April Shadows

by V. C. Andrews

  "The Knight's move is special. It hops directly from its old square to its new square. The Knight can jump over other pieces between its old and new squares. Think of the Knight's move as an "L." It moves two squares horizontally or vertically and then makes a right-angle turn for one more square. The Knight always lands on a square opposite in color from its old square."

  "The last is the pawn, which is the only piece that moves differently from how it captures. The pawn, like a warrior in war, marches forward one square at a time. It can never retreat. However, pawns that have not yet moved have the option of beginning their forward journey with a double move two squares forward. They can't jump other pieces. The pawn captures diagonally only one square ahead. Think of it fighting with a knife rather than a sword."

  "Is this whole game thought of as a fight?"

  "Of course." he said. "Military tacticians love it. It's strategy, defense, aggression, entrapment, retreats, the whole gambit."

  "Checkers is friendlier," I said.

  He stared at me so hard I thought he was about to get up and desert me, but to my surprise, he actually smiled.

  "You're not the competitive type, is that it?"

  "I guess not. My sister has the monopoly on that in our family. She's a star basketball player for Thompson University. She's on the all-star team for the region and will be playing a week from

  tomorrow." I said.

  "Very nice," he said, obviously not very impressed. He cleared the board of all the pieces. "Okay. I want you to set up the board again, and as you do, repeat as much of what I told you as you can,"

  I felt a wave of panic. Truthfully, I had sat politely listening, but I was sure I wouldn't be able to repeat half of what he told me. Nevertheless. I began, and to my surprise, he wasn't upset by my errors. In fact. I realized his quiet way was not because of annoyance but an inner peacefulness I had never seen in someone as young. There was a maturity about him I couldn't help but envy.

  "Can I ask what happened to your father?"

  "You just did," he said.

  I bit down on my lower lip.

  "He was an alcoholic." Peter said.

  "Unfortunately, that firewater thing is a stereotype idea about Native Americans that proves more the rule than the exception. Life on reservations. Indian land, is terrible. Poverty level doesn't begin to describe it."

  "You're. a full-blooded Cherokee?"

  "Yes," he said. "My aunt isn't. The Cherokees were driven out of Tennessee in 1838 in a historical event we call the Trail of Tears. Some mixed-blooded remained, and some returned, and my aunt is one of them."

  He leaned over the board.

  "Don't worry," he said. "I won't scalp you."

  I guess my expression was pretty funny to him. His smile widened.

  "How is it going?" Mr. Kaptor asked.

  "It's a start," he told him.

  "What's that Chinese proverb. Peter?"

  "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a step," he replied, looking at me. "She's almost finished with the first step." He looked at his watch. "Let's go over it again," he said, and returned to the chess pieces.

  When the club hour ended, my head was spinning, but I had to admit I enjoyed it. Peter went to talk to Mr. Kaptor. and I started out. I walked slowly, thinking about the day, my classes, the place I was now in. I thought about Uncle Palaver, too, and reminded myself to remind Brenda to get in touch with him. I was almost to my car when I heard. "Are you coming back on Thursday?"

  I turned to see Peter Smoke.

  "Yes, I am," I said. "I'm going to get my own chess set, too, and practice whatever I learn at home."

  "It's not too bloody a game, too violent?"

  "Stop making fun of me." I said, and he actually started to laugh. He nodded at my automobile. "You have your own car?"

  "Yes. It was my mother's car."

  "What happened to her?" he asked. "You asked about my father," he reminded me quickly.

  I thought a moment. There was something about him that commanded honesty.

  "Like the king shouldn't do, she moved into a square that the opponent controlled."

  He stared, the meaning registering. "I said my father was an alcoholic. It's a form of suicide, too," he remarked.

  I nodded. For a moment, we were just standing there. "Can I give you a ride home?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "It'll be out of your way," he said. "How do you know? I didn't tell you where I live."

  "It's a distance. It will take too long."

  "I have time. Your turn." I said.

  "Huh?"

  "Looks like checkmate," I said, and this time he really laughed.

  He got into the car, and we started away, with him giving me directions.

  "You're going to be able to find your way back and home, right?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said, not worrying about it. "Can I ask you about your name?"'

  "Peter or Smoke?"

  "I think Smoke," I said. laughing.

  "It's my ancestral name. My family's name was given to my father's meat-great-neat-grandfather who was in the Civil War. They gave Indians names then, and they gave him the name Jordan. I wouldn't accept it from the time I was twelve. but I wasn't able to change it until after my father died. I discovered my grandfather's name was Tsu-S-di, which translated means 'Smoke' so I took that name."

  "Why was his name Smoke?"

  "It comes from the Smokey Mountains. My people were there in the year 1000, and there are many legends about the mountains, the smoke. It's mystical, powerful." he said.

  I could feel his eyes on me, his concern that I might. as I supposed many young people our age did, laugh at him. Instead. I turned to him and said. "I wish I had a name that had such power."

  "April is spring," he replied. -"Rebirth, life."

  "I mean my last name. There should be a name store so I could go choose a new one."

  "There is," he said, and gestured at the outside. "It's called the world. Anyway, you don't choose your name. It chooses you," he said. "And don't worry." he added. "It will find you."

  He told me to make a turn at the next intersection, and we'd be on his street. His aunt's house was at least two times larger than our bungalow. It had a bigger, wider lawn and nice magnolia trees in front.

  "You can pull into the driveway," he said, "How do you usually let home?"

  "Bus drops me off two blocks south. No problem. Thanks for the ride."

  "You're welcome," I said. "Thanks for the chess lesson."

  "You're welcome. How does the queen move differently from the king?" he fired, pointing his finger at me.

  "She... can move as far as she wants as long as there's no one in her path."

  "Think about that," he said. "Think about how to move like the queen."

  He closed the door, smiled, and walked to his front door. I waved, backed out, and drove away, pretending I knew just how to get back.

  It was the first time I cared what a boy thought about me, really cared.

  14 Smoke Signals

  . Eventually, I had to stop at a garage, get out, and ask for directions. I was that lost. By the time I got home. Brenda and Celia were there, both sitting in the living room. Brenda looking like someone with a nasty case of migraine headaches.

  "We were warned about you. April," Brenda said the moment I entered. "Where were you? Your club meeting couldn't have gone this long."

  "It didn't. I took someone home."

  "You drove someone home already?" she asked. grimacing. "Was it a boy or a girl?" Celia asked.

  "A boy," I said.

  "You have to be very careful, April," she followed, "Urban kids are a lot more sophisticated when it comes to taking advantage of people."

  "He wasn't taking advantage of me. He didn't ask me to take him home."

  "Oh!" Celia said, raising her eyebrows. "What's this boy's name?"

  I looked away. The two of them were sitting there cross- examining me like detectives at a murder scene.<
br />
  "The last time you were in a car with a boy, you got yourself into a lot of trouble. April," Brenda reminded me.

  "This wasn't like that."

  "I hope not."

  "So, what's his name?" Celia pursued.

  "Why? What difference does it make?"

  "April," Brenda snapped. "Don't be so insolent."

  "His name is Peter Smoke."

  "Peter Smoke?" Celia smiled. "Are you serious?"

  "He's a full-blooded Cherokee Indian living with his aunt here."

  "Is he in your class?" she asked.

  "No. He's a senior. He's the assistant chess instructor and the regional chess champion," I said. "That's how we met."

  Celia raised her eyebrows again. "Oh, he's not a jock; he's a thinker, a Native American thinker."

  "Don't tease her." Brenda said. "I don't want her to think we're trivializing anything. Just be careful," she reminded me. "People take advantage of someone new, especially a young girl with her own car."

  "It's just human nature," Celia agreed. "You have a big, generous heart, and you're searching desperately now for some iota of happiness."

  "I'm not that desperate," I fired back at her.

  "We're just trying to look out for you. April. Don't be so antagonistic," Brenda chastised.

  I sighed deeply.

  "We don't mean to be intrusive or bossy. We're just concerned for you," Celia added. "Neither of us wants to see you unhappy."

  "Okay. I'm sorry.', Did you call Uncle Palaver and tell him where we are and how to reach us?" I quickly asked Brenda as she started to turn away.

  "Yes. I did."

  "Where was he?"

  "He was in Beaumont. Texas, and on his way to New Orleans.'"

  "How's Destiny?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "How should I know? Why?"

  "I just wondered," I said, smiling to myself. Uncle Palaver had not told her about Destiny. He had confided in me only. It made me feel special.

  "I'm driving back to Hickory this weekend," Brenda added. "I have some legal documents to review with our attorney. A trust fund is being created for you. And the real estate agent has someone returning for a second visit. It looks promising. I'm just going for the day. Do you want to come along?"

  "No," I replied sharply. Returning to Hickory with Mama gone was a horrible idea for me. I certainly didn't want to look at our house again.

  "Suit yourself." she said. "We bought a readycooked chicken for tonight. I thought we'd have some salad and that would be enough."

  "Fine with me." I said. "I'll make the salad."

  Actually, it really was fine with me. Suddenly, watching my diet and losing weight took on a whole new meaning. Celia gave me one of her all-knowing smiles, and before she could say anything else. I left the two of them, put my books in my apartment, changed as quickly as I could out of my school uniform, and returned to the kitchen to do the salad.

  At dinner. I was happy the conversation centered around Brenda's all-star game on Friday. Celia talked about the two of us going together. It was being held at a nearby neutral college's gymnasium. As they talked about it, an idea blossomed in my head. I wondered if Peter Smoke would like to go. Was it too optimistic to even consider, and, more to the point, would I have the nerve to ask him or even suggest it? Was it too soon to make such a suggestion to him? What if he laughed?

  "Are you going to ask your new friend if he would like to go to the game. too." Celia asked as I was going out the rear door.

  I hated that she could anticipate my secret hope. Was I really so transparent? Could anyone see through me, or was Celia someone special and extra bright? And why was it so important to her. anyway?

  "I don't know. All I did was give him a ride home," I muttered, and left quickly without even looking at her reaction.

  However. I couldn't stop thinking about Peter Smoke. Was it possible for a girl to develop a crush on a boy so quickly? Was it horrible of me even to have such thoughts so soon after Mama's death? I told myself that it wasn't, because in my mind, it was still hard to accept Mama being gone. I had pushed it down and held it there, forcing myself not to think about it. I dove into my homework, read until my eyes were foggy, and then tried to go to sleep. The trumpet player was at it again, only tonight his music was melancholy to me. It brought tears to my eyes and made me think of Mama, her smile, her laughter, and her wonderful way of building me up, giving me hope. How lonely I felt without her.

  Did Peter Smoke have nights like this? I wondered, Did he miss his mother as much? His life seemed even worse than mine. How did he embrace his sadness? From what well did he draw the strength? That had he called that forced relocation of the Cherokee Indians. the Trail of Tears? I felt as if I were walking the same route. Nasty, horrible, and cruel fate had forced my relocation. Maybe he was right. Maybe my new name and my new identity would find me. I had to learn to have his patience.

  I smiled to myself. When we met again. I thought. I'd know that chess board backward and forward. I decided to spend my study period in the library reading up on it.

  I was hoping to see him in school the next day, but he was like a ghost. I was surprised not to see him in the cafeteria at lunchtime, at least. Where did he go? Curious, I approached Dolores and started the conversation by telling her I had joined beginners' chess.

  "That's so boring," she remarked. Her girlfriends quickly agreed with their nods and moans.

  "No one is in it but the school nerds." JoAnn Docken added. She was a tall, light-brown-haired girl whose obviously cosmetically adjusted nose looked like an advertisement for Snobs R Us.

  "There was this interesting boy helping the teacher. He said he was an Indian," I added, trying to sound as casual as I could.

  "Peter Smoke?" Dolores replied. "Yes."

  "Forget him. He's weird."

  "I don't even see him in school." I said, gazing around the cafeteria,

  "He never eats inside. Even when it rains, he's outside under the overhang. I heard he sleeps with a wolf or something," JoAnn continued.

  "He smells like he does," another girl, Enid Lester. said. She was in my math class and sat across from me, with her little makeup mirror open as if she had to continually check her face for signs of some change. Girls like Enid were like air-traffic controllers searching their awn radar screens for signs of some blip in their looks.

  They all laughed.

  "I didn't smell anything bad," I said,

  "You didn't get close enough, probably. Why, do you like him?" Enid pursued.

  "No. I just wondered..."

  "Watch yourself" JoAnn said. "We heard he carved his initials between the breasts of the last girl he was with at his Oklahoma school, Some Indian thing to make sure your woman is yours and yours only.-

  They all laughed again. "That's so stupid." I said.

  "She likes him," Enid said, nodding smugly, and they all laughed once more.

  I left them giggling at me and walked out of the cafeteria and out of the building. It actually wasn't a bad day to eat lunch outside. I thought. Spring was beginning to creep in, and today we had bright sunshine and higher than usual temperatures. I searched the school grounds, and at first. I didn't see him and thought those girls had just made something up for spite.

  However, just as I was about to turn and go back into the building. I saw his ebony hair and realized he was sitting at a tree with his back against it.

  "Hi' I said, and he turned slowly as if he knew I was walking up to him. He showed no surprise.

  "You always eat lunch outside?"

  He turned further to look at me. "I spend as much time as I can outside. We're locked up in there too much of the day as it is. Why eat in a noisy big room when you have this?" he asked, nodding at the lawn, the frees, the birds, and the blue sky

  "You're right, Mind if I join you?"

  "The world belongs to all of us if it belongs to anyone," he said.

  I sat and opened my brown bag. All I had in it wa
s a stalk of celery and an apple. He glanced at it, but he didn't ask anything or comment. I took a bite of the apple and then a bite of celery. I was sure he could hear the crunching.

  "Noisy food." he said. "You wouldn't hear that in the cafeteria with all the chatter."

  "Sorry."

  "That's okay. I don't mind that sort of noise. It's the yakity-yak that drives me mad sometimes. We should all be charged for how many words we speak a day. People would spew less nonsense."

  I started to laugh and then thought about what I would say. Would he think that was nonsense. too?

  "I read a little more about chess. Those descriptions confused me at first."

  "What descriptions?"

  "E2 to E4, G-1 to F3."

  "Oh. And what did you learn?"

  I leaned over and with my pen drew a square in the dirt. "The left of the board is thought of as numbers one to eight, and the bottom is letters A through H, so when they say 'E2 to E4,' that

  would be the pawn moving two squares forward."

  He stared at me suspiciously for a moment and then, with a half smile. asked. "And what's behind that pawn on letter E?"

  I thought a moment, envisioning the board. "The king." I said, and opened my eyes to see a wide smile spread across his face.

  "Very good." He sat back and continued to eat his sandwich. I thought that was the end of our conversation, but he extended his arm toward the sky and said. "We all tend to think the clouds are random, but if you study the sky long enough, you see patterns. That's why I love chess, too, the sense of order, the clean sense of order. So much around us is chaos. It's nice to find patterns and order in anything."

  I sucked in my breath and sat quietly. It was one of those moments that required no words. He glanced at me, and then we ate without speaking until we heard the warning bell.

  "I can take you home again if you Eke," I said quickly when we both stood up. "I know the way now."

  "Why?" he asked, looking suspicious.

  "Why? Because... I could get some extra help with my chess lessons," I offered, trying to make my invitation sound selfish.

  He held his smile back. but I could see it in his eyes. "Okay. That's a fair trade. You'll come in and spend an hour on the board," he said.