Chickadee (21 page)

“U
ncle, look out!”

The oxcarts ahead were slowly slipping into a coulee, and at the bottom there was a steep incline. The more that went down, the harder it was to get out. Uncle Quill halted the ox just in time.

“Now what do we do?”

“Har!”

It was the brothers, who had taken a great liking to Antoinette's family in the cart just behind. Babiche and Batiste were surveying the difficult mess below, and decided that their bellies were full enough to help push the carts again. Down they went, and in no time the carts that floundered at the bottom were aided by the pushing shoulders of the two strong brothers.

The rest of the train took a circuitous route that took them along a rough, woody trail to avoid the deep, dry streambed. It looped around and soon rejoined the bone-jarringly bumpy road. Chickadee jumped out of the cart and walked beside the ox. Walking was much better. As he accompanied the ox that day, he saw his namesake. The little bird hovered near, then perched on the collar of the ox. It was singing, or saying something, or trying to tell Chickadee some piece of news. The little bird was so intent, trying to communicate. But the wheels of the carts were so loud, Chickadee couldn't hear what his namesake was trying to tell him.

That night, however, Chickadee dreamed of his brother.

Makoons was lying still, drained and quiet. Omakayas sat with him, wiping his face and hands with cool leaves.

“Brother”—his voice was thin—“oh, brother Chickadee. Please help me to live!”

Chickadee woke with a cold chill in his heart, and tears running down the sides of his cheeks. His shirt was damp with the tears he'd cried in his sleep. The camp was quiet. Quill snored softly beside him. The ox was chewing cud beside the cart, dozing on its feet.

“Brother,” whispered Chickadee, “I am coming as fast as I can! Wait for me. Just wait for me a little!”

After Chickadee fell asleep again, he slept peacefully. But just at dawn, he was awakened by screams and laughter throughout the camp. Chickadee sat up and felt something drop off his neck. He brushed gently at his buffalo robe and in the half-light he could see dozens of tiny snakes slip to the ground. Turning to Uncle Quill, who snored happily on his back, he saw that his uncle was completely covered by snakes. There was even a tiny baby snake curled happily on the warm broad plane of Quill's forehead. With every snore, the tiny snake slipped toward Quill's open mouth.

Chickadee reached carefully over and plucked away the snake. Delicately, he took another snake from behind his uncle's ear. There were six curled for warmth on Quill's chest. One poked his head out, and the curious red tongue flickered just beneath his collar. Chickadee took each one off and let it down to the earth gently, then shooed it away. They sped out beneath the flap of the robe, the way they had come in. Chickadee kept on removing snakes from his sleeping uncle until his uncle blinked awake.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. Good morning, my uncle,” said Chickadee. Quill yawned and crawled out from under the cart. The shrieks and laughter had subsided. Apparently, in the night, everyone had been visited by snakes. The baby snakes had crawled in with the people because they were warm. The snakes had slipped into peoples' blankets and were sliding all through the camp. They were harmless snakes, black with lovely yellow bellies and clean yellow stripes down their sides. Chickadee had always liked snakes. Probably, he thought, the oxcart train had camped near a huge snake-hatching nest, a place where snakes return each year to lay their eggs. These mysterious places were ancient. Nokomis had once told Chickadee that the snake nests went back to the beginning of time. The original snakes had told the present-day snakes where to go, and they still followed their old traditions.

Quill stretched his arms. His moccasins with the tall red leggings attached stood just behind the wheel, where he'd removed them before turning in to sleep. He lifted one and two snakes writhed to get out.

“Aaaaagggggg! Ginebigoog!”
screamed Quill. He hopped around the back of the wheel in terror, then looked around, embarrassed.

“Here, my uncle,” said Chickadee, hurrying to grab the moccasins. He shook them out and then his uncle gingerly put his feet into them.

“Ugh,” he shuddered. “Ginebigoog!”

“They are gone now, my uncle,” said Chickadee.

“I have always been scared of snakes,” said Uncle Quill sheepishly. “I am
so
happy they did not attack me in my sleep or crawl into my blankets! I have powerful snake medicine, though. It keeps them away.”

“Yes,” said Chickadee, letting one last little snake go into the grass. “Your snake medicine sure worked!”

The rocky and brutal part of the trail seemed to go on forever, but Quill was an expert driver, and he managed to come through without breaking a cart wheel or axle. Now they forded the Leaf River, the bottom pebbly and clear. They traveled up to Otter Tail City, which was only a few cabins and a trading post. The little outpost, which was hardly a city, stood on the northern shore of a lake so beautiful that everyone was glad to camp there. All of the children, including Chickadee, went swimming. The shallow and gentle beaches stretched so far that the water had already warmed. There were no stones to hurt a child's feet. Little fish swam curiously near and nibbled at their toes. The women went out together, holding up the blankets and laughing as they bathed apart from everyone. Afterward, the carts were left up in the shade and everyone made fires and set their tents up on the beaches.

The beach was a lovely pale brown sand, fine as powder in some places. The lake was huge. Chickadee could not see across it, and he couldn't see a single island. The clear water seemed to stretch forever, and the sun went down slowly and spread fire across its western edge.

Chickadee collected white beach wood, and that night he and his uncle made their own fire. Babiche brought down a duck and gave it to Chickadee as a gift. He had even cleaned and plucked it!

“Remember this gift, and tell Two Strike,” said Babiche.

Uncle Quill put the duck on a stick over the fire, and while the ox munched beach grass in the trees behind them, they roasted and ate the duck. It was a delicious duck, juicy and tender. Quill had bought some dried cherries at the trading post, and they ate that treat slowly, along with bannock from Antoinette. The two were quiet. Uncle Quill smoked his pipe. They did not speak, just gazed across the water and listened to the musical slap and swish of waves. Chickadee knew that in his heart his uncle missed their own lake, the numberless islands, the beautiful beaches and hidden coves where they had spent so many happy days. As for Chickadee, he could not forget his dream.

“My brother, I am coming,” he whispered to the gentle waves.

W
hen the wind blew on the plains it was harsher, louder, stronger. There was nothing to stop it. The spring wind pummeled the little cabin where Makoons lay ill again. It tore screeching at the planks of the roof. It squeezed between the chinking of the logs in soft whistles. It moaned through the eaves and hissed through the oil-papered windows. The wind was noisy and constant. The wind agitated Makoons.

“Listen,” he sat up. “I hear my brother!”

“No, my boy,” Nokomis said, “drink this tea and sleep.”

But either Makoons could not sleep, tossing and turning in his fever, or he did sleep, too much, for days, frightening them all.

“I'm sure I hear him!” cried Makoons.

“Shhh,” said Omakayas. There were tears in her eyes.

One afternoon there was a tap on the doorsill. It was Father Belcourt, bringing his cross and a bowl of soup. He set the bowl down beside Makoons.

“This is light on the stomach,” he said. He felt Makoons's forehead. “He burns.”

“Yes, good father.”

“Would you like me to say a prayer?”

“No, good father.”

Father Belcourt took a bannock from a sack he carried and laid it beside the soup.

“I will say a prayer on my own and hope for your son's restoration,” said Father Belcourt. He made the sign of the cross and ducked out the door. The wind plucked up his cassock and cloak and blew it around his thin shanks in a wild billow.

“He is a good priest,” Omakayas said to Animikiins.

“We have our own prayers,” said Animikiins. “And I have my father's drum. He said that I should play his song when I needed his help. I need his help now.”

Animikiins began to sing and play softly. He requested that the spirits enter the cabin. He asked them to gather around Makoons. He called their names, he called them out of each direction. He called their namesakes, the animals, from each direction. He called their colors. He begged them to come into the cabin and heal his son. As Animikiins sang, he closed his eyes and remembered how his father had come from the spirit world to help him live when he had fallen through the ice. His father had stood there in his blanket covered with his own namesake, the lightning and thunder, and helped his son find the strength to lift himself from the freezing water.

Now, Animikiins sang to his own son, begging him to gather the strength.

“My brother, I hear you!” said Makoons.

Makoons sat up again and stared fixedly at the door. Omakayas began to weep. Fear tore at her heart. It seemed to her that Makoons was talking to his brother in the spirit world. She feared that Chickadee had died after all, and now his spirit was pulling Makoons's spirit along with it to the other side.

“Lie down, my dear boy. Hush,” said Omakayas.

She stroked Makoons's arms with a cool wet piece of soft buckskin. She kept the rest of him comfortable and warm in the best blankets they had. She watched over him day and night, rarely taking a rest herself. Nokomis had to force her to sleep. She was afraid that they could lose Omakayas too. All her healing would be for nothing, useless, like that time way back in the beginning of Omakayas's life, when there was smallpox.

That disease had taken Omakayas's little brother, just a baby. He had died in her arms. Omakayas was determined that she would save her son. This would not happen to Makoons. Yet no matter what she did, he did not improve. He stayed feverish and listless, and now he was hearing strange things.

Yet, who didn't hear strange things with this wind?