“Stop it,” Mick said, leaning down to kiss me, just as the front door creaked open and a crowd of pray-ers stepped onto the porch. He pulled me farther behind the coop, out of the line of sight. “No competition. Pretty sure she’s only got eyes for Ellery.”
We both laughed.
“So how will things be at school?” I asked. “I mean, just because Mr. Pop and Mother are okay with us doesn’t mean the other kids will be.”
“I’m not too worried about that,” Mick said. “But I am worried about—”
“What?”
“Well, college.”
“College?”
“Mrs. Nason said somebody’s agreed to pay my way or at least put money in a college fund for me.”
“What? Who?”
“I dunno. A mystery, she said. I’d just like to know who to thank. But she says sometimes it’s better not to know as it makes things more complicated than it need be. I just don’t get why all this stuff is happening, Mercy.”
“Just chalk it up to mercy.”
“To you? Have you been out trying to get money for my education? I’m not even sure I want to go to college.”
“No, not me. I mean the mercy of God, Mick. Again. I don’t mean to keep going back to what Joe said about Edna, but he’s right. I’m not going to preach to you. And you’re smart enough to figure this out. But Mr. Pop says most of his best lessons have come from the worst things—and you’ve been through lots. Every difficulty in your life has helped you become more thoughtful.”
“Really?” Mick teased, leaning close for another kiss. “What else is so great about me?”
“You’re good at sorting things out, and you have a kind heart and a good mind. All gifts from God.”
Mick rolled his eyes. I swatted him.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “I mean it. And I’m not the only one who sees this: God’s got His eye on you, trying to take care of you if you’ll let Him. He’s doing big things. Like He’s doing in Joseph. And me. And all of us. Even Mr. Carmichael.”
“Great. Next thing you know Mr. Carmichael and I will be shipping off to Africa to be missionaries together.”
“You better watch out. I think God likes sass mouths even less than Mother does.”
“Well,” Mick said. “Maybe it’s God Himself who gave me this mouth. Only trying to use it.”
Mick leaned down to kiss me, but I pulled back. I wasn’t angry. Actually, I loved where this was going. And though I didn’t tell him, I guessed God maybe did too. But I could hear more folks heading out to their cars and I didn’t want to get caught here with Mick. Even Mr. Pop would wonder where I was. We weren’t trying to hide anything, but the fewer people we had to answer to, the better. So I grabbed Mick’s hand, shivered a moment as my own hand took in the rough of his callouses and the strength of his fingers, and said, “Now why don’t you head back down to Ellery’s cabin before the girls cackle too much and our new hiding place is found out!”
“All right,” Mick said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow. We can talk more about how great God thinks I am.”
Now I rolled my eyes at him as he laughed and ran off down the farm road toward Ellery’s cabin in the woods.
Epilogue
I wiped the corners of my mouth. Laurel had pointed out the crumbs of scone that apparently rested there. This cafe had the best scones in New York, but neat, they were not.
“Better?” I asked.
“Better,” Laurel said with a laugh. “So …”
“So what?”
“So you can’t just leave the story there! Who paid for Mick’s college?”
“Mick’s college?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry. Grandfather’s college. When did he go back to school?”
“Laurel, my dear, that’s your biggest takeaway from this story?”
“Well, that’s the biggest mystery. At least, one of them.”
“One of them?” I asked.
“Well …” Laurel said, flipping her long blonde hair behind her shoulders. Though Mick loved all his grandchildren, from the moment Laurel sprouted blonde curls, Mick was smitten in a whole new way. Never more so than when she’d sit on his knee and beg him to teach her Maliseet words. Every phone call to her grandfather began with a tan kahk.
“She could be the first blonde chief,” he’d say, after hanging up the phone with her. “She’s got—I don’t know—spirit.”
My eyes began to water at the memory of him.
“You okay, Grandma?”
“Fine, sweetie. Sorry, you were saying?”
“Oh, well, I mean, I’ve wondered for so long what it meant for me to be Maliseet. Daddy doesn’t talk about it much, but I want to know more. But I also want to know what it means that I’m Paul Millar’s great-granddaughter. Seems like I should be equally proud of both.”
“That’s right.”
“And that maybe there’s lots more I should learn,” Laurel said. “So maybe next summer … you could take me to Maine?”
“It’s a date,” I said, already planning the trip, the places we’d see, and the new stories I’d tell her and the mysteries I’d unravel.
The Maliseet Today and Local Aroostook County Farms
In 1973 Maliseet Indians were recognized as a tribe by the state of Maine. The state also recognized their aboriginal right to hunt and fish, and tribal members received free hunting and fishing licenses. This same year the state of Maine opened a regional office of the Department of Indian Affairs. Many of the needs of Maine Indians had been ignored and the Department of Indian Affairs stated in a memo that “to a striking extent, the history and problems of Indians in Maine parallel the history and problems of Negroes in the South.”
In 1980 President Jimmy Carter signed the Land Claims Settlement Act, which, among other things, established the Houlton Band of Maliseets as a federally recognized tribe and it received $900,000 to buy five thousand acres.
The Maliseet today have a Tribal Administration building from which tribal issues of housing, health care, education, and other important issues are cared for. The tribe is led by its first female Tribal Chief, Brenda Commander.
Aroostook County potato harvesting looks very different today. Small farms gave way to larger, more commercial endeavors, and in the mid-1950s the mechanical potato harvester began doing the job previously taken care of by people. Today very few farms employ potato pickers, and while the Potato Blossom Festival still exists, with very few changes, to celebrate the county’s farming heritage, harvest season 2012 was the first time that a significant number of schools did not take a harvest recess.
Acknowledgments
FROM ANITA:
Though my maternal grandparents passed away many years ago, they are always in my heart. My grandfather, Merle Nason, and his life as a farmer in Northern Maine inspired much of this story, as did my mother, Annette Nason Fore, who worked long, hard hours in the fields on that farm.
Special thanks to the following:
My coauthor, Caryn Rivadeniera, who said yes when I approached her about the adventure of writing fiction. Contrary to rumors, there were no bruises or bloody noses in the writing process!
My cousin James Watson and my mother, Annette Fore, who have written a small volume filled with Maine sayings and loaned it to me during the writing process.
The supportive women in my writers group.
The Houlton Cary Library and their archives of the Houlton Pioneer Times.
Brian Reynolds, Tribal Administrator, Houlton Band of Maliseet Indians, for answering my questions, loaning me a tribal history book, making time to be interviewed, and answering all my follow-up emails.
Richard Silliboy, Mi’Kmaq historian and owner of Brown Ash Baskets Made by Richard Silliboy. Richard opened up his home on the Mi’Kmaq reservation for a lengthy interview.
Houlton Farms Dairy, a great source of inspiration each time I consumed a vanilla Awful Awful with chocolate sprinkles o
n top.
My husband, Mike Murphy, who listened to my panic about the book deadline and listened to my whining about working all day and writing all night. He is the best! My son, John, whose love for Maine is only eclipsed by his love for Civil War history. He embodies the word encouragement especially when I’m writing a book!
FROM CARYN:
First of all, thanks to Anita Lustrea for inviting me into her storytelling and for this amazing ride. That we not only survived writing a book together but had such a stinkin’ good time (mostly) doing it is a testament to Anita’s amazingness.
Thanks to the folks at Moody for suggesting that Anita write this story. To Deb Keiser for encouraging us from day one. To Pam Pugh for your meticulous editing and fact-checking (still laughing about some of the stuff we got wrong!). Thanks to the designer for your beautiful cover.
Thanks to Tim Fall for your legal wisdom (when you were on vacation no less!), to Sarah Pulliam Bailey for your New York City help, and to Ruth Pulliam for letting us “borrow” your apartment.
And of course, to my family: my husband, Rafi, my kids, Henrik, Greta, and Fredrik. Writing a novel was a joy but made me a tad crabby around the family from time to time. Thanks for your million shades of mercy to me. Love you!
River North Fiction is here to provide quality fiction that will refresh and encourage you in your daily walk with God. We want to help readers know, love, and serve JESUS through the power of story.
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