“So, Little Foot, what have you decided?” the elder asked, nonchalant, but his voice was laced with trepidation. He looked up at a young oak, inspecting it, maybe for decay or for fungus, signaling future issues.
I pulled the paper from my pocket and handed it to him. “I’m going to use this,” I said and watched as he unfolded the paper. His sharp eyes ran over it, scanning the contents. “Hmmm…” His face twitched, his eyes set at an angry edge. “They are claiming your land. Taking it away from you.” He paused, and looked at me. “Is there anything we can do to stop them?” he asked.
“I doubt it, but I can use this to plant the evidence that will hopefully lead them away from our land,” I offered.
He turned to me, thoughtful. “You are losing your land but still trying to save others.” He shook his head. “Honorable,” he said lifting his head. “You were meant to be with us. Will you stay here if your land is taken?”
I glanced at Three Scars. So much uncertainty still lay before me…
“I think that is a subject we will discuss, father,” Three Scars offered, diverting attention from my future back to this problem. The elder smiled and nodded and held up the paper. “So how will you do this? What is your plan?”
“Well, it’s not a great plan, but since they’re taking everything I’ve ever known, I assume they will rummage through my cabin looking for clues to try and find me. All I need to do is hide the map somewhere in my cabin. When they find the evidence, it’ll look like it was hidden and important. There’s no guarantee when, or even if, they’ll find it, but it’s a shot,” I explained. “I’ll need to go back, though and retrieve a few things and I can hide the map and the notes inside.”
He listened, seeming to ponder all the minute details and the risk.
“I will meet with the elders and we will talk about this again,” he said, looking at me with solemn eyes. “Son, I need to meet with you in the small tent. Let us return for a meal, and we can discuss a few things,” he said, and touched his son’s arm. Three Scars nodded and we turned to go.
The winding path lead us back to camp, and silence floated through the air, but it spoke of questions and concerns, of plans and possible failures, of the future and the past, and everything in between.
The elder ambled toward his tipi, the letter still clutched in his hand.
“Are you hungry?” Three Scars asked, his voice contemplative. He looked back over his shoulder to the elder.
“What does he want to talk to you about?” I asked.
“I have an idea,” he said, a small smile on his face, “but I’m not sure.”
My cheeks burned, and I glanced away. “I am hungry,” I said, and stepped toward the tent. He tugged my arm and I turned.
“Cree,” he said, his voice softer. “When you said there was nothing you could do to save your land, were you certain? Is there no recourse?” he asked.
“I’ve seen this happen to many dwellers. There was nothing they could do. Generational land was taken. Cabins demolished. Water rights returned to the Forest Service. I’ve never seen a different outcome,” I said. “I thought this might happen as a way to draw me out, draw me back to them, but I didn’t want to believe it,” I said, and looked up at the sky, then met his eyes. “It doesn’t really matter. In a hundred years, I’ll be gone, and they’ll be gone, but the land will remain. I find comfort in that. The land will remain, regardless of who cares for it. It’s not mine or theirs. It’s God’s land, so it’s okay,” I said.
“You have a remarkable perspective,” he said, and looked down at the earth beneath us. He seemed to hold back, like he wanted to say something else, but he remained quiet.
“Smells like bacon and eggs,” I said and nodded toward the tent.
“You go ahead. I need to speak with the elders.” He turned to go but stopped and looked back at me. “I have not met a better person than you, Cree Little Foot.” He dipped his head.
I winced.
My eyes resting on his wounded arm.
Chapter 28
I crouched low, my back pressed firm against a tree, my bow held low, arrow ready. I stilled my breathing, and turned my head slowly, looking over my shoulder at the back of my cabin. The ground trembled beneath my moccasins, my eyes zeroed in on my target. They’ll be here soon, I thought. My mind shifting to Three Scars and Running Bear, to Red Hawk and Stands Tall. I saw them pushing through the wind, forcing their massive forms toward me, toward my home, toward the danger. I lifted my bow. They wouldn’t make it in time…
I rolled out of my dream and into his arms.
Wide awake, my thoughts raced, my concerns morphing into dreams trying to sift through the complexities of all that tried to pull me apart. My home that no longer held my future. My land that slipped from my fingers. Birch who passed into heaven. The inevitable isolation from being alone. Again. The Forest People who counted on me to drive the threat away. The Tore People who shielded me with no way for me to repay them.
“What was your dream?” he whispered.
I remained quiet. No need to worry him. He said sometimes dreams had meaning, but I was sure this dream resulted from the concerns floating through my heart. At least I hoped it was. I lay my head on his arm. “Could I not reach you in time?” he asked.
“How did you know?” I asked, suspicious. “It’s like you can read my mind.”
“Well, it’s not really like that,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“People’s thoughts make them feel certain ways. Those feelings and emotions put off certain smells and we sense that. It’s the instinct part of us. The opposite side of the human in us, I guess,” he said, his voice guarded.
“So you know what I’m thinking by how I smell,” I echoed, thinking about how logical it sounded.
“And when you said you knew who to aim at last night because of his smell, we were all surprised. That’s not normal,” he said.
I was quiet.
“Cree, who were your parents? Where were they from?” he asked.
My mind flicked to my mom, her auburn hair flowing wild and free in the wind, her infectious smile. And my dad, his dark skin that tanned even through his shirt, black hair, deep dark eyes – eyes that could convey exactly what he wanted to say, without speaking a word. “My dad was Lenape,” I said, “and my mom was part Irish,” I whispered, trying to remember her voice.
“Lenape?” he asked. “Which nation?” There are three.
“Turtle,” I said, and pictured the turtle necklace that hung around my dad’s neck. He never took it off.
“That explains a lot about you,” he said.
“Not really. I’m only ¼,” I said.
“Blood quantum is not for people, and regardless, it’s your spirit that says who you are, but why did you say you had no nation?” he asked.
“I have only a few memories of them, and here in these mountains I am a dweller.”
“You have a nation now, Cree.”
We lay in the quiet, and I thought of the coming trek through the high country, the importance of what needed to be done, and the hope it would work. He held my hand, imparting some warmth and comfort. I thought of the dream, too.
“Will you stay with us when this is over?” he asked, his voice guarded.
“I think Birch wanted that,” I said.
“But what do you want?”
“I want to be somewhere that feels like home with people that feel like family,” I said. “I want to run wild and free through the trees, to plant food and watch it grow, to laugh, and hunt, and forage, and help people… and live,” I said. “That’s my dream. What’s yours?” I asked and looked over at him.
“Sounds so simple,” he said.
“It’s simple, but right now, that dream is anything but simple,” I laughed. “Especially now that my land has been taken.”
His eyes narrowed and he winced, like that fact seared him deep inside.
“What’s your dream? What do you wa
nt?” I asked. Hoping the moment wasn’t lost and he’d open up a little more. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the circle of dawn barely visible through the opening above us. I watched his profile, his chest rising and falling. “I don’t have any,” he said. “And it’s time to get up. We leave soon.” He sat on the edge of the bear skins, and for a single second I felt a twinge of sorrow.
He had no dreams.
“Hey”, I said and sat up, my hair spilling over my shoulders, his shirt falling in place in front of me. He turned and met my eyes. “You don’t have even one dream?” I asked, hopeful. His eyes flicked to my hair, my lips, his shirt draping over my shoulders, and a sad smile touched the corner of his mouth. I dropped my gaze and let out a shallow breath. He had no dreams for the future. Not even of me. “Do you want me to stay?” I asked, before I could stop myself. He tilted his head slightly and met my eyes. “I want more than that, Cree, but it’s not so simple.”
“I don’t understand,” I said and touched his shoulder. He sighed and looked up. “I can picture a future… A future with you in my arms, but it can’t happen, Cree.” He shook his head, allowing something he believed was truth, to settle in his soul.
“Oh,” I said, and looked down. Had I been foolish, taking advantage of his kindness? Had I misread him? Or had he realized I truly was a strange creature that he couldn’t make a promise to? “I understand…” I said, though I didn’t truly comprehend it.
He lifted my chin with his finger, so I looked him in the eyes. “My wife died because of me. I won’t let that happen to you. I can see a future with you – I’ve pictured it for a long time. Even before you came here, but I can’t let anything like that ever happen again. And if that means your future is without me, than I would rather see you wild and free and without me, than hurting or even dying because of me,” he explained.
“So, it’s not that you don’t want me – it’s that you don’t want to hurt me?” I asked, holding steady on his gaze, not letting him look away or change the subject. I scooted over and sat next to him, my side flush against his. “But that’s assuming so much on your part,” I said.
He squinted his eyes.
“Life is like the stars, they twinkle and shine, and dance in the night. It’s not up to you, or anyone else when that star’s light begins to fade, or when the star fades away. Only God chooses that. So, you can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your choice. God is in complete control of every star and how bright they shine, and every life and how long it is lived.” I reached over and lay my hand over his.
“I want you to dream,” I whispered and kissed his cheek.
Chapter 29
I slipped my pack onto my back, hooked my bow over my shoulder, and walked into the forest. The sun set and dark was almost here, but still enough light remained to see what lay before me. “Can we walk for just a mile?” I asked, and looked back at the warriors behind me, talking low among themselves. Three Scars lifted his eyes and nodded, not breaking their conversation. I walked ahead, and looked out over the grey, purple, orange, and red mountain ranges. Some think vivid colorful mountains are only abstract paintings with shades of the artist’s choice. They don’t realize those purple and red mountains really exist. I breathed in deep, feeling free and somewhat excited to go home. Even if it was for the last time. I thought of the few things I would take with me. My parent’s picture, a daffodil bulb from the garden, a carved wooden horse from my dad. Just a couple of sentimental things. Nothing else.
I walked and thought of home, of the meadow stretching out in front of my cabin, of the quartz crystals lining the path to my porch, of the deep snow I shoveled over and over again, just to allow a trench so I could walk from place to place. I breathed in the cool night air as darkness moved in for the stretch of night it was permitted. Some were afraid of the dark. Not me. I welcomed it. Although it was nearly impossible to see, it worked in my favor and allowed time for me to think without visual distractions.
The breeze swept by me and I lifted my arms to receive it, like a hug it wrapped around me and passed on by. Time slipped away, and it seemed we walked far more than a mile. I peeked over my shoulder and they walked some thirty or forty feet behind me, maybe giving me space to think, or time to walk, or the mental break to contemplate. “Want to run?” I asked, and smiled, ready for an adventure.
They started to jog toward me. “Let’s do this!” Running Bear whooped and took off at full speed. “You ready?” Three Scars asked and ran faster toward me, his head down slightly, a sly smile on his face. I laughed and as he passed by and reached out his arm I hung on and slung myself onto his back, a smooth quick action that thrilled me and I laughed again.
I welcomed the wind in my hair, the cold on my face, and the speed carrying me home. The ground shook, like the sound of music beating in a chaotic rhythm, we ran hard and fast, skimming over great swaths of space, leaping over rivers and streams, and granite boulders, and downed trees. Up steep mountains and down the other side. Through hollers, and valleys, across open fields, and through wildflowers. We ran and I soaked in every minute of freedom.
Hours passed, and my face and lips numbed to the cold, but inside I felt alive and freed from all worry that bound me. In this moment there was no fear or future, no past – only the present. We sloped down the last ridge, and the sound of White River pushing its path through the forest faintly tickled my ears. We came to an easy stop not far from the fallen moss-covered tree bridging wild land from my forest.
“That was amazing,” I breathed out, my hair falling over my shoulders, down my back in a mess of auburn streaks tangled and whipped about. I jumped from his back, his breathing fast and measured. Red Hawk, Running Bear, and Stands Tall slowing to a walk, circling each other, trying to slow their heavy breaths, a slick sheen of sweat covering each one of them.
Three Scars looked at me, his eyes darting from my smile to my messy hair. He shook his head and glanced at Red Hawk who looked at me and back at Three Scars, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head once and raised his eyebrows. “You’re something else, Little Foot,” Red Hawk mused. I cupped my hands to my mouth and blew hot air into them, trying to warm my face.
“We’ll walk the next mile,” Three Scars said. I nodded and glanced at the tree laying over the water, precariously wedged on one side of the river while the root ball lay on the other. We crossed the teeming current and headed toward our goal. Three Scars stayed next to me, the others fanned out searching the ground, scouting for tracks or people. Perhaps wondering if our scent had been tracked and followed the last time we were here.
About a quarter mile from my cabin Three Scars gave a nod to the others. “Break into three teams. Skirt the sides of the forest circling in toward the cabin. We’ll come in from behind. If you see anyone, or spot danger let out a call,” he instructed. “And don’t shift – we can’t leave any evidence.”
They turned and ran ahead leaving us alone. They disappeared into the thick trees, their forms vanishing into the shadows. I stepped forward, my previous exhilaration replaced by complete focus. He touched my shoulder and I turned back to see him point to the left. A partial shoe print smashed into the dirt. I glanced up, alarmed. He scanned the area quickly and we proceeded ahead, staying tucked inside the trees, hidden. His slow careful steps mimicked mine. The soft souls of our moccasins barely padded the earth beneath us.
We approached the back of the cabin, the back door closed and locked, the dirt leading up the path undisturbed, the wash basin still angled near the steps. I glanced over toward the side and nothing appeared out of place, except a smashed clump of grass. Could have been from an animal, I reasoned. I exhaled slowly, deliberately and nodded for us to proceed.
I unlocked the door, and stepped inside, Three Scars right behind me. The one room cabin lay untouched. The bed in the corner with a quilt over the top, a stack of wood piled next to the fireplace, the curtains hung precisely one inch open – enough to let light in, but not a
llow anyone to see through from the outside. The dishes on the wood counter stacked in the very same location as before. I glanced to the front door, and saw it still locked on the inside, which meant even if someone busted the lock on the outside, two locks remained inside preventing their entry.
I let out a breath and looked around at my memories. I pictured my parents sleeping on the bed, me on a cot near the fireplace. The quilt she stitched from old worn-out clothes still covered their bed. Every ounce of work my dad put into this home stood out in distinct places. The wood trim framing the wood floor, the arched mantle, the window shudders. Hand hewn wood covered the walls, carved bowls from oak burls we ate from. So much work. So many memories. This was their dream. Our dream. It stood still before me, like a testimony to the past. Three Scars was quiet, giving me time to say goodbye.
I reached for their picture and put it in my pack, the carved wooden horse he made for me dropped in after it. “Oh,” I said, almost forgetting. I reached for the front door, unlatched the two locks, and stepped out on the porch for the last time. I sprinted to the garden, bent down, and started digging up a daffodil bulb. One would be enough. I’d plant it somewhere in memory of this place.
“We’ve been looking for you,” a deep voice said. I glanced up, my heart pounding. He crossed the meadow with easy quick steps, and his fast approach made me recoil slightly. Stopping about ten feet from me, I dared not glance back at the cabin to see if Three Scars was visible. Keeping his line of sight on me, I looked back down and pulled the bulb from the earth. “Where’ve ya been, Cree?”
“Camping,” I said, and stood up clutching the bulb. “Why were you looking for me, Deputy?” I asked, my eyes dropped to his hand resting on the hilt of his gun. He shifted his stance and lowered his hand.
My Name Is Cree Page 17
