I put Kitty’s bowl down just before she’d have knocked it out of my hand. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened when we first got there. Linus had the necklace in his pocket at first, but as soon as he put it on, those wolves came alive. First they started baying, which was really freaky because there was this family standing next to us on this platform sort of thing, and the father had just told his kids that they only do that at night. The howling didn’t last more than a minute, and then they all trotted over toward us. That made the kids next to us real happy, but it freaked us out. Then it got even weirder. We started walking around the perimeter to leave, and the wolves went nuts barking and jumping over each other. They followed us as far as they could.” Shaking her head she said, “We could still hear them when we got to our car.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Wow. Linus never wore it again. That was after he showed it to you. We decided it wasn’t something to mess with. When Linus died I went to look for it in his room. When it wasn’t there I figured Mom got it.”
“You didn’t ask her?” I asked. I had always figured she and Mom talked about everything.
“Not that,” she said. “There are things you don’t talk to Mom about, and Dad’s thing with wolves is at the top of the list.”
This was a completely new idea for me, but oddly enough it wasn’t a surprise either. “What do we do now?”
Thirty-Three
Kitty
“I think you should read this,” said Carol as she handed me a leather-bound book. “That’s Dad’s journal.”
Just as she slid the journal toward me, Kitty finished her dinner. Although there was an extra-large dog door cut through the back door for her, she waited for someone to open the door for her. She managed that dog door many times every day, but if there was someone nearby to serve her, she became the princess in a hurry. Carol attended to Kitty while I thumbed open Dad’s journal.
For a while I just flipped through and admired the way the pages looked. No two pages looked alike. On one page there was some sort of map with little notes I couldn’t read scribbled in a few spots. The next page was a list, and that page was followed by a diagram. I saw a newspaper clipping and a drawing.
It was fun to think about my father as I proceeded. I never knew he was a good artist, but his drawings were great. I was especially amazed at how his handwriting shifted from one entry to the next. Sometimes his scrawl was illegible, and at other times he printed in very concise block letters. I envisioned him being in different moods as he wrote—sometimes passionate, sometimes lost in thought, and sometimes excited about a discovery.
About a third of the way in, I stopped at a page titled “The Legend of the Wolf.” This entry was written in cursive with a steady hand. I envisioned passion.
The people were hungry.
So God sent the caribou.
Then a sickness came to the caribou.
So God sent a cure.
It was the wolf.
I jumped a little when I felt Carol’s hand on my shoulder. “I thought that was pretty cool, too,” she said.
Before we could talk about what it meant, or more likely what it meant to Dad, we heard Kitty barking like she was going to kill something.
Carol was the first to the door. She flipped the outside floodlights on and took two steps outside.
I followed close behind her. Because she stopped so abruptly, I almost ran into her back, but I caught myself in time.
“Kitty,” yelled Carol, “back off.”
I heard Carol yell, but until I stepped around her I couldn’t tell what she was yelling about or what Kitty was to back off from. What I saw, when I could see, was a squatting man who was facing Kitty. Kitty was crouching in front of him, barking like I’ve never heard her bark before.
Carol stood next to Kitty and grabbed her by the collar. “What’s your business, sir?” She asked it in a nice voice. There was no need to be harsh. She could just let Kitty go anytime she wanted.
There was no fear in Carol’s voice, but I was afraid. I knew I was afraid because I was holding the wolf’s-tooth necklace. I didn’t realize I was holding it until the whole standoff was over.
The squatting man turned out to be Aiden Cormac, the head security guy from Lion Pharmaceuticals. I recognized him when he stood up and said, “Hello Jazz-barr.”
“Hi,” I said. Then to Carol I added, “I know him.”
“Are you Carol Bar-ay?” he asked.
“That’s Beery,” she told him. “And yes, I am.” As she answered him she reached over to me and pulled my hand away from the necklace. That’s when I noticed I was holding it.
“Take Kitty inside,” she told me.
I hooked Kitty’s collar with my hand and dragged her back into the kitchen. She kept barking, but she let me lead her inside. I doubt I could have managed if she hadn’t cooperated a little bit.
“I’m Aiden Cormac,” I heard him tell Carol once I closed the kitchen door. We could still hear Kitty, but the closed door muffled her enough to talk.
“I’m here to see Doctor Wallace Bar-ay,” he told her. “Is he here?”
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“There’s an alarm sounding in his lab. He’s not answering his phone,” said Aiden.
“He’s taking a nap,” said Carol. “I’m sure he just turned his phone off. I’ll go get him.” She went into their apartment behind our house.
Once Carol was out of sight I looked back at Aiden. I noticed he was looking at something behind me and to my left. It was Aunt Maggie. I hadn’t heard her come. I suppose she was seeing what the racket was all about. They nodded to each other. It looked like he was saying, “I see that you’re there,” and she nodded back to say, “Good.”
Wally came out. He was ending a phone call. “I just talked to Malcolm,” Wally told Aiden. “It’s okay now.”
“Thank you,” said Aiden. He opened his car door and stepped in with one foot. Before getting all the way in, he looked at me and nodded, “Jazz-barr.”
I waved and watched him get in and drive off. He was weird, but he was interesting, too. I was getting used to being called Jazz-barr. I was glad I didn’t summon the wolves. I’d hate to unleash the wolves on anyone just because they scare me.
Thirty-Four
Carol’s Idea
“What’s with that guy?” asked Carol as she turned back toward the kitchen. Then her eyes lit up and she grabbed my arm. “That’s one of the security guys you and Wally have been talking about, isn’t it?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer. “It is,” she said, tilting her head back.
“He’s just weird,” I said. “They’re all weird.”
“What’s with that accent?”
“I dunno.”
“Well,” she glanced back down the driveway, “lucky for him he’s a fox.”
“Really?” I said, surprised that Carol even thought like that.
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah, that tall, lean, hungry look goes to overcome a lot of that weirdness.” She chuckled, put her arm around my shoulder, and started moving us back inside.
“How about that suit?” I said, trying to join her observations.
“Actually, little brother, that suit is very trendy.”
Once we were inside the kitchen I slipped the wolf’s-tooth necklace off.
Carol watched me do it. “What gives?”
“I don’t think I should wear the necklace anymore until I understand how it works.”
“‘Until you understand how it works,’” she repeated. “How are you going to do that?”
I wasn’t looking at Carol when she asked her question, but I could picture her glaring at me, hands on her hips. It was her version of a mother pose, which was odd because our mother never looked like that. When I did look, I realized she wasn’t in her mom pose at all. She was really asking about my plan.
“I don’t have a plan,” I admitted. “I just d
on’t want to get anyone killed.”
“That’s good,” she smirked.
“Maybe I’ll do what you and Linus did and take it over to that place with the wolves. Where was that again?”
“Bays Mountain. It’s in Kingsport, Tennessee, a couple of hours from here. What are you going to do there?”
I didn’t know. I had only made the decision a minute before. “I figure I’ll take it near the wolves and see what happens.”
“I did tell you what happened to us, right?”
“Yeah, but we can try some different things.” I could tell she wasn’t impressed. “Have you got any suggestions?” I could tell she did, but she was going to make me ask anyway.
She sat down at the kitchen table and waited for me to do the same. “I can tell you what I wish I had told Linus after we went to Bays Mountain.” She reopened our father’s journal and began searching through the pages. “Whenever Dad found something new about the Cherokee he’d go down to the Cherokee museum in Cherokee and talk to a man there.” She sat more upright and stopped turning pages. “Here you go,” she said, sliding the book to me.
I quickly read the page:
Originally the wolf lived with the Cherokee and the dog roamed the mountains, but eventually they traded places. The dog wanted to be cared for and the wolf wanted to be free.
—Charley Youngdeer, September 25, 1996
“Who’s Charley Youngdeer?”
Carol leaned over me and turned several pages of the journal. I read what Dad wrote:
Charley Youngdeer: a Beloved Man because of his service to the people, as a World War II veteran and ever since as one who knew and shared the traditions of the Cherokee people.
“World War II vet,” I said when I was finished reading.
“Yeah. I remember Dad telling Mom Charley was at Normandy. Dad used to go see Charley whenever he wanted to know something about Cherokee history or legends. If anyone knows about the Nicotani or the wolves, it’ll be him.” She tapped on the page. “His name is all through Dad’s journal. I think we should go see him.”
Thirty-Five
Charley Youngdeer and the Cherokee Museum
Carol called the Cherokee Indian Museum, where Charley had worked for years as the resident wise man. They were protective about giving out any of his personal information, but they agreed to tell him that Jack Lilla’s children wanted to get in touch with him. They called her back an hour later and told her he’d meet us that next Saturday morning.
Cherokee is about three hours south and west of Boone, so we had to leave at seven o’clock for our meeting with Charley. I slept all the way to Asheville, which was fine with Carol because she listened to an audio book. I woke up when she stopped in front of the Tupelo Honey Café.
“Are we here?” I asked.
“We’re here, but we’re not there,” she said. “This is Asheville. I need some breakfast. Do you want to come in or go back to sleep?”
I wanted to do both, but I chose to go in. Carol had an omelet with wheat toast, I had biscuits and sawmill gravy, and we were back on the road in twenty minutes.
Once we were past Waynesville, the road changed and we had to slow down. At some points we were under such a canopy of trees and clouds that it seemed like it was the middle of the night. Then we came out of the trees and passed Santa’s Village. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of the Cherokee Indian Museum.
“Have I been here before?” I asked. At the corner of the property there was a giant brown head with a feather coming out of what looked like a turban. There were teardrops on the cheeks. I knew that was a reference to the Trail of Tears when 4,000 died while being forced from their homes in North Carolina and Georgia and resettled in Oklahoma. It all seemed so familiar to me, but I didn’t remember being there before.
“Yeah,” said Carol. “We came down here a couple of times when you were real little. Once, the spring after Dad died. Mom brought some of his things to Mr. Youngdeer. And then we came back again a couple of years later to receive an award for Dad. You might have been four or five then.”
“I remember this,” I said, circling to the front of the statue. “Hey, come here and look at this.” Around the base of statue was a stone bench. I was standing in front of a flat granite piece with the outline of a wolf chiseled in it. Under the wolf the words “WOLF CLAN” were inscribed.
Carol nodded when she saw what I was looking at. “That’s one of the Cherokee clans. If you walk around this, you’ll see all the other clans as well. But I don’t want to be late, so let’s go on in.”
Mr. Youngdeer was waiting for us just inside the glass doors.
“You are the children of Jack Lilla,” he said as we entered the lobby.
“We are,” answered Carol as if he’d asked a question.
He nodded his head a few times as he looked us over carefully.
Carol held out her hand. “Thank you for seeing us.”
He held her hand but did not shake it, as he looked first at her then at me. I was standing slightly behind her. Still holding her hand he said, “You have your mother’s eyes and your father’s bones.” I couldn’t tell if he meant Carol or me.
“Thank you,” said Carol.
“And you,” he said to me. “You’re not a baby duck anymore.”
I had no idea what he meant, so I looked at Carol.
“When you were little you used to push your lips out.” She shrugged. “You looked like a baby duck.”
“No more,” said Charley, shaking his finger in my face. “Now come with me.”
He led us through a glass door and to a small conference room. Once we were seated he said, “Tell me how your mother is. The last time I spoke to her was after your brother died.”
“She is fine. Linus’s death hit us all pretty hard, but she’s back to writing nature books for children,” answered Carol.
Charley nodded. “She is a strong woman. To lose a child is a very difficult thing. He died well, though, your brother did. There is honor in that.”
“He did,” said Carol. “Thank you for that.”
“Now, what can I do for you?” He was looking directly at Carol when he asked that question. So far, she had done all the talking, so it made sense.
Carol turned her whole body in my direction.
Charley’s eyes locked onto mine.
My voice cracked, “I want to ask about my dad.”
“Your father was a wise man. It grieved my heart when he went home. What can I tell you?”
“Do you know the legend of the Nicotani?”
“The Ani-kutani,” he said. “Yes, I know of them. Your father asked me many questions about them. They were a priestly clan amongst the Cherokee. Some say they had special powers. They are all gone now.”
“According to what we read in James Mooney’s History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees, after they sent the warriors away, they took advantage of the wives so the warriors banded together and wiped them out. Is that right?” I asked.
“Yes. Once they were gone, the Cherokee worried whether a sick person would recover.”
“Is it possible that some of the Nicotani survived?” asked Carol.
“I do not see how they might have survived without being discovered for so many years.” Charley raised an eyebrow. “I had an uncle who believed that the Invisible Tribe was really the Ani-kutani, but I know of no one else who believes that.”
“‘The Invisible Tribe,’” Carol repeated.
“The Invisible Tribe lives under the old mound in Franklin.”
“My father believed that it was only the Nicotani men who were wiped out. He believed that the surviving women may have reproduced normal children for generations, but there still remained the possibility of a Nicotani child being born. Do you think that is possible?” asked Carol.
“I cannot say that anything is impossible, but I would need to see such a thing with my own eyes.”
I took the wolf’s-tooth n
ecklace from my pocket and laid it on the table. “Do you know what this is?”
He picked it up and held it gingerly. “Yes. I recognize it. It was your father’s. I am the one who gave it to him.”
“Then you know what it is,” I blurted. I was so excited.
“It is a wolf’s tooth,” he said. “It is from a very large wolf.” He looked first at Carol and then at me. “The wolf is very special to us. I am of the Ani Wa Ya clan.” He paused and looked at each of us again. I think he hoped we’d understand. “The wolf clan. Cherokee people do not kill wolves. It is bad business. Originally it was wolves that lived with us, and dogs that lived in the mountains, but they changed places. Wolves needed freedom, but they never forgot their connection to men.”
I scooted my chair closer to the table. “I was wearing that around my neck once when a pack of Dobermans chased me onto a rock. I swear they were going to kill me when I fell off the rock, but a pack of wolves saved me.”
“Have you ever heard anything like that before?” asked Carol.
“I heard an old man say some wolves saved him from a bear when I was a young man.”
“I was holding that,” I touched the tooth in the palm of his hand, “when they came.”
He stared down at the necklace.
“It’s a talisman,” I declared.
He lifted his head slowly. “The Cherokee do not believe in talismans.” He handed the necklace back to me.
* * *
We drove halfway home in silence. I still couldn’t explain the wolf’s tooth and the wolves, but I wasn’t ready to completely let go of my father’s belief. Maybe we were Nicotani. Maybe we weren’t.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Carol finally said. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
Thirty-Six
Interrogation
I put the wolf’s-tooth necklace away again when we got home. On Monday, life returned to normal—normal, that is, if it’s normal to work for a man your mother thinks is evil, who is the most hated man in Boone, but who was the first adult to treat me like a man, and if that isn’t unnormal enough, he happens to be the father of my . . . Riley.
Jasper Lilla and The Wolves of Banner Elk Page 11
