by Jean Fischer
Galilahi walked up to one of the houses and ran her hand along the rough wall. “Grandmother’s real name was Galilahi Adair Coody. She lived somewhere around here in a cabin called the Cabin of the Rising Sun.”
“Have you heard of it?” Sydney asked him.
“Never,” Running Wolf replied. “But if you want to see homes like those from the 1800s, these aren’t the ones. By then, the Cherokee people lived in log cabins. I’ll show you.”
They walked on until they came to a man tending a fire burning in the center of a huge log. The log was lying on its side.
“What’s he doing?” Elizabeth asked as they stopped to watch.
“The Cherokee people often used logs from fallen and dead trees,” said Running Wolf. “This one is being made into a canoe. In the old days, the people used fire to hollow out the center of the log to make the inside of the canoe. The man is watching the fire closely and adding clay to control how much it burns.” Running Wolf nodded at the man, and then he walked on, leading the girls further into the woods.
A little jog in the path took the girls around a grove of trees and to another clearing. There, a short distance away, the girls saw a small log cabin. Smoke wafted from its stone chimney. It had no windows, and on the front wall hung several dried animal skins. Next to the front door sat an old, wooden bucket and a ladle made from a tree branch.
“This is a house like the one your ancestor might have lived in,” Running Wolf said. “Go. Look inside.”
The door stood wide open. Inside was a single, dark room. A woman sat cooking something in an iron pot hung over a fire in the fireplace. A bitter smell came from the pot while whatever was inside bubbled and boiled.
“O-si-yo,” the woman said.
“O-si-yo,” the girls answered in unison.
“I am making a fish stew,” the woman explained. “If I were not cooking or sleeping, I would be outside. In the old days, homes were used just for cooking and sleeping. That is why you see little furniture here. Only a bed to sleep on and a place to sit.”
The woman invited the girls to sit down on a narrow bench near the fireplace.
Galilahi told her about Grandma Hisgi and their search for the cabin.
“Your grandmother may have lived in a log cabin nicer than this one,” the woman said. “By the mid-1800s, many of our people lived much the same as the white settlers did.”
“Have you ever heard of the Cabin of the Rising Sun, or Galilahi Adair Coody?” Galilahi asked.
“No,” the woman answered. “But Adair is a common name among the Cherokee people.” The woman poked at the burning logs with a long, metal tool, and the fire grew stronger. “I don’t think, dear, that you’ll find what you’re looking for. As far as I know, none of the old cabins exist anymore. A few of them were moved here years ago. But the rest are gone.”
The girls sat on the bench watching as the woman stirred the pot.
“I know I’m going to find something,” Galilahi blurted. “I have this feeling that Grandma Hisgi’s cabin still exists, and I’m not going to give up.”
“And you shouldn’t give up,” the woman replied. “When you search for your ancestors, you find yourself.”
Running Wolf entered the cabin with more tourists. The girls thanked him for showing them around and then left to explore on their own.
“You know,” said Sydney as they walked up the path, deeper into the woods. “I can’t get that canoe out of my head. There was something about that old tree trunk lying there on its side.”
“‘Trees without fruit and uprooted—twice dead’!” Elizabeth said. “I know, Syd, I was just thinking the same thing.”
Galilahi dodged a branch that was blocking the path. “But that old tree trunk wasn’t lying there when Grandma Hisgi was alive. This museum village is only about fifty years old. So that can’t be the tree that she meant in her letter.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “but there’s just something about this place. I don’t know what it is …”
Sydney had a feeling about the place too. She wondered if it was just the feeling of being transported back in time and living among the Cherokee people.
“But you know,” she said, “we did walk east along the path until we came to some water—that little stream, remember?”
“And that was another clue in the Bible,” Elizabeth said. “Acts 8:36: ‘As they traveled along the road, they came to some water.’ Syd, do you think this is the place?”
“I don’t know,” Sydney sighed. “There must be tons of roads that lead to water in and around Cherokee.”
“And plenty of uprooted trees,” Galilahi said.
“O-si-yo!”
A voice that came from the side of the path startled the girls. An old woman sat on a tree stump picking leaves from some plants and putting them into a basket.
“I’m harvesting herbs to use for medicines and cooking,” she said. “Are you girls enjoying your visit to our village? I heard you talking about the canoe as you came along the path, and about the water and the trees. Is there something special that you’re looking for?”
Again, Galilahi told the story of her Grandma Hisgi. This time, she included their theory about the clues in the letter.
“Maybe the trees you’re searching for never had fruit,” the woman said. “Listen. I’ll tell you a Cherokee legend about the sparrow and the trees. Perhaps it holds a clue.”
She set aside her basket of herbs and began telling the tale.
“Long ago trees and birds talked to each other. After all, they lived very close together, so they could not help but be friends. In spring, summer, and fall, the birds lived among the tree branches. But in winter, when the cold winds came, the birds flew away. They went south to where it was warm.
“One year when the cold winds came, Sparrow broke his wing. He could not journey south with the others. He knew he would die unless he found shelter among the trees.
“‘Oak, Oak!’ he cried to the oak tree. ‘Will you give me shelter from the winter storms?’
“Oak was a disagreeable old tree, and he did not relish the idea of having a winter guest.
“‘Go somewhere else to spend the winter,’ he told Sparrow. ‘I do not want you spending it with me.’ So Sparrow left with hurt feelings.
“Next, he went to the maple tree. ‘Maple, Maple!’ he cried. ‘Will you give me shelter from the winter storms?’
“Maple was a selfish and vain tree, and she did not want to entertain Sparrow all winter long. ‘Go somewhere else to spend the winter,’ she said. ‘I do not want you spending it with me.’
“So Sparrow left with his feelings hurt even more.
“One by one, Sparrow went to all the trees in the forest and asked for shelter in their leaves. And all of the trees said, ‘No.’ Every one turned Sparrow away, and he was very sad. He lost all hope of living through the cold, harsh winter and sat on the ground waiting to die.
“There was one more tree in the forest who was often ignored. His name was Pine, and the birds didn’t roost among his branches. His leaves were sharp, like needles, and his branches were few and not filled with beautiful leaves, like the others.
“While Sparrow had begged the trees for help, Pine watched. He was sorry for Sparrow and thought: I am the least of the trees in the forest, but still, maybe I can help. So he called out to Sparrow, ‘Sparrow! My leaves are but needles and my branches are few. But you are welcome to share what I have.’
“Sparrow joyfully spent the winter with Pine, nestled safely among his needles, and protected from the winter storms—”
“That’s a very nice story,” Sydney interrupted. “But what’s the clue?”
“Oh, I’m not finished yet,” the old woman said. “There’s more.
“Now, the Great Creator was watching. He saw how the trees had turned Sparrow away, and he also saw Pine’s kindness. So, when spring arrived, he spoke to the trees. ‘You, to whom I’ve given so much, would not share the least of w
hat you had with Sparrow. Because of this, when the cold winds come again, your leaves will wither and die and blow away.’
“Then, he spoke to the pine tree. ‘Pine, you are the least of the trees, but you have given so much. Of all the trees in the forest, you shall keep your leaves throughout the seasons. You have given me a great gift by providing shelter for Sparrow.’
“And that, girls, is why, when the cold winds come to the land, all the leaves wither and die except for those on the pine trees. Look all around you. The least of the trees has become the greatest in the forest.”
Sydney looked up and around, and for the first time she noticed that almost all of the trees were pine trees.
“So we should be looking for pine trees?” Sydney asked.
The old woman resumed picking her herbs. “Only the Great Creator knows for sure what you should be looking for. But the woods are filled with pines. And I know where many are uprooted and lying on their sides.”
Galilahi had been listening closely to everything the old woman said. “You do!” she exclaimed. “Where?”
“It’s a place called Blowing Rock, but it’s not nearby. It’s almost four hours from here. It’s an amazing tourist attraction that you girls should visit while you’re here in North Carolina. You can pick up a brochure in the gift shop on your way out.”
Suddenly, Sydney had a sinking feeling. She thanked the woman and set off on the path in the direction that they’d come from.
“Why are you dashing off?” Galilahi asked as she hurried to catch up with her.
“Yeah,” Elizabeth agreed. “I liked talking with her.” She brushed past a thicket that grew out over the path.
“Because,” said Sydney. “She’s at the end of the tour, right? It’s probably her job to tell visitors a legend and then try to sell them tickets to another attraction. I mean, think about it. We can ‘pick up a brochure in the gift shop.’ I think she just wanted us to buy stuff.”
Galilahi squeezed past the thicket. “Well, what if you’re wrong?” There was a hint of indignation in her voice. “What if the fallen pine trees at Blowing Rock are the clue that we’re looking for?”
The girls reached the clearing now, where the old cabin was. They continued past the man burning out the inside of the canoe, and to the next clearing where the older houses stood.
“We have to give it more thought,” Sydney said, gently. “We need more information. If we don’t plan wisely, we could be on a wild goose chase, running all over the place.”
“I’ll text the girls and get them going on it,” said Elizabeth, pulling out her phone.
By now, the girls had reached the place where the women were sewing beads, almost to the exit and the gift shop.
“Hey, isn’t that Billy John Kingfisher?” Elizabeth asked.
“Where?” Galilahi looked around.
“Over there, by the exit gate,” Elizabeth said.
It was Billy John. He spotted the girls and waved.
What’s he doing here? Sydney wondered.
Billy John leaned on the gatepost and grinned as the girls approached him. “Hey girls,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on with you?” Sydney asked.
“Not much,” he said, swinging the gate open for them to exit. “Just hanging here, waiting for some friends.”
“We found the houses that you told us about,” Galilahi said.
“Are you still searching for that silly old cabin?” Billy John laughed. “Give it up. You’re not going to find it.”
Something in his voice struck Sydney as odd.
“What makes you so sure?” she asked him.
“Nothing,” the boy replied, looking away.
At that moment, Sydney Lincoln vowed to herself to find out what Billy John Kingfisher was hiding!
Teamwork and Technology
When the girls got back to Galilahi’s house, an email was waiting from Bailey:
We researched Blowing Rock. It’s a cliff that juts out over a gorge 4000 feet above sea level. The wind there blows up and down. If you throw something off the rock, it will blow back up to you. There’s an old story that a Cherokee brave jumped off the cliff, but the wind picked him up and blew him back. His girlfriend was standing there and saw the whole thing. (Of course, it’s just a legend. It didn’t really happen. But I think it’s a neat story.) Anyhow, check with Kate when you get home from Indian Village. She’s working on other stuff.
Huggers,
Bailey
“Maybe Blowing Rock fits with the clue in Ecclesiastes 1:5 through 7,” said Sydney.
Elizabeth quoted the scripture verse. “‘The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course.’ You’re right, Syd. There does seem to be a similarity with that and what Bailey wrote.”
Sydney doodled on a scrap of paper. She drew a circle, labeled it Earth, and scribbled the words north, south, east, and west to show the relative compass points.
“Hey,” she said, thinking. “Hey! North and south are up and down when you look at directions on a map. The wind blows up and down at the Blowing Rock. That fits with ‘the wind blows to the south and turns to the north!’”
“See!” said Galilahi. “The lady was telling us the truth. We should go there.” She picked up her cell phone. “I’m calling my dad at the heliport to see if he’ll fly us to the Blowing Rock. After all, it fits with the wind clue and it fits with the tree clue. That has to be where the cabin is.”
Sydney was about to tell Galilahi to keep Billy John Kingfisher out of their business. But it was too late. Billy John answered the phone at the heliport office. Galilahi was already divulging the contents of Bailey’s email and their desire to visit the windy cliff.
“Good detectives keep clues to themselves,” said Sydney when Galilahi ended the call. “It’s best if Billy John doesn’t know what we’re up to.”
“Why?” Galilahi said. She sounded slightly annoyed. “He works with my dad.”
“Whenever we’ve mentioned the cabin around Billy John, he’s laughed or said we’ll never find it, or he’s changed the subject,” she said. “I’m beginning to think he knows something and is keeping it from us.”
Elizabeth typed a note to Bailey, telling her that they were hoping to take a trip to the rock.
“Are you sure about Billy John?” she asked Sydney. “I didn’t get that impression, but I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“There’s just something about him that I don’t like.” Sydney turned to Galilahi. “How did he react when you told him about Bailey’s message?”
“He was fine,” Galilahi replied. “But—” she hesitated. “You’re not going to like this.”
“Like what?” Sydney asked suspiciously.
“Billy John is going with us to the Blowing Rock.”
“What!” Sydney exclaimed. “Why?”
“Because he said it’s no place for us to be wandering by ourselves. Plus, he said that it’s a really neat place to explore, and we’ll all have fun together.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” said Sydney. “I don’t want him hanging around with us. If we need a chaperone, let’s ask your dad instead.”
“It might be okay if Billy John comes,” Elizabeth suggested. She disliked conflict.
“Dad can’t go with us,” Galilahi countered. “He has to work. As a matter of fact, he’s in the helicopter right now giving a tour. That’s why Billy John answered the phone.”
“So we’re stuck with Billy John Kingfisher.” Sydney sighed. “Wonderful.”
The girls were quiet for a few moments. Finally, Elizabeth said something. “I think it’s strange that he’s eager to join us. I’m remembering the stuff that he said in the helicopter. You’re right, Syd. If he knows where the Cabin of the Rising Sun is, he doesn’t want us to find it. But wouldn’t he discourage us from going to the Blowing Rock, if that’s where the cabin is?”
“You would think so
,” said Sydney, still drawing doodles. Her laptop chimed. “Incoming email,” she said, looking at the screen. “It’s from Kate.”
Bailey just emailed that you’re at Galilahi’s house. Let’s talk on the webcams. I’m standing by. K8
Sydney logged in and switched on her webcam. Kate’s face appeared on the screen. Her glasses were perched at the tip of her nose.
“How was Indian Village?” she asked.
“Interesting,” Elizabeth answered. “We saw what the cabin might have looked like.”
“Only it would be better than the one we saw,” Galilahi added. “A tour guide said in Grandma Hisgi’s time, the Cherokee people lived in cabins like the ones the settlers lived in.”
A strange snuffling noise came from the laptop’s speakers. Biscuit had his nose pressed up to Kate’s webcam and was sniffing it. Kate pushed him aside. “I know,” she said. “I looked up Oconaluftee Indian Village online and found pictures of the cabins. Then I found an article that told about the Cherokee people living in log cabins in the mid-1800s. After that I looked for pictures that showed what those cabins might have looked like. I found some, and I have a pretty good idea of the cabin’s approximate dimensions.”
Sydney was doodling pictures of log cabins. “There are miles to explore in and around Cherokee, North Carolina,” she said. “With nothing more to go on, how in the world are we supposed to find one ancient cabin in the wilderness?” She drew a dead-end sign on her paper. “And now we’re planning to travel four hours away from Cherokee, in case that’s where Grandma Hisgi lived. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I have a few more interesting things to tell you,” Kate said. “There are caves in the area of the Blowing Rock. One of them is an attraction that people can visit called the Linville Caverns. I’m sure that there are more caves hidden there among the rocks.”
Elizabeth gasped. “That fits with Revelation 6:15: ‘Every slave and every free man hid in caves and among the rocks of the mountains.’”
“It makes even more sense,” Kate told her, “because the Blowing Rock website names specific mountains that you can see from the rock: Hawksbill Mountain, Grandfather Mountain, and Mount Mitchell. It also mentions Table Rock. So we have rocks and mountains and caves—”
