m going to learn more about photography. That and probably a bunch of other stuff.” “Why’d you decide to go there?”

  Jones slid a pamphlet across the counter. “Here. Read this. This is why I decided to go. No mention of math or grammar. Says you get to choose whatever you want to take. Direct your own learning, or something like that.”

  I took the pamphlet and studied the photos. None of the faces looked like people from our area, Cherokee or otherwise. I couldn’t see Jones there, let alone me.

  “What about you? You thinking about heading to school ever?” Jones asked.

  “I’m still not sure.”

  “Well, you ought to at least check out Black Mountain.” “I probably can’t afford anything like that.”

  Jones’
s face fell. “Well, there are lots of good schools. I hear some places even offer assistance for Indians.”

  “Someone must have told Lishie that, too. She was always talking about that, even after I came home from junior college early. We’ll see, I guess.” I shrugged and stood back from the counter. “Thanks. I’ll try to get back tomorrow sometime. If I can’t catch a ride, it will depend on the weather. I don’t want to carry them back in the rain.” I turned and walked toward the door.

  “Hey, Cowney,” Jones called after me.

  I turned back toward the counter without answering him directly.

  “You know, I was thinking. If you want to stick around town for a bit, I mean, if you don’t have anywhere to be, I can probably get these done in a few hours for you. It’s just one roll.”

  “Really? That fast?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I may need another mess of squirrel soon for it, though.” He smiled.

  “You’ve got a deal!” I returned his smile.

  “Keep an eye on the place a few minutes, will ya? I’ll get these started.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I browsed the store a bit, turning over jars and cans for prices, running my hands over the tightly knitted fabric of picnic blankets and slick reeds of river cane baskets. Maybe it was the fires that were keeping people away, but the store was nearly empty the entire time Jones was gone. Since the Great Smoky Mountains National Park opened not long ago, people came to the mountains in droves; but no one wants to be outside surrounded by forest fires—and the smoke that came in such suffocating waves. The one notable exception was a turtle of a woman—white fluffy mop instead of hard shell. Her dawdling shuffle across the dusty wooden floorboards and exasperated sighs—as if life was far too much for her—drew my curiosity.

  “Anything I can help you with, ma’am?” Maybe I could make Jones a sale.

  “I sure hope so. Doubt it, though. Doesn’t seem like anybody around here knows the first thing about customer service.” She sighed heavily again, setting her large, bulging pocketbook on the front counter. “I collect baskets. I need a quality one. And mind you, I know what they’re worth, so don’t try to pull the shit y’all pull with tourists. Plus, I’m in a hurry. Making my way to Kentucky next for a real Appalachian buttocks basket.”