Long Snows Moon

by Stacey Darlington

  When the women were gone, Jameson slipped downstairs and clipped the leash on Berry’s collar. The gravity of her mother’s news left her navigating the narrow bridge between loss and renewal, between life and death. The news about Devon's marriage opened a hole in her heart the size of Nevada. She led Berry out of the kitchen and rushed for the cover of dark woods beyond the store, feeling light-headed and disconnected. The ground beneath her feet felt tilted. In her haste, Jameson lost her balance and almost fell twice.

  She felt its eyes on her. Jameson glanced back at the owl on its new perch atop the greenhouse roof. The owl blinked. It was not his fault. He was the messenger.

  I am sorry, my sister, but your mother is needed elsewhere.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sun blazed through the high window coaxing Devon from sleep. She sat up, shocked by unfamiliar surroundings. When she realized she was in Jameson's loft she sighed and pulled the downy blanket to her chin. Whatever Jameson put in her tea made her sleep deep and delicious. Jameson had been thoughtful to bring in her purse and overnight bag. She left a note on an end table that read: Good Morning Shadow Wolf, Moon and I are out back. I got your things out of your car for you. Please make yourself at home, take a shower, sleep all day, or browse through my library of books. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Room and board are free at Elk’s Pass Sundries, as well as anything else you want or need downstairs. Help yourself. It was signed, J.

  Jameson laid out a fresh towel, a travel-sized toothbrush, toothpaste, and some clean clothes. She picked up the clothes and smiled. She tried to recall the last time she wore a t-shirt. She’d always been part of the linen and khaki club. The t-shirt was soft cotton and a color Devon never wore. The purple had faded over time to light lavender.

  She took in the furnishings and the unusual furnishings throughout the room. The thing that struck her was the grand painting above the couch. How she hadn’t noticed it had much to do with her state of mind.

  It was a depiction of a woman in her middle forties dressed in ceremonial attire. The colors were bold and primary, even the woman’s face done in hues of yellow, red, and blue. She stood with her eyes closed and her head turned toward the setting sun. Behind her was the silhouette of a buffalo. Her arms were raised to the sky, and in one hand, she held a pipe, and on the other upturned palm, perched a raven.

  Devon knew it was Jameson’s mother, and realized she owned a piece of Jameson’s art. Devon recognized the style.

  She read the signature. It was signed Raven Song, like the one in her own bedroom.

  “Raven Song,” Devon whispered in awe. She clutched her heart. Jameson had been with her all along.

  She noted a few other works of art including stunning framed photographs of animals, a pack of wolves sleeping, a deer hurdling over a fallen tree, a few intricately woven dream catchers.

  She took her cell phone from her purse. It was dead as she figured it would be. She found an outlet and plugged it in to charge.

  In the tiny bathroom, Devon inspected her face in the mirror. She looked beyond haggard. Her hair was matted and tangled. Her eye make-up made her look like a raccoon. The bump on her head looked like an alien growth exploding from her forehead.

  “Real nice,” she muttered.

  She stepped into a hot shower, mindful of her bumps and bruises. The pressure was hard and the water smelled pure. She let it carry her worries away and wash them down the drain. Devon wondered if she ever felt this serene and carefree. The troubles that had plagued her yesterday were now arcane and although her body battered, her spirit soared like an eagle above the trees.

  Fly high and you can see more clearly.

  She toweled off and dressed in Jameson’s well-worn clothes.

  She had to hobble but Devon made her way downstairs, but not before a perfunctory glance in the mirror. She was not in the habit of going anywhere without make-up, but the hot water had made her cheeks rosy and her eyes glistened with the ardor of last night’s kiss. The languid feeling was as out of character as the clothes, but she wasn’t urgent to leave. She had nowhere to be.

  The cuckoo clock told her it was eight. She noted from the sign that the store opened at nine. She smelled coffee and found the kitchen. She poured a cup and watched Jameson outside, in the herb garden sprinkling something on the plants and talking to them. Moon sat at the open gate and watched her, too. When she saw Devon in the doorway, she bounded toward her, barking with delight.

  Devon sat on the back steps and cuddled her dog. She waved to Jameson.

  “Good morning!” Jameson called. “How do you feel?”

  “Not bad, actually.”

  “Are you hungry?” Jameson asked, weaving her way through the plants.

  “A little,” Devon admitted.

  “Good, I’ll make us some breakfast.” She helped Devon to her feet and the three went inside. Jameson eased Devon into a chair and pushed her up to the wide table.

  “This set is magnificent,” Devon noted.

  “Solid oak,” Jameson replied, rapping on the tabletop. “I learned a lot sitting at this table. My mother used it to dry her tobacco and her herbs. She used it to make her salves, to bottle her ointments. She taught me how to weave my first dream catcher right here, and taught me history of the Native American, or as the politically correct folks say, First Nations people. She taught me about Wakan Tanka.”

  “Wakan Tanka?”

  “Another name for God, the Creator, the Great Mystery. How do you like your eggs?”

  “I don’t eat meat,” Devon said.

  “Eggs aren’t meat.”

  “They would be if we didn’t eat them.”

  “They haven’t been fertilized.”

  Devon laughed. “This could go on and on. I do not eat meat or anything that has been inside it. I never have.”

  “But, why?”

  “I can’t eat the flesh of a living thing,” Devon shuddered.

  “That is their purpose, sustenance,” Jameson told her. “Do you eat salads?”

  “Yes.”

  “Plants are living.”

  “They don’t bleed and they don’t scream,” Devon told her.

  Jameson checked Devon’s forehead with an expert touch. “I have a balm for the cut. Can I put some on it or is it still too tender?”

  Devon touched it. “It still hurts like hell.”

  “I’ll be gentle,” Jameson smiled.

  She went out front and returned with a small jar. She dabbed some on the wound as Devon inspected the bottle. The label read Doc Jordan’s Antibiotic Balm, no ingredients, just the name.

  “What’s in this?”

  “Secret family recipe.”

  “Do I smell camphor?”

  “That’s one ingredient,” Jameson admitted.

  “What did you give me last night? I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

  “I gave you Sleep Tea,” Jameson said.

  “Another secret family recipe?”

  “Yes, it’s a mixture of Valerian Root, Passionflower and a few other herbs.”

  “If you sold that stuff I could get rid of my Xanax prescription.”

  “I make it myself and I do sell it, right out there, by the pack or by the pound,” Jameson pointed to the store. “Do you still have pain?”

  “I’m okay. I took a few pain relievers before I showered. I could use a manicure, though.”

  Jameson laughed and took Devon’s hand. “Broke a few during your Medicine Walk, I see.”

  “Is that what it was? I wondered about that. I still can’t believe I ended up here.”

  Jameson kneeled in front of Devon. “Maybe because here is where you were going,” she stated.

  “Thank Wakan Tanka you found me.” Devon smiled.

  Jameson giggled and got up. “Very good, I’m impressed. Okay, nothing that bleeds or screams, how about pancakes?”

  “Great,” Devon agreed.

  Jameson scrambled some eggs with the hamburger lef
tover from last night for Moon and a stack of flapjacks for them.

  “Last night was surreal,” Devon, mused. “I feel as though I’ve been sleeping forever and I just woke up. Now I’m ultra-aware of my senses and I’m absolutely starving.”

  “It’s coming,” Jameson smiled.

  “Not just my stomach. It’s my mind that’s ravenous, my spirit, my body.”

  “I can help you feed those things.”

  “My soul aches,” Devon sighed. “Is that even possible?”

  Jameson pulled a chair up beside her and took Devon’s hands. “Stay here for a while.”

  “Okay,” Devon whispered, close to tears. “Why am I so emotional?”

  “You can’t stuff your feelings down forever,” Jameson said. “Eventually your subconscious mind will guide you to find a way to release. You want to be free of the emotions you find cumbersome.”

  “That’s a fine wisdomism, Raven Song,” Devon praised.

  “You remembered that?” Jameson asked.

  “Not until this morning when I saw the signature on the painting upstairs. I own a piece you did about ten years ago. My mother must have bought it for me when she got Moon.”

  “Shawnodese, spirit keeper of the south. He is a coyote.”

  “The south,” Devon mused. “That is the only direction that didn’t come to me in the woods.”

  “You had company?” Jameson asked.

  “Yes, Mudjewkeewis of the West, the bear told me the time of the great sleep has ended that I must discover my own heart.”

  “Good advice from a bear,” Jameson teased.

  “Seriously, then Waboose of the North, the buffalo, I think, was telling me to quit drinking.”

  “Over-indulgence is considered weakness. Excess use of liquor, tobacco, or other drugs clouds your connection to the spirit world.”

  Devon nodded, wishing for some bourbon for her coffee.

  “And Wabun of the East, the golden eagle,” Jameson asked. “What gifts did he bring?”

  “Illumination, insight, spiritual enlightenment. He was magnificent.”

  “The eagle’s feathers have in them the power to heal. Their feathers are a symbol of honor for medicine people, warriors, and chiefs. The golden eagle has given many feathers to my mother and in them the knowledge to cure.”

  “Why didn’t I get visions from the south? Why didn’t the coyote come to me?”

  Jameson put the pancakes on the table and sat across from Devon. “Shawnodese is like the raven, he is a trickster, but he is also a teacher. He tricks us into learning without us realizing. His gifts are growth, trust, and love. The south is the time of midday, of summer. It represents early adulthood and a time of rapid or sudden change. “

  “I have had the painting on my wall for ten years. It is the last thing I see before I sleep and the first thing I see when I open my eyes.”

  Jameson nodded. “You were born under the Harvest Moon, one of the three moons of Shawnodese. Your inherent connection is your birthright.”

  “But why didn’t he speak to me?”

  “Shawnodese cons us into learning things we might not have thought we needed. If you learned anything this far it was because of the influence of Shawnodese.” I painted it for you.

  Devon nodded and took it all in. “Growth, trust, love. My head is still cloudy. I could use something to perk up my coffee. It helps clear the cobwebs.”

  “Does it?” Jameson raised a brow. “I have some brandy,” she said, pulling a dusty bottle from under the kitchen sink.

  Devon poured with a heavy hand. “Do you want to know how I decided to drive out this way? A raven flew in through my bedroom balcony. I decided to follow it west to the family lodge and ended up here.”

  “I owe that raven a debt of gratitude.” The bell above the door jingled and Jameson jumped up. “I’ll be back in a second.

  “Good morning, Mrs. King. Are you out of my special blend already? You’re smoking it faster than I can grow it,” Jameson joked.

  Devon smiled and limped back to the steps outside to take in the morning air. Moon joined her.

  “You like it here?” Devon asked her.

  Moon barked once and licked Devon’s face.

  “Then I say we stay for the day.”

  Moon barked once. Or forever.

  “Will you get me my cell phone, please? It’s upstairs next to the couch where we slept last night. Bring me my cell phone not a regular phone.”

  Moon barked.

  “You have confused them before,” Devon reminded her.

  Moon barked twice.

  “Yes, you have to admit it,” Devon insisted.

  Moon barked twice.

  “You did once.”

  Moon barked once and disappeared.

  “You know I hate it when we argue,” Devon called after her.

  Moon brought Devon her cell phone as requested but refused to give it to her. She stood beyond Devon’s reach ducking each time Devon tried to grab it.

  “Give it to me, Moon.”

  Moon placed the phone on the ground inches from Devon’s reach.

  “Moon,” Devon warned. “Move it closer.”

  Instead of pushing it closer, Moon used her snout to push it away. She barked twice and pranced out to the edge of the woods in search of a more interesting game.

  “Get back here,” Devon called to her. “You better not go into those woods, do you hear me?”

  Moon barked once and snuffled the earth fascinated by an exotic new scent.

  “I’m still the boss now give me my damn phone! Don’t you even care that I’m hurt?”

  Moon trotted to Devon and sniffed her swollen ankle. She slid the phone to Devon with her paw.

  “Thank you.” She had twelve new voice messages. She checked the caller I.D. and was both happy and angry her mother’s phone was reconnected. She took a few deep breaths, not ready to confront her, not ready to hear her mother’s bullshit explanations. She set the phone aside to contemplate the situation.

  Moon barked at the sky. Circling above them was a beautiful red-tailed hawk. Its descent was unexpected, Devon screamed when the hawk bumped her with a wing. The hawk plucked the phone from the step, soared up, and disappeared beyond the peak of the store.

  Jameson rushed outside. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you see that? Oh, my God, it took my phone!”

  “What took your phone?”

  “A giant hawk swooped down and snatched my phone. What does the hawk mean?” Devon asked.

  “It means you are supposed to work toward fulfilling your soul’s purpose,” Jameson explained.

  “So this journey that led me here isn’t over?”

  “Your life’s journey is never ending, and this portion is part of a lesson. You will know when the lesson is resolved. Life lessons are like chapters in a book. Come on, I have a special day planned.”

  “What about my phone? What about your store?”

  “You can live for a day without your phone, can’t you? I have my friend Lauren coming over to mind the store today. She’s a wonderful woman. She was my mother’s best friend.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to take you to my special place. I want to share something with you. It might help you understand your journey. It is peaceful and tranquil. I think it will do you good. You’ll recognize it.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m lame!” Devon reminded her.

  “I have that covered. We’ll take my four-wheeler, I have a trailer for it that Berry, I mean Moon can ride on, and it’s big enough to hold some provisions, as well.”

  “Provisions?” Devon frowned.

  “Blankets, flashlights, my tent, some food, you know, camping provisions.”

  “I just got out of the woods,” Devon whined.

  “Come on, go pick out some things in the store. Meanwhile, I thought you could use this to help you get around for a while.” She handed Devon an ornate hiking stick.
/>   “It’s gorgeous,” Devon traced her fingers over the carvings.

  “Thank you,” Jameson said.

  “Don’t tell me you carved this unimaginable piece.”

  “I did. See the wolf at the bottom followed by snake, buffalo, panther, horse, and mouse.”

  “Mouse?” Devon asked.

  “It represents scrutiny,” Jameson explained. “Then coyote, butterfly and on the top is my raven.”

  “Raven,” Devon, mused.

  “My birth totem,” Jameson explained. “My mom told me my dad used to call me Raven Song. According to my mother, after my father died, whenever I cried a raven would appear in my bedroom window. Ravens are excellent mimics but do not sing as much as they do caw. According to my mother, this particular raven sang beautifully and in minutes of his song, I would fall asleep. I don’t remember my father much because he died when I was four, but I do sign my art pieces with Raven Song as a special homage to him.”

  “That’s sweet,” Devon smiled. “I didn’t finish telling you about the raven.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Jameson dashed into the store.

  Devon heard her greeting someone and a voice coming closer as they neared the kitchen.

  “Lauren, this is Devon Danforth,” Jameson beamed.

  “Oh, my goodness child, you’re a real looker, gorgeous, gorgeous! You were right, Jamie,” Lauren Martine gushed, taking in Devon’s beauty. “And who is this sweet puppy dog?” She leaned down and pet Moon. “She looks like Berry, for a minute there I thought I saw a ghost. You two go on I’ll mind things around here.” She noticed Devon holding the walking stick and grinned. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You should see her flutes. Jameson, show her one of your flutes.”

  “You carve flutes? I play, well I used to play.”

  “Go inside and pick one out. They are on this back wall here by the wind chimes and dream catchers. I’m going to pack us some food.”

  “You choose, I wouldn’t feel right,” Devon hedged.

  “Let her sit, Jamie, you pick one out for her, it will be that much more special.”

  The bell above the door rang and Lauren Martine sailed out of the kitchen to greet the customers. “Nice to meet you, darlin’,” she told Devon over her shoulder. “And welcome.”