“Researchers said you might have some info they need,” he said and looked at my pack on the ground at my feet.
“Information?” I asked.
“Mhmm,” he said and bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes turned to my bow hanging over my shoulder, then to my arrows, probably counting the six sharp tips protruding out of the top of my pack. “In fact, they’re right over there on the road. Mind coming over to talk?” he asked, his hand skimming past the handcuffs dangling from his belt. “Honestly, you know you’re trespassing here, right? Now I could let that slide and look the other way as long as you don’t mind having a few words with these people,” he offered.
I glanced to the road beyond the meadow where a forest green truck parked, its engine still running. “Actually, I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m heading out,” I said bending down. I opened my pack and dropped the bulb inside.
“Hold on,” he said. I glanced up as he spied the inside of my pack. “Whatcha got there? A map?” he asked. I closed my pack and cinched it tight at the top. I stood up and shouldered it. “I’m afraid I need to confiscate that. Looks like something helpful to the research,” he said.
“Doubt it,” I said, “I told you I was camping. Need a map to find my way. That’s all,” I said, lifting my chin. He looked me up and down, his brow knit together, and his hand inched a little higher to his gun.
“Turn it over, Cree. They’re almost done here, and I want to get them out of here. But if you’ve got something that’ll get them out of here quicker, than hand it over. I’m not messing around.” His eyes set dead against me.
“Will it save my cabin?” I bargained.
“Now that’s completely out of my hands. Besides they’ve wiped out everyone else. I can’t say your cabin is any different. But these guys,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “they’re no people to cross, so whatever you’ve got in there, I want. Now.” He lay his hand over his gun.
I exhaled, bit my lip, and glanced at his hand.
I let my pack fall to my feet and bent down. I pulled the map from it, the notes, and everything else I planned on leaving for them. I clutched them in my hand like I couldn’t let go and stood up. His eyes lit up and he reached over and snatched them from me. He pulled the map open and squinted his eyes. “They’ll definitely want this,” he said.
“I’m going now, Deputy,” I said and stepped back. “I’ve got nothing to say to those people. Besides…” I glanced at the truck out on the road, smoke puffing out of the exhaust, “they’ve taken everything from me.” I glanced at the map in his hand and back at my cabin.
“You just wait here. I’ll drop this on them and see how they want to proceed. You’ll be around for a few more minutes, right?” he questioned. I glanced out at the road and calculated the time it would take for him to walk out there, talk to them and walk back. I probably had five minutes to escape.
That’s all I needed.
A flick of movement in the tress alerted me, but I held my line of sight out to the truck and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here for a few more minutes. But that’s it,” I said.
He turned on his heel, and started back to the truck, crossing the meadow at an even pace.
I turned and ran back to the cabin and slipped inside. Three Scars’ jaw clenched, his lips set in a thin line. “Let’s go,” I said. “We’ve only got a minute before he’s back.” He reached his hand for mine and we moved to the back door. He creaked it open and I stole one last look at my former life. “Goodbye, Dad. I’ll never forget everything you taught me,” I whispered. I tucked the image into my heart and walked out. He closed the door and I locked it tight.
We ran into the trees, allowing the shadows to swallow us. “Let’s run,” he said and nodded for me to jump on his back.
“Hold on,” I said and ran to the corner of the cabin. I crouched down against an oak, leaning my side to the tree, a clear sight to the front of the truck some 100 yards away. I pulled an arrow free, lifted my bow, and took aim. “Cree, no,” Three Scars said. I drew back, pulled the bow as taught as it would go without breaking, my arm shaking from the tension, held my breath, and released.
The arrow sliced through the air, and I held my breath hoping I had the strength in that shot to land a final message. The arrow met its target and sank deep. The tire on the front of the truck popped and a hissing sound reached out across the space between us. I jumped up. “Now we can go,” I said. He looked at me, and then at the bow, and shook his head.
He held out his hand and I slung myself around him, steadied my legs on either side of him and he took off at a dead run. The trees blurred from individual beings reaching for the sky, to a smear of dark brown and black. Red Hawk, Running Bear and Stands Tall met us, and they leapt over the river, and continued running. They sprinted across vast terrain, circling to the outside of our previous path, and crested the mountain at about 8,000 feet. Once we dropped down the other side they came to an easy halt. I slid off his back, and stood up, looking to the mountain ranges we still needed to cross, the mist so thick I couldn’t see their peaks.
I looked over at Three Scars and then to Red Hawk and Stands Tall and Running Bear.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring back at me.
“I think that went well,” I said, putting my hands on my hips.
Red Hawk, Running Bear and Stands Tall looked at Three Scars who still locked eyes on me.
He put his head down.
Chapter 30
Camp was dark when we returned, no fire blazed in the center, only a few coals glimmering against a black night remained to light the way. The long cold journey finally seeped into my bones and I felt fatigued beyond measure. Saying goodbye is never easy, and there’s no right way to close the door for that last time, so I closed the door to my cabin like I always did. I closed it tight and locked it up.
“Thanks, brothers,” Three Scars said, and clapped his hand on each of theirs shoulders. “Get some rest. I’ll let the elders know we have returned.” They sprinted across the camp, their hair trailing behind them, their bravery going before them.
“We’ll see the elder and then get some rest. Are you up for that?” he asked.
“I am,” I said, surprised he wanted me to go.
He slipped his hand over mine and we walked quickly across camp to his father’s tipi. Light shone through the canvas and smoke rose from the top. He was awake, waiting for us. Waiting for news on how our journey went.
We dipped inside and the elder turned slow, deliberate and then motioned for us to sit. I scooted as close to the fire as possible and held my hands to the flames. He eyed my gesture and retrieved a tin mug from near the fire, poured hot water over tea leaves and handed it to me. “Warm yourself, Little Foot. You look frozen,” he said, spying my numb lips.
“Sit, my son, and tell me what happened.”
I faced the fire while Three Scars faced his father.
He recounted the journey, the successful relinquishment of the maps and notes, and how the Deputy silently threatened me with the gesture of his hand sliding to his firearm. I relived it while he told the story. I hoped I played the part well and the Deputy believed me.
“Is there anything further?” he asked.
I glanced over my shoulder as the elder leaned back.
Three Scars was quiet.
I glanced at my bow.
The elder said, “Tell me the rest.”
I looked back at the fire and waited for Three Scars to continue. “We hurried out the back door and Little Foot diverted to the side of the cabin. She drew her bow and struck the tire on the truck some 100 yards away,” his voice teetered from reproving to amazed, tight but controlled.
“Hmm,” he said.
I stared into the fire and waited.
“Little Foot?” he asked and I turned to see his weathered face, his white hair draping over his shoulders, his lips formed into a thin smile. “Good job.”
Looking over at Three Scars he s
aid, “Go rest, son. All is well.” He waved his arm dismissing us and we rose to our feet. I was grateful to go rest but reluctant to leave the warm fire.
Once outside I thought I heard a laugh from inside the tipi. I looked to Three Scars and he shook his head, a smile breaking free.
The fire warmed the tipi, and I pulled the blanket up to my neck, trying to keep every ounce of heat as close as possible. He handed me another mug of tea and I sipped it slowly, letting the metal cup heat my hands. “We’re breaking camp soon,” he said and looked over at me. “It’s time to move to the lower elevations before deep snow comes.”
“When do we leave?” I asked.
“So, you’re staying with us?” His eyes glistened, the fire reflecting in them.
I thought about the look in his eyes, the words he spoke the other night about not wanting to hurt me, about the way the Tore People accepted me, and although they thought I was different in many ways, or surprised by my actions, I thought this might be what a family felt like. Birch wanted me to know this part of life. And the more I was part of a community, the more I craved it and couldn’t imagine being away.
“Yes,” I said, “I’m staying.”
He nodded and looked down.
“That’s good,” he said and lifted his eyes to mine.
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Whether he liked my decision, or not. His emotions were not easy for me to sift through, and I didn’t have super senses like he did, but I hoped he accepted me being here. It was one thing when I first arrived and turned his world upside down, but at the time we thought it was only temporary. Now, it’s permanent. Would he tire of me being here? Would he grow wary of my ways that were so different than his?
I didn’t know. But I was certain that Birch knew I needed the Tore People, his people, and I think he hoped they’d become my people, too. I closed my eyes. I felt at peace, and warm, and like I had purpose.
He blew out the light and crossed the small space. I heard him lay on his bear skins, and exhale, exhausted.
“Three Scars?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s your real name?”
“Go to sleep, Little Foot,” he said, his voice low, tired.
I sighed and rolled over pulling the blanket, so it covered both of us.
“Three Scars?”
“Hmm?”
“We’ll need to go back this summer, after the snow melts, to be sure the area is safe again. I need to keep my promise to the Forest People,” I said.
He didn’t say anything, but reached for my hand, squeezing it once.
Chapter 31
Within a week the camp was taken down, the tents and tipis folded, the long poles stacked and ready to transport. Everyone worked together to ready the people and the belongings to the lower elevations. Some would return to the village while others planned to make camp somewhere beyond. It would be warmer, easier to move from place to place, and successful hunting would be more plentiful. The trees were smaller, the chapparal and low brush sparse, and the earth beneath us firm and dry.
Three Scars walked toward me as I swept the area where his tipi stood, leaving no trace we were here, letting the land near the river breathe and grow. He slowed a few feet from me, his eyes pensive. He spoke little to me over the past few days, something brewing within. I, too, had much to contemplate, and wondered how far apart our thoughts were.
“Are you ready?” he asked, “everything is loaded, and they’re moving out now.”
I scanned the blank canvas where camp had been painted. The scene filled with people and fire, with food and dancing, with laughter and danger, with love and family. Now it was open and bare, free from our presence.
I looked around where his tipi stood, welcoming me in from the storm. I thought of my cabin, standing still and quiet, the doors shut tight and locked, the inside cold and bare. Leaving home left a hollow feeling inside.
I nodded and hitched my pack over my shoulders and slid my bow up one side. “I’m ready,” I said.
We followed the line of people down a trail, slow and steady to where a dozen or so trucks parked, their beds weighted with goods. He opened a door and I slid onto the bucket seat, the interior clean and smelling of spice. He shifted into drive and we inched down the steep dirt road, peppered with potholes filled with mud, the truck dipping and rebounding or circling to one side. The silence in the truck matched the quiet within me. I glanced at his hand, steady on the wheel, his eyes trained directly ahead.
We reached a Y in the road where he slowed and turned off, while the other vehicles continued going straight. I glanced at him, wondering why we diverted, and focused back on the road. We drove for a while, the lull of the drive relaxing, the scenery a mix of scrub oak and manzanita. I glanced over at him, and he met my eyes, a small smile almost touched the corner of his mouth. Almost.
He pulled to an easy stop and I peered through the windshield. A log cabin stood before us, a steep roof peaked at the center, two windows flanking the front door. I looked at him, questioning. He eased his door open and stepped out, looking out over the area.
“Is this your home?” I asked, opening my door and sliding out, stretching my arms and stepping toward the front of the truck, holding my pack in one hand. He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to me, motioning me to go ahead.
The door creaked open, and we stepped inside. Light filtered through two stained glass windows at the very top of the far wall, each with scenes of hummingbirds and flowers surrounding a tree in the center. Alike but not identical. Right below the windows stood an open loft with a small winding wood railing. To one side, hugging the wall, a staircase led to the landing.
I scanned the one main room below it. To one side was the kitchen with cabinets above the sink, a wood cook stove, and a thick wood slab countertop, maybe three inches thick. On the other side rested a deep cushioned sofa, red plaid, with throw pillows of gold, green, and yellow woven material. An afghan draped over one corner, haphazardly touching the wood floor. In the back corner was a large wood door with a moon painted on it. Opposite the stairway, on the far wall close to the front door, stood a massive stone fireplace, ample enough to heat the cabin. Next to it sat three rows of split wood.
The cabin was sparsely filled, but warm and inviting.
I sat my belongings by the door and walked to the kitchen, running my hand along the thick counter, trailing over several nicks and cuts on the surface. I reached up and pulled a cupboard open. Spices, a coffee canister, sugar and flour sat side by side on the shelf.
I turned back to see him watching me, and I smiled. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Are we staying here?” His eyes flicked from me to the ground, and my heart dipped below the horizon.
“This is your home, Cree. The elders want you to have it, for all you’ve done for us and for all you’ve lost.” He glanced up and met my eyes. “This was Birch’s cabin, an outlook over the whole mountain range, much like the one he had across the river,” he said, turning away, looking out a window.
“But I haven’t lost anything. I’ve gained so much more,” I said.
“A place where you can run wild and free,” he said, a far away look in his eyes.
“But,” I paused, “what about the people, the camp, the open fires and cooking and dancing. I won’t be a part of that?”
He turned and met my eyes. “You’ll always be a part of that, Little Foot.”
“What about…?” I looked to my pack resting by the door. His bag still sat in the truck. I looked at him trying to form cohesive thoughts and words.
“What about us?” he finished my sentence.
I held my eyes on him, wouldn’t let myself look away.
“Cree, from the first time I saw you I knew our lives would cross a path somewhere in the future. But when I saw you on that path in the mist it was not how I ever thought our meeting should be. I was angry. Angry about why you were coming to us, but even more upset that you might learn the truth of
us, of my people. I hated that. I didn’t want you to know us, or know me, because of what we are,” he said, and paused. “But I couldn’t let anyone else speak up for you…” he glanced at me and away. “And when you told me you wanted me to dream of a future…” he shook his head, “you have no idea what that did to me.” I walked to him and looked out the same window, viewing the mountains layered beyond, purple and blue and grey.
He looked into my eyes and stepped closer, reaching for my hand. “I want that future, Cree, but I want you to choose for yourself your own future. Not one bound by circumstance, but one you choose freely.” His eyes surrendered, maybe to something deep within, maybe he let go of past pain, and maybe even a little forgiveness. They also held a spark, a hint of something lighter wanting to break free. I reached up and touched his cheek, wanting so much to know every thought, every hope, every dream, every part of him that brought him to this moment.
“I have chosen,” I said. “I’ve chosen a new life over my old one, a new people beyond those I knew before. I’ve chosen to bend a little and forgive a lot. To trust, and to believe, and to be part of a community – one that Birch really wanted me to know. But most of all, I choose you. I choose us.”
His eyes softened into a smile, a hint of relief and hope, and even a touch of healing all mixed together. He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. “I want to hold you without reservation. Protect you from every threat. Love you fiercely. Know you more and more each day. I can’t pull myself away from you, Cree,” he whispered.
He leaned back and searched my eyes, my face, my lips, my hair.
“My name is David Light Seeker.”
“David,” I said, and let the sound roll from my lips. Strong and honorable, soft and kind. “I like that.”
The corners of his lips tugged into a smile.
“David,” I said, again. His name sounded like warm sunny days, like wind brushing tall grass across the meadow, like the scent of pine and cedar and oak trees in spring, like warm fires on cold nights, and someplace safe sheltering me from the storm. I leaned in and put my arms around him, and felt I was closer to my future then I ever could have imagined. The distance between us vanished and the mist that once separated us, parted, lifted, disappeared.
My Name Is Cree Page 18
