St. Clair (Gives Light Series) (6 page)

Dr. Stout to Dad. I felt a hopeful smile threaten to

split my face in two.

Dad, in contrast, looked miserable, a deflated,

flightless hawk. "No," he said, and his eyes were

on the door instead of mine. "I can't tell you how

many doctors I've taken him to over the years,

hoping... Both of his vocal cords are paralyzed."

Oh, well, I thought.

"Anyway," said Dr. Stout with a sigh, "keep him

home for at least a week. Really, considering his

health history, I recommend two. If the problem

persists longer than that, page me. I'll come to

you
."

"Thank you, Aisling."

Two weeks at home? I counted quickly. My

spirits sank. I was going to miss the raft race.

I
hated
this summer.

Four days stuck in the house and I wanted to stab

my eyes out with my plains flute.

Of course I didn't. But the temptation was still

pretty strong.

"You need to rest," Granny said irascibly, day

after day, and fed me strong cups of peppermint

tea. I wasn't a big fan of peppermint tea. On

Granny's orders, Dad had set up a cot by the hearth

so Granny could tend to me without tromping up

and down the stairs.

Being the recipient of that much attention made me

kind of uncomfortable.

On day five I sat in the sitting room and played the

plains flute while Granny worked at her loom.

"I'm making you a new quilt," she announced.

"That old one must be raggedy if it made you

sick." Pneumonia doesn't work that way, but of

course I couldn't say as much. I played Land of

Enchantment, mystical and mysterious, and the

Song of the Golden Eagle, majestic and proud. I

played a couple of peyote songs, haunting, sacred

pieces written in honor of the Great Spirit. I think

Granny liked that, because she nodded along with

the rhythm while she plucked her heddle rod and

warped the threads. I was halfway through Sai

Paa Hupia, a playful little melody, when I lost my

breath. I sank feebly on my cot and closed my

eyes. Granny rushed at me with the bottle of

amoxicillin, a horribly thick, sticky, syrupy pink

drink that'll make you want to vomit after one

spoonful. This was my ninth.

"We'll sweat the sickness out of you," Granny

announced, and lit the hearth long before nightfall.

The average daytime temperature in Nettlebush is

ninety degrees. The house was sweltering within

minutes.

"Mother," Dad said one afternoon, stilted, fanning

himself with a pale yellow tribal passport, "I

really don't think..."

"You never think! I'm aware of that. Are you

going to tell me how to take care of my own

grandson?"

Embarrassed, I ducked my head under my new

quilt.

Zeke came to visit me the next day. "Shy Lorna's

raft sank!" he told me, a manic gleam in his quick

eyes. "Man, was she embarrassed! She kept

looking around for you, too. I swear, she's got it

for you. It's like she doesn't realize you're a

homo. Why is it so hot in here?"

Annie stopped by the day after that with a bouquet

of crabapple blossoms for Granny. "You'd better

hurry up and recover," she told me mildly.

"Rafael's growing rather tetchy without you."

I hoped that meant Rafael wasn't angry with me. I

didn't know what to think after the last time we'd

talked.

That same evening, I heard a knock on the front

door and thought it might be Rafael. Granny got up

to answer the door--she didn't want me anywhere

near the night air--and stepped back to let him

inside.

It wasn't Rafael. It was Stuart Stout, a boy from

my class.

I couldn't possibly have been more confused.

Stuart and I got along just fine, but I wouldn't have

called us friends. I think he'd said a total of two

words to me all year. That's the thing with Stuart,

though. As far as I knew, he got along better with

adults than with kids his own age.

"Hey, Skylar," he said. Another thing about

Stuart: He always looked tired, even when he

wasn't. I'd grown accustomed to the dark circles

under his pale eyes, the lines on his dark face.

"Would you sign my petition? I've already asked

your grandmother and father."

We sat together on the sitting room floor. He

handed me a packet of paper and a pencil. He

tucked his long, red-brown hair behind his ear.

I read the packet's first page. It was a petition to

Congress against the Bureau of Land Management.

I looked at Stuart, perplexed.

"The site of the Bear River Massacre belongs to

us
," Stuart said. "The Mormons stole it from us in

1863, but now it's just sitting there and nobody's

using it. Every time we raise the money to buy

Bear River back from the government, the Bureau

of Land Management changes its mind and raises

the price. So I'm asking Congress to make them

stop."

The Bear River Massacre was the biggest

wholesale slaughter of Native Americans in the

history of the United States. About five hundred

Shoshone were slain one winter morning because

the Mormons wanted their land--and didn't feel

like sharing. I'm sorry to say that even today, a

disgusting plaque sits on the site, extolling the

bravery of the soldiers who blindsided and

butchered the peaceful village.

I scribbled at the top of the paper:
You should ask

the Northern and Western Shoshone to sign, too.

And the Death Valley Shoshone.

"I'm trying to, yes. And I'm going to mail copies to

the Bannocks and the Paiute. They've always been

our friends."

I erased my note and flipped through the rest of the

pages. Mostly they were just signatures. It looked

like Stuart had gotten a third of the reservation's

signatures already. I added mine to the list and

handed the petition back to him with a smile.

"Thank you." He tucked his pencil behind his ear.

It reminded me so strongly of Rafael that my heart

clenched. "I'll be going now."

Granny closed the door as he left the house.

"Well, then," Granny said sternly. She eyed me as

she hobbled off to the kitchen. "You're looking

much better than yesterday. I suppose you can go

back to your room tonight. But keep the window

closed, for heavens' sakes!"

I returned to my bedroom that night and set the

amoxicillin on my bedside table. I hung my plains

flute around the bedpost and turned off my lamp.

A flashlight beam streamed past my window.

I scrambled out of bed so fast, it was kind of

pathetic. I turned my lamp on and opened my

window--the one thing Granny had warned me I

shouldn't do. I stuck my head outside, and there

was Rafael on the ground, a backpack on his

shoulders.

He didn't call to me like he usually did. He turned

the flashlight off, placed it on the ground, and

climbed the wall to my window. I sat back to let

him inside and he toppled ungainly over the side of

my bed. I closed the window quickly. It was cold

outside, about fifty degrees.

"Here," Rafael said. He unzipped his backpack

and dug out a mound of candy bars, which he

promptly offered to me. I was very flattered.

I unwrapped a chocolate bar and bit off the edge. I

don't really like candy, but I thought it would be

rude to refuse. Rafael picked up the amoxicillin

bottle and squinted at it, adjusting his glasses.

"What's this?"

Medicine
, I spelled with a mouthful of candy.

"Oh. Does it taste like strawberry?"

Not even close.

Rafael pulled a face and set the bottle down on the

table.

"Uh," he started, staring at my closet door. "I

wanted to come see you. But we've been kind of

busy lately. Uncle Gabe and Rosa are having a

baby--"

I know
, I signed, and smiled.
Remind me to

congratulate them.

I couldn't read the expression on Rafael's face. I

set the candy bar aside. I touched his arm; I didn't

take my hand away until he looked at me.

"You hear about Stu's petition?"

I smiled blankly.

Rafael took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes

with his wrist. In all the time that I'd known him,

I'd never once seen him do that.

He replaced his glasses and went on staring at the

closet door.

I tapped his shoulder until I'd reclaimed his

attention.

If you're mad at me
, I signed,
you need to tell me.

I suppose talking about your feelings isn't very

Shoshone; but then, a lot of things about me weren't

very Shoshone.

Rafael started. "Why would I be mad at you?" he

asked.

I didn't know what to say to that.

A silence settled between us, a silence I didn't

like. I put my hand on Rafael's knee.

He closed his hand around mine, warm and solid,

but didn't look my way.

"I wish you would've told me."

I really didn't understand why it was so important

to him.

"How am I supposed to know? If I'm hurting

you... How?"

I looked at him starkly. This was starting to grate

on my nerves. It was like he thought I was some

delicate little flower he'd pulled too quickly out of

the ground.

"I never want to hurt you. I don't want to be like

my dad. I don't want to hurt anyone. But you

especially. I
never
want to hurt you. You get that,

right? You get that I love you, right?"

I just about melted on the spot. Sappy, I know. I'm

a sucker when it comes to that boy.

"Anyway,"

Rafael

mumbled--was

he

embarrassed? "Hope you feel better in time for the

pauwau."

I did feel better in time for the pauwau. I put on

my deerhide regalia early in the morning and

rushed over to Annie's house and we baked

sunflower cakes and cornbread, Annie humming

placidly. "I'm dancing the jingle dance this year,"

Lila told us importantly. I guessed the change was

over. It took the entire day for Annie and me to

finish cooking. Lila got dressed in her regalia, a

white-and-red elkskin gown, and I helped attached

the bells to her leggings. Joseph and Mr. Little

Hawk and Grandpa Little Hawk helped us carry

our covered pots out to the pauwau grounds, a

windmill field behind the farming country. The

tribal council was lighting the stone firepit.

"You're looking very industrious, Cubby," Dad

said to me.

I grinned at him. I was really glad that the July

pauwau was held in Nettlebush. Dad was

confined to the reservation for legal reasons and

had had to miss out on a lot of out-of-state events.

I held my hand to my ear and mimed--again--a

telephone.

Dad looked abashed. "Yes, yes, I called her..."

"Skylar!"

I smiled broadly at the little girl running my way.

Her braids tossed in the breeze. She tossed her

arms around me in a hug.

"How's it going, Skylar?"

I hugged Jessica and waved a hello to Racine, a

short, stocky police officer whose stature, I knew

from experience, belied her attitude. I tousled

Jessica's braids with my hand. Jessica giggled.

Her big brother, DeShawn, stared adamantly

around the pauwau site with the eyes of a soldier

in the heat of reconnaissance. He was twelve

years old.

"Oh, my," said Annie as she joined us. "What a

lovely little friend you've got there, Skylar."

"Can I wear a dress like yours?" Jessica asked.

"Would you like to wear my shawl for the rest of

the night?"

"Yes please."

"I smell doughnuts," DeShawn said brightly.

He probably meant the frybread. Frybread tastes

about the same as doughnuts, only savory.

"Gather around for the opening prayer!" boomed

Mr. At Dawn, a giant of a fellow, and a member of