She dipped a toothpick into the paste, then moved her glasses up and down so she could look through the bottom part and see better. She used the toothpick to draw a flower on the upper piece that she had cut from the hide. She kept dipping the toothpick into the white paste to make a smooth line. She drew each petal slowly and carefully, and then she added leaves. “There,” she said, “now we have your design ready to bead.”
I picked up the piece of deer hide. The flower was perfectly shaped, each petal looked exactly the same shape and size. “You can get started beading if you want. I’ll get the other one ready.”
“Can I use the glass beads now?” I asked.
“Go ahead, my girl.” She nodded as she drew the other flower. “But be careful doing the curved edge. Go slowly. Even though you know what you are doing now, you will find it harder.”
It was tougher to push the needle through hide than through fabric. I started with the outline of the flower, using three beads at a time. I tried to sew exactly on the curved line that Kahasi had made, but it was harder to make a curved line than the straight lines of the diamond pattern. I could tell it was going to take me a long time to bead just one moccasin.
“Ouch,” I said as the needle stuck my finger. A tiny drop of blood formed on the tip of my finger, like a small red bead. I wiped the blood on my jeans. “I think I should have asked you to do the beading. By the time I finish just one petal, the moccasins may be too small.”
Kahasi laughed softly. “Beading will teach you about patience, Lacey. There will be many times when you have to take off some of the beads you have sewn because they aren’t right. Making something sometimes means going backwards, starting over.”
Any pattern can be beaded, but First Nations
people most often use designs from nature.
“Not me. I like to go forward. I like to make new things without wasting any time.”
She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and looked down at her sewing.
“Kahasi, do you think you could teach me how to make purses?”
“Making purses from hide would be a waste of valuable material. People need moccasins and other clothing, not purses. Where did you get such an idea, ah?”
“I don’t mean hide purses. I mean cloth purses, something that would be fast,” I explained.
She smiled again. “To be fast, you need a machine. A sewing machine. The only sewing machine I have is my hands, and they are not fast anymore.” She made some more stitches on the tiny quilt she was making for my cousin’s new baby. “Why do you want to make fast purses, anyway?”
I told her about grandmothers helping grandmothers and about the letter I had sent. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “We all have to help each other. You know how to embroider and now how to bead. I could help you, too. But the fast sewing you will have to learn from someone else.”
There were small pieces of fabric on the table where she had been cutting different shapes, and I knew she had more scraps of heavy cotton like the one she had given me to learn beading.
“Kahasi, are you going to use those old pieces for anything?” I asked.
“Yes, some day. I save everything in my basket, and some day it gets used.”
I was hoping she would say she was going to throw the bits away. I was going to ask her if I could have them. Instead I asked, “Would you mind…would it be okay if I looked at the things in your basket?”
“Yes, yes, go ahead. There are pieces there of just about everything I have made going back a long time. Each of those pieces has a little story.”
I pulled out scraps of hide, ends of cotton printed with designs, and heavy canvas-type material. I played with the pieces on the table, making patterns with them. They looked a bit like an old-time quilt. They also made me think of a colorful cloth bag one of my teachers used to carry papers and things.
“I don’t know anyone who has a sewing machine, do you?” I asked.
“I can’t think of anyone right now.”
“And where would I get the materials?”
“I don’t know that, either.” Kahasi kept sewing and humming. “If it is meant to be, there will be a way for these things to happen. Don’t worry so much, my girl, or you will become an old woman before you have the chance to become a young one.”
If it is meant to be, I am going to need a lot of help from someone. There aren’t any stores at Siksika or Gleichen that sell the things I need to make purses. The nearest stores like that are in Strathmore. It would take thirty minutes to drive there if I had a car, but I don’t have a car, and I don’t have anyone to drive me. And, I don’t have any money. Why didn’t I think of all these things before I sent the letter to the grandmothers asking if I could help the Africans? Maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t answered me.
Chapter 6
Angel in Despair
Angel was on the floor of the kitchen, cutting her old jeans into little pieces. The television was playing in the living room, and crazy music was coming from the basement. It sounded as if the boys were drumming on pipes, the walls, the floor, the washing machine, anything they could find. “What are you doing?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. I’m just making something,” she said over the racket.
“But what are you making? A blanket?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “OK, I do know, but I don’t know if it will work out.” I waited for her to tell me. “I’m trying to make a purse. I thought maybe I could help you make some purses to sell, you know, so the money could go to the African grandmothers. I thought I could learn by making a bag for carrying Kayden’s stuff.” She pricked her finger with a pin. “Oww! I hate sewing!” she wailed. “It’s hopeless! I understand how, but I can’t seem to do it right.”
“I’ve helped Kahasi sew some things. If you tell me what to do, maybe I can help. Maybe we can work on it together.”
“No! I don’t want your help! Don’t you get it, Lacey? I want to do this on my own, by myself, without anyone telling me what to do or how to do it!” She stood up, threw the material on the floor, and stomped out of the room. She must have been spending too much time with the little kids; she was starting to act like them. I picked up the denim pieces and spread them on the floor like pieces of a puzzle. I could imagine how they would look as a shoulder bag.
I threaded a needle with thick black thread and used the running stitch Kahasi had shown me to put the pieces together when we’d made the jingle dress a few months before. It is a wonderful dress, all covered with metal cones that make tinkling music when I move. But this sewing was different because I would have to put the scraps together to make a bigger piece. As I added a third piece and a fourth piece, I could see the shape that Angel had designed. But by the time I finished one side, my fingers were sore from holding the needle tight and pushing it through the heavy fabric. I left the sewing on the kitchen table. When my sister found it, it would be like the fairytale about the elves and the shoemaker, the one where all the shoemaker’s work is done by elves during the night.
I was just finishing the sewing when Mum came up from the basement carrying a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. She was holding onto the railing and moving as slowly as Kahasi. My little brothers peeled up behind her and ran into the living room.
“Want me to take that?” I asked, reaching for the jumble of clothes.
“No, I can do this,” she said. I followed her to her bedroom where she dumped the clothes on the bed.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked as I helped fold the clothes and sort them into piles.
“Maybe a little.” She smiled, but her voice sounded tired. “I have to do some things. I can’t just lie around and do nothing all the time.”
Folding laundry was something Angel and I usually did together. I wondered if this would be a good time to tell Mum about Angel and Kelvin, and how he wanted Angel to stay with his family. But Mum looked like she had used all of her energy doing laundry. I
decided it wouldn’t be a good time. Dad was going to be home in two days anyway. Maybe I’d just wait and tell him.
When we were done folding and folding, Mum went to lie on the sofa, and I carried the clothes for Angel, Kayden, and me to our room. Kayden was asleep already in her crib. She makes little puffing sounds when she sleeps, and funny faces because of her dreams. Angel had her sketchbook on her lap and a scowl on her face. I could tell by the strong, swift movements she was making with her hands that she was still mad about the sewing. She has even less patience than me.
She looked so prickly that I didn’t say anything. I pulled my backpack onto the bed with me, took out my social studies book, and began the two pages of homework I had to do for Mrs. Martinez. I could still hear the TV down the hall. A hockey game was on, and a player had just scored. There was lots of hooting from my little brothers, who were watching the game with Mum because Dad wasn’t home. The boys were clapping and jumping around. I could hear the horns blowing on the TV, and the announcer talking about the replay.
I glanced at Angel once in a while, waiting for her anger to pass and for her face to soften. “It sounds like someone scored,” I said.
“No kidding,” she said. She was still mad. She stared at me as if she wanted to make me melt, and I didn’t like the feeling.
“What are you drawing?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just garbage.” She threw her sketches on the floor and they scattered everywhere. Some landed beside my bed. It looked as if she had been drawing all sorts of purses and bags.
“Don’t you have any homework?” I asked.
“I’m not doing homework anymore. I’m a woman. I don’t need school.”
“But what about graduating? What about being a nurse?”
“I don’t care about those things. I’ll just be a mother, like everyone else around here.”
“But Mrs. B. says the only way to make things better is with an education. Nothing will change if we don’t make it change.”
“Nothing will ever change here, anyway,” she said. “Boys will get in trouble with the police; girls will get pregnant, drop out of school, and stay home. It’s the way things have always been, and it’s the way they always will be. Why should I be any different?”
I couldn’t think of a reason. What could a little sister tell a big sister about “why”? Just then, Angel’s baby rolled over in her sleep.
“For Kayden,” I said, quickly. “You have to do it for Kayden. You have to teach her that she has choices. Set an example.” Angel didn’t say anything. She just sat on the bed, staring and looking glum.
I closed my book and slid close beside Angel on her bed. She would either let me, or push me off. She didn’t push me. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens around here, remember?”
I used Kahasi’s trick of getting people to talk. I just sat beside her and didn’t say anything. The trick worked.
“It’s all too hard, Lacey,” she said. “The schoolwork is hard. Looking after Kayden is hard. Staying here is hard. I don’t think I can do it. I’m never going to become a nurse and help people. Kelvin is right. No matter what, I’ll end up just like everybody else.”
I reached for her hand and held it. I didn’t know what to say, so I just waited for her to talk if she wanted to. Though she didn’t say it, I think it made her feel better to let me hold her hand. Pretty soon she lay her beautiful black curls on my shoulder. “I just…I just don’t know…”
I put my arms around my big sister and held her the way our mother used to hold us when we were small. I didn’t like the way Angel’s thoughts were going. I wished Mum was feeling better. I wished I could talk to her, or that Angel would.
Why was Dad always away when bad things happened? Two days, I reminded myself. Dad would be home in two days. I could talk to Dad. I’d tell him everything.
Chapter 7
Dad’s News
I dashed down the hall from my bedroom to answer the phone. It had rung five times already, and no one had answered.
“Hey, Princess. Is Mum around?” It was Dad’s voice on the telephone. There was a lot of noise in the background – the sound of dishes rattling and people talking. Maybe he was in a restaurant. But he sounded happy, probably because he’d be coming home tomorrow.
“She’s resting, I think. Do you want me to wake her up?”
“No, no. That’s fine.”
“Dad, I can’t wait for you to get home. There’s so much happening. There is so much I need to tell you.”
“Well…that’s why I’m phoning, Princess. They’ve asked us to stay on. I won’t be home tomorrow like I planned. This is such great news for Red Lightning. Can you tell Mum?”
“You’re not coming home?” I said.
“Well, not right now…”
“But Dad, we need you here.”
“Honey, we have to work when there’s work. You know that. This is a big chance for the band. We’ll get home as soon as we can.”
“How long?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
“I don’t know. A week maybe? Ten days?”
“But Dad, I need to talk to you…”
“Don’t worry. We’ll have lots of time to talk when I get home. Hey, I’ve got to run now. Tell Mum, OK? Love you. Give hugs and kisses to everyone, OK?”
“Sure. I love you, too, Dad.” I felt as if I were a balloon and all my air had been sucked out. This was awful news. How could I keep doing all of the things I was doing, and how could I keep Angel from moving in with Kelvin’s family? More than anything, I needed Dad to come home. I needed him home now.
Chapter 8
White Buffalo Calf Woman
How was it at school today?” Kahasi asked, even before I had put my jacket on the hook. Her voice came from the “ kitchen. She was on her hands and knees on the floor, washing it.
“It was boring.”
“How could it be boring to learn new things?” She rinsed the rag in the bucket and kept moving it back and forth across the floor.
“I didn’t learn any new things. It was just boring, boring, boring. There was something funny, though. The teacher was trying to teach us about the Blackfoot Confederacy, and she’s white, I mean – ” I searched my memory for the Blackfoot word. “She’s napikwan. She talked about Treaty 7 and how Chief Crowfoot signed the peace treaty in 1877, but I don’t think she knew that it was signed right here. I don’t think she knows that Chief Crowfoot’s grave is up on the hill, or even that Blackfoot Crossing is part of Siksika.”
“Why didn’t you ask her if she knows?” Kahasi said, as she stood up slowly and put her hands on her lower back and stretched.
“Because everybody knows that…except maybe her. Besides, I didn’t want to sound stupid, especially in front of all the white kids.”
“Sometimes, my girl, it is only stupid not to ask the questions. It is important to speak up. Sometimes this is something you must do.”
“But no one else spoke up. All the kids from the reserve just slid down in their seats, bent their heads, and acted like statues, so I did too.”
“But you, you are not everyone. You could have taught her something, maybe. Did you ever think about that, ah?”
“No, I never thought about teaching my teacher.”
“We all have things to teach each other,” she said. I took the bucket to the bathroom and dumped the dirty water in the toilet. “Now, come in here and talk to me. I need to have a little rest,” she called from the living room. She was sitting in her favorite chair, the one with the pattern of flowers, when I came into the room.
“Have you heard anything from those grandmothers, Lacey?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I guess the Canadian grandmothers are too busy sewing, and the African grandmothers are too busy looking after all those grandchildren. I’m not sure it was a good idea, anyway.”
“Yes, you are probably right
. You have enough things to do here. You can’t be helping poor old grandmothers in Africa, or ones in Canada who don’t even know how to write letters. I don’t know what you were thinking.” I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or if she was telling me I was giving up too easily. Her face didn’t show me any clues.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe you are using your head to think. Heads think too much. They get things mixed up.” I could hear the clock ticking in the background, as slow and steady as a heartbeat. “Listen. Listen to what is inside of you.”
Her voice sounded like a dream voice, as if she was remembering a long-ago time. She closed her eyes, and I could tell by her loud breathing that she’d fallen asleep.
I wanted to work on my beading, to try making a curvy line, but the sewing things were in the kitchen, and the floor was wet. Even if I tiptoed across it, Kahasi would wake up and scold me. She liked the kitchen floor to sparkle, and it wouldn’t sparkle if I left tiptoe prints. I covered her with a blanket, then I just sat and watched her sleeping. Her mouth hung open a little, and her face looked as droopy as a wet cloth. She looked old when she was sleeping but young when she was awake. It was strange to see her hands not busy. Then she made a snorting sound and woke herself up.
“Did you have a good sleep?” I teased.
“Nah, I wasn’t sleeping. I was just resting my eyes.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair and tucked the blanket around her. “Did you go to Sequoia today?”
“No. Someone from the drug and alcohol center was going to be there to talk about addictions. He likes to have the little ones there so it feels more like a family gathering. They didn’t need me to look after the babies, and I don’t have any addictions, so I came here instead. Besides, the sweet grass he burns in the smudge makes me sneeze.” Smudging – burning sage and sweet grass – is a cleansing ceremony. The sage rids a person of bad feelings, such as anger, while sweet grass brings positive energy.
Lacey and the African Grandmothers Page 4
