by D. M. Pulley
Her gentle hands pushed him back to the bed. “Don’t worry, baby. Just get better, okay?” Her voice drifted up and away from the cot.
Jasper struggled to sit up again but didn’t have the strength. It was as if her hands were still on his shoulders. They still felt warm. “Wait,” he called after her weakly. “Don’t go.”
“I love you, honey. No matter what happens. I’ll always love you.” Her voice was fading.
She was gone.
“Come back!” His wails turned to screams. “Don’t go! Come back!”
“Jasper?” A pair of hands shook his shoulders. “Jasper.”
Jasper opened his eyes. The room was filled with blinding light, and Dr. Whitebird was staring down into his face. Jasper’s clothes and the blankets were drenched.
“Your fever broke,” the doctor said. “This is a good sign.”
Jasper blinked, trying to adjust to the jarring reality happening all around him. The doctor changed the medicine jar over his head. The nurse came in a minute later and changed his bandages. The shock of the air on his open wounds woke him so completely it left no doubt. It had all been a dream.
On reflex, a hand shot down to the leg of his pants. It was dry. He set his head back down on his pillow and bit back tears, not knowing if he was more miserable she hadn’t really come to see him or that he had woken up at all. The nurse finished re-dressing his wounds and left.
“They are looking better,” Dr. Whitebird said from behind Jasper’s head. He pulled up a stool and gazed into the boy’s eyes with that probing stare. “The body is healing, but I see the spirit is still sick.”
Jasper looked away to hide his face.
“Bad dreams?”
He didn’t answer.
“Hmm,” the doctor grunted. “Sleep tea can loosen bad spirits. It is important to let them go.”
Jasper shook his head at the wall. His mother was not a bad spirit. He didn’t want to let her go. He needed to go back to sleep and find her.
“You cannot walk in dreams, little Ogichidaa.” The man patted him on the shoulder.
Jasper turned and scowled at the leathery face of the doctor. “What did you call me?”
“Ogichidaa means warrior.”
Jasper frowned. He wasn’t a warrior. He was a coward—a crybaby coward that ruined his leg so bad it’d cost him the only thing that mattered anymore. He hadn’t said he was sorry, he realized. He hadn’t told his mother he was sorry he’d lost her necklace. He flexed his legs against the bandages until the pain blocked out his guilt.
“Your uncle, he said you knocked over a lantern, yes?”
Jasper didn’t answer.
“Did you run?”
“No, I . . . ,” his voice trailed off for a moment. “I ran away after.”
The doctor looked down at the bandages on his legs and nodded. He reached into his white coat and pulled out the necklace Uncle Leo had given him. “This is very special to you.”
Jasper bit his lips and nodded.
The doctor smiled and placed the necklace back into Jasper’s hand.
His mouth fell open. “But the medicine? We can’t pay . . .”
The doctor patted his hand. “When you grow up, young Ogichidaa, you will come back and pay.”
“When I grow up?” Jasper clutched the necklace to his chest.
“When you are old enough to have a fair trade, you will come back. Taking something that does not come to you freely is baataamo—a curse. Remember that.”
“How do you know I’ll come back?”
The doctor chuckled and held up his hands. “I don’t.”
“I will. I promise. I will come back.”
“Good. Promise to live and grow up. That is payment enough for now.” The doctor patted his head and stood to leave.
Jasper opened his hand and looked down at the beaded pendant with its strange symbol. “Doctor?”
“Eya?”
“What does this mean?” he asked pointing to the symbol in the middle.
“It is an old symbol,” he answered. “Nimaamaa. It carries with it a mother’s love.”
Jasper ran his finger over it. He could still feel her lips on his forehead.
“A wise man once said, ‘Every child has many mothers, and every mother has many children.’ Do you understand this?”
Jasper shook his head. He only had one mother, and she was gone.
“The mother that births us, gives us life. For some nimaamaayag, that is all they can give. Even that is a blessing. Do not forget.”
“But,” Jasper protested and then couldn’t find any words to say except, “someone told me it was a wedding necklace.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Manitonaaha weddings are not about jewelry. Farmers know very little of our ways. Most call me a witch doctor.” He wiggled his fingers at Jasper with a broad smile, then headed to the door.
Jasper stared after him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you . . . know her?”
The doctor turned back to the small boy on the cot. “Your mother?”
He nodded with pleading eyes, not wanting the doctor to leave.
Dr. Whitebird looked pained for several seconds before he finally answered. “Eya, I knew her.”
“But how . . .”
“No more questions now, Ogichidaa. Save your strength.” With that, he was gone.
CHAPTER 35
What happened after the fire? Where did you go?
After the doctor left, the nurse brought Jasper a plate of venison and mashed corn. The meat tasted strong and bloody, but he devoured it anyway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. After he’d cleaned his plate, she brought him another cup of the tea. He drank it fast and flopped down on his pillow, hoping to see his mother again. The nurse gave him an odd little grin and flipped off the lights.
Jasper lay in the dark, holding his mother’s necklace. He would tell her how Dr. Whitebird had given it back and the vow he had made. He had vowed to grow up. He had vowed to come back and pay his debt. She’d be proud of him, he decided. He ran his finger across the hundreds of tiny beads. Nimaamaa.
As Jasper drifted away, he swore he could feel the summer sun warming his face. A light breeze blew through his hair. He was back at his grandmother’s house, only it wasn’t buried in the tall grasses of Uncle Leo’s back field. It was surrounded by flowers and cut grass. The air was thick with the smell of freshly stacked hay. A woman stood on the porch. She was beating a rug with a broom. He didn’t recognize her but knew it must be his grandmother. He stared at her as she worked in her long cornflower dress with her dark hair pinned up like his mother would sometimes do. She was beautiful. Her head tilted up to where he was standing, but she looked right through him as though he weren’t there, then disappeared back into the house.
“Come back,” he whispered and struggled to follow her inside. His feet were rooted to the ground as though he were just another maple tree protecting the house from the wind.
It was a cheerful-looking house, he decided. White with green shutters and a wood shingle roof. The second-story window stood open, catching the summer breeze. Something behind the glass moved. It was his mother’s room. He called her name, but nothing came out. The only sound for miles was the steady hum of the locusts in the trees. Silently cursing, he watched the window, desperate for another glimpse of her.
The sky grew dark and dotted with stars. The windows of the house glowed yellow. Then he heard shouting. Then the crash of a dish hitting the ground. The faintest smell of smoke began to waft into his nose. It could have been a distant cigar, but then it grew stronger. The house. Wisps of smoke came billowing from his mother’s window. The light inside it began to flicker.
“No!” he screamed, but his voice was silent. He yelled again, but nothing came out. He fought to free his feet, but they stayed planted in the ground. Plumes of smoke were wafting from the ridge of the house now, but no one came out. His mother’s yellow sedan was parked in the driveway
in a spot that had been empty moments before. The door to the car stood open.
From deep in the house, he heard a scream.
Jasper bolted up from the cot. The line in his arm yanked hard as he struggled to the door. He was screaming.
The light flipped on, and a woman he didn’t recognize ran to him and forced him back to the bed. “Easy. Easy, little one,” she said firmly. “You were dreaming.”
“The house. It was burning. She couldn’t get out,” he wailed, flailing his arms.
“You are not going to save her today,” the lady said, grabbing his wrist. “Now hold still.”
Jasper shook his head, trying to shake loose the image of the beautiful house on fire. The woman held his arm steady as she pulled off the bandage where the needle had nearly ripped out of his arm.
It was the sight of his own blood that finally calmed him down.
“You are not ready for the hook to come out, little fish. It is not time to swim away.” She worked quickly, reinserting the needle and securing it with fresh tape. Jasper felt a pinch but held still for her. She had dark skin and long hair like Dr. Whitebird.
“I—I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
She gazed down at him with smiling eyes. “We sometimes see bad things when we are close to the spirit world, but you are getting better now. The dreams will get better too.”
Jasper lay back down, wanting to go back to sleep and save her.
“You have a visitor.”
His eyes snapped open. “I do?”
She nodded and went out the door. His heart leapt at the thought of who it might be, but he did his best to quiet it. His uncle said he’d be back tomorrow. He had no idea how long he’d been on the cot, but it was probably tomorrow. Maybe Wayne had come with Uncle Leo. He glanced down at the beads he was still gripping in his hand. Uncle Leo would be furious he’d taken them back.
Just as the door opened, he buried the necklace under the blanket.
“Jasper?” a shaky voice asked.
His father emerged from behind the door and hobbled toward the bed. He was leaning on a cane. The mild tremor he’d carried home from his time in the war had multiplied. The man lowered himself with some difficulty onto the stool next to the bed.
“Let me get a look at ya,” Wendell said, giving the yellow-and-red-stained bandages on Jasper’s legs only a glance. Instead, he leaned forward and examined his son’s face. Jasper wondered self-consciously if the bruise around his eye had faded away. The tortured look on his father’s face told him it hadn’t.
“I’m okay,” Jasper whispered.
His father nodded and lowered his face to a shaking hand. “I thought . . . I thought I’d lost you,” he choked and then cleared his throat with a wet cough. It took a full minute before he could look Jasper in the face again. “How’d you manage to get here, Son? I looked for you everywhere. Everywhere. When Mrs. Carbo said you’d gone . . .”
“I’m so sorry.” Jasper couldn’t look at him. “I was afraid. That detective came for me, and I didn’t—”
“Shh . . . shh.” His father patted his head. “You get all worked up, they won’t let me stay. You know, you’re damned lucky you’re in the hospital, or I might’ve beat you something fierce—scaring me half to death like that.”
Jasper shrank against the far wall.
“No. I’m sorry. I never should’ve . . .” He opened his hand as a peace offering and fell silent for another minute. He managed a weak smile and reached over and took Jasper’s hand. “The important thing is you’re here. Thank the Lord, you’re here. I’m the luckiest bastard on earth. They treatin’ you alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your uncle says you really did it to yourself good. How’s the leg?”
“Okay, I guess. The doctor says I can go home tomorrow.”
“That’s real good. Sounds like you gave the devil the slip on that one. Lucky for me, you got nine lives, Son. I just don’t know what I’d do if . . .”
Jasper swallowed hard. “Dad, what happened back at home? The blood . . .”
Wendell held up a hand to silence him. “You shouldn’t be worrying about that now. Probably just burglars havin’ themselves a scuffle. The police took half the night going over it with their cameras and collecting their evidence, then dragged me down to the station for hours . . . to fill out their damn papers.”
“Was it . . . Mom?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Wendell clenched his trembling hands together and gave Jasper a weak smile that had the opposite of the intended effect. “She’s fine. She’s just fine. She’s gonna turn up. She always does.”
“But the detective said they found her car . . .”
His father’s eyes hardened. “Now, look it. Every police officer in Detroit’s out lookin’ for her. We just have to let them do their jobs, alright? She wouldn’t want us losin’ our heads, would she?”
Jasper went quiet again and nodded as though he agreed with him, but he knew his father would never tell him the truth. Not if the truth was bad. Not if the blood was hers. He was just a kid, and his father would try to protect him.
“Here. Your uncle thought you might like this.” Wendell handed Jasper The First Book of Indians. “You know, to pass the time.”
“Thanks.” Jasper set the book in his lap, keeping his eyes on the screaming faces on the cover.
Wendell reached out and took Jasper’s hands in his. There were red welts on both his wrists like matching bracelets under his shirtsleeves. “You like staying with Leo and Velma?”
Jasper knew it really wasn’t up to him, but he thought about it to humor the old man. Uncle Leo was tough but fair. He even seemed to forgive him for knocking over the lantern. Then he thought of Velma rocking him in her arms. Every child has many mothers, and every mother has many children. “Yeah. I like it there okay, I guess.”
“Good.” His father gave his hands a squeeze and let go. “As long as you don’t try to burn the barn down again, I think they’d be happy to have you back. But don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll come visit every weekend. You’re the best thing I’ve got goin’. Don’t ever forget that.”
Jasper forced a smile, but there were still so many questions he needed to ask. “Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“What about that detective?”
His father looked him hard in the eye before answering, “What about him?”
“Mrs. Carbo said he might take me to an orphanage.”
His father leaned forward and squeezed his shoulders. “Over my dead body. Nobody’s takin’ you anywhere. Understand? Nobody. I won’t let ’em.”
He pulled the boy into his arms and held him tight. It was a bit of a shock. Jasper could count on one hand the number of times his father had really hugged him. It just wasn’t what people did. He would have been overwhelmed by it if it weren’t for the unsteady tremor in his father’s arms . . . and the feeling that the man was hiding something.
CHAPTER 36
Is that when you started drinking?
Jasper lay in the bed with his mother’s necklace in his hand and tried to remember every true thing he could about her. She drank her coffee black. Sugar just covers up the real taste of things, Jasper, she’d say from her morning perch next to the kitchen sink. She always drank two bitter cups before leaving for work. The acrid residue of the coffee would cling to his cheek as she kissed him good-bye.
He reached up and touched his face, then squeezed his eyes shut to plug the tears.
She loved to dance. She’d once taught him the fox-trot in their tiny living room. Left, together, up . . . Right, together, back. That’s good, Jasper. Go easy. Don’t push a woman around the floor. Just move like you know what you’re doing, and she’ll follow. That’s the key to it all, baby . . .
Jasper must have drifted back asleep. The next thing he knew, he heard angry voices coming from the hallway outside his room. Something thumped hard against a wall.
“Don�
�t you use that voodoo witchcraft on me!” a man howled. “It ain’t Christian. It ain’t!”
“Sir, you have a laceration. It requires stitches,” the voice of Dr. Whitebird calmly responded.
“It’s just a cut, you crazy red bastard! I need a doctor.” The drunken slur of his voice made Jasper cringe in the dark.
“I am a doctor, and you will bleed out if you don’t keep that elevated. You need compression.”
The crash of a metal tray hit the ground just outside Jasper’s room.
“What made me bleed out was that rigged poker room you Injuns got!” His voice fell to a mumble Jasper had to strain to hear. “That and that little hussy that drank up all my money . . . I swear to Christ, I been robbed!”
Something louder thumped against a wall.
“Get Motega,” the doctor said to someone.
Jasper sat up at the name.
“I’m callin’ Galatas. He promised me a nice little time up here with you heathens. Buy the little red girls some drinks, he said. Give ’em a little cash for their habits. They’ll show you a real nice time, he said. Bullshit! What kind of brothel is this?”
“This is not a brothel!” Dr. Whitebird thundered.
“Like hell it ain’t. I need a phone!” the drunk man yelled back. “Hey! Get your dirty hands off me! You can’t touch me . . . Police!”
A deeper voice answered, “Your police will not come here. You better listen to the good doctor.”
“Or what you gonna do? Go on the warpath?” The man laughed. “Gonna throw a spear at me?”
“No, but I will gladly watch you bleed to death.” The deep voice seethed. “Black River is closed.”
The drunk man let out a squeal. There was a loud thump, and then he went quiet.
“Thank you, Motega.” The doctor sighed. “Help me get him onto the table.”
“We should let him bleed out in a ditch.”
“We are not murderers, Motega. You can find a ditch for him after the medicine.”
“They are the murderers!” Motega roared. “How many must die? How many fields must burn? This drunk gookoosh will light more fires, and it might be you they take to jail for it.”