Perhaps Kills Many, with his keen perception of people, saw this in her. For whatever reason he drew her aside one afternoon.
“Mother,” he said, “we must talk of something.”
He had first called her “Mother” as a term of respect, then as a gentle joke. To young Pigeon she was “Grandmother,” and to any casual observer she might have been just that. To all intents and purposes she was the female elder in the house of Kills Many.
“Of course,” she said. “What is it?”
Her tone was cheerful, but her heart was heavy. What would Kills Many, to whom she felt close family ties, wish to discuss? Should she forestall any unpleasantness by offering to move out?
“You know,” Kills Many said with some hesitation, “that we will soon move into a new house.”
Ah! Here it comes, she thought.
“Yes, I—” she began, but he gestured her to silence.
“Be still and listen a moment. You know that you will always be welcome in our family—”
“But I—”
“Let me go on! I know that you have long lived alone. If you like, you could have the smaller house. We would help you improve it.”
She was silent for a moment, and he misunderstood her emotion. She could not have spoken just then.
“Or,” he hurried on, “we can help you build a better one.”
Snakewater took a deep breath. “It is not that,” she was finally able to say. “But wouldn’t you… I had supposed you would salvage logs and poles for the new house from that one.”
“No, no.” He laughed. “We might have …. We might yet. But this is your choice, Mother. With us, or in your own house. Do you want to think on it? Sleep on it, maybe?”
There was a tear in the corner of her eye.
“You have been good to me, Kills Many. You are like a son… at least, I suppose so. I have never had a son, so how would I know?”
She laughed at herself and continued. “I don’t need to sleep on it,” she said. “I probably need the space to myself, for the plants and roots and all that I use. And I may need to conjure a spell. That would be easier in my own place. Now, the house we just shared for the winter is probably better than the one I had in Old Town. So, yes! I accept. Thank you, my almost-son!”
It seemed that spring came quickly and that there was too much going on. Building, clearing, planting, all nearly at once. Snakewater tried to help as she could, especially with the planting. Encouragement, the creation, almost, of new life, seemed to her an appropriate pursuit. She had had some experience with a small garden plot maintained by her namesake mentor, but tending it had not been a favorite pastime of hers. Nevertheless this was different: she had taken on a new life.
With the renewal, however, came a responsibility. She was still a guest among these people. The community was not large enough to afford a medicine person, a conjuror such as herself. Therefore her contribution must come in other ways. The telling of the stories, which amounted to instruction of the young, was one. Her assistance with the planting, another.
Occasionally she had prepared a potion or salve, or conjured a “medicine” for someone. But it was becoming clear to her that her function in this new town must be different from anything in her previous life. This was troubling to her. The skill with plants and roots and conjures and spells was her gift, and it was good. Now, it was not to be used enough to maintain its power. If you don’t use the gift, you lose it, her old mentor had warned. She feared this could very easily happen to her. There was not enough use here to keep the power of her medicine alive.
There was the possibility, of course, that the little community would grow. It had done so with the arrival of the party of Kills Many. With the coming of spring there might be other travelers, and some might settle here. The town could grow and become self-sufficient, like Keowee. But when? Could she wait to see?
The other alternative for her seemed to be to attach herself to another party moving west. There had been none yet, and might not be. But it was something to consider.
Over all of this consideration there was a restlessness within her. Possibly it was simply the age-old urge to migrate that comes with the spring. What human is there who does not thrill to the call of the wild geese high overhead, honking their way northward to unknown places? There is always a curiosity to see what lies just beyond the next hill.
It must be assumed that this factor, too, lay within the breast of Snakewater as she planted corn and beans and pumpkins. She straightened occasionally to rest her back, and to watch the long lines of snowy white geese honk their way northward. She really had no yen to seek a colder climate, but one to the west might prove interesting.
20
The newly planted crops were not even showing green yet when the first travelers passed through West Landing en route to somewhere. There were all types imaginable: Trappers, heading for new country beyond the Mississippi … They would spend the summer searching for an area in which to harvest furs next winter Settlers, families searching for a place that would be their own… Occasionally, a loner who looked behind him frequently and darted furtive glances at any movement in the edges of his vision … And, sometimes, an individual whose spirit could be felt as it reached out in question: What does lie out there? Snakewater found that she could easily spot that one. She knew that he felt the same restless migration urge that puzzled her as she watched the geese high overhead.
There were, of course, occasional parties of the Real People, moving away from the encroachment of the whites. It was always good to see them. Some stayed an extra day or two, to inquire and explore before moving on. At first Snakewater was hesitant to have any contact with them. They might have come from Old Town, and she could have that unpleasantness to deal with again. Gradually, however, her dread began to fade. Children of the travelers always enjoyed her stories, and she continued to improve with practice.
She was remembering sayings and proverbs, too, from her own childhood, and used some of them in talking to Pigeon and the other children. It had never occurred to her until now, what importance lay in some of the old sayings. It was an education, the teaching of a way of life ….
You can dance just as well in the rear as in the front rank ….
Don’t expect anything too much, especially if it is misfortune, or it will surely come ….
Too much fun and happiness are always followed by sorrow and trouble ….
A big warrior does not always drive center with his arrows. Even a small warrior can drive center
Don’t tell another all you know. Then he will be as wise as you are ….
Stories of animals, birds, and plants were always popular. Rabbit, the trickster, was a great favorite. Snakewater began to remember tales she had forgotten …. How the Moon came to be…
Two towns were having a contest. Aneja, “little brother of war,” was the ancient ball game played using sticks with a cup-shaped pocket of woven thongs at the end. The ball must never be touched with the hands, or any part of the body. But in the heat of competition one player seized the ball. He threw it so hard toward the goal that it stuck up against the inside of the sky dome. There it stays to this day, sliding along, following the sun.
The Real People soon noticed that at times the moon is much slimmer. It was assumed that this was associated with the shame over infraction of the rules. After that it became the custom that the game of aneja could only be played at the time of the full moon. This would avoid further embarrassment, and would help to remind the players of the importance of fairness in the contest.
Despite her enjoyment of these distractions Snakewater grew more restless. The corn was up now, usually seven tiny plants in each hill, from the ritual seven grains planted. They would not be thinned, only weeded and tended, and watered if necessary. Beans, almost equal in importance to the corn, were doing well also. She wondered idly why there were not the tales of beans associated with the Creation story, as there were with corn.
> But that was not as important to her as the puzzling restlessness that continued to haunt her. She realized that she was changing as a person, but was not at all certain what was happening to her.
“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do, Lumpy,” she complained one day to apparently empty space. “What is happening to me?”
She stooped to pick an especially nice plant of the type she sought, and put it in her basket.
“What? Oh, yes… I know you can’t help me. But you don’t have to tease me about it. Sometimes you are a real pain, Lumpy. I—”
She broke off in midsentence as someone else approached.
“Hello, Grandmother,” said Pigeon. “I heard you talking.”
Her eyes were full of mischief.
“The Little People?”
“Ah, child! Do you see any Little People?”
Pigeon smiled as if the two shared a great secret.
“Ah, Grandmother… Suppose I did? I could not say so. So, probably not. But maybe someday, no?”
The two laughed together.
Snakewater was almost certain that this special child would be offered, in some way, gifts of the spirit. Not too soon, she hoped. It would be better if the girl could enjoy her childhood before assuming all the responsibility that goes with the spirit gift.
“I am looking for special plants today,” she explained to the child. “This is a good time of the year, before the grasses are too tall. And some are scarce. I can’t pick every one. I must find and reject six before I pick the seventh.”
“But why, Grandmother?”
“So they won’t be lost, child! If we picked them all, there would be none to grow next year, and their medicine would be lost forever.”
“But … you could not pick every one in the world, Grandmother!”
“Maybe not—but we must make sure. If every old conjure woman, or doctor man, leaves six of the seven they must find, there will always be six in the world to begin the next season.”
“Who makes the rules?”
“I don’t know, child,” said Snakewater, a little more irritably than she felt. “The One Above, maybe, since Creation. Who makes you ask so many questions?” she teased.
Pigeon giggled. “I don’t know. They just come into my head.”
“Of course. And that is good. But you don’t have to know all things. Some are not meant to be understood, only enjoyed. But it’s all right to ask. That’s how you learn.”
“Is there anyone who knows everything?”
“Of course not! But there are those who think they do. They are to be avoided.”
“Why, Grandmother?”
“Because they are dangerous, child! Think about it. One who thinks he knows everything is… Well, look: If he did, he would be as wise as God, no? And of course that could not be. That person is very stupid to think so, and stupid people are the most dangerous. The smartest people are those who have learned to gracefully say, ‘I don’t know.’ Or even better, remain silent …. Ah, child! How did you get me started on this? You are a nuisance!”
But her smile and expression plainly said that Snakewater was enjoying every moment. Pigeon giggled again.
“Then I will never ask another question, Grandmother.” “
No! I did not say that!” scolded the old woman in mock anger. “You must always ask questions. Only sometimes , not so often, and maybe not out loud! Questions are not always welcomed by those who think they know all.”
“But why not? If they know all, they should be glad to answer.”
“Ah, but that is the point! In their own mind they have doubts and fears like the rest of us, but cannot admit it, because to do so would prove they do not know all.”
“Who is the wisest person of all?” asked Pigeon.
“Who knows?” answered Snakewater. “I once thought it was the old woman who taught me, and whose name I bear now. She told me much about these things. I am made to think that it is because she knew how much she did not know that she was the wisest. So let that be a lesson. Besides, many things are not meant to be understood. It is better so. Enjoy what is given to us, question sometimes, but be ready to learn when the time for it comes.”
The corn was knee high when the ferry brought a party of travelers who disembarked like the others at West Landing. As usual the children trooped down to meet them. There were two wagons, with extended families, some on foot or riding horses. They drove a small herd of pigs, pushed along with sticks by the older boys.
As children do, the newcomers and the children from West Landing met and mingled almost instantly, and it was good. Unlike adults, even children who do not know each other’s language are able to do this. But in this case the travelers were also Cherokee, the Real People. The mingling of children and adults alike was like a homecoming.
Snakewater always kept her distance from newcomers, partly from long habit, but also for another reason, nearly forgotten. It was a real surprise, then, when it happened. Pigeon came running to her.
“Grandmother!” she called, breathless from running. “Guess what! These people are from Keowee! Isn’t that good? That’s where we found you!”
A cold clutch of fear and dread grasped at the heart of Snakewater. Not good, really … These travelers were from far too close to Old Town and all the problems it had meant to her.
21
Snakewater managed to stay out of sight as much as possible while the visitors were at West Landing.
“Grandmother, come and tell us stories,” pleaded Pigeon.
“No, child… Grandmother is sick. Go away, now.”
“But there are children with this party. They will like to hear about Rabbit.”
“No. Not now. Run along.”
Snakewater had not been outside for two days except after dark, and then very carefully. The travelers from Keowee might not recognize her, but she felt that she could not take the chance. If they did, it would rekindle the dormant fires of the unpleasantness back in Old Town. At best the travelers would be curious. At worst, accusing and argumentative. It was much easier and less risky simply to stay out of sight until the visitors moved on.
So far they showed no signs of doing that. They were enjoying the company of the Real People of West Landing. A couple of the women were clan sisters—Bird Clan. In their present situation this carried very little importance, but there was a good feeling of family and home, encountering a friend unexpectedly in a far country. This alone was reason to stay another day or two ….
On the third day Kills Many approached and knocked at the door of Snakewater’s hut.
“Mother… it is Kills Many. May I enter? I would talk with you.”
“Of course!” she answered cheerfully. “Come on in.”
He stooped to enter and squatted against the wall.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “We were concerned about you. Pigeon said you were sick.”
“No, no. An excuse. The visitors are from Keowee, too close to home. I thought it better to stay out of sight.”
He nodded, understanding.
“I see. They have said nothing, but you are probably right. Why take the chance? They will move on soon. Do you need anything?”
“No. I do get out at night, and early morning. How long will they stay?”
“Who knows? They are enjoying the company of the Real People. Somebody has a clan relationship …. Mostly just a pause in the hard travel, I think. I could ask about Old Town, if you like.”
“No, no. As the saying goes, Don’t poke a sleeping skunk,” she said.
Kills Many smiled. “It is good.”
“This does make me wonder, though. Will it always be so?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know my story, my almost-son. Will I have to worry about every party of travelers that comes along? Wonder if they are likely to accuse me of murder?”
He started to laugh and then realized how serious she was.
“I don’t know,�
�� he said finally. “I had not thought of this. Did you have an idea? Something else you want to do?”
She sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I had thought of joining some group of other travelers. Maybe Real People from some other area. Or even Chickasaws or Muskogee or somebody. Close to our people, but who would not have heard about the trouble at Old Town.”
Kills Many nodded thoughtfully. “I had not even considered this problem,” he admitted. “Surely such a thing should be forgotten. But people are strange, no? Some stranger than others.”
“Kills Many,” she said after a few moments of silence, “have you heard of mountains to the far west?”
“Of course. There are many stories. Open grassland, many days’ travel to cross… As many buffalo as there are stars in the sky… Mountains beyond… Why?”
“Oh, nothing… I only wondered what they look like. Somebody said they are taller, with snow on the tops, even in summer.”
“I don’t know. Different from ours back home, I suppose. But why … Snakewater! Are you thinking of trying to go there yourself?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “Well, not really. But maybe… There wouldn’t likely be anyone from Old Town there. I might think about it ….”
It was three more days before the party from Keowee moved on, and a great relief for Snakewater. She could now move about freely. But the interval had given her time to think. More and more she considered the idea that had formed itself almost spontaneously as she talked with Kills Many. She was still surprised by it, and even more so that she would take it seriously. How and why would such a thing come into her mind? Things do not occur without reason …. Or do they? No, she thought… this must be part of the understanding thing. It is not necessary to understand it all, just that it happens. And something had definitely happened to her. This odd urge to move on had not left her with the departure of the migrating geese this time. If anything it was now growing even stronger. There must be a purpose that she had not yet reasoned out.
But if it was meant to be, the means for it to occur would also be provided. So, she decided, she must be patient. But that was hard.
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