Salt (4 page)

to try to snare some rabbits. I point

to a pile of rabbit droppings in the middle of the trail.

Waapanswa,
I say, and he repeats,
Waapanswa,
smiling because

he's learned another word. But then, not far down the trail,

he points to raccoon droppings and says,
Waapanswa.

Now, that's funny. I put my hands on my head

to look like rabbit ears, and say again:

Waapanswa
. James grins.
Oh,

you mean “rabbit”!

He hops

down the trail to show he knows

what
waapanswa
means. We start laughing.

Then we look up and there's a man I've never seen before,

standing in the shadow of a tree,

watching us.

JAMES

Who is this man? If he was from Kekionga, Anikwa would know him, and

I would've seen him in the trading post. When he sees us looking at him,

he turns and walks away. I stand here with Anikwa and Toontwa—not

laughing anymore. We follow the trail to where it curves around the pond.

I pick up a flat stone and toss it.
One, two, three … four skips!
I say, holding

up four fingers. Anikwa finds a stone and throws it, holding up one finger

for each skip. His stone sinks after three skips, but he holds up four fingers.

I shake my head:
No, three!
I say, holding up three fingers. He doesn't

argue back; he picks up another stone and skips it five times—good ones, too,

you can see the ripples from each bounce. I try again, but I can't get past four.

We head down the river trail. I set my last snare. Then Toontwa and Anikwa

walk toward Kekionga, and I head home, thinking about that man we saw.

Is this what Ma means by “unusual”? Naw. I have to come back tomorrow

to check my snares. What's so unusual about someone standing by a tree?

ANIKWA

The person we saw

behind the tree has come to Kekionga. He's

an Ottawa man, named Wedaase. We've eaten together,

and now we're sitting by the fire playing music.

Father on his fiddle, Wedaase on a flute,

Kwaahkwa with the drummers.

Rain Bird and her friends

start dancing, and later, when the music

ends, Kwaahkwa's father starts a conversation:

This war that's coming could make those other wars look easy.

The Americans are marching from the east, the British from the north—

from what I hear, they're in Detroit right now. The two armies could be here soon,

fighting each other—for our land.
Father looks serious. Wedaase goes on,

The British will give guns and ammunition to anyone who helps

fight the Americans. A lot of warriors, from many places,

plan to join the British because after we defeat

the Americans, the British will leave this

part of the country for all the tribes

to share.
Would there be

room here—for everyone? If the British win,

won't they want to live here, too? No matter who wins,

the soldiers will be hungry when they're fighting. They'll take our food.

Grandma must be thinking the same thing.
We should hide

our dried meat and corn,
she says.

JAMES

Isaac's ma comes to our house with Mrs. Graves and Mrs. Carlson.

Ma invites them in but gives them the same look she's been giving Pa,

meaning,
Don't talk about it in front of the children.
They lower their voices.

I go to the washbasin and act like I don't even know they're here,

scrubbing a spot of pine pitch off the back of my hand. Isaac's ma says,

For heaven's sake, Lydia, move into the fort until this is over. The stockade

might protect you from wild animals, but you need soldiers to protect you

from—
Ma interrupts:
We will stay in our own home. I have never been

afraid of any of our neighbors.
I glance at the provisions we've stored up

for the winter. If there is a siege like Isaac said, how long will they last?

Mrs. Briggs spits out her next words:
You're brave now, but how brave

will you be when your house is burning? What if they capture James or Molly?

Ma picks Molly up and squeezes her, like she does when she gets mad

at me or Pa. But this time, it's her lady friends she pushes out the door.

DEER COME TO THE SALT

Heart-shaped

tracks in soft mud

point to salty places

where deer come to lick

the earth. Something here

they need, something

they like. Heads down,

they lick and lick this

place that tastes

so good to them.

ANIKWA

Last winter

an ice storm coated each branch

of the trees by the river trail. Rain started

one evening and froze in the night,

bending tall trees to the ground.

Some branches broke—

they hang high

in the trees—and now the wind

is rising. I'm walking with Kwaahkwa,

not far from home. We hear a branch crash down.

Dangerous-sounding. Where is it? Then a sharp cry:

Watch out!
A boy's voice—is it James? Who's with him?

He might be hunting deer with his father, or maybe

checking his snares. We walk toward the sound,

staying hidden, watching what lies ahead.

Over there—yes, it is James—Isaac

is with him, crying, his leg

pinned under a branch.

That boy is mean.

We don't like him. But we can't

leave them out here alone. I call out,
Aya, niihka.

James answers,
Aya, Anikwa!
Isaac looks scared. Of us?

Don't worry,
James says to him, “
Aya, niihka
”

means
“
Hello, friend
.”

JAMES

I've never been so glad to see Anikwa. Isaac is crying. I can't lift the branch.

I don't have a saw to cut it. Maybe Anikwa and Kwaahkwa can help us.

But what does Isaac do? He stops crying, pulls his knife out of its sheath,

holds it up, and starts yelling,
Stay away! I'm warning you!
I grab the knife

out of his hand.
What are you doing?
I ask him. Kwaahkwa and Anikwa

stop, step back, and watch. I can't make Isaac stop talking. He whispers,

too loud,
My ma and pa warned me not to talk to Indians. What if they try to

capture us?
He struggles to lift the branch, gives up, and cries out in pain.

His pants are ripped, there's a bruise on his leg, a bloody scratch on his face.

Isaac,
I say
, it will take too long to go to the fort for help. We're closer to Kekionga.

These friends could help us lift the branch.
From the look on his face, you'd think

I told him to crawl right into a bear's den.
Listen to me,
I beg,
don't act like this.

I can't lift the branch by myself. And I can't leave you here all alone.
He sniffles.

All right,
he finally agrees. But when I look up, Anikwa and Kwaahkwa are gone.

ANIKWA

What would

he do if we got close enough

to help him? What will happen if we

leave them alone out here?

All the way back

to Kekionga

we talk

about what to do.

Leave him there,
Kwaahkwa argues.

He deserves whatever happens. I'm not going back—

let him protect himself with his puny maalhseenhsi.
I can't help

laughing about how Isaac waved that knife around like he thought

we were dangerous.
Let's sneak up behind him and growl,

I say. Kwaahkwa laughs. I growl at him,

and he pretends to be scared.

We're almost home—

who's behind us?

James calls out,

Aya, niihka.

I look at Kwaahkwa. We stop

and wait for James to catch up. He points

and motions for us to follow him back to Isaac, but Kwaahkwa

points to Kekionga.
Moohci,
he says.
No.

You follow us.

JAMES

Kekionga smells good: smoke rising up from the houses, deer meat

roasting … and something else, maybe hot corn? Makes me hungry!

Old Raccoon comes out to meet us, and Kwaahkwa starts talking,

pointing—must be telling him what happened. Old Raccoon looks at me

long and hard.
I'll take you home,
he says. (But … Isaac? We can't leave

him stuck under that branch!) Old Raccoon says something that makes

Kwaahkwa mad. Then he switches to English and tells me,
They'll stay

with your friend. We'll go get help.
Wiinicia gives us each a handful

of corn, still warm, and a piece of hot deer meat. Anikwa and Kwaahkwa

start down the trail while Old Raccoon gets his horse. He boosts me up on it

and gets on behind me. We ride fast, but he takes the long trail that doesn't

go past the fort—maybe he doesn't want any soldiers to see us. He stops

outside the trading post. I get Pa, and explain everything as fast as I can.

Thank y—
Pa starts to say, but Old Raccoon has already turned to go home.

ANIKWA

We have our

bows and arrows. If we see

a wolf or bobcat come close to Isaac, we know

what to do. Otherwise, we won't

go near him. Does he even

know we're here?

We stand

in the shadows watching.

Doesn't he know he shouldn't cry

like that when he's out in the forest, hurt?

We have to stay here and make sure nothing happens

until James brings someone to help. I wish Isaac would keep

quiet—if the animals hear him, they'll know he's

injured. What's that in the trees, moving

toward him? Coming closer—bobcat!

Big one. Kwaahkwa aims

and his arrow flies

straight past

Isaac,

hitting the bobcat

right above the eyes. It takes

a few steps back, then drops to the ground.

Isaac whips his head around—

what just happened?

JAMES

I tell Ma exactly where Isaac is. Then Pa grabs his saw, and we ride out

to Isaac, while Ma takes Molly and runs to the fort for his parents.

We bring a blanket, a clean white cloth for a bandage, a bottle of water.

When we reach him, Isaac's face is streaked with dirt and tears, and he's

gasping:
They tried to shoot me! I saw them!
He's pointing at Kwaahkwa

and Anikwa, as they walk slowly into the woods.
Watch out,
Isaac yells,

they have bows and arrows!
Bows at their sides, arrows on their backs.

Isaac—be quiet,
I say. While Pa tries to calm him, I walk to meet Anikwa

and Kwaahkwa. They circle away from Isaac, into the forest behind him,

and Kwaahkwa pulls an arrow out of a dead bobcat's head. I piece together

the story, and go back to tell Isaac.
No,
he insists,
that big boy shot at me

and he missed!
Pa shakes his head.
Never mind,
he says.
Help me saw through

this branch. Easy now.
Isaac's parents arrive.
What happened?
they ask.

Isaac has a whole different story from mine—and they only listen to his.

THIS GAZE, THESE DEEP BROWN EYES

People follow deer

through the forest,

watching where they lick the ground.

The people scrape salt

into their hands, their baskets. They taste

the salt, bring it home.

Again and again, does and bucks and fawns,

porcupines and people,

meet at the salt place.

ANIKWA

Wedaase has been

to his home and back. He's talked

to Shawnee, Potawatomi, Wyandot, and Ojibwe people,

and come to sit with us beside our fire again.

Father has said many times,
We'll do all

we can to keep this war away

from our home.

But Wedaase speaks six languages.

He has come a long distance, and everyone

listens with respect.
Brothers and sisters,
he says,
it's time

for us to choose sides. The Americans won't stop until we stop them.

They're determined to have all the land. Yours, ours—everyone's. That much

is clear to anyone with eyes. If we join the British, and they help us win,

all our nations could live together on the land we still have.

Father is quiet for a long time. He looks around

the fire at everyone, sweeps his gaze

across the sky, over the trees,

to three cardinals,

bright red