by Ann Hood
“Maybe I can talk to the medicine man and make it powerful again?” Maisie said hopefully.
“Ha!” Curly snorted. “Do you have two or three horses for a new medicine bundle?”
“No.”
“Then you cannot help,” he said dismissively. “You’ve done enough damage. It is time for you to go off on your own. Back to your people.”
With that he turned on his heel, away from her.
“I can’t go back without what I put in that bag!” Maisie shouted after him.
Curly stopped. He turned around slowly, his eyes steely.
“What did you put in there?” he asked evenly.
“A…a feather,” Maisie said.
By now, Felix had joined them.
“You lost the feather?” he said.
Maisie nodded.
“What is so important about this feather?” Curly asked Felix.
“It’s from home,” Felix said carefully. “It’s hard to explain, but we need to give it to you in order to go back.”
Curly’s face grew thoughtful.
“This feather has power?” he asked finally.
“Yes,” Felix and Maisie both answered.
He seemed to consider this carefully.
“Come,” he said to them. “We will go to my father and seek his advice.”
“How could you do something like that?” Felix whispered to Maisie as they walked across the empty field.
By now, the people were loading their horses with their belongings, preparing to leave.
They found Worm throwing buffalo hides onto a horse and securing them with rawhide.
“Father,” Curly said. “Do you have your medicine bundle?”
Worm shook his head no.
“What?” Maisie exclaimed. “Where is it?”
“Little Thunder borrowed it,” Worm said, surprised by Maisie’s reaction. “He needed good luck.”
“But where is Little Thunder?” Felix asked.
Worm shrugged and pointed toward the horizon.
“Gone,” he said simply.
Frightened, Maisie looked at Felix. He looked back at her, fear in his eyes.
Curly said, “Little Thunder does need good luck. Your feather will give him special power.”
“No, no,” Felix said. “You don’t understand. We need that feather.”
“To give to me,” Curly said.
“Right,” Felix said.
“I give it to him,” Curly said, satisfied.
“You can’t,” Maisie insisted.
Worm spoke softly, his voice tinged with sadness.
“Four summers ago, a great council met at Fort Laramie to end the government’s intrusion on our land and our people. They insisted we choose a chief, someone to tell us what to do. All of us! The Lakota and the Crow and the Cheyenne, the Arapaho and Shoshone. As if one man could order so many different people.”
Worm paused, considering this idea before he continued.
“Since we do not believe in such a person, the government chose for us. They gave us presents and money so that the white settlers could move safely along the Holy Road. They were satisfied with this. But no one, not Conquering Bear, who they named chief, not me, no one, rules the Lakota.”
He set his dark eyes directly on Maisie.
“No one rules the Lakota because we own nothing and nobody. You see?”
“I understand,” Maisie said, “but—”
“Little Thunder needed good luck,” Worm reminded her.
She watched as he climbed on his horse and slowly joined the tribe as they left what had been their village.
“How can we find Little Thunder?” Felix asked Curly.
“You can ride with us,” Curly said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Maybe we see him. Maybe not.”
“Arapaho,” a voice whispered to Curly through the tepee flaps a few nights later.
They had ridden for days across the plains before finally setting up their tepees. Maisie and Felix were so dispirited that they did not even feel relieved to be off horseback and on the soft buffalo hides, gazing up at the stars through the opening at the very top of the tepee. Without that feather, they were trapped here in 1800s, out in the Great Plains, with no hope of getting back home to Newport.
Curly sat up.
“Are they planning a raid?” Curly asked.
“In the morning,” came the answer.
Then the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
Maisie shivered despite the warm blanket covering her. She thought of her bed in the Princess Room, with its supersoft sheets and silk canopy. She thought about the big pink poufe, and how she liked to sink into it and think her thoughts. All of those things seemed impossibly far away, and Maisie feared she would never see Elm Medona, or her mother, again.
“We must prepare for battle,” Curly said to Felix.
“Battle?” Felix sputtered.
“Maybe get good horses,” Curly added.
Felix thought about the day they had gone to touch the enemy. He still could clearly see the face of the Comanche, his bow drawn, the arrow aimed at Felix. In a battle, that arrow would be fired.
“Curly, I don’t want to fight,” Felix said, trying to hide the trembling in his voice.
Curly stood before them both, dressed simply. On his cheek he’d painted a white zigzag that looked like a lightning bolt, but nothing more.
“We attack Arapaho before they attack us,” he said matter-of-factly.
He waited until Felix reluctantly got up. Curly reached forward and painted white spots on Felix’s face.
“Hail,” he said when he’d finished. “Like the hail of our arrows on the Arapaho.”
In the moonlight streaming in from the top of the tepee, Curly’s and Felix’s faces glowed eerily.
Maisie jumped up.
“I can’t let him go alone,” she said.
“Girls do not come on raids,” Curly told her.
“Stay, Maisie,” Felix said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“If you’re going, I’m going,” Maisie insisted.
“In a dress?” Curly said, pointing at her.
“Get me leggings. And a shirt,” Maisie said firmly.
Curly hesitated, then left the tepee.
“You don’t have any idea how scary it is,” Felix said.
“I saw the attack on Yellow Feather’s village,” she reminded him. “I’ll never forget it.”
Curly returned and handed her buckskin leggings and a shirt with a white sun painted on the front.
“Power,” he said, showing her the circle there.
“I’ll be right out,” Maisie said.
The clothes smelled like the suede jacket her father used to wear. He’d bought it long ago at a flea market in Rome, and it had been one of his prized possessions. Maisie used to like to bury her head in his chest and smell the rich scent mixed with a long-ago owner’s tobacco. She wondered if he’d taken that jacket with him to Qatar, where it was always hot and no one ever needed to wear jackets. Like so many things from their old lives in New York, it had probably been discarded. Maisie was probably the only one of the four of them who even thought about it so fondly. Everyone else just kept moving on, as if their lives together on Bethune Street didn’t matter anymore.
Sighing, she stepped out of her dress and into the leggings and shirt. The clothes felt heavy, the rich smell enveloping her. Maisie reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the elastic she always carried but never used on her unruly hair. But now she gathered it into a thick ponytail and tucked the ends under the elastic, hoping she looked a little bit more like a boy.
Then she stepped out of the tepee, where, as far as she could see, bare-chested warriors sat erect on horseback.
Her eyes scanned the group until she found Felix and Curly. Beside them, a white-and-black-spotted horse waited for her. Curly watched her struggle onto it. But she did it, finally settling into the curve of its back. In the distance, the sun wa
s beginning to rise, the blazing orange ball on the horizon.
Curly raised his hand and let out a war cry, high-pitched and ferocious.
The others responded with whooping and cries.
With a thunder of hooves and a cloud of dust swirling around them, Maisie and Felix were off to battle.
The Lakota warriors charged forward, directly into the Arapaho preparing to attack. The Arapaho wore large feathered warbonnets, like the Lakota. But the Arapaho warriors wore elaborate fringed shirts decorated with colorful beads, lines of porcupine quills, and rows of elk’s teeth. Their faces were painted with bright war paint. Except for Curly, who painted just the lightning bolt on his cheek, the Lakota also painted their faces and bodies with bright colors and sacred designs. They painted their horses, too, and attached feathers to their tails. The bravest warriors wore fur necklaces and sashes across their bare chests. Maisie noticed they all had their medicine bundles tied to their breeches or to the horses’ tails, and she thought longingly of the feather she’d tucked into Worm’s medicine bundle.
Hump, one of the fiercest Lakota warriors, led the charge, with Curly close behind him. A barrage of arrows were shot at them as they approached the enemy. Suddenly, Hump’s horse was shot from under him. Arapaho warriors quickly converged on him as he fell to the ground. Maisie thought for sure they were going to kill Hump, but as the arrows continued to fly, Curly leaped off his own horse and in one quick motion lifted Hump from the ground and away from the arrows of the Arapaho.
“How did he do that?” Felix said in wonder as Curly managed to get Hump on his own horse with him and continue to keep moving, the Arapaho keeping stride.
Curly fearlessly rode straight through the enemy lines even as arrows whizzed past him.
Maisie and Felix hung back, watching the battle rage ahead of them. It seemed like the arrows could not hurt Curly, even though he was in the middle of the fighting. The warriors noticed it, too, and soon the Arapaho were retreating. The Lakota began a war chant, circling Curly and rhythmically bowing to him from atop their horses in admiration and respect.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, two Arapaho warriors thundered up to him, challenging Curly face-to-face, their bows and arrows poised to kill.
Maisie held her breath. The moment felt like hours.
An arrow let loose, heading directly for Curly’s heart.
But it missed by a hair, brushing past him and landing in the grass.
Just as Maisie exhaled, Curly shot off two arrows in rapid succession. The first killed the warrior who had shot at him. The second took down the other challenger. Both men looked surprised when they were hit. Each of them grabbed at the arrow in his chest, as if he couldn’t believe it was there. And then, in slow motion, their eyes rolled back in their heads, and first one, then the other, slumped forward on his horse.
Curly urged his own horse close to them.
In horror, Maisie and Felix watched as he lifted up the first warrior’s head by the hair with one hand, and raised his tomahawk high in the other, slicing the air as the tomahawk cleanly scalped the fallen Arapaho.
Felix had to look away, but Maisie could not stop watching as Curly did the same to the second dead warrior.
He lifted the bloody scalps for everyone to see.
Then he began to attach them to his belt.
Just then, an arrow flew through the air and hit Curly straight in the leg.
His body jerked with surprise and a look of pain filled his face.
Without hesitating, Hump yanked the arrow from Curly’s leg.
“Ouch!” Maisie blurted.
Even from where they sat on their horses, she could see the blood spurting.
Hump bent and placed a piece of rawhide on the wound.
The warriors were chanting and whooping even louder now.
“He got hit because he was keeping the scalps,” Felix said. “Remember his vision?”
Maisie nodded. “He isn’t supposed to keep anything for himself.”
They watched as Curly threw the scalps to the ground. Then he turned on his horse and gave a loud, victorious cry. Even the most decorated warriors surrounded him and bowed.
The Arapaho had retreated, and Curly had become a hero.
CHAPTER 10
Crazy Horse
Excitement rippled through the village upon their return. News about the battle had already spread, and by the time they rode back to camp, everyone knew that Curly had saved Hump, one of the most honored and most ferocious warriors in their tribe. Arrows, they’d been told, seemed to bounce off Curly. He had killed two Arapaho up close, scalping them easily.
As the warriors entered the camp, the entire tribe greeted them.
Standing in the front was Worm, waiting for his son.
Curly dismounted and approached his father, who placed a hand on each of Curly’s shoulders. He looked him in the eye.
“For someone so young,” he said solemnly, “you have shown remarkable bravery.”
Curly stood proudly before his people, but said nothing.
“You have a wound,” Worm said, indicating where the arrow had struck his leg.
“I did not listen to my dream,” Curly admitted. “In the heat of victory, I took scalps and kept them for myself.”
Worm nodded. “You will not forget that lesson again.”
“No, Father,” Curly said. “I won’t.”
Worm faced the tribe and announced, “Tonight I will have a ceremony for my son, to honor his bravery today, and to send him forward with a new name worthy of his warrior status.”
A murmur spread through the crowd. Almost immediately, they dispersed to make preparations for the ceremony. Women began to light a fire in the center of the camp. They retrieved buffalo meat, baskets of fruits and vegetables. Others prepared special ceremonial robes and bonnets.
Maisie and Felix watched all of the activity swirling around them.
“He really was brave,” Felix said.
“Yes,” Maisie agreed, feeling miserable.
“I know,” Felix said. “It’s time to leave.”
“But we might never get out of here!” Maisie blurted.
“We won’t be stuck, Maisie,” Felix said. “Don’t worry. There has to be a way to find Little Thunder.”
But he didn’t really believe that. As far as he could tell, there was no way to find Little Thunder and no way to get back home.
They sat together watching everyone preparing for the ceremony, wishing more than anything that somehow they could close their eyes and find themselves tumbling through time again.
“Maisie,” Felix said later that afternoon, “maybe we can figure out another way back.”
They had watched everyone busily preparing for the ceremony for a long time. But without anything to do themselves, they’d decided to take a walk down by the river. Standing there now, even the sight of rainbow trout jumping through the air and splashing back into the water, and the way the sunlight made the river sparkle, could not lift their gloom.
Maisie didn’t even look at Felix. The idea was ridiculous, she knew. They had to give the feather to Curly in order to go home. And the feather was gone.
“I’ve been thinking,” Felix continued, “and maybe the object isn’t the thing that gets us back.”
“Then why did Great-Aunt Maisie keep those handcuffs for so long?”
Had he forgotten how Great-Aunt Maisie schemed to time travel to meet Harry Houdini again? How she’d kept those handcuffs just so she could do that?
“She kept them to go back,” Felix said.
“Right,” Maisie said, frustrated. “What’s your point?”
“The objects bring us back in time,” Felix said patiently. “They don’t bring us home. They stay with the person. Clara kept the letter, and Alexander kept the coin, and Pearl—”
“You’re right!” Maisie said, finally understanding. “But if the feather brought us here, then what will bring us home?”
“That’s w
hat I’ve been thinking about,” Felix said. “And I may have figured it out.”
Now Maisie was studying her brother’s face closely, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Everything we tried to go home failed, right?” he asked.
But he didn’t wait for an answer.
“I thought real hard today about what happened right before we traveled back. With Clara, she was telling us about her great-aunt, and how we should pay more attention to Great-Aunt Maisie.”
“Okay,” Maisie said as she tried to remember. “And Alexander and I were in that cemetery—”
“And he told you how important family was. He was an orphan, and he knew how hard—”
“Pearl talked about losing her sisters and brothers—”
“And Harry told me: I believe in you. Now you just have to believe in yourself,” Maisie said, growing excited.
“The thing is,” Felix said, “he said it to you, but it meant something to me, too. I wanted to win the election for class president and to have friends, and even though it was all going so well, I didn’t believe in myself yet. He gave me the courage to really put myself out there.”
“We just wanted different things,” Maisie said softly. She still couldn’t accept that after being together their whole lives and moving along the same path, she and Felix now wanted different things.
“We’re twins,” Felix said, “but we’re individuals, too.”
Maisie nodded sadly.
“We’ll always be twins,” he added, throwing his arm around her shoulders. And as much as he had wanted to un-twin, the fact that he was always going to be Maisie’s twin brother suddenly felt perfect.
“I guess that’s what our vision quest was all about,” he said.
“Tolerance and individuality,” Maisie agreed.
Felix looked at Maisie, his eyes wide.
“But that means we did get a lesson from Curly. He interpreted our spirit guides for us.”
Maisie felt her hopes crashing. “And we’re still here,” she said.
“What are we missing?” Felix asked.
But Maisie didn’t answer. She knew it was another rhetorical question.
The sound of a stone dropping into the water caught their attention.