“No, sweetheart.” He’d rigged a canopy of pine boughs over her to keep the snow out of her face. “Rest. Get well.”
“I want to go now,” she said. “I want to see my father’s gift before I die. I want to know my people are safe.”
“We need to turn back, Moon Song. Like some of the others have done. You’re too sick to continue.”
“I want to go on.”
“Moon Song, please,” Skypilot said. “Don’t do this. Don’t sacrifice yourself just to keep a handful of children from going to government schools. They’ll be all right. We’ll fight back in some other way. After you are well again.”
“No. Children should not be taken from parents.”
“Moon Song . . .”
“No!” Her feverish eyes blazed up at him. “If I perish, I perish!”
It was then that he knew he had permanently lost his argument. If Moon Song was quoting the book of Esther at him, a book he had read to her and Isabella after their steamboat exploded, there was no use trying to reason with her. Perhaps it was her own experience of being raised without a father or having been taken from her mother that steeled her resolve. Whatever it was, the woman was determined not to turn back, and he did not have the right or the heart to make her.
If Skypilot had thought that his trek with Moon Song and Isabella had been harsh, it was nothing compared to the next few desperate days. Moon Song was no longer able to carry Standing Bear. That became his job. Strangely enough, with Moon Song too sick to walk, Fallen Arrow grew stronger and stronger. He began to see why Moon Song had held her grandmother in such reverence. The old woman became as one made of granite as they pushed forward. Her love for her granddaughter was too great to allow her to show weakness now.
Fighting Sparrow’s grandson and granddaughter were both of school age, and she chose to push forward with them. Hanging Leaf’s family came along too. Snowbird’s only child was young enough to be carried on her back, and that young woman trudged forward as well, her husband at her side.
And it continued to snow.
Others with school-age children followed them, believing in Moon Song’s promise that there would be a land that no one could take away from them.
From time to time, they stopped long enough to eat pemmican and rest. Little Standing Bear was old enough to eat the pemmican now. Skypilot and the other men scratched around in the snow long enough to find grass and weeds upon which the mule could forage. He did not have words big enough to express his gratitude to the Lord for having given him the desire to purchase this strong animal.
Moon Song continued to live, in spite of what sounded to him like her lungs filling up. Sometimes she coughed until she retched, and still she hung on. He began to wonder if she was conscious at all.
Finally, Fallen Arrow began to fade. The old woman who had been so valiantly trying to walk without faltering fell and lay without moving. She had given all she had and could walk no more. Moon Song did what few other women would have had the will to do. As ill as she was, she pulled herself off of the mule and made her grandmother climb on. Then for mile after mile, she walked beside the mule, one arm around its neck, the other around Skypilot’s waist, nothing but sheer grit fueling her as she put one foot in front of the other.
He was certain that when she could no longer walk, she would crawl, so great was her desire to get her people to the land her father had promised her.
Finally, the time came when even her great heart could not make her legs hold her any longer, and she collapsed. He was a strong man, but with one-year-old Standing Bear strapped to his back, it was a great struggle to carry her—and yet, carry her he did, and they trudged on.
He was surprised when Snowbird’s husband made him stop long enough to lift Standing Bear’s cradle board from his shoulders and put it on his own. This was highly unusual behavior for a Chippewa brave. Not once had Skypilot seen an Indian man carrying a cradle board, but he was grateful. Another brave then helped secure an unconscious Moon Song onto his back. With her weight distributed more evenly, he trudged on many more miles, steadying Fallen Arrow upon the mule, thankful to the men of her tribe for helping him.
He was grateful that she lay so close against his back. He could feel her breathing, and knew that at least for now she was still alive. He could not imagine surviving her death, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that if she died, at least he had done everything within his ability and strength to take her to the land her father had saved for her.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he repeated over and over. “Hold on. We’ll be there soon.”
As he walked, he prayed harder than he had ever prayed before in his life. He prayed that she would survive, and that when they arrived, there would be some sort of shelter where he could care for her. To come into the promised land of the Huron Mountains with his girl deathly ill and find only more wilderness was too awful to consider.
And then, as far as he could calculate, they were there. He knew a small bit of surveying, and he knew how to read a deed and could judge distances. They crested a hill and he could see Lake Superior spread out before them.
“Look, sweetheart,” he said, pointing at the giant expanse of water. “It’s your lake. We’re here. I think we’re on your father’s land.”
Moon Song roused from her stupor. He could feel her lifting her head, looking out over the lake, and in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, she said, “Oh, it is so beautiful!”
He untied the ropes that secured her to him, squatted, and allowed her to slip to the ground. He was so drained, he could think of little else except letting go and simply falling to the ground beside her. He was so exhausted that the idea of cradling her in his arms until they died together seemed the only thing left to do. Living without her was unimaginable.
It was then that he heard a gunshot, and a piece of bark flew off a tree near his head.
26
He was nearly too tired to care. If someone wanted to shoot him, so be it. His feet were half frozen anyway. Moon Song was not going to survive unless they got her shelter and a doctor.
The others barely twitched at the repeat of the rifle. They merely stood, like cattle. Dumb from exhaustion and cold. They had pushed so hard for so long. A trip that should have taken three or four days had turned into an eight-day trial of endurance and hardship and near starvation.
Now someone was shooting at them. The only weapon Skypilot carried was his axe, and it was strapped to the mule. He forced himself to try to reach for it.
“Stop!” a voice said.
Skypilot stopped.
A strange sight emerged from the woods—a man with wild hair and beard, dressed in ragged buckskin and rabbit fur badly sewn into a rough cape.
“I’ve been following you,” the man said, keeping his rifle trained on Skypilot. “You’re trespassing.”
“I apologize,” Skypilot said. “I thought we were in the right place.”
“You’re a white man. Why are you walking around with this band of Chippewa?”
“Trying to help them.”
“Looks like you’ve been doing a poor job of it.”
“True.” Skypilot staggered but managed to right himself. “We meant no harm.”
“What’s wrong with that Indian girl?” The man motioned at her with his gun.
“She’s sick. I think it’s pneumonia.”
“Are you her husband?”
“Not yet,” Skypilot said. “Probably not ever unless we can get her into some sort of shelter. Either shoot me and be done with it or help me get her under a roof somewhere. Don’t keep us standing here. These people have been through enough.”
The man lowered the rifle and jerked his head to the east.
“I got a cabin over there a ways. You and her and the old woman can stay with me. Those people over there can make whatever use they can from the barn.”
His spirits lifted slightly. “We’re grateful for whatever help you can giv
e us.”
The barn, when they got to it, was tight, well built, filled with hay, and compared to where they had been, downright cozy with the body heat of several farm animals. The rest of the tribe fell into the barn and sat there in a daze. The wild-looking man seemed troubled.
“I’ll come out later and tend to them. Let’s get the girl and the old woman inside.”
It took every last bit of strength he had, but he lifted Moon Song, who was unconscious now, into his arms and carried her into the man’s home.
The log cabin, when they entered it, was more spacious than he’d expected. It was not a one-room affair but had two bedrooms, one to each side, plus a loft.
“In here,” the wild man said. “She can have my bed.”
Skypilot gently laid her on the man’s rope bed, and then he sat down on the floor at her side.
Fallen Arrow had collapsed onto a thick rug that was in front of the fireplace. It was humbling to Skypilot how completely at this stranger’s mercy they were. He wished he’d been better at reading Moon Song’s property title, but perhaps this was the Lord taking care of them. Instead of finding their way to Moon Song’s land, they had found this man who might actually save their lives.
The first thing the man did was set a huge kettle of water to boiling on the fireplace, out of which he made cups of tea sweetened with real sugar. Skypilot sat with his back against Moon Song’s bed, sipping the tea, trying to get his strength back while the man walked back and forth looking out at the weather.
They had barely made it here in time. The wind picked up once again and began to whistle around the corners of the cabin. The man appeared to make a decision. He left and came back from the barn with the rest of the tribe.
“It was getting too cold out there,” the man said.
The people said little. Instead, they huddled around the pot while he poured more cups of tea. Although his cups were limited and they had to share, no one seemed to mind.
After everyone had warmed up with the hot liquid, the man added more water to the pot and then poured several pounds of beans into it along with some cut-up fatback and set it back to boiling.
“Kisinaa,” Moon Song said through chattering teeth.
“She says she’s cold,” Skypilot explained. “Although I don’t know how she could be. With that fire going, even I’m starting to sweat.”
The man placed the palm of his hand on her forehead, and in so doing, brushed the tangled hair out of her face.
Skypilot heard a strangled gasp as the man got a full look at her face. He didn’t understand. Moon Song was beautiful, but not to the point of making a man gasp in surprise.
“Dear God,” the man said as though uttering a prayer. “Who have you brought to my door?”
“Her name is Moon Song.” Skypilot said.
“Of course it is.” The wild man’s comment made no sense to Skypilot, but then nothing made a whole lot of sense right now.
He knew more about curing a fever than Skypilot did. He brought in snow from the outside, rolled it in oilcloth, and placed it under her neck and shoulders and beneath her arms and behind her knees. This he changed every few minutes until the fever cooled enough that he was able to bring a special drink to her.
“What is that?” Skypilot asked.
“The inner bark of the willow,” the man said. “It’s good for fevers and headaches.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“From an old friend.”
Suddenly Skypilot realized that in his haze of fatigue, he’d lost track of little Standing Bear. “Where is the baby?”
“One of the other Indian mothers is feeding him.”
The man’s answers were short and to the point but not unkind. As Skypilot watched him dribbling the willow bark water into Moon Song’s mouth, he realized that he did not have to be strong for her any longer. He dragged himself off into a corner and fell into an exhausted sleep.
He slept deep and hard and when he awoke, it was to quiet laughter and the liquid sound of the Chippewa language. He stood up and saw that Moon Song was still unconscious but her teeth were no longer chattering. He walked over, felt her head, and found it cool to the touch. He almost panicked, thinking she had died, until he saw that she was breathing regularly. Then he opened the door and walked out to where the others were crowded together, eating beans out of a pot.
“I saved you some,” Snowbird said in Chippewa as she handed him a bowl of beans with a large piece of fatback in the middle of it.
He realized he was ravenous, and downed it in a few gulps. Then he saw what the laughter was all about. Standing Bear was doing a little stomp and dance step for the group.
“Where is Fallen Arrow?” he asked.
Snowbird nodded toward the fireplace. “She ate well and is now sleeping again. I think she will regain her strength.”
“Where is the stranger who saved us?”
“He and my husband went out to tend to the livestock.”
“Moon Song’s fever has broken,” he said. “She sleeps without coughing.”
“Ah, that is what the white stranger said.” She turned her attention back toward the enjoyment of watching Moon Song’s son revel in all the attention.
The cabin was very crowded, and it was growing very warm. Even though it was still snowing, he stepped outside to breathe the fresh air.
“Do you love her?” He heard the wild man’s voice behind him. It was a strange question to come from the lips of a virtual stranger, but then again, it had been a strange journey.
Startled, he turned around and realized that once again he was staring down the muzzle of the man’s rifle.
“I’m getting very tired of this,” Skypilot said wearily. “Either kill me or put that thing away.”
“Do you love her?” the man once again asked.
“Life would be a whole lot less complicated if I didn’t, but yes, I love her. I love her more than my own life. Who are you anyway?”
“I’m the caretaker of this place,” the man said.
“Then who’s the owner?”
“From what I can tell,” the man said, “it’s that girl lying in there.” He shook his head. “She sure does look like her mother.”
Skypilot got cold chills down his back. “How do you know her mother?”
“Because I’m the one who killed her.”
To Skypilot’s utter astonishment, the man dropped his gun in the snow, fell to his knees, and covered his face.
27
How’s Moon Song?” Skypilot asked when he went back inside, with the rifle over his arm, unloaded and the ammunition safely in his pocket.
Fallen Arrow had awakened. “She’s up and asking for you.”
“I think there’s someone here she needs to meet.”
“Who?” Fallen Arrow asked. “There is no one here except us.”
Skypilot did not answer. Instead he opened the bedroom door to Moon Song’s room, where she lay curled up beside Standing Bear. She was conscious and was stroking the baby’s face.
“How are you feeling?” he asked while the wild man stood beside him.
“Not well, but much better,” she said. “I will try to get up soon. We cannot stay here forever.”
“I don’t know about that,” Skypilot said. “I think we probably could if we wanted to.”
She sat up and looked at the two men. “What do you mean?”
“I was not wrong in my calculations after all,” Skypilot said. “We’re on your land. Right in the middle of it as a matter of fact.”
“But why is he here?” she asked. “Are you a squatter? It is all right, if you are. You helped save my life. I will be happy to let you stay and share my father’s land.”
“No, it’s your property and your cabin. I’ve just been the caretaker until you came.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “My father’s letter said nothing about a caretaker or a cabin.”
The man looked at Skypilot.
&nb
sp; “Don’t look at me,” Skypilot said. “You tell her.”
“My name is Benjamin Webster,” the man said. “I’m your father.”
Her eyes widened. “That can’t be true. My father is dead.”
“I thought I was dying when I wrote that letter,” he said. “The doctors insisted that my problem was inoperable and irreversible. They suggested I get my affairs in order and then make myself comfortable and await death. I followed their orders exactly. Except for one thing. They expected me to go to my home in Boston to await death. Instead, I decided that if I had to die, I would prefer to do it where I could see my beloved lake and trees, the place where I’d been the happiest in my life. I bought a tent and a ticket on a steamboat and a little food. I climbed to the top of this mountain where I could see forever out into the lake, and I waited to die.
“I waited a very long time. One morning I decided that if I was going to die anyway, I might as well accomplish something while I was waiting. And so I walked to Marquette, bought some tools, and decided that I would start building a cabin for you so that you would have some shelter when you came. I built this cabin where it could be seen for miles; that way you could find it. I didn’t expect to be able to do much, maybe fell a few trees, drag a few rocks over for the foundation. Except something strange happened. The more I worked, the stronger I felt. I was twenty when you were born. I just turned forty. I’m not young, but not so terribly old. Before long, I began to feel nearly as strong as I had when I was twenty and living here.
“It’s the oddest thing. I don’t know what happened. All I know is I’m still here. I can’t explain it, and I certainly didn’t mean to lie to you, but two weeks to live turned into two months, and now it’s been nearly eighteen months and I never felt so strong and healthy in my life.”
The man was standing at the foot of the bed as he told her all this. As he finished, he simply shrugged, and then became silent as he stared at the floor, apparently waiting for her to decide how she was going to react.
“Come here,” she said.
The man walked over to her.
Under a Blackberry Moon Page 26