The Wolf Tree (20 page)

R
AY WOKE
. H
E BLINKED SEVERAL TIMES AT THE
blazing fire. When he tried to sit up, his shoulder erupted in pain. Marisol came over to lay the back of her hand on his forehead.

“I think your fever’s broken,” she said. “That’s good.”

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. It all looks the same. Forest. Hills. Let me help you up so I can look at your wound.”

The days since he’d been shot had passed like a dream for Ray. Despite the fever, he’d been able to explain to Marisol what herbs would fight the infection. After gathering them, she had prepared and pressed them in a moistened plug into the wound.

Ray unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it from his shoulder. Marisol untied the bandages and adjusted Ray toward the
firelight. She gently touched the herbs packed against the wound. “I’m going to put fresh ones on it.”

Ray nodded and gritted his teeth as she worked on the injury. After tying a new bandage around his shoulder, Marisol sat back, exhaustion and worry in her eyes. “It’s getting better.”

“The bullet will have to come out,” Ray said.

“We’ve got to get you to Water Spider first.”

Ray drank some water and lay slowly back to the ground. “Are you wearing pants?” he asked incredulously.

Marisol laughed and slapped at her knees. “They’re yours. I took them from your pack. I’ve been wearing them for two days now, thanks for noticing.”

“I wasn’t very clearheaded. What happened to your dress?”

“It’s bandages, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t very practical anyway, remember? Sleep. You need it.”

The following day, Ray sent B’hoy out to scout as they continued their journey west. With the low mountains behind them, they reached a drier land, a hill country forested with rugged post oaks and dense swatches of cedar and pine. B’hoy landed on Ray’s arm and began croaking.

Ray had had little time to work further on linking with B’hoy. He had seen the one image through the bird’s eyes, when the crow rescued him from the Ozark man. Ray was eager to keep trying, but for now, his attention was on reaching Redfeather.

“What’s he found?” Marisol asked.

“He says there are two men, not far from here.”

Within half an hour they came upon the pair, tying a downed boar to the back of a horse. A second horse grazed nearby. The two men turned as they heard Ray and Marisol approach. They both wore tall buckskin boots, up to their knees. Their long hair fell over loose shirts of homespun cloth dyed a butternut yellow. They were Indians, or so it seemed, but as Ray got closer, he noticed one was actually a black man—or of mixed heritage. He carried a flint-blade hatchet, and both had hunting rifles.

“Hello,” Ray called.

The pair watched without expression until Ray and Marisol reached them.

“Are we near Vinita?” Ray asked.

The black Indian looked at the crow sitting on Ray’s shoulder.

“Do you think they speak English?” Marisol muttered to Ray.

“Where have you come from?” the other Indian asked suddenly. He was big and had a wide face and heavy brow. As he peered at Ray with small black eyes, it reminded him of a bear, curious but menacing.

“Missouri, but we set out from the Smoky Mountains several weeks ago,” Ray answered. “Are you Cherokee?”

“We are,” the black Indian replied, his eyes still on B’hoy.

“We’re looking for a man named Water Spider.”

“Ga-nv-hi-da Di-ga-ga-lo-i,”
the black Indian whispered urgently to the other.

He scowled and shook his head.
“Tla!”

The two began to argue back and forth in Cherokee, and although Ray had learned a few phrases, he could not follow the men’s rapid speech until one said
“go-gv.”

“Go-gv?”
Ray interrupted. He gestured to B’hoy. “That’s crow, right?”

“How did you get this crow?” the black Indian asked, despite the glowering from the other.

“I didn’t really get him. He just follows me.”

“Can you speak to him?”

“Yes,” Ray answered tentatively.

The two broke back into their incomprehensible argument. At last, the black Indian shouted
“Ha-le-wi-s-ta!”
at the other. Then he turned back to Ray. “Are you friends with Redfeather?”

“Yes, Redfeather!” Marisol answered. “You know him?”

The black Indian looked from Marisol back to Ray, a smile forming. “Then you are the
Ga-nv-hi-da Di-ga-ga-lo-i …
the Rambler, right?”

Ray opened his mouth, surprised, but before he could collect himself to answer, the bearlike Indian said, “Come. We’ll take you to Redfeather.”

He helped Marisol get behind him on his horse, and Ray got on behind the black Indian, wincing as he was pulled up. “Is something wrong with your arm?” the black Indian asked.

“I was shot.” Ray briefly told them about his encounter with the two men in the Ozarks. As they traveled, Ray and Marisol learned that the black Indian was Crossley and the
other was Mulberry. Crossley’s grandparents had come out long ago during the Removal, slaves to a Cherokee chief, but over time they, along with the many other black families, had become as much a part of the tribe as any other Cherokee, strangers in a new and unfamiliar land. Neither Crossley nor Mulberry had ever been to their ancestral home in the east. Oklahoma was their home now.

Water Spider was Mulberry’s great-uncle, and both he and Crossley spoke fondly of Redfeather.

“Redfeather is becoming a good
di-da-nv-wi-s-gi,”
Crossley said.

“A medicine man?” Ray asked, impressed. “Are you sure this is the same Redfeather?”

“Of course,” Mulberry said. “Redfeather has great powers. And Great-Uncle likes him.”

“We like him too,” Crossley added. “He tells good stories about you all.”

After a time they reached a road that passed many clusters of houses, a mercantile store, and even a small train depot. Everyone they encountered was Indian, a few in traditional clothes, some dressed in store-bought dresses, overalls, and wide-brimmed hats, but most in some combination of the two. Crossley and Mulberry greeted this person or that, who curiously eyed the boy with the crow on his shoulder and the girl wearing pants.

They eventually stopped at a cluster of cabins and outbuildings, a cornfield on one side and a fenced garden on the other. B’hoy rose from Ray’s shoulder, gliding off across the green stalks.

“We’re here,” Mulberry said, and then he called out,
“O-si-yo!”

A woman with touches of gray in her hair stood up from the garden. The door opened from one of the cabins, and Redfeather stepped out on the porch. He was wearing a long linen shirt, deerskin leggings, and moccasins. His hair was plaited and capped on the ends with bright red beads.

“Ray! Marisol!” he called, rushing to greet them. “I got Ox Everett’s telegram that you were coming. How was your journey?”

Marisol slid down, saying, “Weather was fine. Took in the sights. Ray was shot. But otherwise …”

“What?” Redfeather gasped, helping Ray off Crossley’s horse.

“I’m all right.”

“Thanks to me,” Marisol said.

“Thanks to Marisol.” Ray smirked.

“Water Spider will be back soon,” Redfeather said. “He can look at the wound. Did the bullet pass through?”

“No, unfortunately,” Ray said.

“Water Spider will get it out.”

Ray winced at the thought. “It seems to be healing. That might make it worse.”

“He’s a powerful healer,” Redfeather assured him. “He can do it without even opening the wound.”

“How’s that possible?” Marisol scoffed.

“You’ll see.”

The woman approached and spoke in Cherokee to Crossley and Mulberry, who were still on their horses. They smiled
and shook their heads. Then Crossley said to Ray and Marisol, “Sorry we can’t join you for dinner. We’ve got to get this razorback butchered.”

“Thank you for your help,” Ray said, reaching up to shake their hands. They waved to Marisol and kicked their horses to set off down the dusty road.

Redfeather gestured to the woman. “Ray, Marisol, this is Little Grass. Water Spider’s wife.”

Little Grass smiled at the two, then her eyes went from Ray’s blood-crusted shirt to Marisol’s ragtag attire. “You two look like you’ve walked a rough road,” Little Grass said. She cocked her head toward the cabin. “Come inside. Let’s get you fed. Water Spider will be home soon.”

The cabin was small, half the size of the den back at Shuckstack. It was simply furnished: a table, a few chairs, and a rope bed in the corner. Little Grass filled a large basin in the backyard with hot water for Marisol to bathe in. She then began preparing a meal at the fireplace while Ray and Redfeather talked together.

“Water Spider is an amazing man,” Redfeather said. “He tries to live by the old ways. That’s pretty rare out here nowadays. He’s one of the last still living who came out when the Cherokee were forced from the Appalachians.”

“I hear you’re a medicine man,” Ray said with a smile.

“Who told you that? Mulberry?” Redfeather shook his head. “I’m learning, but I’m no
di-da-nv-wi-s-gi.”

“But you want to be?”

“Sure.” He leaned closer, an intensity in his eyes. “I’m Kwakiutl, but you know how I was never really a part of my
tribe. I was so young when I was taken in by Nel. I grew up in the medicine show, traveling around. I had no idea the sort of hardship the tribes faced. The old ways are being lost.”

“So Water Spider is teaching you,” Ray said.

“He’s been very kind to accept me,” Redfeather said.

Little Grass sat up from where she was cracking small bird eggs into a cast-iron pot of soup. “Redfeather can help the tribes,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Ray asked.

She didn’t answer, but instead nodded to the door. “Water Spider is back.”

Ray stood as the door opened. Water Spider was tall, over six feet, and stood erect and strong. Only his long white hair and deeply lined face suggested his age. When he entered, he spoke softly in Cherokee to his wife before looking at Ray and Redfeather.

“O-si-yo. Tsi-lu-gi.”
Water Spider had a deep voice like distant thunder. His eyes sparkled brightly.

“He welcomes you,” Redfeather said.

Little Grass said, “You will have to forgive my husband. He does not speak English. He says he will take it up when he is a hundred.”

Water Spider seemed to know this joke, for he chuckled, and then motioned for Ray and Redfeather to sit at the table. Little Grass had the table already set with bowls and began to serve them the soup and delicious-smelling bean bread.

Marisol came in from the back door, her thick black hair
still wet, and looking pleased from the bath. “Little Grass, were these meant for me?” She waved her hands at her outfit: a loose-fitting ribboned shirt of dark blue, an embroidered skirt, and leggings.

“I hope they fit you,” Little Grass said. “Your clothes were a mess. I will try to repair them.”

Marisol shook her head, “No, please don’t bother. I’ll get new ones.”

“Then you keep those,” Little Grass offered.

“I couldn’t.”

“You will. Now sit, and … what is that?” Her eyes grew wide.

Javidos slithered from under Marisol’s sleeve. Marisol hastened to allay her fear. “He’s perfectly harmless, I assure you. I can leave him outside if you want.”

“I think I’d rather he was not somewhere he’ll surprise me.” She sat, her eyes cautiously following the copperhead’s movements.

Marisol smiled politely to Water Spider as she took her seat. He smiled back at her and then turned to say something to his wife and Redfeather that was clearly about Marisol. After some back and forth, Redfeather said, “Water Spider was asking what tribe you came from. I explained that you weren’t Indian.”

“My mother was,” Marisol corrected.

“Really?” Redfeather muttered skeptically.

“She was Hopi. My father was Mexican.”

“But you didn’t grow up with her tribe,” Redfeather said.

“So?” Marisol scowled. “You didn’t grow up with yours.”

Little Grass placed her hands on the table, which was enough to stop the argument. “Where did you grow up then, Marisol?” she asked.

“In Sonora for a time. Along the San Miguel River. I did visit my grandparents once in their village on the mesa. It was beautiful, from what little I remember.”

Little Grass translated this to Water Spider, who nodded with interest. He was curious about Javidos and her ability to speak with him.

“He’s little more than a pet, really. I’m no Rambler.”

“But you’re learning,” Ray said.

The food was delicious, and Ray had several bowls as they talked. He told them about Mister Bradshaw’s visit to Shuckstack. Both Water Spider and Little Grass, who knew the man, were sad to hear of his death. Ray then recounted their journey from Shuckstack, and Water Spider asked Ray about B’hoy.

“I’m beginning to speak to him from a distance, with my thoughts. Does Water Spider know how to take animal form?”

Redfeather answered after translating Ray’s question. “He says he has heard of some who have. It’s a rare ability. He says you are on the right path and to keep trying.”

Disappointed not to get more guidance, Ray thanked him and then asked, “Have you seen the Darkness yet, Redfeather?”

“No. Water Spider says it’s cursed. And it sounds like from what happened to Bradshaw, he’s right. You shouldn’t go there, Ray. It’s too dangerous.”

“Nel made us protections,” Ray said.

After this was translated to Water Spider, the old man asked if he could see the charms. Ray took them from his red flannel toby and handed the small pouch across the table. Water Spider opened the string and sniffed first. Then he shook the bundles of cinquefoil and wintergreen, crushed ash leaves, and other bits of roots and herbs into his palm. After examining them, he returned the contents to the pouch and handed it back to Ray nodding appreciatively while speaking.

“He agrees they will help,” Redfeather explained, “and said only Nel could make such a charm.”

“Nel made enough for three,” Ray said to Redfeather. “Will you come with us?”