by Tom Birdseye
Tucker picked up his spear, then Joe Allen’s. He leaned them both against the cedar tree. “I wouldn’t,” he said matter-of-factly, then walked over to the tipi.
Joe Allen rubbed his chest where the spear had hit him. He followed Tucker across the clearing. “What’re you writing in Winter Count?” he asked when he saw the open spiral notebook.
Tucker sat down and quickly closed it. “Nothing,” he said with a hint of anger in his voice.
Disbelief showed plainly on Joe Allen’s face. “Hey, Winter Count is our book. You said we are brothers bound in blood, warriors of The Tribe, just like the Indians that used to live around here. What are you writing?”
Tucker looked down at the notebook, then let out a sigh. “All right. I came here to write about preparing for our first deer hunt. But then … well, I found myself writing about my sister instead.”
Joe Allen’s red eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Sister? You never told me you had a sister!”
Tucker shrugged. “I never felt like I did. She’s been living in Kentucky with my mom all this time. My parents have suddenly agreed that I should get to know Olivia.”
Joe Allen wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Olivia?”
“Yep, that’s her name.”
“Bad news,” Joe Allen said, shaking his head. “I know all about sisters. I’ve got three of them. Is she younger or older?”
“Younger.”
“Eeeee!” Joe Allen exclaimed, clutching at his heart as if pierced by an arrow. “That’s the worst kind. And with a name like Olivia?”
Tucker nodded. “She’s at the house right now. Dad gave her my room to sleep in. I had to clear out all of my personal stuff. He moved the junk in the big hall closet out to the garage, then turned the hall closet into my bedroom.”
Joe Allen shook his head. “And I’ll bet your dad made it sound like a great thing to do for your sister, huh? Giving up your own room. Adults always say that kind of stuff.”
Tucker nodded. “And get this—she’s going to go to school here until Thanksgiving!”
Joe Allen’s eyebrows shot up again. “Oooo! More bad news; enough to turn your mind to stumps.”
The clearing lapsed quiet for a moment. Joe Allen took the gum from his mouth and inspected it for signs of dirt. Tucker reached into his pocket and pulled out the carved Indian chief’s head. He ran his fingers over the smooth wood, then placed the small carving back in his pocket. Opening the notebook again, he read the beginning of his new entry: September 5 (Labor Day): Season of Olivia’s Arriv——.
Tucker picked up the pen. A clear mind. He crossed out Olivia’s name and the rest of the entry with big Xs. Then he began again: September 5 (Labor Day): Season of the Hunt—I have stalked the sleeping bear. With a clear mind I am ready to prepare for the hunt.
4
“Can I be excused?” Tucker asked his father from across the kitchen table.
Duane Renfro glanced over at Livi, who was busily picking the black olives off her piece of pizza and stacking them up on the side of her plate. She stopped what she was doing and smiled at him—the big, ear-to-ear grin she had been throwing around the table all through the meal. He returned her smile, then looked back to his son. “What’s the hurry, Tucker?”
Tucker shrugged. “I just thought I’d get things ready for the start of school tomorrow: notebooks, pencils, erasers, things like that.”
Duane Renfro wiped his mouth with his napkin, then took a sip of his coffee. “This has been a very quiet meal. I thought we could all sit and talk for a while.”
Livi looked up again from her pile of black olives. “Yeah, Tucker, I was wondering if you could tell me about Indians,” she said. “Dad says you know a lot about them. Do they still live around here?”
Tucker scooted his chair back and stood up. His hand slid into his pocket and held the Indian chief carving. The ways of The Tribe are to always be kept secret. “I really have a lot to do,” he said. “Sixth grade, you know. I want to get off to a good sta—”
“I thought that maybe we could play some Monopoly, too,” Duane cut in, “or take turns challenging each other at chess. Livi tells me she plays.”
Tucker let the carving slip out of his hand, back to the bottom of his pants pocket. “Dad, can I please be excused?” he asked again.
Duane Renfro set his coffee cup down and looked squarely at his son. “It’s your turn to do the dishes,” he said firmly.
Despite the stern tone of his father’s voice, Tucker started to protest. “But, Dad—”
“I’ll do them,” Livi cut in.
Tucker and Duane both looked at her in surprise.
She stood up and smiled. “I don’t mind, really. We have a dishwasher at home. Mom just pops the dirty dishes in and turns it on. She says that gives us more time together in the evening.”
Duane pointed to Tucker and started to speak. Livi quickly pulled the letter from Kentucky out of her pocket and held it up. “Mom and I have a great time in the evenings. We take turns reading out loud to each other, kind of acting out the parts. Or we play chess, or watch football games. We both like the Cincinnati Bengals. But anyway, I never get to wash the dishes. It’d be fun to play with the bubbles.” She picked up the rest of her piece of pizza and crammed it into her mouth. “I’m finished, see?” she said through the wad of dough, then began to clear the table. “You go get ready for school, Tucker. We can talk or play games later.”
“Thanks,” Tucker said in a near whisper. Without looking at his father, he quickly turned and went to the old closet that was now his new room. He pulled the chain to turn on the bare light bulb, then shut the door behind him.
Tucker took a long, blanket-wrapped bundle from behind a roll of old carpet and placed it gently on the mattress his father had laid out for him on the closet floor. He untied the leather thongs and set them to one side. The bundle unrolled most of the way by itself. Tucker finished by spreading the corners flat. He looked at the contents. A bow—still unstrung—and three arrows now lay in the center of his bed.
Tucker picked up the bow and ran his fingers over the smooth birchwood. The hunter’s bow must become like a part of his own body if he is to use it well. Hours of sanding had left no bumps or splintered ends anywhere on the bow’s length. The natural curve he had found in that particular birch tree limb by the creek last spring still held true from tip to tip. The notches for the bowstring lined up perfectly on both ends. The grip fit easily in his palm. Dad hasn’t had much time to help me like he said he would. But it’s better that I’ve done the work myself anyway. By making the bow the hunter knows it as well as he knows his own hands. All that he still had to do was rub the wood with oil to keep it from drying out and getting brittle.
Carefully placing the bow on the blanket, Tucker picked up each of the three arrows in turn and sighted down their length. Each shaft has to be as straight as I want it to fly, each fire-hardened tip as sharp as chipped stone, each feather as true as a bird’s wing. He checked the tightness of the fishing line he had used to bind the split feathers to the shaft. “Almost done,” he said, with a smile. “Just in time. Deer season opens in less than two weeks.”
Tucker twirled one of the arrows in his palm. I will kill the deer with one shot to the—
A knock came on his bedroom door. Livi’s voice bounced merrily as she spoke. “Dad said he’d finish the dishes, Tucker. He’s just scrubbing away and listening to some old jazz tapes he’s got. He said I should come spend some time with you. Great idea, huh? Can I come in?”
Tucker didn’t hesitate in answering. “No.”
There was a moment of silence. Tucker could see the shadow of Livi’s feet under the door. She giggled. There was a rustling sound, then scratching. Seconds later a slip of paper was pushed under the door into the room. I DON’T BITE, it said in big letters.
Tucker wrapped the bow and arrows in the blanket again and tied it with the leather thongs. He ignored Livi’s note, but listened intently. She wai
ted for a minute or two, then walked quickly down the hall to his old room and returned. Another note was pushed under the door. This one had a penny taped to it. ENTRANCE FEE—1 PENNY was printed above the coin.
Tucker walked over and pushed both notes back under. Livi ran down the hall. A few seconds later she was back. More scratching could be heard, then lots of tearing sounds. Tucker got down on his belly and tried to look under the door. Bits of paper were falling onto the hall floor around Livi’s feet. Her hands came into view and picked them up. There was a moment of silence. Then she got down on her hands and knees. Tucker pushed himself back as the open end of an envelope slowly appeared under the door. He craned his neck forward to see what she had written this time. A big puff of air hit him square in the face. She had blown into the other side of the envelope. Bits of paper flew into his eyes and even his mouth.
“Yuck!” he yelled.
“Oh, no!” Livi’s voice came from out in the hall. She jumped up and pushed on the door. It flew partway open, hitting Tucker right in the middle of his forehead. He rolled away with a groan, thumping the back of his head on the wall.
The closet door slowly opened the rest of the way. Livi’s face appeared, eyes wide. “Tucker, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—” She stopped and bowed her head as he glared up at her.
Tucker stood.
“Maybe we could talk about Indians,” she said in a tiny voice.
Tucker didn’t move.
“And buffalo. Do you ever see buffalo in your backyard?”
Tucker’s only answer was to take a deep breath and clinch his fists. Livi backed slowly out of the closet, turned, and walked down the hall. The sounds of Duane Renfro’s old jazz tape filtered back from the front of the house, filling the space between them. Livi quietly shut her bedroom door. Tucker barricaded his own.
5
The buck raised his head and sniffed the early morning air of September 6 for danger, antlers spread out above him like a white-tipped crown. Ears rotated back and forth, keen for any unusual sound. He stomped the ground nervously with a front hoof. Tucker couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He let the stale air out of his lungs as slowly as he could. I have to keep my breath very shallow so it doesn’t show in this cold air. He had left the house without a jacket to climb the birch tree and watch for deer. Now his fingers were numb in the cold and damp, and a knot on the tree trunk was digging into his back. Still, he didn’t move a muscle. I’ve seen this buck here every morning for a week. I’m close enough for a shot. I will become a hunter.
The buck lowered his head and again pulled at the last of the summer clover on the edge of the Renfros’ small meadow. Tucker shifted his weight on the tree limb. The buck’s head shot up. Tucker froze.
A screen door slammed. Tucker slowly moved his eyes from the deer until he could see his house up by the road. His father, feed bucket in hand, was headed for the turkey pen. Livi bounced along beside him like a puppy following its master. Their voices drifted into the woods, muffled by the distance and early morning fog. Light laughter from Livi was the only clear sound that reached Tucker’s ears. He tightened his fists. The Tribe is for members only! Outsiders will always stay just that—outside!
Without thinking, Tucker reached up and felt the knot on his forehead from where the closet door had hit him. The buck caught the movement of Tucker’s hand out of the corner of his eye. In a flash of brown and white he bounded into the woods and disappeared.
Tucker watched him go, then turned back to the house. “Good morning, Olivia,” he said angrily, then climbed down from among the yellowing leaves of the birch tree and headed home.
An hour later, Tucker walked out the kitchen door and headed for the bus stop, school notebook in hand. His father’s voice caught him halfway down the driveway.
“Hey, Tucker, did I tell you I have a job interview today?”
Tucker turned. Duane Renfro stood on the porch steps dressed in a white shirt, slacks, tie, and a sport coat. Tucker’s face lit up. “Wow, Dad! I was wondering why you were taking so long getting dressed. What’s the job?”
Duane straightened his tie a bit. He reached down and patted Maggie on the head. She stood beside him, wagging her tail as if his getting dressed up excited her, too. “It’s not much, just … well, actually it could be a real break for me. It’s with the school district.”
The smile on Tucker’s face grew even larger. “You’re going to go back to teaching?” He was up on the porch beside his father before he finished the question. “I thought you didn’t like all the hassles—”
Duane Renfro raised his hand like a cop at an intersection. “It’s only a tutoring position. There’s a kid who got hurt over the summer in a bicycle accident and is in a big cast and can’t come to school.”
Tucker couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, but it’s a job. It’s been so long since you’ve tried … since you’ve had a chance.”
“It would only be temporary and part-time,” Duane said, “but it might get my foot in the door for a better position later.” He rubbed his chin and smiled. “I guess the chance is worth a shave, anyway.”
Livi opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. She wore a red-checked dress and shiny black shoes and carried a satchel under her arm. “Well, what do you think?” she asked with a big smile. “I guess I look like I’m ready to waltz with the king, huh?”
Duane laughed and motioned toward his tie. “Then I must be ready to waltz with the queen.”
Livi walked over and stood beside her father. Tucker turned and stepped down from the porch.
“Mom says the clothes make the woman,” Livi said to Duane. “She made me promise to dress up on the first day of school. She said I could wear my T-shirt with the drawing of the solar system on the front and my high-top leopard-spot sneakers the second day. She must have talked to you about first impressions, too.”
Duane shifted uneasily, then busied himself adjusting his tie. Tucker looked down at his own clothes—jeans, a plaid shirt, and dirty basketball shoes. “Bus will be here soon,” he said.
Livi turned her large brown eyes on Tucker. They sparkled with excitement. “I feel just deliverous!” she said, prancing down the steps toward him.
Duane looked up and laughed. “I think you mean delirious,” he said. “As good as you can imagine, huh? Remember, though, this is a country school, not what you’re used to in Lexington, Kentucky.”
“Whatever,” Livi said, “I’m ready! Let’s go, brother!”
Tucker looked at her as if she had asked him to go walk off the edge of Chimney Rock. He reached up and touched the bump on his forehead. There was a moment of silence.
Duane finally broke it. “You go on, Livi. The bus will stop at the end of the driveway. I want to talk with Tucker for a minute.”
Livi looked up at her father. “Good luck with the job interview, Dad.” She beamed. “You can do it, I know you can.” She gave Maggie a pat on the head, then bounced off toward Tamarack Road.
Duane waited until Livi was out of earshot before he spoke. “You’ve been mighty hard on your sister, Tucker.” It was the same firm voice of the night before—the one that Duane used only when he was upset. Tucker pushed at the gravel in the driveway with his foot. He kept his eyes down.
“Why won’t you give her a chance?” Duane asked, eyes searching.
Tucker kept pushing the gravel with his foot, eyes down.
“She just wants to get to know you.”
She is an outsider. Things were fine before she came.
“She is your sister,” Duane reminded him.
Tucker kicked at the gravel. His words spilled out angrily: “Your daughter, you mean! I don’t remember my sister!”
Duane Renfro’s reaction came in quick, firm movements. But by the time he was off the porch and had laid his hand on Tucker’s shoulder, the touch was soft and pleading. Tucker looked up into eyes that showed pain.
“I’m sorry that you don’t know Olivia,” Duane
said. He looked out at the bus stop. Livi waved cheerfully. He waved back, trying to send her a long-distance smile. “But she is here because she wants to change that,” he said, looking back down at Tucker. “She told me this morning that your mother has been talking about working at getting us all back together again. She said your mother still loves me, even after all of these years apart. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know I’m going to go into that job interview today and really try this time, not look for reasons to say no. Livi said she is going to write your mother every day, tell her what a great family we could be. I saw her addressing another envelope after breakfast. Maybe my trying to do something with my life will make a difference to all of us. Maybe you could help, too, huh?”
Tucker reached into his pocket and felt the carved Indian chief. Only for members of The Tribe.
“Tucker?” Duane’s voice came as a plea from above him. “Can you please at least try to give Livi a chance? If not for her, then for me?”
The carved Indian chief rolled smoothly around in Tucker’s hand. He ran his fingers over the carved feathers of the war bonnet, down onto the sharp lines of the face. “I’ll try, Dad,” he said, “I’ll try.”
6
Joe Allen looked around him in the crowded school bus to see if anybody was watching, snuck his brown lunch sack up close to his face, and peered inside. “Ah, tuna fish,” he whispered to Tucker.
Tucker leaned over in the school bus seat and looked into Joe Allen’s lunch sack. A tuna fish sandwich lay in the bottom. A big red apple had squashed it into the shape of a bowl.
“Looks damaged,” Tucker said with a smirk.
Joe Allen’s red eyebrows shot up in fake alarm. “Damaged?” he asked in a high, squeaky voice. “How dare you talk about my sandwich like that?”
Tucker gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh, did I say damaged? I’m sorry. I meant to say dangerous. It looks dangerous, don’t you think?”
Joe Allen quickly closed his lunch sack and hit Tucker on the shoulder with it.