The Shadow of the Wolf (5 page)

“What if it is the wrong way?” I asked. “We will go deeper and deeper into the woods and no one will ever find us.”

“We must trust the wolf,” Fawn said.

“You wanted to kill it,” I could not help reminding her, “and now you want to risk our lives by following it.”

“The wolf is grateful,” Fawn said. “We must go where it wants to take us.”

Reluctantly, I turned around and we began to follow the wolf. It now limped ahead, no longer looking back at us.

“What if it’s just leading us to its pack and they eat us up?” I asked. Yet as we hurried after the wolf, the woods began to look more familiar. At last we saw smoke rising from the village campfires in the distance. We could hear Papa calling to us. He and Sanatua had come to look for us. The wolf turned and disappeared, its gray shadow vanishing into the white of the storm.

Papa hugged me. Sanatua took Fawn’s
hand and led us toward his wigwam and the warm fire inside. Fawn had warned me to say nothing of how we had rescued the wolf from her father’s trap. Now it was she who told the story. Sanatua listened carefully. When Fawn had finished, he spoke. “It was the body of the wolf I caught in my trap, but it was the spirit of the wolf you released. Perhaps it was its spirit who guided you home.”

I was sure it was just a wolf we had seen, but I could not forget Sanatua’s words.

Two days before Christmas it started snowing again. At first it was only glitter in the sun. But soon the flakes were as large as silver dollars. On Christmas Eve a wind started up. When you looked out the window, all you could see was a white blur. The Rouges would never be able to get to our house for Christmas. The blizzard would keep them away.

Earlier in the week I had gone with Papa to choose a Christmas tree. Now Papa brought it in. Our whole house was filled with the scent of pine. Mama had made
paper angels to hang on the tree. I colored the angels and strung ropes of dried berries. We sat up late on Christmas Eve, admiring the tree in the firelight and listening to the wind trying to get inside. Icarus was just as pleased with the tree as we were. He glided to the top of the tree and down again. He thought a tree in the house was the most natural thing in the world.

When I awakened Christmas morning, the snow hung down from the roof so far that I could not see out my window. There was no heat in my room so I had to bring my clothes under the bed quilts to put them on. Mama was already in the kitchen fixing breakfast. William was chewing on the dried blueberries Mama meant to put in the pancakes. Papa had set a crackling fire. On the table were six presents. I added two more.

“The storm will surely keep the Rouges from joining us,” Mama said. I could tell that she was disappointed. “I’ve been cooking all week to give them a good dinner.”

After breakfast Papa read the Christmas story from the big family Bible. Finally it was time for the presents. I went first. Papa had carved a doll for me! Mama had sewn a dress and bonnet for the doll. There was a pretty dress for me as well. Mama had made it from a pale blue calico with dark blue flowers.

William’s present was a set of wooden blocks that Papa had made. Mama had carefully painted the letters of the alphabet on the blocks. Papa’s gift to Mama was a shelf for her spices. He had put fancy carving all around it. Mama had knitted Papa a sweater from wool she had unraveled from an old blanket. I gave Mama a needle case I had patched together. For Papa I had baked his favorite molasses cookies.

We were admiring the presents when we heard a stirring outside. The next moment the door was flung open. It was the Rouges! They hurried through the door, scattering snow everywhere. Mama was so happy that she threw her arms around Mrs. Rouge.

“Merry Christmas!” Mr. Rouge called out. “Our wagon was stuck in your trail so we just unhitched the horses and left it there. May we stable the horses in your barn?”

As soon as the horses were taken care of, we listened to Mr. Rouge’s story of their travels through the storm. “There was nothing but white out there. But once I say I will be there, you can count on me.”

Mrs. Rouge was a woman who would not sit still. In no time she was in the kitchen with Mama, a towel knotted about her waist. Mr. Rouge and Papa were jumping up and down on the parlor floor, judging whether it needed new supports to strengthen it. I showed Icarus to the twins. He was sound asleep. François poked him to wake him up, but he only went right back to sleep. “When evening comes,” I promised, “we’ll let him out of his cage and he’ll glide up and down the Christmas tree.”

I soon found that François and André could not bear to be in the house for two
minutes together. They looked out of the window. They stuck their heads out of the door, letting in a whirlwind of snow. At last they could stand it no longer, and they wound their scarfs around their heads and plunged outside. Mama did not want me to go out into the storm. I was allowed to follow the boys only after promising many times that I would stay within sight of the house.

André and François found a barrel and took turns pushing one another over the bank that led down to the lake. Their bloodcurdling screams echoed all the way down. They invited me to fold myself into the barrel and take a turn. At first I was afraid. But when they promised to push me down an easy slope, I agreed. I was happy to find that, although they were rough with each other, they were gentle with me.

We were snapping off the icicles from the house and licking them when Mama called us in for dinner. We had wild turkey and sweet potatoes cooked with maple syrup, carrots,
parsnips, thick slabs of cornbread, and, for dessert, a Christmas cake with raisins and walnuts. It was the only time I did not see François and André smiling—their mouths were too full!

After supper I let Icarus out of his cage. André and François thought the flying squirrel the best thing they had ever seen. They were eager to imitate Icarus’s flights. It was only their mother’s scolding that kept them from climbing up onto the furniture and plunging to the floor.

Because of the storm the Rouges were with us for two days. All the while the house was full of excitement and laughter. At first I thought the twins created only noise and confusion. But then I began to notice other things. They were tender with Icarus. And while they did not always listen to their papa, they did as their mama told them. I was truly sorry to see the Rouge family leave.

By the end of winter the Indians had saved enough money to buy the piece of land that Papa had surveyed. The head of each family would contribute part of the money they had received from the government. The money was a payment for lands that had been taken from the Indians. Now they could buy back some of that land. Two days before the papers were to be signed, everything changed. Five Ottawa families announced that they were leaving. Without their share of money there would not be enough to purchase the land.

The spokesman for the five was a young man named Ke che gaw baw, the eldest son of one of the families. “The white man will take more and more of the land around us,” he said. “Soon there will be no animals left to hunt. We do not wish to be farmers and do women’s work. We wish to stay hunters. After the boiling of the maple sap is over, we will travel north to the greatest of all the lakes, Kitchi-Gami. That is where we will make our new home.”

Papa and I were in the Indian village at the end of March when the five Ottawa families walked away from the camp. They took all they owned with them. Even the children carried small bundles on their backs. I had heard angry words said against them. Still, when they left, all the members of the tribe came to see them off.

“What will happen now?” I asked Papa.

“Mr. Blanker will try to get the land.”

Sanatua sighed. “If that man would take a part of the land,” he said, “we would have
enough to pay for what is left.”

Papa shook his head. “I’m afraid he would never be satisfied with only part.”

Suddenly I remembered something. I told Papa and Sanatua how Fawn and I had overheard Mr. Blanker. He had said that he wanted the grove of maples because he believed they were bird’s-eye maples. “What does bird’s-eye maple look like?” I asked.

Papa said, “The grain of the wood looks as if it has a thousand little eyes. Almost all the bird’s-eye maple trees are here in northern Michigan. The wood from them is rare and sells at a high price.”

“The man is very foolish,” Sanatua said. “There is no knowing whether you have such a tree until it is cut down.”

“But he doesn’t know that,” I said. “So he might be happy with the land around that grove.”

A smile began to grow on Papa’s face. “Well, Libby,” he said. “Your idea might just work.”

The tribe called a council; and agreed that Mr. Blanker should be allowed to buy the grove. The sale would give the tribe enough money to buy the rest of the land!

Mr. Blanker jumped at the offer. He acted as if he had made a fine bargain. With great ceremony Papa and Sanatua and the chief of the tribe traveled to La Croix. They proudly registered their purchase of the rest of the land.

The trouble was that no one trusted Mr. Blanker to keep to his agreement. If he found that there were no bird’s-eye maples on his land, he might become angry and cut down trees on the Indians’ property.

Papa had an idea. “I know how we can protect the trees,” he said.

When the day came, all of the members of the tribe filed into the woods that now belonged to the Indians. Every man, woman, and child stood next to a tree. The Indians let Papa stand next to a large oak tree. Fawn and I stood beside two small beech saplings. Only
the maples in Mr. Blanker’s grove were unattended. We all stood silently, waiting.

At last Mr. Blanker and several other men pulled up in a wagon. We were so quiet that at first they did not see us. When they did, they jumped right up into the air. But Mr. Blanker had paid for his land and he meant to have his trees. One by one the great maples fell. The limbs were sawed off and the logs hoisted onto the wagon.

When the grove was cleared, it was plain from the disappointed look on Mr. Blanker’s face that no bird’s-eye maples had been found. In his anger, Mr. Blanker even accused the Indians of switching trees! He looked greedily at the Indians’ land, but we did not move. Finally the last tree was loaded onto the wagon and the team of horses pulled Mr. Blanker and the other men away.