Salt (7 page)

what happens when there's fighting on our land.

Grandma says,
We barely have enough food

to last us through a mild winter—

if war comes, the soldiers

will take our food.

Maybe burn

our houses. How can we

survive all that again?
It scares me. My

grandfather, father, and uncle were all killed in battle.

Kwaahkwa is ready to fight. And Father

will fight if he has to.

JAMES

Ma meets me at the door:
Where have you been?
I drop the rabbit at her feet.

She looks me up and down, sees I'm soaking wet. And mad. Her face says

three things at once:
We told you to stay inside the stockade. Get in here

right now and change into dry clothes.
But also:
James, you got a rabbit!

She puts Molly down and picks it up.
Should've been three of 'em,
I say.

Anikwa must have got there first
. Two rabbits hop across my mind—

but before I have a chance to think about them, Ma starts asking a hundred

questions, and, like usual, I end up telling her too much. Pa comes home,

smells the rabbit cooking, asks Ma where it came from—and she tells him

everything, including (wish I hadn't told her) about the men I heard laughing.

When he hears that, Pa gets serious.
James,
he says,
look at me.
I look at him.

I thought you understood this: you are to stay inside the stockade at all times.

Then, in that same voice,
Lydia, we have to move into the fort until we see

what's going to happen.
Ma looks like she's about to cry, but she agrees.

ANIKWA

Kwaahkwa

teases me:
I heard you had

a fight with your friend James this afternoon.

Three men saw the whole thing and

now they're telling everyone

that I'm a better

fisherman

than fighter.
I wasn't

trying to win a fight,
I say.
I was trying

to make him see that I'm no thief!
Grandma looks up

from the deerskin she's scraping.
I thought all the children

over there went to Piqua with their mothers,
she says.
But if James

and the baby and their mother are still here—we have to find out

if they're still in their house. It's right inside the stockade.

Mink and Rain Bird both look worried. Why?

It's easier to burn down houses of people

you don't know,
says Rain Bird.

That's how I figure out

what's going on:

someone is planning

to set the stockade on fire! When?

What if they burn down James's house?

Is anyone thinking of a way

to warn them?

VEINS LIKE RIVERS

The hunter lifts the deer,

holds the weight

of muscle, bone, and skin

as blood flows

through his own veins like rivers,

and sweat moves

through his skin, leaving,

when it dries,

a layer of translucent

crystals—salt.

JAMES

Ma folds our clothes and puts them in her trunk.
Here's the first pair

of moccasins Mink ever made for you,
she says. They'd fit Molly now.

I put my finger through a hole I wore through the deerskin when I

first learned to walk. Under this pair is another pair, a little bigger;

under them, another—nine pairs, right up to the size I'm wearing now.

One time Pa got me a pair of boots, but I hated how they pinched my feet.

When Mink makes moccasins, she sews the seams on top so they're

soft and comfortable, and I can run fast when I'm wearing them.

Ma puts the moccasins on top of the trunk, covers them with the quilt

from Aunt Amanda, closes the lid, and looks up.
I'm ready,
she says.

Pa has a wagon right outside the house. When I go out to help load it up,

I hear spring peepers on the other side of the stockade. Makes no sense—

it isn't spring, and we're not close to water. It can only mean one thing:

Anikwa is close by, trying to get my attention. Wonder what he wants.

ANIKWA

I can see

through the stockade gate:

The trading post is empty. It looks like

James and his family are moving

out of their house,

into the fort.

A soldier

is outside in a field,

feeding the cows and pigs, taking

eggs from those birds they call “chickens.”

Why do they keep their animals penned in like that,

so they have to feed them every day? They could let them loose

to get their own food. Wedaase and Father argued about that.

They hunt our animals, everywhere they go,
Wedaase said.

We should take theirs to replace them.
Father answered,

They have their ways, we have ours. We've lived

with these people for a long time.

Some of them are friendly.

A few are relatives.

Don't give the Americans a reason

to attack us when they get here.
Wedaase said,

Do you think they'll need a reason? There's only one way

to keep them out: attack them first, harder

than they attack us.

JAMES

Now I see why we're adding water to bean soup that's already thin,

and why we're almost out of oatmeal. There's eighty men in this fort,

with hardly any food. We brought what we had to share but it wasn't

enough, even for our family—it's like nothing for all these hungry men.

A soldier named Patrick comes in carrying a basket: eighteen eggs,

an onion, and seven potatoes. That's what we all have for supper.

Pa says,
We'll manage. Let's hope the hens keep laying. We can always kill

the cows and pig. We'll be able to last a week—as long as the stockade holds.

Ma puts a blanket on the floor for me, and I lie down, but I can't sleep.

I keep thinking about what Pa said:
a week
?
as long as the stockade holds
?

The soldiers are saying the British have cannons that could knock a hole

in the stockade. I think about that as I fall asleep, and a picture comes to

me: a hole, rabbits running out of it, jumping through a hoop of fire. Fire …

Guns can't protect us against fire. And rabbits … I just thought of something.

ANIKWA

Father is home!

We go to the longhouse to hear

what he and Piyeeto have seen and heard.

We got them all to Piqua,
Father says,

and took some time to look around.

The Americans have several

thousand soldiers.

About as many more are coming

from Kentucky—then they'll march this way.

They could be here within a week.
Mink and Grandma

listen quietly. Later, I stay awake to hear them talk.
If the men

decide to go ahead with what they're planning,
Mink says,
everything

will change after tonight.
Grandma doesn't answer for a long time.

Then she says:
We can't stop things from changing
.
I hope

the children will remember how our life has been.

Moonlight shines through an opening

in the door. A mouse scuffles

around in the fire pit.

Something

is starting that no one can

stop. I don't know which army will be

stronger, or how big the cannonballs will be. All I

can do is what Grandma hopes:

I can remember.

JAMES

I can't sleep. I keep thinking about that fight I had with Anikwa.

He had one rabbit in his hand—what about the other two? That “papa”

word he kept saying—is that the same word he said when he showed me

his fox pelt? Was he telling me a fox got my rabbits? Maybe he took

that last one so the fox wouldn't get it. Maybe … What's that smell?

What's all the noise out there? Smoke! I shake Ma and Pa awake, and Pa

runs out to see what's happening. He comes back in, red-faced, angry.

Lydia,
he says,
it's the trading post! Maybe our house, too.
He grabs a bucket

and runs out. I start to follow.
No, James!
Ma says.
Stay here—you're too young.

I can't stay in here while our house burns down!
Ma, I'm big enough,
I say.

I can carry water.
She looks back and forth from me to the fire, scared of two

things at once. She takes a deep breath.
Go ahead,
she finally says.
Be careful.

I find Pa in a line of men passing buckets from the pump to the trading post.

Go back insi—
he begins, then looks from me to the fire and hands me a bucket.

ANIKWA

Rain Bird

is shaking my shoulder.

Wake up,
she whispers,
I smell smoke!

I sniff the air.
What's burning?

Father and Mink are

still asleep, but

Grandma

comes in from outside.

When she opens the door, the smell

of smoke gets stronger. She wakes the others,

her voice low and sad.
It's happening,
she say
s. One side

of the stockade. Our sister's house. The walls of the trading post

are falling. A few men chased all their animals into the forest

and they're shooting them with arrows as if they were

deer and elk. Those animals don't know how

to run and hide.
I think about their

birds—noisy chickens—

and about

the man

taking their eggs.

Who started the fire?
I ask.

No one answers. Then Grandma says,
Grief

gathered kindling. Fear struck the flint.

Anger fans the flames
.

JAMES

In the morning, Ma, who never cries, is crying. Smoke burns my throat

like held-back tears. I swallow hard and go outside again to stand by Pa.

The pig, the cows, the hens, the rooster, and the goat are gone. We can't go out

to fish or hunt or set snares or pick berries. We're out of beans and oatmeal.

Pa, what will we eat?
I try to make my voice sound normal, but it comes out

squeaky. Pa makes his own voice sound like he knows how to get food,

but all he says is,
We'll think of something.
If he had a real idea, he'd tell me.

We're standing here, looking at our burned-down house, not talking, when

I hear the sound of peepers on the other side of where the stockade gate

used to be.
Pa,
I say,
there's no peepers around here this time of year—I think

that's Anikwa.
At first, he doesn't know what I'm talking about, but then

he listens hard and says,
He shouldn't come so close, with the fire still smoldering.

I think about it.
Pa,
I say,
he might be trying to help. Can I go see?
Pa answers,
No
.

Then he looks at the empty pasture.
Be quick,
he says,
and come straight back.

ANIKWA

Good,

James heard me.

He's coming over to find out

what I want. He's looking

up and down, and all

around.

Aya,

I whisper.

He sees me.
Aya,

he whispers back. I point to

the venison I brought, wrapped up

in a deerskin, hidden inside the hollow oak tree.

I point to him. His mouth falls open—he can't believe

we're giving it to them. He blinks back tears,

then picks up the meat and smiles big.

Thank you,
he says. He repeats it

in Miami:
Neewe … niihka.

I say the words Father

told me to say:

We did not start the fire.

James's face turns red. He looks like he's

thinking about something else, besides this meat.

Fox got my waapanswa,
he says.

It wasn't you.

JAMES

Ma helps the cook fry up the meat, and all the men crowd in to get some.

My stomach hurts, but I try not to push. Ma puts her arm around me,

pulls me in, and serves me plenty.
Thank you, James,
she whispers.

She's not telling anyone where we got the meat—trying to protect me

and Anikwa. Mink and Wiinicia must have wrapped it in the deerskin.

I wonder why they gave us food. I tell Pa,
The Miami didn't start the fire.