“They smudge at school? When I went to school, we would have been punished for burning sipaattsimaan. It wasn’t allowed, you know? None of our ways was allowed.”
“But that was a long time ago. Things are different now. The new ways are better.”
“Yes, my girl, sometimes the new ways are better.” She closed her eyes again, breathed deeply a few times, then opened them slowly. “In the olden times, we would always smudge before the elders told a story. Did I ever tell you the story about White Buffalo Calf Woman?”
“No, will you tell me?”
She nodded and leaned forward in her chair. “This is the story of why the white buffalo is a sacred animal. This happened a long, long time ago, when the buffalo still walked on the prairie in great herds. It was getting to be the time of the year when the leaves turn yellow and fall off the trees. It was the time to hunt and to get food for the winter.
“Two hunters were sent as scouts to find out where the buffalo were walking. Even though they stood on the top of hills, they couldn’t see the buffalo anywhere around. They looked and looked, but they saw nothing. Then one of the hunters saw some movement coming towards them. It looked like a lone young buffalo. It would be unusual for one buffalo to travel alone, especially a young one. Also, the color of this buffalo was wrong. It was not brown. It was as white as the snow in the wintertime. The men stared at the white buffalo calf.” Kahasi’s eyes grew round as she said this, and she held her hands open in front of her.
“The hunters were scared of this animal that kept coming to them. They had never seen a buffalo like this one. When it got closer, the white buffalo blurred, as if a wind had pushed its spirit. The hunters could not believe their eyes – standing in front of them was not the white buffalo calf anymore, but a beautiful young woman. She was dressed in white buckskin. She was the most beautiful woman either of them had ever seen.
“One of the hunters said, ‘I want to have that woman for a wife. I will go to that woman and take her in my arms.’
“The other hunter said, no, he must not do this, he must show her respect. But the first hunter did not listen. When he reached for the woman, there was a bad cloud, and when the cloud went away, all that was left of that hunter was a pile of bones.
“The hunter who was still alive started to pray. He knew this woman was sacred, a holy woman. When she spoke, he listened carefully. She said to him to go back to the camp and prepare for her. She said she would come to his people in four days, and she would bring a gift.
“He did these things, and in four days she came. She was carrying a bundle in her arms as if it were a baby. Inside the bundle was not a baby. It was a special pipe.
“The people were sorry they did not have any meat to share with the holy woman, but they dipped some sweet grass into a skin bag of water and gave it to her. To this day, we dip sweet grass or an eagle feather in water and sprinkle it on a person to purify them.
“The White Buffalo Calf Woman showed the people how to pray – the right words to use and the right gestures. She taught them that they are a living prayer, a bridge between the earth and the universe. She taught them many things, and then she left, saying she would come back to them someday. She walked away from the camp, and while she was walking away, the people saw her turn into four different colors of buffalo. The last one was a white female buffalo calf that disappeared over the horizon.
“A white buffalo calf is a very sacred animal. When a white buffalo calf comes, it will mean a time of healing, a time of peace. They say that she will bring harmony to the earth and prosperity to our people. But the old ones told us that we will not prosper until we have peace with all our enemies.” Kahasi sat back in her chair. She had the dream-world look on her face again, but she didn’t close her eyes. I think she was still seeing the White Buffalo Calf Woman. I could see her too – so beautiful, and carrying that bundle like a baby.
“That was a good story. Why did you tell it?”
“I have heard, me, that a white buffalo has been born. I have heard that it is at the Calgary Zoo. What is coming is a time of peace, when all people will work together in harmony and help each other,” she said. “I would, me, like to see that white buffalo calf.”
“Me too. Hey, maybe sometime when Dad is going to Calgary to play at a party, he could go to the zoo and take a picture for you.”
“No, that would not be the same thing. I would like to feel the animal’s spirit. I would like to feel the peace it will bring. I think, me, I will have to make that journey.”
Chapter 9
A Letter for Lacey
Ah, Lacey,” sang Lila, waving a long white envelope and patting me on the shoulder. “I have something for you.”
“
I shut off the tap that was filling the watering can and wiped my hands on my jeans. My plants were growing so big and strong now that they needed a lot more than just a mist of water. Between looking after the plants and babies, and being so busy at home, I’d almost forgotten the letter I’d sent offering to help the African grandmothers. I took the letter from Lila’s hand. “Miss Lacey Little Bird, c/o Sequoia Outreach School, Gleichen, Alberta” was typed on a label on the front. I had never received a letter in the mail before. I was excited to open it, but I was also scared. What if they said, “No thank you, we don’t need your help”? That would make me feel terrible inside. What if they said, “Yes, hurry up, sew some purses, we need all the help we can get”? Between school and Sequoia and helping to look after Kayden and my little brothers, how could I find time to sew purses? And where did I think I was going to get the materials? The fabric? The thread? The sewing machine? Even if I got a sewing machine, what if I couldn’t learn to run it? Who would teach me? A “yes please” answer was going to be worse than a “no thank you” answer. Why had I written the letter in the first place? Who did I think I was?
“Well,” said Lila, standing with her hands on her hips, “are you going to just stand there staring at it, or are you going to open it?”
My heart was pounding because I didn’t know whether I wanted the “yes” or the “no.” Either one would be bad. I looked at Lila over the top of my glasses and picked at the flap. A small piece came off. I stuck my finger in the hole and ripped it along the edge. I lifted out the letter and unfolded it. It said:
Dear Miss Little Bird,
Thank you for your offer to help the Grandmothers to Grandmothers campaign by beginning a group in your community. We would be delighted if you could help us – and the African grandmothers – in any way. We would appreciate any help you could offer.
I believe you live not far from Calgary. May I suggest that you send your purses to the Calgary Chapter? Your items could be added to its annual sale. As you know, all proceeds from the sale of the purses will be used to help grandmothers in Africa who are raising their grandchildren.
Also, I would like your permission to print the letter you sent to us in the official report we are preparing for the Grandmothers Gathering in Canada as an example of the different ways that Canadians are becoming involved with this campaign. The report will be distributed across the country. Please contact me as soon as possible to let me know if this would be all right with you. (You may do this by e-mail if you like. My address is at the top of this letter.)
Again, I would like to thank you for your work.
Warmly,
Maria Gonzales
Grandmothers to Grandmothers Campaign
I read the words, and my heart pounded even harder. The grandmothers had said yes! I couldn’t believe it. I, Lacey Little Bird from the Siksika First Nation, was going to be able to help the faraway grandmothers. I was going to help save lives.
Lila was tapping her foot. “Well?”
“They said yes, Lila. They said yes! Can you believe it? They said yes!”
She smiled. “I can believe it,” she said. “I’m very, very proud of you, young lady. Your heart is surely in the right place.” She wrapped me in her
warm, jiggly arms.
I skipped into the kitchen, where Mrs. B. was pouring a cup of coffee. “Mrs. B! The grandmothers said yes! And they want to use my letter in some kind of report. Isn’t this great?”
Mrs. Buchanan smiled. “Congratulations, Lacey. I know you’ll do a great job.”
“But they want me to take the purses to a sale in Calgary. How am I going to get them there?”
“Let’s worry about that once you’ve made some. I’m sure we’ll find a way.”
I was so full of excitement I felt like I might burst. I wished Angel were at school so I could tell her. I wished I could run all the way to Kahasi’s house to tell her, and all the way to my house so I could tell Mum. I wanted everyone to know the good news. And I wanted to get started right away.
But – I had a few problems. First, I didn’t have any fabric. Maybe I could cut up some old clothes, the way Angel had done. But people had to buy these purses. Would anyone pay money for purses made from old, worn-out clothes? I didn’t think so.
My eyes wandered around Sequoia as I was thinking. I spotted the boxes of donated clothes and baby things that were free for the taking. Maybe there was some fabric in there. If there was, maybe I would be allowed to have it. I was so anxious to get going that I forgot to be shy. I walked right up to Mrs. B. and blurted, “Do you have any material I could use to make purses?”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find some things here to get started. You are welcome to look through our craft supplies and use what you need. But for now, aren’t you supposed to be looking after some babies?”
There were only three babies at Sequoia that afternoon, but all of them were awake. I laid the smallest one on his back on a blanket so he could get stronger by kicking his legs and waving his arms – when I made a funny face at him or tickled him, he’d kick with happiness. I sat another baby up on the blanket and rolled a ball to her. The third one I kept in my lap. I was hoping they would get tired really quickly, so I could go through that box of donated material, but the babies kept having fun. It was hard to look after them when I wanted to do something else. Eventually I put each of them into a baby seat on the floor and dragged the box over; they could have fun watching me having fun.
The box of material reminded me of Kahasi’s basket, except the pieces were bigger. I found a length of shiny gold material that felt as soft as a baby’s skin when I rubbed it against my face, and some material printed with bright sunflowers. There was gold thread in the box, too.
“Yes, you may have those,” said Mrs. B. when I asked. “I’ll be interested to see the purses you make.”
Now I had to learn more about making purses. Angel had been happy when she had found the part of the denim purse the elf had stitched together by hand. She had guessed right away that I was the elf. The bag to carry Kayden’s diapers and toys turned out all right, but it took a long time. If I was going to help the grandmothers, I would have to learn to sew much faster. Kahasi was right – I would need a sewing machine. But where was I going to find a sewing machine in a place where everyone liked to sew by hand? And even if I found a machine, who would teach me how to use it?
I thought of these problems all of the next day, even when I was supposed to be doing other things. In social studies class, Mrs. Martinez’s purse that looked like a quilt was sitting on the floor by her desk. All during the class I kept looking at that purse. I was thinking about the African grandmothers, and the parents dying of AIDS, and their little children. I thought about Angel and Kayden. I thought about how I had spoken to Mrs. B. and asked to help the grandmothers, and how it hadn’t been too hard to do. But this was Mrs. Martinez, not Mrs. B., and this was not Sequoia. What if Mrs. Martinez told me I was stupid? Or what if she told the class, and they all laughed at me?
“Lacey? Are you paying attention?” Mrs. Martinez asked, and everyone looked at me. I felt ashamed and stared down at my desk. I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t hear much of what she said for the rest of the class either, but I tried to look like I was paying attention. I closed my book slowly when the bell rang. I had to talk to her. I had to do it for the grandmothers. Knowing that the grandmothers needed me gave me strength.
Mrs. Martinez couldn’t see me moving slowing, gathering up my nerve. She was wiping off the words she had written on the whiteboard. My arms were filled with books, but I tapped her arm.
“Yes, Lacey,” she said. She smiled a big, kind smile. I guess she wasn’t still mad at me for daydreaming.
“Mrs. Martinez, I noticed you had a really nice purse, made like a quilt.”
“Do you like that old thing?” she asked, then laughed softly. “I’ve had that for years and years. I made it a long time ago. I wanted to make a memory quilt, but it was taking me too long.” She picked up the purse from the floor. It was simply made, a bit like Angel’s bag, but the pieces were smaller and more colorful, like birds in a faraway place. They all had a fancy embroidery stitch around the edges.
“Each piece of fabric has a special memory. This one is the oldest,” she said, pointing to a shiny, white piece. “It’s from my mother’s wedding dress. This is from my graduation dress, and this piece is from my favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fell apart because I wore them so much.”
“Matsowa’p,” I said, without thinking. Kahasi had told me that in the old days children were punished for speaking Blackfoot at school, but Mrs. Martinez just smiled at me.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means it’s beautiful,” I said. “I like how all the colors don’t match, but go together anyway.”
“Me too,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to make a quilt. I thought it would be pretty. I also thought it would be like sleeping under all these memories. But I’m very slow at sewing by hand, and some of the pieces – like this bit from the edge of a blanket I loved when I was a baby – are so small. I’m kind of impatient, so I used a sewing machine in the end, and made a big purse instead of a quilt.”
“My grandmother tells me I’m impatient, too.” I smiled a bit, but kept my lips covering my teeth. I could feel the grandmothers nudging me to ask what I really wanted to ask. “Do you think…do you think you would mind showing me sometime how to use a sewing machine?”
“Well…” Mrs. Martinez twisted her mouth as if she was trying to slow down the words before they came out. “I can’t exactly do that.”
My heart fell, but I lifted my eyebrows to ask why without seeming rude.
“The truth is, this bag is the only thing I’ve ever sewn. When I was done, I decided I’d never, ever try to sew again. I just hate sewing with all my heart. I’m afraid it’s one thing I simply cannot teach.”
My heart started beating wildly again. Maybe Mrs. Martinez still had a sewing machine she didn’t want. I didn’t know what words to use to ask her about it. I ran my fingers gently over the hand-stitching she’d done on the edge of each piece.
“Do you still have that machine?” My voice rushed ahead of me, saying all the things that were in my head. “You see, I want to make purses to help some grandmothers in Africa, but I need to make a lot. I need a sewing machine to do that. Could I borrow yours, maybe? I’d take special care of it and make sure my brothers didn’t ever touch it. Ever. I could bring it back to you whenever you wanted it.”
Mrs. Martinez’s mouth twisted again, as if she was thinking, as if she didn’t want to tell me something. My heart and my hopes fell.
“It’s OK,” I said. “I understand. I probably wouldn’t want to lend my sewing machine, either.”
“No, Lacey, that’s not it,” she said, touching my arm. “If I had a sewing machine, I’d lend it to you and teach you what I know, but I don’t have one. I used my mother’s machine, and she lives way off in Manitoba. I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. I’ll think of something else,” I said.
But what was I saying? What was there to think of? I didn’t know anyone – even Kahasi, who knew everyo
ne, didn’t know anyone – with a sewing machine. I wished those African grandmothers hadn’t said yes. I had to do those purses, especially since they were putting my letter in their report. But how? How was I going to do it?
Chapter 10
Kahasi’s Big Surprise
I was starting to get worried about Mum. She seemed to be getting sicker and sicker, and she wouldn’t let us tell Dad when he phoned. Most days, she was lying on the sofa watching soap operas or snoozing when I got home from Sequoia. When she was awake, she seemed to have a lot of pain in the middle of her back. Angel had started taking the early bus home at two o’clock so she could practice her nursing on Mum. She would rub her back and help her get washed and dressed. Auntie Michelle would bring my youngest brothers, Davis and Colton, back from her place where they spent most of the day playing with their cousins. My other brothers came home on the later school bus with me.
I was spending so much time looking after Kayden that I was starting to think I was her mother, not her auntie. This was a bad thing because I didn’t want to be anybody’s mother. I liked it better when Angel had time to be the mother, and I had time to spend with Kahasi. I missed being able to visit her every day and having time to sew.
Dad and my oldest brother, Liland, were usually the cooks at our house, but when they were on the road with the band, it was mostly my job. I liked cooking when I helped Dad and when I helped Lila at Sequoia, but it wasn’t much fun being stuck in the kitchen by myself. Usually I made spaghetti or scrambled eggs, because those were the things I could make best. Tonight, though, I was going to make fry-bread tacos because I thought they might make Mum feel better. I had asked Kahasi to come over so she could tell me how to do it.
Thinking of my grandmother coming to visit made me happy. I missed my dad less when I could spend time with her. I hadn’t seen her for a few days, because I had been so busy with school and Kayden and cooking. Soon our quiet times together would be over. Already cardboard boxes were appearing at Kahasi’s house. She was going to stay with Uncle Douglas and Auntie Michelle.
Lacey and the African Grandmothers Page 5
