by Janette Oke
“And Bear took Deer to make thongs to tie poles, and all other deer cried.
“Fox watched Bear build a long road to Sky with strong poles from Cedar and tie them together with thongs of Deer.
“ ‘This is not right,’ thought Fox. ‘Bear will destroy our forests and our friends to win his contest.’
“Sun saw what Bear was doing. It made Sun angry. ‘What are you doing?’ he said to Bear.
“ ‘I must get to Sky,’ replied Bear. ‘I am building a long trail.’
“ ‘Why do you climb to Sky?’
“But Bear would not tell Sun.
“That night when Sun was sleeping, Bear climbed the long, long cedar trail. He climbed all night. Next morning, just as Sun awoke, Bear made a hole in Sky with one long claw. Bear did not know, but Fox was close on his heels ready to sneak past him and into Sky to steal the firebox before Bear could find it.
“But Sun was angry when he saw Bear. He stopped him.
“ ‘Why do you come here?’ asked Sun, but Bear would say nothing.
“Sun did not see Fox, who hid behind Bear in his shadow.
“Bear went along Sky in search of the firebox. But Fox ran ahead and found the box first. He was ready to climb back through hole and run back down the long, long trail made by Cedar when Sun saw him.
“ ‘Where are you going with my firebox?’ asked Sun.
“ ‘Bear is trying to steal it,’ said Fox. ‘I am bringing it to you so Bear cannot find it.’
“ ‘Thank you, small brother,’ said Sun.
“Then he turned to Bear who was close behind Fox. Sun was very angry.
“ ‘You try to steal my firebox? I will give you Fire,’ he said and turned his strong medicine on Bear and sent out great fingers of fire that chased Bear back and forth across the heavens.”
Kendra’s eyes were wide as she listened and imagined all that was happening in the story.
“Bear began to roar in anger and pain,” Nonie continued. “And Fox quietly slipped down the long, long trail of poles from Cedar with the firebox under his arm.
“Sun is still searching for his firebox. Now and then he becomes so angry he chases Bear across Sky. Bear roars as the fingers of fire burn his tail and ears. We call it thunder when Bear roars and we see lightning flash as Sun throws his fire at Bear.
“Fox gave Fire from firebox to all animals. The animals shared Fire with man and that is how we keep warm when the nights are cold.
“So it is better to be smart than strong. And it is better not to treat one’s brothers in evil ways.”
Kendra decided that the thunder seemed so much less frightening with Nonie’s soft voice finishing the story.
“So,” said Nonie simply. “Father Thunder is only angry with Bear.”
Now the thunder was a distant rumble. Kendra could almost enjoy the sound. She no longer felt fear.
Nonie lowered her to the floor and stood to return to her berries. They needed to be picked over and put to dry as soon as the sun would shine on them again. Nonie would have them ready.
As they moved into the winter months, Kendra’s grandfather was never there when she awoke in the morning. He left on the trapline long before the sun had touched the horizon. Nonie was always there, sitting before the fire, her braiding or weaving or buckskin work in her gnarled fingers. Occasionally Kendra was already in bed and sound asleep before her grandfather returned in the evening, but always he came to her bed, roused her gently and kissed her on the cheek, then stroked her hair until she had fallen to sleep again.
Oscar, playful and teasing, was a constant companion. Kendra spent hours playing with him, and Papa Mac, when he was home, showed the little child how to teach the growing dog to obey simple commands.
Nonie paid little attention to the animal. She seemed to feel that dogs were not her brothers. She treated the puppy with tolerance, not affection, and he accepted her in the same way.
Kendra coaxed to allow the puppy to sleep in a corner of the cabin, though Papa Mac made it clear that it was totally against his principle to pamper an animal in such a fashion. But, he never did open the door and thrust the animal out into the night, even after Kendra had fallen asleep.
She still slept with Dollie tucked tightly against her, but now she often left it behind when on an outing with Nonie.
So the first winter came and went. Papa Mac came and went. Nonie came and went. But Kendra no longer feared that she would be left on her own again, deserted and frightened and without someone to care for her.
Not swiftly, but slowly and silently spring’s sound gradually swelled to spill over in the rush of the stream that passed by their cabin door, the song of the birds that filled the forest stillness, the rustle of molding leaves as small animals scurried to retrieve berries missed in their fall gathering, and soft breezes that waved the swelling tender buds on the arms of forest trees.
“Mother Earth stirring,” said Nonie, pleasure in her voice.
“Who is Mother Earth?” asked Kendra innocently.
“Long ago, before stars, even before Sun and Moon, Old One made Mother Earth. All was dark and no birds sang. No stream ran through the forest. No animal brothers walked in the shadows. There was nothing.
“Old One did not like nothing. He woke Mother Earth. ‘Be mother of all people,’ he said.
“Mother Earth took some of her flesh and made creatures. Some were like us. Some walked on four feet and were creatures of the forests. Some had wings and flew about the heavens and others swam in the rivers and great waters. All living things come from Mother Earth. When we look around we see part of Mother Earth everywhere. Like us, the animals, birds and fish are made of Mother Earth. So we are all earth brothers. That is why we care for one another.
“Mother Earth is old, old woman who has seen many moons,” Nonie went on with her teaching. “She was before Moon. She lives still, but she has changed much since Old One first made her to be his friend. The soil is her flesh. The rocks are her bones. The wind is her breath. The trees and grasses are her hair.
“Many people do not care for Mother Earth. They tear at her flesh and bones and pull her hair up by roots. But we must love Mother Earth. We must treat her kindly if we do not wish her to be angry. If we love and respect her, she will thank us by giving us food and shelter. She will always be there to care for her children.”
Kendra’s eyes were wide, her heart full. She loved Nonie’s stories. She resolved that she would always be kind to Mother Earth so she might be accepted as a worthy child.
When summer came again, Kendra saw much more of Papa Mac. He even took her with him to the outpost store where he sold his stock of winter furs and purchased the supplies they needed for the months ahead.
He informed Kendra that she could choose a new pair of shoes, but after studying them carefully she shook her head slowly. She wanted shoes like Nonie wore. Soft, supple moccasins. Papa Mac laughed and then nodded his head. He promised he would speak to Nonie about the new “shoes.”
Kendra did pick out some yard goods for a new skirt. And some soft flannel for a new nightgown. Papa Mac was sure Nonie would agree to do the sewing.
Kendra enjoyed the excitement of the trip, but she was glad when they climbed from the canoe and she could stretch her cramped legs and take Oscar for a romp along the bank of the stream. And she could hardly wait to show Nonie the new material.
George was home a good deal over the summer months, not a time for trapping. All the traps were brought home on the wagon-sleigh and carefully checked and oiled to make sure that they were ready for the next winter’s catch. The summer was also spent in other activities. A garden was planted and cultivated. Wood piles were refurnished. Knives were sharpened. Meat and fish were stripped and dried in the sun. Dog harness was repaired with newly tanned moose hides. Never did there seem to be a day when George did not have something with which to busy his hands.
If his work took him away from the cabin, Nonie came. Kendra and Nonie spen
t many days back in the berry patch or looking for “good” plants to gather in their baskets. Kendra carried her own basket now. Nonie had fashioned it for her from marsh reeds and stained it with a pattern of red, yellow, and brown. Kendra felt proud as she filled her basket with roots and leaves that would be useful.
Whenever she was in error, Nonie showed her the plant and uttered her little sound “p-f-f-t.” The next time out, Kendra watched carefully as she gathered. She did not want to pick the offensive plant again.
But when her grandfather’s work kept him around the cabin, Kendra was close beside him. He taught her the bird songs, along with many facts about their habits. Often they searched for nests together, though they never disturbed the tiny warm eggs. If the nestlings had hatched, they sat silently together and watched the parents feed the nosily demanding babies whose beaks never seemed to be silent or their tummies filled.
Another birthday came and went for Kendra. This time her grandfather had made her a harness for the now-grown Oscar. In the days that followed, they spent time teaching the young dog to pull a small training cart. Kendra giggled with delight as Dollie went for her first ride in the small wagon behind Oscar.
As the first snow of another winter whipped around the corners of the snug cabin, Kendra felt her heart stir restlessly. The cold meant that her grandfather would return again to his traps. She hated to see him go. At the same time, it would mean more time with Nonie. Kendra had been missing those long, quiet winter days filled with stories about the Old One and Mother Earth. Kendra was not quite sure whether to be happy or sad to see the snow shut the door on the outside world.
Chapter Seven
The Ugly Side
Another spring was sneaking slowly through the mountain passes, filling the streams and washing away the drifts of snow that had covered the trails and nearly buried the small cabin.
Nonie was anxious to get out to the meadows to catch the early growth of new plants, tender and potent and good medicine for her herbal cures. Kendra was just as anxious to escape the cabin site as well. It had seemed like a long winter of confinement to the five-year-old. She was glad the days were lengthening, the sun stronger in the sky.
“Mother Earth is coming awake,” she said to Nonie one morning as they stood in the cabin door drinking in the freshness of the spring air.
Nonie nodded, making no return comment to the child.
“We go,” said Nonie after sniffing at the air and studying the sky.
They wrapped themselves in their deerskin jackets. Nonie had made Kendra a long-fringed buckskin of her very own. Then Nonie wrapped their moccasins with strips of leather thongs and rubbed them generously with bear fat to keep the dampness of the trail from penetrating. They collected their baskets, ready to go.
Nonie chose the trail along the banks of the stream. Kendra was fascinated with the tumbling, frothy water that bubbled and splashed its way over the rocks she knew lined the bottom, though they could not be seen now through the foam.
“Sister River is in a hurry,” she said to Nonie.
Nonie nodded silently. She never had called the stream “Sister River,” but the child seemed to have taken all of nature into her family.
They were nearing the point where the stream made its sharp turn and headed almost back in the direction from which it had come, giving the Indian people the name of Bent River, when a strange moving in the water caught Kendra’s eye.
She stopped short, knowing that the movement was unusual but not able to figure out what was different about it.
She turned to Nonie and saw that the woman had also stopped, her dark eyes clouding as she looked toward the same spot. Strange words escaped the woman’s lips. Words Kendra had never heard before. Nonie seemed upset.
Then Nonie’s chilling cry filled the air and she raised her arms over her head and began to call to the heavens. “Aiyee—aiyee,” she wailed, making Kendra’s eyes fill with fright, her spine tingle.
She didn’t know whether to cling to the woman’s skirts or turn and flee toward the cabin.
“Aiyee,” called the woman again, entreating the sky in a nameless petition.
Kendra began to cry. In the water the strange thrashing continued, and Nonie kept up the pitiful cries to the skies.
Soon Kendra was frightened into action. She darted to Nonie, yanking on the woman’s skirts, her own wails filling the air around them.
Nonie stopped her strange chants and reached her hands down to the child. She still moaned from somewhere deep inside her.
“What is it? What is it?” Kendra cried, shouting her words above the cries of Nonie and the noisy gurgling of the stream.
“Brother Beaver,” moaned Nonie. “Brother Beaver.”
Kendra’s eyes widened. She had seen many beavers. Many times. That had never caused concern before. She liked to watch them. Nonie liked to watch them. They had spent many hours on the banks of the stream watching the beavers fell their trees and build their dams. Nonie had never wailed before.
“Trap,” said Nonie. “Trap.”
Kendra knew of traps. Her grandfather had traps lining one entire side of the cabin. Traps had never been cause for lamenting either. She was puzzled by Nonie’s strange behavior.
Her eyes dropped to Nonie’s moccasined feet. Her grandfather had warned her to watch the trails for hidden traps, though he had assured her that no trapper would set a trap on the foot paths used by the people of the area. Still, he had told her of the dangers of traps and had set and sprung some in her presence to show her their strength. They had snapped small sticks as if they had been kindling wood. Kendra had vowed to watch carefully for traps.
But there were no traps attaching themselves to Nonie’s feet. Kendra lifted her eyes again.
Nonie was still moaning and swaying, rocking the body of the small girl along with her.
Kendra looked back at the stream.
And then she saw it. A large beaver had managed to pull itself to the bank of the stream. On one front leg dangled a piece of redwet ugly metal. The beaver thrashed and pulled, its tail whipping the water, its large eyes wide with terror. A strange agonizing sound escaped its throat. Kendra had never seen anything so awful. Never heard anything so pain-filled.
“What happened? What happened, Nonie?” she cried. “How did it get in the trap?”
“Aiyee,” wailed Nonie, letting go of the child and lifting her hands again.
“We’ve got to help it, Nonie,” said Kendra, her eyes filling with tears. “We’ve got to get it out.”
But Nonie had turned them both around and was moving down the trail away from the beaver—away from the stream—away from the ugly sight.
“We’ve got to help it, Nonie,” Kendra said again, trying to pull back from the hand that pulled her along.
They had gone some distance before Nonie stopped her wailing and lifting her hands to the sky. The dark eyes were still shadowed, but the woman now hurried Kendra along the trail, and nothing more was said about the trap.
But the fearful event did not leave Kendra’s thinking. All day as she played with Oscar or watched Nonie move about the cabin, she kept reflecting on the scene and wondering why Nonie had done nothing to help the entrapped beaver.
When Papa Mac came home, Kendra would be waiting on the doorstep. Nonie talked when Nonie chose to talk. Kendra had the feeling that Nonie would not be discussing with her the incident that had spoiled their day.
But Papa Mac talked. Kendra felt that she could ask him anything. Tell him anything—anything, that is, except the stories that Nonie shared with her about Mother Earth and the Brothers of the forest. Already Kendra had caught the displeasure of her grandfather regarding Nonie’s strange tales.
So Kendra waited patiently for her grandfather while Nonie stirred about the cabin behind her. Oscar lay at her feet, chewing on a piece of well-worn bone. Kendra wondered absently why he continued to chew. All the meat had been removed long ago.
As attentive as Ke
ndra was, it was Oscar who alerted her to the coming of the team. He lifted his head and sniffed at the air, a whine starting somewhere deep inside him and escaping his dark, curled lips.
“They’re coming,” said Kendra to the dog as though she had been the first to know.
She reached her hand out to Oscar to hold him to his spot. She didn’t want the dog to be the first one to greet her grandfather and the approaching team.
In spite of her hand, Oscar rose to his feet, his whine deepening, his ears perked forward.
Soon Kendra could hear the soft yapping of the dogs, the rumbling of the wheels as they stumbled over the rocks of the trail.
She waited. She knew that it wouldn’t be long until the team would come into view at the far end of the clearing.
Just as she had expected, the dogs entered the clearing first, her grandfather close at the rear of the sleigh-wagon. She could see the pile of darkness that meant her grandfather had had another good day at the traplines. She was pleased because she knew he would be pleased. He had told her that the final catches of the spring were important. That soon the trapping season would be over for another year.
Normally Kendra ran to greet him, her voice calling out words of excited welcome, her moccasined feet beating a rhythm on the soft ground as she hurried to him to be scooped up into his arms and carried back to the cabin on broad shoulders.
But tonight she sat where she was, her fingers tangled in Oscar’s heavy coat, willing him to wait with her.
The sled dogs raced directly to where her grandfather always parked the sleigh.
“Well,” he called across to her, “are you too weary to meet me tonight? Has Nonie been dragging you through the woods all day?”
Kendra shook her head quietly. She did not stir from her seat on the step.
With an order to his dog team to lie down on the spot, he moved toward her, sensing that something was wrong.
He lowered his big frame down on the step beside her, pushing back Oscar who wished to get a share of the attention. His arm slipped around the slight body and drew her close.