Timecachers

by Glenn R. Petrucci

  “You’re the one who asked,” Tom replied. “As I was saying, they do it to mask their scent. Dogs are hunters, and they instinctively try to cover up their own smell so they will have better luck stalking their game. Makes perfect sense, actually.”

  “Not to me, man. You’d think being stalked by a four-legged turd would scare away more animals than the dog smell.” said Sal to everyone’s laughter.

  When they reached the farmhouse, they saw that Catherine had laid out several buckets of rainwater, scrub brushes, and lye soap on the back porch. Obviously they were expected to clean up thoroughly before entering the house. Catherine and Alice came out of the back door, each with an armload of clean clothes, and set them on the porch table.

  “Here are some fresh clothes for you all,” Catherine said. “Sal, you are close to Benjamin’s size, so I brought you some of his extras. Tom and Adam are about as big as Isaac, so here are a few things I made for him. They are not as nice as your own fine clothes, but at least they are clean.”

  They thanked her and took the clothes, buckets, brushes, and soap to the side porch where they stripped off their smelly clothing, scrubbed down meticulously, and rinsed off the filth. The borrowed clothing made them look more like farmers than test engineers. Benjamin’s clothes were just a bit short for Sal, and Isaac’s a bit too large on Tom and Adam, and every piece of clothing had been mended more than once, but as Catherine said, at least they were clean.

  Freshly scrubbed and clothed, the men entered the kitchen and took their places at the table. Alice and Sally filled cups with the gahnohayna drink for each person. She relayed what Catherine had told her; that it was a traditional drink usually offered to visitors. Tentatively tasting it, they found it to be thick and bland, just a little sour, but refreshing.

  “Not bad,” said Adam. “Certainly different, and I can see how the taste could grow on you. Thank you for sharing it with us.”

  “If you are going to work, dress, and eat like a Cherokee farmer,” Benjamin said, “you should also learn to speak like one. Wado is how you say thank-you in Cherokee.”

  “Wado very much, then,” Adam said. He raised his cup in a toast, “here’s to the Rogers family and their beautiful farm. Wado for making us feel welcome!”

  “Wado,” repeated Alice, Tom, and Sal, joining in the toast.

  “And wado to you all,” said Benjamin returning the toast, “for all your hard work today.”

  There was not much more for conversation during the meal, other than copious comments about how delicious everything was. The hard day’s work, fresh air, and sunshine had given them voracious appetites, and the platters of pork and bowls of boiled vegetables made their way around the table at least twice.

  After the meal, the women cleaned up in the kitchen and the men went to the stables to see to the grooming and a few final chores. Tom and Benjamin smoked their pipes as they walked. It was still early, and Benjamin’s work day usually went on past dark. He could see his guests were fit, but they were not used to long days of hard work. He decided to let them relax a little early on their first full day as farm hands. Besides, if part of the intention was to educate these newcomers, the evening storytelling would be very beneficial to them. He was surprised at Alice’s adeptness at storytelling last evening, and was looking forward to tonight’s session. It was his favorite part of the day.

  Chapter nineteen

  It was still light when they assembled for storytelling on the front porch. They claimed a comfortable seat and watched the setting sun cast colorful shadows from behind the house. Silvey served everyone another cupful of gahnohayna before going off to have her evening meal with Isaac. Benjamin brought out two kerosene lanterns and hung them on the posts of the porch. He found himself a comfortable seat, offered Tom another pipe full of tobacco and filled his own. Using a burning stick from the kitchen hearth, he lit Tom’s pipe and got his own corncob pipe going with a great cloud of blue smoke, then used the brand to light the lanterns. It was his turn to tell the story for the Rogers family, and his puffing helped set the mood and get his thoughts together before beginning. After a few minutes of silent smoking, Benjamin said that tonight he would tell them two stories. “The first is a short but very important story about how the Cherokee people came to have tso-lu—tobacco.” Everyone settled into their seats and listened intently.

  “Long, long ago,” Benjamin began, “when the people and the animals all lived together, there was only one single tobacco plant. That one plant provided all the tobacco for the Tsalagi. Everyone got the tobacco they needed from that plant, and they depended on having it. As you know, tobacco is needed for spiritual offerings and for curing many ailments. There was even one very old woman who was so old that the tobacco was the only thing that kept her alive.

  “Everything was fine until one day, the Dagul-Ku, the white-fronted geese, stole the plant and took it away with them when they flew south for the winter. Well, this was not good, because all of the people were suffering without the tobacco, and the old woman became very thin and weak and everyone thought she would surely die.

  “The other animals knew how important the tobacco was to the people, and they wanted to help. Many of the animals tried to go and get the plant back from the Dagul-Ku, but none could because the geese would catch them and kill them before they got to the plant. Even the Mole tried to get it by digging a tunnel underground, but the Dagul-Ku saw what he was doing and killed him when he came above the ground.

  “Then the tiny hummingbird said that he wanted to try to get it back. The others told him to stop being silly, that he was much too small to try, and he should just go home. The hummingbird begged them to let him at least try, so they told him he would have to show them how he intended to get the plant. They took him to a field and planted a plant there, and said he should demonstrate to them what he would do. Before they could blink, the tiny hummingbird zipped off to the plant, and then in a flash he was back again. The others decided that because he was so fast, they would let him try.

  “So the little hummingbird flew to where the Dagul-Ku had the tobacco plant. He saw that all the geese were watching the plant. But the hummingbird was so fast, he darted to the plant and snatched the leaves and the seeds off the top before the Dagul-Ku could see what he was up to.

  “The hummingbird flew straight home with the plant top. The old woman was very weak by then, but they blew smoke in her nose and made her well again, so she didn’t die. Then they planted the seeds and the people have had tobacco ever since, thanks to the tiny little hummingbird!”

  “Hooray for the hummingbird!” shouted Sally and Billy, and everyone clapped for the story.

  “That was your Tsalagi name when you were a boy, wasn’t it?” asked Billy.

  “Yes, it was. They called me Hummingbird because even though I was small as a boy, I was a very fast runner, and could beat many of the other boys in races. So even if you are a small person, you can still have abilities that make you valuable to the community,” he said, giving Sal a quick wink.

  “I’m small, too,” said Sally, “but Billy is faster than me and always beats me in a race.”

  “Yes, Billy is very fast,” Benjamin concurred, “but you are very beautiful, like ka-ma-ma, the Butterfly. Perhaps that is what we should call you—Butterfly.”

  “Butterfly,” Sally repeated softly. “Butterflies are very pretty,” she said, clearly embarrassed by her father’s compliment.

  “Do all Cherokees have a Tsalagi name?” asked Alice.

  “Many are given names as a child,” said Catherine, “and later may take or earn one or more names in later life. It is the grandmother’s right to give a child his first name. That was the traditional way, but now many Cherokee also have a ‘white name’ like yours and ours. Some families now only use their English names. This alteration is one of the many changes to our culture to try and make us more acceptable to the whites.”

  “Which brings me to my next story,” said Benja
min. “It is also short, and has to do with names.”

  The sun had fully set, and above the dim glow of the lanterns the stars shone brightly in the dark sky. He pointed to a broad swath of stars overhead. “Do you remember what we call that path of stars, Billy?”

  “The Milky Way,” he answered.

  “That is correct. The Cherokee call it Gili-utsun-yi, and now I will tell you how it got its name.” He stirred and tamped his pipe, relit it from the lantern, pausing for effect. Then he began the story:

  “There was a family who owned a mill where they went to grind corn into meal every day. They would haul the corn from their farm to the mill and fill it every morning, and the family members would take turns pounding the corn. It was much work, but they were grateful for the corn and the mill, and made a good living from it. After a while though, they began to notice that in the morning when they arrived with the corn, some of the meal was missing. It was being stolen during the night. This happened on several occasions, and they noticed that there were very large dog footprints in the meal. They decided that they would catch the dog in the act, so the next night they hid at the mill, and saw a giant dog with wings swoop down from the sky and begin eating the meal. The family jumped out from their hiding place and yelled and kicked at the dog. The frightened dog flew away howling, the cornmeal dropping from his mouth leaving a white streak in the night sky. Each grain of the meal became a star, which we see as the Milky Way. And that is why to this day the Cherokee call the Milky Way Gili-utsun-yi, which means ‘Where the dog ran’.”

  Benjamin watched as everyone on the porch gazed at the constellation, even more brilliant as the sky was now fully dark. It didn’t take too much imagination to see the dog running across the sky leaving his trail of cornmeal stars behind.

  “Now maybe our guests would care to share another of their wonderful stories,” Benjamin said. All eyes turn to Alice.

  “My goodness, I think tonight we should give Adam a turn,” Alice replied.

  “Nothing like putting me on the spot, Alice,” Adam said, grinning. “It just so happens I do have a story for you all tonight. I think I can remember all the words. This story is a poem, called The Lake of the Dismal Swamp, by Thomas Moore, but it’s kind of scary, so maybe it’s not really a good story to tell the children…”

  “Please tell it!” said Sally. “I love scary stories.”

  “I am not a child,” Billy stated, “so I won’t be scared by a story.”

  A subtle nod of approval from Benjamin and Catherine convinced Adam. “Well, okay. If you’re sure it won’t keep you awake.”

  Not to be outdone by Alice’s performance last night, Adam went to each of the lanterns and dimmed them as low as they would go. He returned to his seat, building suspense as he solemnly looked into each person’s eyes, one at a time. He kept his grave expression as he prepared to tell his story. The only sounds that could be heard were the night sounds of the Georgia countryside, insects chirping, frogs croaking, and an occasional creek, chirp, or groan from some unidentified night creature. He let a long minute pass before beginning, speaking slowly in a low, pensive voice:

  “They made her a grave, too cold and damp

  For a soul so warm and true;

  And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,

  Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

  She paddles her white canoe.

  “And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,

  And her paddle I soon shall hear;

  Long and loving our life shall be,

  And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

  When the footstep of death is near.”

  Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds—

  His path was rugged and sore,

  Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,

  Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,

  And man never trod before.

  And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,

  If slumber his eyelids knew,

  He lay where the deadly vine doth weep

  Its venomous tear and nightly steep

  The flesh with blistering dew!

  And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the brake,

  And the copper-snake breath’d in his ear,

  Till he starting cried, from his dream awake,

  “Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,

  And the white canoe of my dear?”

  He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright

  Quick over its surface play’d—

  “Welcome,” he said, “my dear one’s light!”

  And the dim shore echoed for many a night

  The name of the death-cold maid.

  Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen bark,

  Which carried him off from shore;

  Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark,

  The wind was high and the clouds were dark,

  And the boat return’d no more.

  But oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp,

  This lover and maid so true

  Are seen at the hour of midnight damp

  To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp,

  And paddle their white canoe!

  Adam closed his eyes and lowered his head, indicating the story was finished. He waited, but heard nothing. He wasn’t getting the reaction he expected, but he kept his eyes closed until finally, he heard a cough, followed by a sniffle. When he opened his eyes, he saw Catherine, her arm wrapped around Sally, and both were shedding tears. Benjamin and Billy both nervously tried not to make eye contact with him.

  “Way to spoil the party mood, dude,” he heard Sal say.

  “Oh, my,” said Adam, “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

  “No, Adam, your story was quite, uh, unnerving, that’s all,” Benjamin said, trying to keep his voice level. “But I do think it is time for us to turn in. Dawn comes early, and we will have another busy day.”

  “May I sleep between mother and you tonight?” Sally asked Alice through her sniffles.

  “Of course, Sally. I’ll tell you a short, happy story about Basil the Beaver before you sleep, so you’ll have happy dreams,” then to Adam, “Way to go, killjoy. For heaven’s sake, could you think of a gloomier story to depress everyone?”

  Chapter twenty

  True to Benjamin’s word, dawn came early the next morning. All four travelers woke with sore muscles from exertions they were not used to. They were young and fit, so their soreness subsided quickly after a bit of stretching.

  Benjamin organized his workers for the day, telling them they would be working in the peach orchard thinning the fruit. He explained that his peaches produced early fruit, and they were already in need of thinning. He demonstrated how to pinch off the unwanted blooms so that those remaining were evenly spaced and would produce large, healthy fruits. The goal was to encourage the peaches to grow large and be ready for harvest as early as possible. The larger and earlier the crop, the better the price he would receive at the market.

  Benjamin also showed them how to prune the old, gray, center branches of the trees, so that sunlight could better penetrate the trees. Most of the pruning had been done while the trees were dormant, but there was always some touch up needed. The next serious pruning would not be required until late summer, after the harvest.

  They worked in the orchard the entire morning. Alice and Sally joined them after their morning house chores were complete. The fruit thinning was less exerting than the plowing and spreading they did yesterday, but it was still hard, tiresome work. The orchards were planted on the hilly sections of the farm, which meant lots of walking up and down the hills and plenty of stretching overhead to reach the higher branches. No one complained; it was a perfect day to be working outdoors. The weather was beautiful again today, and by the time Catherine and Silvey brought the mid-day meal, the temperature was well into the eighties.

  After they ate, Benjamin delighted everyone by suggesting that they show their appreciation for the gift of su
ch a beautiful day. He said they should put aside their work for an hour or two and go fishing.

  The Rogers favorite fishing spot was a few miles from the farm, and Benjamin suggested taking the wagon so they could spend more time fishing and less time walking. He told Isaac to hitch up the wagon and load it with all the fishing gear he could find.

  When Isaac returned, they piled into the old, open-top wooden wagon, taking seats on the narrow side benches. The wagon was clearly constructed for farm work, with little consideration for the comfort of passengers. It rocked and jarred with each bump in the rutted road, shaking violently as they clung to the sides to prevent being ejected from their seats. Each bump brought a fresh round of laughter. They were all grateful for the break and delighted in the bouncy ride to the river in the warm sun.

  The jarring trip came to a sudden halt as Isaac reined the horses to a halt. They piled out of the wagon, grabbed the fishing gear and followed Benjamin down a shady, narrow path that ran along the riverbank. He halted at a spot where several large, flat slabs of granite lined the water’s edge.

  “We have had good luck fishing in this spot,” said Benjamin. “Find yourself a comfortable rock and have a seat.”

  The team found fishing with cane poles more difficult than the modern casting rods and reels they were used to. After some practice, they mastered flipping the long poles and sat comfortably on one of the warm boulders watching the bobbers.

  Benjamin caught the first fish, a medium size black bass that put up a pretty good fight, which he landed expertly. Adam noticed that Benjamin spoke a few words to the fish as he put it onto the stringer, and asked what he was saying. Benjamin explained that he apologized to the fish and thanked it for giving its life so they could have a fine fish dinner. Adam wondered if the fish accepted his apology.

  Benjamin had been correct; it was indeed a good spot. It wasn’t long before everyone caught at least one fish. In less than two hours, Benjamin said they had caught sufficient fish for the evening meal. They loaded everything back into the wagon for another bumpy ride back to the farmhouse.