Chapter 23
Some Time Alone
One of my favorite diversions during those chilly days of late fall was to sneak away from the cabin for a walk in the woods.
Taking care of the young’uns, and trying my best to put a decent meal on the table for Pa and Uncle Nick, and sometimes Mr. Jones, every night, tired me out from morning till bedtime. I wasn’t a ma yet, but being those kids’ oldest sister made me wonder sometimes why anybody’d want to be one. I didn’t understand it back then, but now I know why Ma used to collapse in a chair and let out an exhausted sigh.
So I didn’t get a chance to get away by myself too often. But sometimes I’d leave Zack or Emily in charge, or convince Tad and Becky that it was time for a nap or “quiet time,” and then slip away for thirty or forty minutes—or even an hour, if I thought I could get away with it.
One morning, Pa said he had to go into town for some things, and Uncle Nick soon had everybody else loaded in the back of the wagon to go along. Pa didn’t seem to mind, and finally looked around at me where I still stood by the cabin. “Ain’t you coming, Corrie?”
I hesitated a moment. “I thought maybe I’d just stay home this time.”
He looked at me kinda funny, then turned back and snapped the reins and took off, while Uncle Nick and Tad ya-hoo’d in the back.
Five minutes later, there I was—all alone at the cabin! There was nothing but silence inside, and the sounds of the wilderness outside, to keep me company for several hours.
I could hardly contain my delight! But what should I do with this precious time?
Almost before I’d stopped to think about it, I tucked a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe under my arm and wandered out toward the creek. A month before the woods had been pretty with all their bright colors. Yet now, even with most of the leaves brown and dead and fallen to the ground, it was still lovely.
The air was crisp and chilly, and I pulled my winter coat tight around me. The chill stung at my cheeks even as my feet crunched over the dead leaves all over the ground. This is just what I need, I thought to myself. Some time alone. I didn’t worry about myself all that much, but every once in a while I found myself thinking about grown-up things—or maybe I should call them growing-up things. I was starting to become a young woman, and there wasn’t anybody to talk to and share with, no one who truly understood the new and sometimes frightening feelings that were coming and going inside me. I suppose Zack was feeling the hurts and uncertainties of trying to grow up, too, but he was only thirteen. And then, of course, he was a boy, and boys just don’t feel things the way a girl does.
I didn’t mind the cold as I walked along. In fact, it seemed to suit my mood just fine.
Pa was very much on my mind; he always was these days. It had been hard enough getting used to Ma’s dying. But then all of a sudden to have Pa back in her place—that was some change to reckon with!
At first, with the horrible uncertainty and aloneness, I’d been so happy to find out about Pa. I remembered that first day, when he told us who he was, and I walked over and put my arms around him. I couldn’t believe it was really him, and I wanted so much to love him! I began to feel a little hurt, though, when I thought about his not wanting to claim us. What that might have to do with him keeping his name secret, I still wasn’t sure. But I still thought we might somehow make the best of it, even though he was quiet and sometimes gruff and didn’t seem to want us around much.
When he gambled away our horses, and caused all that hurt to Emily, it made me downright mad. He had no cause to do such a thing, and it made me start thinking about everything Grandpa’d said about him—how he’d brought trouble and hardship to his family thinking only about himself, what a poor example of a husband and father he was, leaving Ma to fend for herself. Ever since the incident with the horses, I’d wondered if maybe Grandpa had been right in everything he said. Pa wasn’t treating us much better than he had Ma, and now he was even talking about sending us back East somewhere.
I was angry at him—even bitter, I guess—on account of Ma. I tried to keep it inside. And having Uncle Nick around the place had helped, because if he hadn’t been there, I’m afraid I might have said some things I shouldn’t have to Pa. He treated Zack so badly. I wouldn’t have blamed Zack if he hated him. He didn’t act like a pa at all to him.
As I walked along in the woods, Ma came to my mind. In the daily effort just to do what had to be done, and in trying to figure out how I was supposed to feel about Pa, I’d more or less forgotten how much I missed her. But now, with the anger rising in me against Pa, I realized that maybe Ma’d still be alive if it hadn’t been for Pa’s deserting her.
Oh, Ma, I found myself thinking, I wish you were still alive, and it was you we were with—not Pa!
Tears began to sting my cheeks, and all of a sudden the urge to run came over me. I took off and raced over the uneven terrain. It felt good, almost as if I could run the pain out of my heart by making it pump faster and faster. The ground was uphill; I was running up the creek, and after about a quarter of a mile, I finally collapsed in a breathless heap against the trunk of a huge old oak. I half-giggled, half-cried, struggling to catch my breath, still not sure which of my mixed-up emotions was going to get the upper hand.
The sudden sound of my own voice surprised me and made me feel all the more alone. Crying can be done alone, but laughing isn’t much good unless you’ve got someone to share it with. And laughing and crying together doesn’t feel quite right any time. I leaned my back up against the tree and sat, still breathing heavily from my run. I was too keyed up to read, so I laid my book aside for a while.
I could hear the gurgling of the creek only a short stone’s throw away. I peered over at the opposite bank, still and deserted. It brought to my mind that day several weeks ago when the kids and I had been out here and had seen the Indians. I’d just about given up seeing them again, when all of a sudden, I heard a sound!
It hadn’t come from across the creek where I might have expected, but from behind me—so close it rang in my ears!
I started to my feet. Terrified, the first thing that came to my mind was Alkali Jones’ story about the bear!
If it was some wild animal, trying to flee would do me no good. I froze, still pressed against the oak. All I could think of was how awful it would be to get eaten by a bear. Hastily, I brushed a sleeve across my wet eyes.
Then the sound came again. It was a snapping twig. But only one twig, not anything like what you’d expect from a charging bear. Gathering up all my courage, I turned my head and twisted my body as quietly as I could, and then leaned to the side and peered around the tree trunk.
It was him!
The Indian boy had come back! I was so relieved not to see a bear that I forgot to be afraid. I stood up, though my knees were still a bit wobbly, came out from behind the tree, and smiled at him.
“Hi,” I said. “Do you remember me?”
He stared at me. I thought maybe he couldn’t understand English, but then he gave a little nod.
“I remember,” he finally answered. Just the sound of his voice was music in my ears!
“My name’s Corrie,” I said. “What’s yours?”
“I am Little Wolf.”
“How did you learn English?” I asked, wanting to inch closer to get a better look at him.
“I must go,” he said, and started to leave, almost as if he sensed my intent.
“Please!” I called out quickly, “don’t go yet.”
He paused.
“I’m—I’m new here,” I said again. “Would you . . . would you be my friend?”
He half turned back toward me, with the most peculiar expression on his tanned face.
“I am of the Nisenan tribe—Indian,” he said, as if that was the only answer necessary.
“What does that matter?” I replied.
He studied me for what seemed a long time. His dark eyes were filled with intelligence and thoughtfulness, as if t
he notion of such a thing had never occurred to him. I couldn’t tell whether his hesitation was the result of my being a girl and he a boy, or because we were from different races.
“You are strange for a white girl,” he said finally.
“How do you mean?”
“You do not show fear. You do not run away or scream.”
“I’m not afraid. Why should I be?”
“I have been taught that white men fear us.”
“From the first time I saw you with your father I knew you would not hurt me.”
“But there is trouble between my people and yours.”
“Not between you and me.”
“My father says there will always be strife between us.”
“I don’t hold with any of that,” I replied. “My pa doesn’t either. He says white folks have been unfair to the Indians.”
“White man is our enemy.”
“But I am not your enemy. It doesn’t seem right that you hold against me what others have done.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. It was clear this kind of talk wasn’t going to get us anywhere, and I didn’t want him to run off. So I decided to change the subject.
“How did you learn English?” I asked again.
Still he did not speak for a moment. I couldn’t quite make out the look on his face. It seemed that he might want to be friends, but that he felt he ought not to be. Finally he answered.
“My father learned it in the mission school. He said it is good to know the white man’s tongue to keep from being cheated by him.”
“Does your father hate the white man, Little Wolf?”
“They have been my father’s friends. They have also cheated him and stolen from him. White men killed my father’s brothers.”
“I am sorry.”
Our eyes met as I said the words. We looked at one another, maybe even into each other’s eyes, for a long time. I felt as if I had finally made him believe that I was sincere.
But he never said another word. As quickly as he came, he turned and ran off, disappearing into the woods. Maybe nothing more needed to be said, right then. The look in his eyes told me that if he had the chance, he would be my friend. I hoped my eyes had told him that I would try to be worthy of his trust.
I’d had enough of a walk. Taking up my unopened book, I slowly headed down the creek the way I had come.
When I got back to the claim, I went to the big rock that sat about fifty yards from the cabin, scrambled up, and sat down. I’d gone there several times—it was my thinking place. Today as I climbed up and perched atop it, my mind was full of Little Wolf, Ma, and Pa. The thought of the one brought happiness, the other sadness, and the third anger. If I wasn’t careful, I’d start crying again!
I decided not to say anything about Little Wolf when the others got home. Maybe something inside wanted to hold onto my own personal secret, but I was partly afraid it’d rile Pa if he knew.
I’d tell them sometime. But for now I would just keep quiet about my walk up the stream.
Chapter 24
A Talk With Uncle Nick
All the rest of that day I was moody and glum. I guess I was feeling homesick, realizing all over again how terribly far from home we were and how much life had changed for us. I missed home, I missed the way it used to be, and I missed Ma.
I was so afraid I’d start crying and not be able to stop, that I kept to myself after the others got back from town.
A little while after supper, I looked around and realized I hadn’t seen Tad for a while. I put down the skillet I was scrubbing, and went into the bedroom. He was lying face down, alone on his bunk. I walked over and sat down beside him. “What’s the matter, Tad?” I asked, laying my hand on his head.
“I miss Ma!” he sobbed. He was only seven, and trying hard to be like his older brother, but he sat up and threw his arms around me. As much as I wanted to be brave and grown-up, I felt the tears trickling down my own face.
I didn’t know how to comfort him. All afternoon I’d been thinking about Ma, too—and all the familiar things I’d never see again: the swimming hole down on Elway Creek where we spent so much time in the summer, the woods, and the delightful hours spent with my sisters picking berries. And the sweet-smelling hay in the barn and my special hiding place in the loft where I’d while away the hours playing make-believe games. And, oh, the smell of Ma’s bread filling the whole house on baking day!
“I know,” I said, my voice choking. “I miss Ma, too.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Then I heard the door creak on its new hinges. I looked up and was surprised to see Uncle Nick standing there framed in the light of the sunset coming through the window from the other room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. His voice was full of sympathy.
“Tad’s missing Ma,” I answered.
Slowly he walked into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed next to me. Tad was still sniffling.
“’Course you’ll miss your ma, boy,” he said, with sincere compassion. “We all do. I miss her myself sorely. It’s just that us grown-ups have learned how to keep our sadness from showing. And I reckon the missing’ll last a spell, for both you and me. But I knew your ma real well, and I think she’d be wanting you to be a big boy—to be tough about it, even though you’re still sad.”
“H-how do you know?” choked Tad, sucking in tentative gulps of air.
“I just do.”
Uncle Nick rubbed his chin and glanced off in the distance, as if he was thinking. By now Becky, Emily, and Zack had wandered into the room, too. And then Uncle Nick started to reminisce, something he didn’t do too often.
“When we was kids—your ma and me—there was this swimming hole, down t’ Elway Creek—”
I wanted to burst in right then and say I knew the place. I’d never thought that if Ma had grown up not far from our farm, then Uncle Nick must have too, and would know many of the same spots. It changed everything to think of Ma as a little girl and Uncle Nick as a little boy!
But I kept my mouth closed. I didn’t want to interrupt Uncle Nick’s story.
“We was swimmin’ and divin’ and havin’ a grand ol’ time,” he was saying, “until I went and slipped in the mud puddle we’d made with our games. I was probably jist a mite older than you are now, Tad. Well, down I went with a crash and a snap. I didn’t know how a busted arm could pain so! I was screamin’ and blubberin’ my eyes out, but your ma, she put her arms around me and held me ’til I calmed down. Then she says, ‘We gotta get home.’ I started up my bawlin’ again. ‘Now, Nicky,’ she says, ‘you gotta be tough and strong. This is one of those times you gotta act like a man.’ And she kept sayin’ it ’til we finally got home. And that’s how I think I know what your ma might say to you right now, too. She’d want you to be strong. Cryin’ won’t bring your ma back, but maybe thinkin’ of the good memories will help.”
“You really think so?” Tad took a long resolved sniff.
“Sure do, son.”
By now the other kids had sat down and all five of us were listening intently.
“You knew Ma when she was young?” asked Emily shyly from where she sat nearly concealed behind Becky.
“’Course I did!” laughed Uncle Nick. “She was my sister—my big sister. You don’t think a man could grow up like me without being a little runt of a lad once, do you?”
“Oh-h-h,” said Emily with awe. I snickered a little at what he’d said, but I think it awed all of us—both to think of Uncle Nick as a little boy, and to think of Ma in a way that made her seem alive again.
“Tell us another story!” said Becky bravely. I knew that’s what we all wanted, but only she had the nerve to ask.
Uncle Nick was quiet for a while, and I thought this brief special time together was over. I wished it could be like this always.
But then to my surprise, Uncle Nick spoke up again.
“Well,” he said, “you kids all know how big si
sters can be.” The four younger ones—everyone but me—all nodded. Uncle Nick winked at me, and I smiled.
“Well, your ma was no different,” he went on. “It was always, ‘You climb the tree first to get the apples, then I’ll take a turn.’ But of course her turn never would come. Or, ‘You take down the first batch of laundry from the lines, and I’ll get the next,’ when she knew all along there was only going to be one batch. She always managed to sucker me into doing things for her somehow! A right cagey young lady your ma was, I can tell you that!
“Well, one day I figured out how to get her back! We was playing hide ’n’ seek and your ma was it. I pretended to go off and hide, but instead I went home. The thought of her lookin’ and lookin’ for me and gettin’ worried, ’cause she usually found me right off—why it was enough to make me laugh to myself all the way home. Our ma was baking bread, and so I sat back as comfortable as you please eating a big hunk of bread, grinning from ear to ear, expecting her to come bursting through the door all in a sweat. After a while I got another piece of bread, and soon a half an hour, and then an hour went by. By the time I started on my third slice, I was the one getting worried. I could hardly swallow that bread, good as it was. And I sure couldn’t tell my ma about my worry, since I’d be sure to catch it then. So finally I got up and ran all in a fever back to the old oak tree in the clearing that was our free spot. And there was my sister, sitting under the tree reading a book, as if she hadn’t never missed me at all! She was just waiting for me to come back, and was determined to outlast me!”
We all laughed.
“Weren’t you mad, Uncle Nick?” Zack asked.
“Maybe for a minute or two,” he answered. “But I admired your ma too much to stay mad for long. She was smart. I respected that. She made life interesting for me. She wasn’t no prissy china doll, afraid to get messed up. Anyway, even if she could be ornery to me, she was always there when I needed her, too, sticking up for me. I sure could get into a heap a trouble for a scrappy young kid! But your ma never let me down.”
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