by Pam Webber
“Well, they didn’t, did they?” Cal snapped.
“Shut up. They might have if you hadn’t turned sissy and started screaming.”
“If I could see, I’d throttle you.”
“My eyes are stinging too.”
Win pinched the back of Cal’s arm, hard.
He jerked away. “What the hell? What did you do that for?”
“You need to cry. Bite your tongue. Hard.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“No, silly. Tears will rinse the skunk oil out of your eyes.”
Cal shook his head. “I don’t believe this. We’re in the twilight zone.”
Ethan smirked at his brother. “You’re the one who said smaller was better.”
“Smart-ass.”
Ethan turned to Win. “What do we do now? We can’t get in Gram’s car like this. We’d never get the smell out.”
“Nibi will help us.”
“Great. We get to visit your grandmother smelling like three-day-old roadkill seasoned with sulfur and garlic.”
Nettie laughed. “You’re going to do more than visit her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Nibi stepped from her back porch and waved as the four rounded the corner of the barn. She laughed and shooed them back as soon as she got a whiff. “I thought I taught you two how to avoid skunks.”
“Sorry. They surprised us.”
Cal gave Win a grateful smile for not throwing him and Ethan under the bus.
“Go stand by the garden,” Nibi called. “It’s going to take a few minutes to get things ready.” Chuckling, she headed for the barn.
“What does she mean ‘get things ready’?” Cal asked.
Win giggled. “Just wait.”
Nibi dragged three washtubs from the barn, placing them in a row next to the clothesline.
Eyes wide, Ethan looked from the tubs to Nettie and back. “What’s she doing?”
“Getting our baths ready.”
“Baths? Outside? In front of everyone? You have to be kidding.”
“Nope.”
Nibi made several trips to the cellar, bringing back baskets of jars filled with tomato juice and jugs of cider vinegar. She poured the tomato juice into one tub and vinegar into the other two. She went inside the house and came back with scrub brushes, towels, a bowl of white cream, and bars of homemade soap. She set some near the water pump and others near the washtubs. Last, she clipped an old, holey barn blanket on the clothesline in front of the tubs. Pinching a eucalyptus leaf, she rubbed the juice under her nose. “Okay, boys, you first.”
Nettie nudged Ethan forward. “Go on. She doesn’t bite.”
Ethan and Cal walked down the hill as if going to the gallows.
“Go behind the blanket and strip down.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. Put your clothes, tennis shoes, and socks in the first tub of vinegar. Make sure everything is covered. Then get into the tub of tomato juice, one at a time. Help each other wash. Don’t miss an inch, and don’t forget your hair. When you finish, get into the tub of vinegar and do the same, then wrap yourself in a towel, wring out your clothes, and go to the well pump. Put some baking soda paste from the big bowl on the scrub brush and wash yourselves and your clothes again. When that’s done, rinse off, then wash with the bar soap. The last rinse should take out any remaining smell. If it doesn’t, then you get to do it all over again. I’ll warn you, well water is cold.”
Once the boys were behind the blanket, Nibi built a fire in the pit at the far end of the clothesline.
“Boys, when your clothes are scent free, hang them here to dry.”
Nettie’s eyes stung from the skunk oil, but she could still see Ethan’s and Cal’s bare feet moving behind the blanket.
Finally, wrapped in towels and looking embarrassed, Ethan and Cal emerged, their hair sticking up at odd angles and their exposed skin bright pink from scrubbing.
Nibi waved to Nettie and Win. “Come on, girls. Your turn.”
Ethan winked at Nettie as she passed.
When the deskunking was complete and their clothes were on the line, Nibi pointed to Adirondack chairs made of tree branches sitting in the shade of her old oak. “You all bring those chairs over to the fire while I fix lunch.”
Holding their towels in place, the four of them moved the chairs closer. Settling in, they forgot about their state of undress as Nibi served hazelnut-butter sandwiches, peaches, and cups of raspberry tea while sharing some of her dancing-with-skunks stories.
“Aren’t you afraid living up here by yourself?” Ethan asked.
“Why would I be?”
“Animals, snakes, things like that.”
“I’ve lived my life surrounded by things like that, by Nature. It’s what I know. What I understand.”
“Does anything frighten you?”
Nibi shook her head, but her eyes told a different story.
Once their clothes were dry and everyone dressed, Nettie and Win triple-washed the towels and hung them on the line while Ethan and Cal cleaned the jars and put them on the porch. Together they scrubbed and rinsed the tubs and carried them to the barn, hanging them on pegs along the back wall. As they were leaving, Nettie passed the old farm table where she and Win had scraped the deer hide. Mixed in with new dust and dirt were little bones and feathers, white ones.
“Win.”
“What?”
Nettie pointed.
Win walked over to study the table. “Oh, my gosh.”
They both scanned the rafters.
“I don’t see anything,” whispered Nettie.
“Me either.”
Ethan followed their gaze. “What are you looking for?”
Nettie and Win raced to the wide, built-in ladder supporting the middle of the loft.
“You and Cal stay down here.”
Side by side, Nettie and Win peeked over the top. Bales of hay blocked their view of the corner. Climbing the rest of the way up, they slowly circled the stacks.
Nettie stopped and pointed. “There.”
Gold eyes glowed from the shadowy corner. A white owl.
“I’ll be damned.”
Nettie inched closer. The owl’s head and eyes followed her. With a loud flutter, he took flight toward the rafters. “He’s huge.”
“Who cares how big he is? He has white feathers.”
Keeping an eye on the owl, they eased over and cleared the nest of white feathers, stuffing them in their pockets. Moving slowly back to the edge of the loft, they climbed down.
Nibi leaned against the door jamb. “I was beginning to think you two never would figure this out. Thank goodness for those skunks.”
Nettie pulled the feathers from her pocket and laid them on the farm table. “This is what you meant when you told us we were looking but not seeing, isn’t it? The owl’s been here the whole time.”
“Sometimes what we’re searching for is right in front of us and we’re too distracted to see it.”
Win turned to Nibi. “What is he doing here? White owls aren’t supposed to be this far south this time of year.”
“I found him in the woods last spring. He had a broken wing and was almost dead.”
“How in the world did you set it?”
“The only way I could: I folded it like his good wing and wrapped it to his body. He was weak and dehydrated, so he didn’t fight me. Early on, I wasn’t sure he was going to make it. But once I started trapping field mice and chipmunks, he started eating and getting stronger. He let me take the wrap off a couple of weeks ago. Now that I know he can fly, it’s time for him to go home.”
The owl, feathers fluffed and bell shaped, sat in the rafters, watching them. His left wing dipped slightly lower than the right.
As Nettie moved closer to get a better look, his piercing eyes rotated to keep an eye on her. “I can’t believe we were this lucky.”
Win glanced at Nibi. “Maybe luck had
some help.”
“Come, girls. Ethan and Cal can watch while you add the white feathers to your dreamcatchers.”
Chapter 13
Rain poured off the blunted awning of the old Monacan school-house, splatted loudly against the stone stoop, then rolled into the muddy water surging toward Indian Mission Road. Nettie pressed her heels and shoulders tighter against the rough, slatted door, enjoying the sound of the rain but not its feel. Darkening clouds and the deepening smell of ozone had motivated her and Win to make the long walk from Amherst to the Monacan settlement on Bear Mountain in record time.
Win held on to Nettie’s arm to keep from falling out of the doorway. “At least we got here before it started.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re not going to get soaked.”
The log-cabin school sat on a small triangle of land between the road and Rolling Rock Creek. Across the way stood a one-room church, a small brick medical clinic, and a cluster of houses.
A shuffling vibration behind them preceded a metallic thunk that released the door’s old lock. Nettie and Win tumbled backward into the strong, copper-colored arms of the Monacan chief.
“Sorry, girls. Hope I didn’t scare you. I came in the back way.”
Win hand-signaled greetings to the chief. “No, sir, we’re good. Thank you for giving up your Saturday to help us.”
“Any day on the mountain is a day well spent. Besides, I’d never turn down a special request from Nibi.”
The vintage room smelled of forest, not the mustiness Nettie expected. Hewn-flat logs with small gaps in the chinking spoke to the building’s age, while scattered pictures of school children, powwows and homecoming celebrations, and Indian artifacts displayed its character. A long table sitting in front of several rows of folding chairs indicated that the building still served as a meeting place for the tribe.
“Have a seat.” Chief Brannon took off his rain-soaked cap and turned one of the chairs to face theirs.
Nettie had met the chief at several of the tribal gatherings Win and Nibi had taken her to over the years. Tall, broad-shouldered, and in full ceremonial dress, he’d been an impressive sight. Now, in jeans, a short-sleeved madras shirt, and a crew cut, he still had a powerful presence.
“So, Nibi sent you to see me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She is doing well?”
“Very well.” Win handed him a small pouch containing freshly cured pipe tobacco. “She asked us to give you this.”
The chief opened a corner and took a long whiff. “Ahh. Bear-berry.” He slid the pouch into his shirt pocket and leaned forward. “Nibi said you two are making dreamcatchers and need some arrowheads.”
Win nodded. “Yes, sir. She said Bear Mountain is full of them.”
“That’s correct. Our people have lived and hunted on this mountain for hundreds of years.”
“Nibi said her mother and father were born here.”
“Yes, as were their mothers and fathers. I’ve often wished Nibi would find her way back.”
“She loves her mountain.”
“Yes, she does.”
“A blood moon is coming, sir. We need to finish our dreamcatchers before it gets here, and we’re running out of time.”
The lines in the chief’s face deepened. “So she said.” He went to the window, hands deep in his pockets. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
“The last blood moon Nibi warned me about was forty years ago. It signaled the start of an influenza pandemic. I’d just graduated from medical school and returned here to start the clinic. Thousands died across Virginia, but we were able to isolate the settlement in time and didn’t lose anyone. I pay attention when Nibi speaks.”
“Yes, sir. So do we.”
The chief’s comments made Nettie’s stomach churn. Questions were piling up. What danger would the blood moon bring? Who would be in harm’s way? When would it hit and how? No one had any answers, least of all her and Win.
The chief returned to his chair. “Nibi said your dreamcatchers were to be exactly like hers, so you’ll need thirteen arrowheads, one for each phase of the moon.”
“Thirteen apiece, sir.” Win glanced at Nettie. “We know that’s a lot.”
“It is, but the mountain’s covered with old hunting camps. If you know where and how to look, you’ll find them.”
“Wouldn’t collectors have scavenged these places already?”
“They would have tried, and would still be trying today if they were allowed, and if they knew where to look. Bear Mountain is sacred among the Monacans.” The chief addressed Nettie. “You’re not Monacan, but I can count on one hand the number of times Nibi has ever asked me for anything, and she asked me to help you and Win. I trust you will keep our secrets.”
“I promise, sir.”
“One of the oldest and largest hunting camps is about halfway up the mountain. We’ll start there. Did you bring tools?”
“Yes, sir,” Win answered. “Hand spades and a small pickax. They’re in a bag outside.”
“And do you have an offering of thanks for the arrowheads you find?”
“Yes, sir. We brought more tobacco.”
“Good. I’ll get a shovel and filtering pans and meet you out back. You all don’t mind getting wet?”
“No, sir,” Nettie said. “A little rain doesn’t hurt anything.”
“That’s right. In fact, rain is a blessing. It helps uncover what is hidden.”
The big man moved stealthily and gracefully up Bear Mountain. Following barely visible game trails, he led them upward for two hours, before stopping and putting his finger to his lips. He pointed to a ponded area surrounding the mouth of a large tributary flowing into Rolling Rock Creek. Slowly circling the marshy edge, a large, jagged beaver dam came into view. Inching closer, the chief pointed to a window-like hole in the middle of the roughly stacked logs. Fast-moving water poured through it, forming a small fall that churned white all the way to the creek.
“That hole is there by design,” he whispered. “They build it that way to help keep the logs from being washed away during high water.” He froze as two small beavers made their way across the top of the dam. “Watch.”
Reaching the bridge over the opening, the first beaver slipped into the backwater. Seconds later, he surged out of the window on his back and tail first, riding the whitewater all the way to the creek. The second beaver followed; then both climbed back up the dam.
“They’re playing?” whispered Nettie.
The chief nodded.
Again, the beavers slid all the way to the creek, then flipped onto their bellies and dog-paddled back to the dam.
“Why do they go down on their backs and legs first?” Nettie asked.
“Because it’s safer. Their legs protect the rest of the body.”
The chief led them farther up the mountain to where two branches of Rolling Rock Creek noisily remerged after splitting near the headwaters at the top. “Some of the largest hunting camps were located along splits like this.”
Nettie and Win followed as he traced the rocky, Y-shaped shoreline, pointing out the best places to search for arrowheads.
“Watch for turbulent water and dark sediment lines, especially where the current hits angles along the banks. Rocks and debris in these areas trap the arrowheads. Once the creek bottom smooths out, they’re harder to find.”
Nettie put her hand in the clear water, running her fingers along the first layer of rocks.
“It’s rare that you’ll find arrowheads exposed and lying flat. Most of the time they’re buried, which is good because it protects their shape. Watch for sharp points embedded among larger stones, and dig them out.”
The chief climbed the bank and looked up and down the creek. “You’ll find them faster if you split up. Nettie, you search here. I’ll take Win up the north split.”
Win grabbed a sifting pan and shovel and followed the chief, while Nettie took the pickax and hand spade to the south side of the merge po
int. Making her way along the edge, half in and half out of the water, she concentrated on looking for points, instead of stones, in the wavy glare. Spotting one, she pulled away the surrounding rocks and dug with her fingers. A perfectly shaped, brown-and-white arrowhead popped out of the hard sand. The three points and serrated edges were symmetrical and sharp. Two matching notches had been carved into the sides of its base. Nettie silently thanked the Indian who’d carved the stone as she turned and held it high to show Win and the chief. They were sitting on the bank, deep in conversation. She slid the arrowhead into the leather drawstring bag tied to her cutoffs.
By midday, Nettie’s tennis shoes were no longer white, and her fingers were full of cuts and scratches. She’d found half a dozen intact arrowheads and lost count of the partials she’d thrown back.
Making her way to the bank, she took off her shoes, rinsed out the sand, and stuck her feet in the water. The current flowing between her toes felt cooler than the ripples licking her ankles. Nettie studied her collection of arrowheads, a colorful mix of variegated quartz, jasper, and chert. Setting them in a shallow between her feet, she scraped off the embedded dirt with her fingernails. She didn’t hear the chief coming but wasn’t startled when he knelt beside her and studied her arrowheads.
“These are a good length and have deep notches, which will help them stay tied to the ring.” He picked up one of the arrowheads. “See how its maker smoothed the curve of each notch? That prevents the stone from cutting through the sinew.”
Nettie ran her thumb over the flat surface of the stone. “Chief, are you worried about this blood-moon thing?”
“Are you?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know if we can finish the dreamcatchers in time. And if we do, I don’t know why it’s so important. Something big is coming, and nobody can tell us what.”
With a flick of his wrist, the chief skipped a stone downstream. “Are you worried or afraid?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Worry is a choice. Fear can be a gift.”
