NIGHT ON FIRE
They wouldn’t have a chance to find the children’s family for days, however, because suddenly the wind changed direction. Smoke billowed up over the trees. A black veil covered the sun, and the air grew thick with falling ash. Everyone scrambled back into the three canoes—the lost children both got in with Nokomis, Fishtail, and Angeline. Old Tallow and her dogs took Animikiins and Miskobines in their canoe. Deydey, Mama, Quill, Omakayas, and Bizheens piled into their canoe and the whole family paddled out onto the lake, just past the reach of smoke. From there, as the sun set, casting a stark radiance through the smoke and the flames, they watched the woods burn steadily toward them.
It seemed like the whole night was on fire. Hot winds from shore sickened everyone, and the smoke hung down in a choking mass. The grown-ups took turns lying down in the bottoms of the canoes, but they were cramped and could not stretch out. Quill, whose porcupine coughed on top of his head, slept sitting up with his arms folded for a while, then slowly wedged himself into the front of the canoe. It was better for Omakayas and Bizheens, who lay in the bottom and breathed cooler air. Deydey and Old Tallow roped each canoe to the next one and made a small flotilla. The waves were calm enough so that there was no danger of capsizing, and with one or two of the grown-ups keeping watch they drifted around in the middle of the lake.
Halfway through the night, with everyone awake, the family gave up sleeping and began to talk. The presence of the pitiful settlers’ children had reminded Deydey of something he rarely mentioned. His father had been a trader, his mother of the Anishinabe people. He gazed at the children in Fishtail’s canoe and at one point shook his head and said, “I feel very sad for these lost ones. I was lucky my mother’s people adopted me, and my uncle became my father and loved me as a father does. My own father, who was mostly white like these children, did not love me.”
“Did you ever know your father?” asked Quill.
This was a question that nobody else would have dared ask, for the very mention of Deydey’s father had in the past caused his brows to lower, his eyes to flash. But this was a special night. A night they had to endure together, and so Deydey answered this question for the very first time.
“Geget,” said Deydey, “I met my father once. And I never cared to meet him again.”
Quill was quiet and his porcupine slept peacefully. Everyone else would have left off with the subject, but not Quill.
“Deydey,” he said, “will you tell me about meeting your father?”
Now Deydey’s eyes did flash and harden. The fire glinted across his face.
“I will tell you,” he said in a soft and somehow dangerous voice. “And then you will know why I loved my mother and my uncle, why my grandmother speaks to me in my dreams, and why I do not trust the white people. Here is how it happened.”
Then Deydey told how all of his life his mother had prepared him to meet his father by teaching him what little French she knew. She told him that his father was a rich and important man, and that he had loved her. She told him that his father would love his son, because he had loved her so greatly. His father had gone away into his country but would return, she said. When this great man did return, she taught his son to be ready. Deydey’s mother taught him how to behave like a white person. How to bow, how to shake hands, how to look at people’s eyes, how to show his teeth in a bold, strange smile. She and her father taught him how to play chess, which he liked very much. She also taught him the words to say when he met his father, Vous êtes mon père. You are my father. He repeated the words, learned them, and looked forward to the proud day when he would walk up to his father and announce himself. He pictured his father bending down then, and taking him into his arms.
“But it did not happen that way,” Deydey said.
The day did come. When Deydey was ten years old, his mother learned that the rich trader who had loved her was journeying toward a fort one hundred miles north. Deydey and his mother walked those hundred miles. When they reached the fort, they were allowed to enter. The great man was in the central compound, smoking after a meal with his friends. Deydey’s mother begged that her son be allowed to enter the house, and one of the voyageurs took Deydey to the entrance. He knocked on the door and was invited to enter.
When he was standing in the room, five men by the fire turned to look at him. They were all surprised to see the boy, who looked them all over proudly, one by one. Suddenly, said Deydey, he knew who his father was. He walked straight up to the most powerful man in the room. The man was the one the others deferred to, the one seated in the middle. Deydey said that he held out his hand to shake that man’s hand, then he smiled. His heart was open. Deydey said that he did exactly what his mother had taught him to do.
“Vous êtes mon père,” he said.
The well-dressed man reared back, looked at the other men, then opened his mouth and began to laugh. The other men looked astounded but also sly, and they soon began to laugh too. Their laughter soared, grew hysterical. They slapped their thighs, wept at the absurdity. Their laughter carried them away.
“I walked out of that place,” said Deydey, “and back to my mother. And that was the only time I saw my father.”
Everyone was silent after Deydey finished speaking, and then Quill said, in a way that impressed Omakayas as very grown-up, kind, and unlike the Quill she knew: “Deydey, I am glad you left that man and went with your mother. For I am proud to be your son and an Anishinabe.”
They waited out in the canoes until rain put the fires out the next day. Only then did they dare paddle onto shore again. This time, the land looked sadly different. The trees stood out black in the drizzle, most of them great leafless sticks. Some had toppled or crumbled to ash. Animals lay dead on shore—a deer, a fox, their fur singed and burned away. As they drew their canoes up, the family noticed how hot the sand just underneath the wet surface was—it still contained the last ferocity of the fire.
They camped there all the same, and the next morning, Deydey and Fishtail decided to try searching out the homestead in the direction that the boy thought he had come from. They were gone all day. When they came back, Deydey said under his breath that they had not found a single trace of the cabin. He also said that everything, everywhere, for miles and miles, as far as they could see, was thoroughly burnt. There was nothing left. And no one.
So it happened that the family was unexpectedly enlarged by two. Angeline prepared a more comfortable place in their canoe for the chimookoman children and there they crouched, miserable but safe. Perhaps a trader would know of their parents, perhaps a priest farther north would take them in. But before they could find someone who might know the children, the family would have to carry their canoes overland. They would have to portage through the devastation.
Old Tallow fitted up her red dog with a carrier for the girl. She kept her gray and black dogs alongside her for hunting. She cut two poles for the drags and tied a deerskin between them. She used strips of hide to harness this contraption to the dog, then tied the little girl onto the deer hide. She relied on her dogs to alert her to any other strangers they might meet along the way. Once they got past the fire, that is. This was still the season of raids and war parties, and Old Tallow was determined that nobody should catch her family unaware.
SEVEN
TRAIL OF ASH
This was the opposite of the way lit by butterflies, Omakayas decided as she lugged Bizheens, a bag of pemmican, a small ax, a pack of dried meat, and a bale of beaver skins along the portage to the next lake. Heavy loads were just part of life when you traveled by water. There would always come a shore, and a portage between lake or river to the next shore. Nobody thought twice about it, but Omakayas now fantasized that they would find a swift river that would transport them all the way to Lac du Bois. How marvelous—a calm rapids like a smooth road for the canoes. She saw it in her mind, curving through the heavy forests and sunny clearings. They’d be there in days, maybe hours! She couldn’t wa
it to see her cousin Twilight’s calm and shining face. As for Amoosens, would Little Bee have grown tall, or stout like her mother, Muskrat?
After her dream about Two Strike’s wonderful fish, she realized that seeing Two Strike would be complicated. But you had to take the good along with the not-so-good, she thought. With her strong, new name held close inside, perhaps she would be so grown-up and adult now that Two Strike’s ways would seem merely childish irritations.
The way was difficult, although the undergrowth was burned away. Everyone’s legs and hands soon turned black with the tremendous soot. Ash muffled each footstep, and clouds of ash puffed out around each step. The ash sifted down their backs, crept up their legs and sleeves, and itched terribly. It was impossible to scratch those itches while carrying a heavy load. The woods around them were smoldering charcoal. They choked and spat as they walked. Luckily, it was not a long way to the next lake, and there was a river passage out of that one. By the time they did get to the water, they were covered with ash, like ghostly beings, and their chests hurt. They coughed for days after passing through the aftermath of that fire.
But the way turned green again, and soon they were traveling up a river lushly overgrown with trees right to the banks. The trees hung over the water in a pretty canopy, but the undergrowth made everyone uneasy. Soon enough, when the river ended in a tiny lake, and they crossed the lake, they were on a well-worn path. On this path, said Deydey in a worried voice, they would be sure to meet others.
WARRIORS
When they had traveled for about a mile, Old Tallow, who walked ahead with her dogs, motioned for everyone to halt, then to hide. It wasn’t easy lugging the canoes off the trail and trying to disappear with all of their packs and belongings, but the dogs clearly sensed someone coming far ahead, and it was wise to decide from a hidden place whether that someone was friendly.
Not friendly!
Everyone hunkered close to earth. Here were the people they had dreaded meeting all along. A party of Bwaanag, handsome and powerful men, painted for revenge, stalked quietly along the path. There were so many recent footprints on that part of the trail that theirs would not stand out. They could stay unnoticed, unless someone made a sound. Hidden in the underbrush, everyone breathed quietly. Old Tallow had her hands on her dogs’ snouts and they knew better than to yip or yowl. Even Bizheens knew better than to make a sound when everyone was tense and quiet. Quill’s porcupine, of course, was sleeping happily upon Quill’s head. The only one who might give their position away was the little girl the dog had drawn along. The little sprite beamed with smiles and her red hair flamed among the trees. Quickly, Omakayas saw her older sister cover the girl’s head with a blanket and slip a lump of maple sugar from her pack. Smiling at the child, Angeline popped a few grains into her mouth. The girl’s eyes went round with happy surprise and she sucked in peace, with no idea in the world how close to danger she and the family were.
Had it always been this way? Omakayas wondered as the Bwaanag passed. They were a striking people, every one of them—tall, slender, strong as buffalo bows, and graceful as birds of prey. Strange and beautiful designs, sharp-edged and complicated, were quilled and beaded into their clothing. One wore yellow paint and another wore vermilion in bold designs. They were focused, dangerous. Omakayas closed her eyes and pictured a hawk plunging from the sky. Had the Bwaanag always been frightening enemies? She knew that her own people sent war parties into Bwaan country and came back with deaths to boast of, with horses, or with captives to replace any Anishinabeg victims who had been lost to a war party the previous summer. Yet there were some, also, who traded with the Bwaanag and knew their language—and others, like her Deydey, who believed that the real enemy they all faced was the growing threat of white settlers. The chimookomanag didn’t care whose hunting land they stepped on, Bwaanag or Anishinabeg—they stole it all the same.
The family stayed in the woods for a long time after the Bwaanag passed, but eventually the dogs relaxed their guard and it seemed safe to return to their path. They traveled for the rest of the day, still hoping to find water again, cross it, and make their way to a place far from the trail to camp in safety. But the hiding had delayed them and so they were forced to stop. They settled far from the trail and ate cold pemmican, for fear a sturdy blaze would bring the war party back their way. They were spooked and watchful.
Still, it was dusk, a good time for boys to hunt. Fishtail and Deydey had dammed up a little stream and were catching trout. While they were busy, Quill and Animikiins decided to travel back down the path not only to see if they could bring down an animal, but also to make sure that the Bwaanag were not creeping up behind them. They told Old Tallow they were going, and she frowned.
“Gego ginjiba’iweken,” she said. “Ask Nokomis or ask your mother. You must stay.”
But, because she was busy with repairs to a canoe, they managed to creep around her and elude her strict attention.
Omakayas was to remember, for a very long time, how their leaving together bothered her. For some reason, as the two boys walked away, their jokes and quiet smiles chilled her. She knew, absolutely knew in her heart, that something was going to go wrong. She ran after them. They turned to her.
“Don’t go,” she said.
They just smiled and kept walking. It was useless. Without knowing she would do it, she gave the flint and striker in her special pouch to Quill, even though she’d carried them every day since she was capable of making fire. Her precious string of red beads, she gave to Animikiins. This was the second time she had given these beads away, and she wondered at her impulses. Nokomis had kept them for many, many years.
“What,” mocked Quill, his porcupine wagging on his head, “is this good-bye forever?”
“Don’t go,” she begged again.
Animikiins took the beads from her hands with a shy smile—this could almost be a love gift. They both knew it meant she favored him, but they were friends already. Omakayas shrugged, trying not to make too much of it, but she said “Don’t go” for the last time, in a smaller voice.
“You know we’ll go anyway,” said Quill, just loud enough for her to hear. His porcupine blinked. “I have a better idea. Keep your beads and don’t worry!”
Animikiins just smiled at her and put the beads around his neck. Then the two strong boys loped off into the woods along the trail. Omakayas couldn’t help but smile at the way the porcupine’s tail wagged along behind Quill’s head. How could anything bad happen to someone so ridiculous?
MISSING
They did not return. When the night came on, Mama worried, but the boys had stayed out all night before when trailing a wounded animal.
“Maybe they are tracking a deer,” she said hopefully.
Deydey and Old Tallow took the dogs out to follow them, and Fishtail made his own search, but the way soon grew too dark and dangerous. They all returned with no sight of the two boys. Yet there had also been no sign of the Bwaan warriors, and everybody hoped the boys had simply decided to stay the night where they’d made a kill. The family curled in their blankets and tried to drift off, but it was a sleepless night. One of the adults kept watch every hour, and from time to time, restless, Omakayas woke in the dark to see her mother outlined against the pale sky. The moon had risen, wild and full, and the boys had enough light to see by if they needed to return.
But they were still gone in the morning. Now everyone was grim. Nokomis prayed, her hand on a birch tree, her lips moving softly. Old Tallow prepared herself and fed her dogs. Fishtail and Deydey cleaned their guns and Miskobines examined his bow and readied a quiver of arrows. They all carried axes and stone or steel tomahawks at their belts. They were going after the boys and did not know what they’d find. But they were leaving the little ones in the care of the women. Yellow Kettle knew that she and the other women might put up a good fight, but they’d be overwhelmed by the party of Bwaanag if they doubled back and attacked them. To throw the Bwaanag off their trail, she pro
posed that the men leave the canoes in the woods beside a smoking fire, and the women would find another hiding place farther back, brushing out their tracks as they went.
The little boy, John, whose name always came out Zahn, worked as hard as anyone readying the supplies. He was a good-natured boy still in shock, in grief, and Angeline’s heart was very soft for him. She kept him with her, and took care of the baby, Susan, whose name in the Anishinabe tongue came out Zozed. Zahn and Zozed. They were both good children and Omakayas felt sorry for them, losing their parents. She did not want to lose anyone, and she was very scared of what might happen to the men and Old Tallow on the trail.
She had no idea they’d be gone for so very long.
EIGHT
THE CAPTURE
The moon was full when the boys left, and full a month later when Old Tallow returned with her dogs. Many things happened in that time. The women made a new camp. They replenished their store of dried meat. They fished and trapped. They found a rice bay and busied themselves harvesting every grain. Dragonflies had lifted and hovered over the rice. They seemed friendly, comforting. Omakayas had whispered to them messages of love for the men and for Old Tallow. In all that time, they saw no sign of the Bwaanag. The women did what they could to work hard, and tried their best not to despair. But on the afternoon when they saw Old Tallow walk into camp alone, Yellow Kettle, Nokomis, Omakayas, and Angeline fell to the ground in fear. Before anyone could ask, Old Tallow cried out, “Captured!
“But all is not lost, thanks to your Deydey,” she quickly said. “The men are two days behind me. They have Quill.”
Mama howled with joy and threw herself on Old Tallow, who patted her awkwardly. Nokomis sat on the ground, breathing hard, weeping along with Omakayas, who was terrified to ask what had happened to Animikiins and his father.
The Porcupine Year Page 5