by Lisa Wingate
“Thanks,” I said, watching her draw the fence and the pillars, then trace the pencil along the curves by the creek. Cataway Creek, where the Clays had a ranch far off the road. Where Thomas Clay may have lived before something happened in the family. Some trouble.
I fixated on the note as she slid it into the box between the meat pies and the drinks. It was hard to believe one small scrap of paper might hold the keys to my past.
“There you go, darlin’,” she said. “I wrote my number and Cecil’s number down at the bottom, just in case you might ever need it.”
“Thank you…thanks so much.” My throat was raw, filled with a rush of hope that made the words tremble.
“Good luck,” Cecil added as I turned and headed back through the crowd. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
In the arena, the chief of the Choctaw Nation was speaking, but I couldn’t focus on the words. Instead, I watched the note twitter back and forth in my box, afraid that a sudden gust of wind might catch it and blow it away while I wasn’t looking.
When I reached our chairs, Jace looked up, surprised. “I was starting to wonder if you’d been elected chief and dragged into the arena.”
“Long line at the food tables,” I answered, slipping into my chair and balancing the box on my knees. “It took a while.” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, as if I were only watching the girl in the lawn chair. As I helped Jace balance both Willie and his supper, my mind was traveling far away, leaving behind the sound of the chief speaking, the music of a wooden flute playing in the distance, the sound of the family murmuring around me. I felt myself drifting away from all of it, following the pencil line on Nita’s map—through the hollow, along Cataway Creek, past the stacked stone fence. Carefully folding the note, then tucking it in my pocket, I tried to imagine what was on the other end.
After we’d finished eating, Autumn wandered over and balanced on the arm of her father’s chair, her shoulders sagging wearily.
“Long day, huh?” he asked, patting her softly on the back.
“Yeah,” she whispered, yawning. “I’m tired.”
“I know, baby girl,” he said, and she frowned over her shoulder at him.
“I’m not a baby.”
“I know.”
Holding her arm close to her face, she squinted in the dim glow of the arena lights, checking the time on my Russian watch.
“You can keep that,” I said, and she blinked in surprise.
“Really? From now on I can keep it?”
“From now on.” I nodded, and Jace glanced at me. “You have fun with it, okay?” Grandma Rose always said that when someone had done a good turn for you, the best way to repay it was to do a good turn for someone else. The garden club ladies had definitely done a good turn for me.
“Awesome. Nobody in school’s got one like this.”
I chuckled. “No, I imagine not.”
“Can you show me how to set it?”
“If I can remember.”
Autumn scooted off Jace’s chair arm, then slid into the seat beside me, and together we deciphered the workings of the watch as the chief’s address continued in the arena. By the time it was over, we’d finished with the watch, and Autumn rested her head drowsily on my shoulder. In the arena, dancers wearing regalia adorned with long fringes were gathering for the Grass Dance, while the announcer told the legend of a young man who wanted to dance with the tribe but could not because he was born with a crippled foot. Praying for guidance, he went off into the prairie, and as he stood looking over the miles of swaying and swooping grass, he realized this could be his dance. The dancers in the arena, with their long strands of yarn and ribbon, represented the prairie grass.
As the dance began, Jace winked at me, and motioned to Autumn, who was drifting off to sleep. By the time the Grass Dance was over, she lay limp against my shoulder, her breaths slow and deep.
“Guess it’s time to go,” Jace whispered, leaning close to my ear.
“Guess so,” I agreed, though in a way I didn’t want to leave. It felt good, sitting there with him, listening to the drums, the high-pitched songs of the drummers, the swish of fabric and fringe, the movement of the dancers, the Reids coming and going as various family members packed up and called it a night. I liked the way it felt, having Autumn’s small body curled against mine, hearing Willie’s soft snores. The moment was settled and complete.
I glanced over at Shasta, who was sitting on a blanket with her family. Cody’s arm was curled around her swollen stomach and Benjamin’s head rested on her knee. She has this all the time, I thought. She has this feeling every day, forever. I understood, in a soul-deep way, why she was in such a hurry to form a family of her own.
Beside me, Jace stood up with Willie in his arms, walked over to say something to Gwendolyn, then came back and roused Autumn. Yawning and sighing, she climbed to her feet.
“I’ll get the chairs,” I offered, folding two of them and putting them under my arms. Even though I didn’t want to, I glanced toward the announcer’s stand. Lana was busy laughing and talking with the group of drummers seated below the platform. Backing into the shadows, I waited for Jace as he grabbed the third chair and a bag full of quilts, and carried them opposite Willie.
“We can drop these at the booth for Nana Jo,” he said. “She rode over with Bubba and Dillon. No telling what time they’ll finally get out of here.”
Autumn slipped her fingers into mine, and Jace glanced sideways, watching our intertwined hands for a long moment. “You can stay if you want to see the rest of it. I don’t want to take you away.”
Was he trying to get rid of me? The thought was surprisingly painful. “No. I’d just as soon go…if it’s okay with you, I mean.”
His lips twisted to one side as we started walking. “Of course it’s okay.”
When we reached the booth, he put the lawn chairs and quilts inside, then quickly tucked his flutes into a small box filled with foam peanuts, and handed the box to Autumn.
Balancing it under one arm, Autumn slipped her free hand into mine again. “Can I ride back with Dell?”
“I guess you’d better ask Dell.” Jace pulled a tarp across the booth opening as Autumn turned to me expectantly.
“Sure you can,” I told her, thinking that it would be nice to have company on the drive out to the campground. “My car’s kind of a mess after this morning, though.”
She smiled at me. “I like messy cars.”
“Good, then you’re the perfect copilot for me,” I said, patting my purse. “I even have a new CD we can listen to. It’s by some guy with long hair and a brooding frown.”
Autumn giggled, and Jace groaned under his breath. On his shoulder, Willie stirred, then snorted irritably at the noise before settling down again as we walked through the darkened fairgrounds.
“I’m parked in that lot.” I pointed toward the parking area behind the softball fields, which was slowly starting to empty out. Jace’s car was in a smaller, personnel lot closer in.
“I’ll walk you over,” he offered, and I didn’t tell him not to. I liked strolling along with him, looking at the stars and listening to the drums in the distance.
Autumn gave me the box of flutes and took his hand, stretching between us like a bridge. When we reached my car, she hugged her dad good-bye, then climbed into my passenger seat, moving the envelope from the courthouse out of the way.
“I’ll be right behind you two,” Jace promised, then closed Autumn’s door and strode off with Willie hanging on his shoulder like a life-sized rag doll.
On the drive back to the campground, Autumn recalled the morning’s skunk incident and theorized about whether or not the skunk had vacated the motor home’s dryer vent. I plugged in Jace’s CD and “The Voices of a Thousand Leaves” filled the car like the earthy smoke of a campfire. It was easy to see where Dillon had learned to play the flute. Jace played beautifully, and in his music there was a deeper dimension, a soulfuln
ess that spoke of the story behind the music.
“I hope those people in the motor home left.” Moonlight painted the soft curve of Autumn’s cheek, casting a blue-black glow over her hair as she spoke. “They’re not very nice.”
“No, they’re really not.”
“They don’t like us because we’re Indian. Because Nana Jo makes us talk Choctaw and stuff.” With a frustrated sigh, she turned to me for confirmation. “I don’t like to talk Choctaw. None of my friends at school talk Choctaw.”
Her frankness surprised me, and I paused to think before I answered. “It’s not always the best thing to be just like everyone else.” Grandma Rose had told me that once. “If God wanted us all to be the same, He would have made us that way.”
Twisting her arms together, Autumn threaded her hands between her legs. “You don’t talk Choctaw.”
“I never had the chance to learn. But I’d like to, one day. It’s important to know your history.”
“Nana Jo says that.” On the stereo, the music changed to a lively, high-pitched melody that sounded like birdsong. “I could teach you some Choctaw.”
“I’d like that.” Dimly, I had the thought that I was making commitments I couldn’t keep. I wasn’t going to be here long enough to learn Choctaw. “Maybe not this trip, but one of these days.”
“How long are you gonna stay?”
“I’m not sure. Another day or so, probably. I’ve been away from home a long time, and I need to get back and spend some time with my mom and dad, and my nieces and nephew.”
Autumn frowned at me, momentarily considering what I’d said. “I could come to your house and teach you some Choctaw.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “I live a long ways from here, sweetheart.”
“My dad could drive me. He doesn’t have anything to do on the weekends. We could even bring Willie.”
I was beginning to sense an agenda. “We’ll see.”
Autumn huffed quietly at the answer, knowing, as all kids do, that things we’ll see about usually don’t happen. Gazing out the window, she fell silent, and I listened to the music. When the song was over, she turned back to me. “I wish God gave me a different color hair. My cousin’s got red hair. I like it. And she’s got blue eyes.”
“You have beautiful hair.” In the rearview mirror, Jace’s lights disappeared momentarily as we rounded a curve. I wondered if he’d ever had this conversation with his daughter. “And you have beautiful brown eyes. I wish I had eyes like that.”
She threw her hands into the air, then let them slap to her knees. “You do have eyes like that.”
“Oh, that’s true,” I agreed, and she giggled, then fell momentarily silent.
“My cousin’s pretty.” She watched the car lights reappear in the side mirror, then glanced at me. “You’re pretty.”
“Thanks,” I answered, and she snuggled back in the seat, leaning close to the window to look out at the moon.
“I think you’re even prettier than Aunt Shasta.”
“Thanks,” I said again. “But your aunt Shasta’s really beautiful.”
“I’m glad you came to camp out with us.”
“Me, too.”
The conversation ran out. By the time we reached the campground, Autumn had almost drifted off to sleep. As we parked and exited the car, she didn’t even notice that the motor home was gone, the campsite now empty.
Jace carried Willie to the tent, and Autumn stumbled along behind. I found myself lingering outside my car, wondering if he would come back for the box of flutes. I was glad when he did.
“Out cold,” he reported.
“It’s been a long, crazy day.”
“Yes, it has,” he agreed, but in spite of the day, neither of us seemed to want to leave.
For some reason, I felt the need to tell him about the garden club ladies and the map.
“I’m going to go there in the morning,” I finished, putting Nita’s scrap of paper back in my pocket. “To see if I can find…I don’t know…a mailbox with their names on it, or someone I can ask about them.” Saying it out loud made it sound unlikely and ridiculous. I felt obliged to apologize for the plan. “I know it’s a long shot. Do you think I’m nuts?”
He considered the question, and for a moment I was afraid he’d say yes, and I’d be hurt because he didn’t understand the emotional roller coaster I was riding. “I think you shouldn’t go alone. This isn’t Kansas City. The Kiamichi is a different kind of place. Some of the folks who live way up in the hills don’t like strangers coming around. For one thing, drug business goes on in some of those out-of-the-way places. More than a few hunters and sheriff’s deputies have gotten into trouble stumbling onto someone’s marijuana patch or meth lab.”
“I won’t be tromping around the woods.” I wondered if he was trying to discourage me because he thought my plan was unrealistic.
“You still shouldn’t go alone.” I felt as if I were talking to my father. “I’ll drop the kids at Neenee’s and go with you.”
I instantly felt guilty. This was supposed to be his family weekend. “I don’t want to take up your day again.”
“It’s all right.”
“But it’s…” Somewhere in the back of my mind was the picture of the highway patrolman telling me not to be caught driving around his territory again with my expired license. Nita’s map would take me right back to the same area.
“Would you mind driving?” I asked, thoroughly chagrined. “I got stopped for speeding on the way back from the courthouse today and my license is expired. If the same guy stops me again, I’m in trouble.”
His head dropped forward into the shadow of one of the tents next door. I realized he was laughing under his breath.
“Did you tell him you were having a really tough day?”
“I cried like a baby.”
“Did he give you a ticket?”
“No. I think he felt sorry for me.”
Jace laughed again.
“Stop that.” I swatted at him, and he ducked away.
“Stop what?”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you.” He caught my hand in midair. “I’m just laughing.” His voice was soft and intimate, his face only inches away.
“I like the way you laugh,” I whispered, and my body came alive.
Stepping back, he let go of my hand and cleared his throat, frowning at the bedding stacked in the back floorboard under Benjamin’s child seat. “Are you sure you’re all right in there?”
“I’m fine. It’s pretty comfortable, actually. I’ve still got Shasta’s baby seat, though. I hope she doesn’t need it tonight.”
“Gwendolyn and Nana Jo both have baby seats in their cars,” he said, opening the door and unstrapping the seat. “Let me get this out of the way for you. After two kids, I’m an expert with these things.”
“I guess you would be.” I stood awkwardly by the door, reminded again that he had life experiences to which I couldn’t relate. “My aunt Kate got to the point where she just kept a baby booster in every car, because it’s so much trouble to move them.”
He pulled the seat out and braced it under his arm. “Between the ones Shasta has bought and the ones Deanne passed down from our kids, Shasta’s got about ten of these things. But she might need this one in the morning, if she can keep Cody away from the fishing hole long enough to go to the festival. I’ll put it in her tent.” Turning away, he started toward the Reid campsite.
“Your flutes are still in here,” I called after him, and he nodded. “We enjoyed the CD, by the way,” I added, and he waved over his shoulder, shaking his head. I took the flute box from the car, then carried it to the Reid picnic table and waited for him to come out of Shasta’s tent. In the center of camp, the fire glowed softly, and the lanterns had been lit, but the place was empty. I pulled one of the flutes out of the box and sat admiring it. In the soft light, the wood was the warm color of rich earth, and the tiny mother-of-p
earl swirls seemed to take on an inner life. Remembering the music of the night before, I was momentarily tempted to play. I’d studied flute for a while at Harrington, but not on an instrument like this.
“Try it out,” Jace urged as he crossed the circle of firelight. “That’s a good flute.”
Running my finger along the fluid lines of glistening shell, I contemplated the hours of patient effort and artistry that went into creating the instrument. “I wouldn’t know how to play it.”
“My guess is that you could play just about anything.” He leaned against the table beside me, so that we stood shoulder to shoulder. “Give it a whistle.”
I held the flute out to him instead, then looked up and met his challenge with one of my own. “Show me how.”
The lantern glow flickered against his dark eyes. “I don’t play anymore.”
“My guess is that you could play just about anything.”
Taking the flute from my hands, he laughed under his breath, then wagged the instrument at me.