by Mimi Milan
“Best put that down, Sarah.” Robert took a menacing step towards her. “You don’t know what I’ll do.”
“No, Robert. I’m a mother who just lost a child. You don’t know what I will do if you don’t get out of this house right now. Get out and don’t you ever come back.”
“I ain’t going nowhere.”
He took another step and the gun went off. Robert staggered back in shock. Sunlight streamed in through the hole that Sarah had shot overhead.
“You really gonna shoot me, woman? You gonna shoot the one who put this roof over your head—a roof that’s gonna need fixin’ now, no thanks to your foolishness?”
“I’ll shoot anyone raising Cain at my boy’s bedside.” She turns to Doc Edwards. “If there ain’t nothing you can do, then I think it’s best you move on now. The both of you.”
“Are you sure?” Jonathan asked.
Right then, the other three Mayfield boys walked into the house. They gathered around their mother like a small army. Fortified, Sarah nodded. “We’re gonna be just fine. Go on now. Get while you can.”
They did as suggested and quickly returned to the wagon, eager to leave. It was only then that Kela could feel herself relax.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What for?” Jonathan asked.
“For defending me.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“Yes, but it was not expected—especially if what he said about your wife is true.” She took a deep, calming breath before forging on. She turned to him then. “Is it true?”
The doctor slowly exhaled, exhaustion etched into the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s true that all those things happened. I just don’t know who the culprit is. Being with you makes me wonder if your people are capable of such an attack when unprovoked.”
“We do fight,” Kela admitted. “However, it is only for survival and necessity. We do not go into battle for sport.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Then why would he say that it was one of my people who murdered your wife?”
Jonathan grimaced. “Because they found an arrow in her.”
Kela looked away, feeling ashamed. Could one of her people had done such a thing? It didn’t sound right. Yet they were the only tribe in the area. Was it possible that another tribe had closed in on their territory and they simply didn’t know? Many different kinds of people had been moving onto their lands. There were the Mexicans and Spaniards, along with the whites and men from China. Perhaps that included other tribes.
Like the Comanche.
The thought startled her. The Comanche were a fierce tribe who fought and killed without prejudice. However, they were normally far to the east. Was it possible that they were now in the territory? Had the white settlers pushed them this far?
“I’m sorry to hear of your wife,” Kela finally said. “When did it happen?”
“Almost two years ago.”
Two years?
How could it have been an entire group of people the Miwok were unaware of? Two years was a long time for a tribe to exist without one of their hunters coming across them. No, it had to be something else. Whatever it was, though, she couldn’t say. However, she did know she needed to report the information back to the elders.
They rode on in silence until reaching the town. Kela jumped out of the wagon and strode over to where her horse had been tethered. She undid the reins and easily mounted.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I must get back to my people.”
“Oh, well if you must.” The doctor shifted as if impatient or unsure. She couldn’t tell which it was. He finally stopped and smiled up at her. “Feel free to come back whenever you wish.”
“You as well,” she smiled as she extended an invitation to the tribe. “Visit whenever you wish.”
The easy exchange made her regret the fact that she had to leave, but it was getting late. She knew Tuketu and Eta would be worried if she didn’t return before dusk—especially since she had ridden unaccompanied into town this time. Touching her heels to the horse, she spurred the animal forward, the faint sound of coughing coming from within the clinic barely registering as she thought about the day. Her thoughts kept returning to one moment—her farewell to Jonathan Edwards. She had never seen a man grin as he had when she had invited him to visit the tribe. Despite the claim that one of the Miwok had possibly murdered his wife, he seemed genuinely excited to come to the village. The idea sent a warm feeling through her—a sense of acceptance that remained with her the entire way home.
Chapter 7
Johnathan paced the room. He had remained awake all night, listening to the sound of Owen cough. Now the boy complained how his stomach ached and he refused to eat. They were the beginning signs of the same illness that had plagued all the others. He considered administering quinine, but was divided on the idea. Part of him knew of the dangers others had suffered from taking too much of it. The other side of his mind couldn’t think of anything else to do. He had no other medicines that would work.
However, the Miwok might… and hadn’t Kela extended an invitation for him to go there?
The doctor decided to pull on his boots and go.
“What are you going to do?” Emily Potts asked as he grabbed his bag.
“I’m going to bring Kela back to help.”
The housekeeper considered his words for a moment. “Perhaps it’s better if you take the boy with you.”
Jonathan looked appalled. It was one thing for him to go to the Miwok village. It was a different matter entirely to take one of his children there. “Why in the world would you suggest something like that?”
“Because it might be his greatest help. You don’t know if they’ll say ‘yes’ to you and send help. However, it’s difficult to refuse such when the problem is staring you straight in the face. Besides, it will save time. The village isn’t just around the corner. You’ll have to ride a few hours to find it.”
Everything Emily said made sense.
“Alright. Will you please get him ready the best you can? I’m going to do up the wagon.”
“Will the wagon make it all the way there?”
“No. I can take it up the pass as far as I can, though, and then unhitch the horse so we can ride double for the rest of the way.”
“Godspeed,” Emily said and set off to help ready Owen while the doctor went about his own tasks. After all was ready, Jonathan carefully put his son into the back of the wagon.
Riding to the river brought the understanding of what Emily had been talking about. Jonathan couldn’t remember the last time he tried crossing. So, it took a while to find a place where the water was safe enough to cross. That meant riding further east before he could reach shallow waters with little current. Then he had to backtrack westward, hopeful to stumble upon the village. He had a general idea as to where it was, but feared he was too turned around to remember the location. Still, he drove on until the path began to dwindle away. He stopped the wagon and unhitched the horse just as he had told Emily he would do.
“Come on, Owen.”
His son stumbled beside him.
“I don’t feel so well, Pa.”
“You’ll be feeling better soon, though.”
Hoisting his son up onto the horse, Jonathan rode on until a large clearing came into view. Thankful he had found the village, he stopped. Was it rude to ride up into the village on horseback? Would they consider that a threat—a declaration of battle? Perhaps he should dismount and walk into the village instead. At the same time, he knew that an unattended horse could be considered a free one. He didn’t want the animal to disappear while he was tending to his son.
He was still in the process of determining what to do when he heard a shrill cry.
“U ye' ayu! U ye' ayu!”
Jonathan didn’t know many Miwok words, but there were a few he had become familiar with and “white man” was one of them. He didn’t mi
nd so much the words, though. He was indeed a white man from town. It was the tone of fear accompanying it that alarmed him. The woman who had cried the words took off running in the opposite direction—no doubt to seek help from her people.
Jonathan swiftly dismounted and pulled his son off the horse, cradling him like a large baby. It reminded him of when Owen actually was an infant and the promise that Jonathan had made to Regina to always care and protect his children. That promise fortified him and he marched onward, determined to find Kela and request whatever help she and her people could provide. He hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when a group of men surrounded him. One began to speak words he didn’t understand.
“Wəksə!”
The man waved his hand, making it apparent that he wanted them to leave.
Jonathan stood his ground.
“No. I’m looking for Snowy Owl… Kela Tukumu.”
The mention of her name brought several surprised expressions. The men looked at one another and began to debate amongst themselves, their voices growing louder. Finally, one spoke in English.
“What do you want of her.”
“I come to ask for her help—for her medicine.”
The men laughed.
“She has none,” he said. “She only pretends to be the next Bear Making Medicine. Take your little white warrior and leave our home. You are not welcomed here.”
“I think I will be the judge of that.”
The men moved aside as an elderly gentleman with long gray hair stepped forward. Beside him was a woman of similar age, her own silver hair in a long, intricate braid. Jonathan was relieved to find Kela standing behind them. She smiled, but did not speak.
“Forgive me, Hi'eema Mo Heesa. I did not see you.”
The elderly man only nodded at the warrior and then turned to the woman at his side. “What do you see, Yeka?”
She stared at Jonathan—a stare so intense that he thought, if he had believed in such things, it was very possible the woman might have the ability to look into his very soul. It was such an uncomfortable stare. Still, he refused to look away. This was for the welfare of his son. He stood taller, determined to meet the woman’s judgement head on.
She smiled then and simply said, “He is the tree.”
The elder nodded and extended one arm. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan said. He walked up to Kela.
“Who was that?” Jonathan asked.
“Our chief, Sun Meets the Wind, and Heteeyeka Angeni. That is, Sees With Spirit Eyes. However, she is known simply as Yeka amongst the people. And you? What is wrong with your son?” she asked, cutting him off from any additional questions.
His focus immediately shifted. “I can’t say for certain, but I think it might be the same illness that the others had.”
Kela’s eyes grew wide. “You have brought the sickness to the village?”
“No! At least, I don’t think so. It isn’t that bad yet. That’s why I’m here. I want to stop it before it gets any worse. Many people pass through my clinic, Kela. If the sickness spreads, we could lose the whole town. Then it would only be a matter of time before it reached your people anyway.”
“Then we must keep him away from all the others,” she said. “Come. We will take him to Tuketu.”
Jonathan followed her past a number of villagers huddled outside their homes to see the “strange white man” who had come to the village. A few of them made passing remarks at him—and in English no less. “Foolish,” “handsome,” and “scrawny” were only some of the names he heard. He tried to ignore them and their activities—the beautiful bead making, the cooking, the men bringing in their hunt. However, he couldn’t help but want to take it all in. It was such a different and intriguing way of life.
They finally arrived at a hut that was larger than most of the others. Posted outside was a large branch sticking out of the ground. On the top end were feathers from various fowl attached to long leather strings. Outside, a small open fire fervently blazed as it heated up what appeared to be water in a cast iron pot.
“Wait here,” Kela said and disappeared into the hut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared. An older man with a serious, but friendly face accompanied her. “This is Tuketu Wene… Bear Making Medicine.”
Jonathan nodded, finally understanding the comment made by the warrior he had first encountered when entering the village. “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid it’s not under very good circumstances.”
When the man raised a single curious brow, the doctor looked at Kela with worry. “Does he speak English?”
She smiled.
“Of course, I do. The English have been here quite a few years. We have taught ourselves with the help of the Atherton man.”
“Atherton?” Jonathan asked. “As in Winslet? The mayor of Blessings.”
Tuketu nodded. “He has learned our ways, and we have slowly been learning his. It is our great hope that one day the Miwok villagers and incoming settlers will one day live as one peoples. I am not sure that it is possible. There is much trial. However, with it comes great rewards. That is not our concern today, though. Come. Bring your son in so I may see his spirit.”
The last declaration unnerved Jonathan a bit. “I’m sorry, but I only believe God can do that.”
The man smiled. “You do not understand my words or my ways. That is acceptable. You must only realize this—we are all one and we are all connected to the Creator of all. If this is something you can accept, then I can help your son. The decision is yours to make.”
The man didn’t wait for an answer. Reentering the hut, he left Jonathan to decide if this was a path he wanted to follow. He looked to Kela and found a familiar look in her eyes. It was the same one he was sure he had seen in a mirror before—one of desperation and hope all mixed together. It was the look of the quiet ones—the ones that oftentimes felt misunderstood and displaced. Did she feel the same as him—out of place in a society where he simply went through the motions, doing what he felt was best for others but never doing for himself? Questions like these urged him forward. He entered the tent, ready to cast all judgment aside.
In the center of the room was a bed of soft skins.
“Go on,” Kela motioned. “Place him on the bed.”
Jonathan did, a small groan escaping from his son. It was obvious that he already had grown worse. Sweat beaded his forehead. Whatever this illness was, it could progress slowly or incredibly fast. It seemed to all depend on the individual’s constitution.
Tuketu stood next to a makeshift table of sticks tied together with twine and grass mats tied together for a surface. The table was filled with wooden bowls and leather pouches. He mixed a handful of ingredients in one of the bowls. He set it aside, picked up another and after sticking his first two fingers in what appeared to be some sort of white paint, approached Jonathan.
“What’s that for?” he asked as Tuketu’s hand stretched out. The man didn’t answer, though. He only commenced to painting Jonathan’s face.
When he was finished, he returned to the table and did the same to himself. Then he walked out of the tent with one of the bowls.
“What’s he doing?” Jonathan asked Kela.
“Making the tea for your son.”
As the holy man walked back, faint drumming started from outside the hut.
His interest piqued even more, Jonathan once again turned to the only one who could answer his questions. “What’s that? Why are they playing music?”
“It’s part of the ritual.”
“Ritual?”
Tuketu knelt down beside Owen and lifted his head. He poured some of the hot liquid into the boy’s mouth. Owen coughed and sputtered, heightening Jonathan’s nervousness. However, the boy quickly settled once again. Jonathan sat back with relief.
“Now what is he—”
“Shhh. Do not worry. He is no tuyuku.” Kela silenced him as voices raised from outside
the hut. Inside, Tuketu started singing as well.
“What is that? What’s a tuyuku?” Jonathan asked. “Why is he singing?”
“A ‘poisoner.’ He is not one… and he is trying to communicate with the spirit,” Kela whispered back.
“The spirit?” Jonathan shifted where he sat. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea. I mean, they aren’t exactly my religious beliefs.”
“No one is asking you to choose religions,” Kela hissed. Sensing Tuketu’s irritation, she lowered her voice. “Don’t your people pray to your god?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this is our way of praying.”
“But it isn’t my god.”
“We are all connected to the one who created us. So, we believe they are the same. This is simply our way of praying. However, I will pray with you if it will help ease your troubled spirit.”
Jonathan was astounded. “You would do that?”
“Of course. Your beliefs are a part of you, Jonathan Edwards, and you are good people. I accept you as you are.” She offered her hand. He placed his large one into hers. Once again, he felt an undeniable connection to her. This wasn’t the appropriate time to explore those feelings, though.
“Thank you,” he said.
Then he bowed his head and prayed for his son.
Chapter 8
Kela carefully balanced the three bowls of food as she returned to the hut. She smiled. Jonathan still lay sound asleep, sprawled out on a bed of skins not too far from his son, who seemed to be breathing far easier than he was the night before. Between them was the medical bag and a journal haphazardly open beside Jonathan’s head. Kela put the bowls down on the small table where Tuketu had mixed the medicine and paint the night before. She picked up the leather-bound notebook, intent on returning it to its proper place, but froze when she saw her name scrawled on one of the pages. Beneath it was a sketch that left her speechless.
Kela Tukumu ~ Snowy Owl
