“Walk with Soft Rain under her blanket,” Mother said.
Hawk Boy ducked under the blanket and Soft Rain put her arm around him. He’s very quiet, she thought. He must be tired. She knew she was. She remembered Father’s words: “What are we to do?”
Suddenly she realized that quiet was all around them—no more rumbles or moaning.
“Look, Soft Rain. The line has stopped. Let’s go see why,” Hawk Boy said, throwing off the blanket and running ahead.
THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER
Soft Rain ran, too, and was breathless by the time she caught up with her brother. They were nearly at the front of the line. Hawk Boy was talking to a chief, a familiar-looking chief.
Smiling, the chief said, “Soft Rain, you were eating warm bread in the barn when I saw you last. It is good to see you well. Who is this young man?”
“H-Hawk Boy … m-my brother, Hawk Boy,” she stammered.
“You found your father?” the chief asked.
“We found her,” Hawk Boy boasted, straightening his shoulders. “And I found her doll.”
Soft Rain nodded. “What is happening?” she asked.
“We are at the Mississippi River. It’s wide and there is too much ice for us to cross,” the chief answered.
“Can’t we walk over the ice?” Hawk Boy asked.
“No, there is too much ice for the ferries and not enough for the heavy wagons and animals,” the chief explained. “Others are here ahead of us, and more will certainly come before any group can cross. I fear our wagons and tents are little protection from the chilling winds. I was on my way to tell your leaders of our situation.”
“Our father is a leader, but he’s out looking for game,” Soft Rain said. “I will tell him when he returns.”
“Tell him the leaders will meet to decide how far from each other to camp … and where to dig the trenches, where to bury the dead.”
Another river; more dead. Soft Rain shivered.
Taking her blanket, the chief refolded it and placed it over both children’s shoulders. “Go to your mother, Soft Rain. Try to get warm. Your lips are turning blue.”
As they started back Hawk Boy sighed. “It will be good to stop. I’m tired of walking.”
But he was wrong. Stopping was not good. Even though the fires were tended constantly, the cold blasts of wind bit into their skin and blew firebrands onto the tent roofs. Soft Rain screamed as two children barely escaped from a burning tent. For most of each day the people huddled, shivering under blankets. At least Soft Rain’s feet were warmer; the young chief had brought her shoes.
One afternoon when Hawk Boy was whining, Soft Rain gathered some small twigs. “We can write words with them,” she told her little brother.
He shook his head. “I’m too tired for words. I want to sleep.” Late in the day he awoke screeching because Mother was trying to move him to a wagon. “I won’t be in a wagon. Sick people in wagons die. I don’t want to die!”
Mother made him as comfortable as possible on the ground. But he had become ill. Throughout the bitterly cold day, he sweated. “Keep him covered,” Mother told Soft Rain every time he tossed off the blanket. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He needs more strength, better food,” Mother murmured to Aunt Kee.
She nodded. “We all do.”
The next day Aunt Kee disappeared. Soft Rain went from fire to fire searching and asking for her. Father rode through the whole camp looking.
“She wouldn’t just wander off or try to go back home, the way some people have,” Mother said, frantically searching through Aunt Kee’s bundle. “Her basket is gone, but nothing else. Where can she be?”
Two days later Aunt Kee reappeared, carrying a full basket. Her hands were bleeding and her dress was torn.
“What happened?” Soft Rain asked.
Aunt Kee’s eyes closed in exhaustion as she sank to the ground. She explained, “I walked far and climbed many fences until I found a farmer’s field with some vegetables still in the ground. It isn’t stealing if he has left them. With a rock I dug them up. Now we can make stew—a nourishing warm meal.”
When the stew was ready, Soft Rain chewed slowly, savoring each bite. Then she fed Hawk Boy. By morning he was sitting up asking for more. Later Father came with important news.
“The ice is breaking up on the river. One group starts crossing today. Soon we’ll move our camp closer to the river to await our turn.”
By the time they’d moved all the way to the river’s edge, Hawk Boy was well again. For days they watched the groups cross and listened to the boatmen shout at the ice, the fast-moving water, and the frightened people.
Soft Rain threw the blanket over her head when a great chunk of ice overturned the last group’s raft, but she couldn’t block out the screams of those who were thrown into the icy water. Hawk Boy watched and whimpered. “More people have died.”
I will not be afraid to cross, Soft Rain told herself. Father will be with us. And then Father seemed to be everywhere—helping with the wagons, talking with reluctant people who huddled waiting and moaning, meeting with other leaders.
Hawk Boy seized Mother’s hand and began crying when it was time to step on the boat.
“We will all be together,” Mother reassured him.
“Are you going with us, Father?” Soft Rain asked, looking into Father’s eyes.
“No, you will go ahead of me. I will see everyone across and be on the last boat.”
Not the last boat, Soft Rain screamed inside her head. She bit her lip to keep from crying.
Wrapping his arms around her, he said, “Don’t worry; it will be a boat, not a raft. And on the other side, as soon as possible, I will form a hunting party, so you won’t see me for a while.”
Soft Rain didn’t cry. She walked onto the boat next to Aunt Kee. “Close your eyes,” she told Hawk Boy when the boatman pulled the last rope on board.
She realized that she had grown to fear the icy water more than she feared the uktena. The ice she could see and hear. The boat creaked, the wagons creaked, and the ice creaked. Soft Rain held her hands over her ears and tried to keep her eyes closed. But ice continuously buffeted the boat. With every lurch she had to seize the rail to keep from falling or bumping into someone. Hawk Boy clung to Mother’s hand until they were off the noisy boat.
Joining those already onshore, they stood waiting for the next boat to arrive. Was it the last one? Would Father be on it? Soft Rain saw a raft: and a boat heading for shore. She lost sight of the boat when she was jostled in the crowd of people who were being led away from the landing to make room for others. Squeezing to one side of the crowd, she climbed onto a barrel, not moving until the boat landed and she saw Father lead his horse off.
WHITE CHILDREN
Soft Rain sighed, feeling relieved to have the river at their backs. But there was no time to rest. The group was already preparing to leave.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Mother said. “Hold on to Hawk Boy. We’re moving on.”
Before them, the line formed. People, wagons, and animals wound gradually uphill toward rocky bluffs. “Will there be mountains in the West?” Hawk Boy asked.
When Mother shrugged, he said, “I’ll ask Father.”
But they traveled that day and another through stinging snow without seeing Father. Hawk Boy missed him. “I want to ride with Father,” he complained.
“He’s still hunting,” Mother explained gently. “Food is scarce. Our group and some others are going to follow a different trail where there may still be game—turkey or deer. Not so many have traveled this way.”
“Aunt Kee, can’t you find more vegetables?” Hawk Boy asked.
Aunt Kee nodded. “When there is time, I’ll look,” she promised.
And when there is less snow, Soft Rain thought. Walking over the rounded hills would be easy without the slippery snow. She looked down at the heavy shoes the chief had given her and saw streaks of blood on the ground
. Some of the Tsalagi still refused to wear any of the white man’s clothing. She blew on her hands to warm them, wishing she had the gloves Mother had made last year.
On the evening of the third day Father and the men returned with rabbits and squirrels. Mother made a delicious, warming stew, but the next morning Soft Rain was as cold as ever.
It was then she saw her father still asleep while most of the camp was up. “Is Father ill?” she asked in a whisper.
“Your father is weary and has asked others to arouse the camp for a while,” Mother explained.
Instead of leading the line, Father then rode at the back, helping stragglers. Fires were being built along the way, and people lingered near them. Though Hawk Boy and Soft Rain stayed longer than anyone at each fire, Hawk Boy shivered inside his coat. Soft Rain rubbed his hands between hers until Father reminded them to hurry along. They ran, sliding and slipping, to catch up with Mother and Aunt Kee.
The day the snow stopped, Father said, “Tomorrow we will hunt again. A white farmer brought us word of deer close by.”
The sun shone as the hunters left, and soon after, the travelers passed through a small town. Soft Rain stopped to stare at a little building with a bell on top.
“Is it a school or a church?” Hawk Boy asked.
“Maybe both,” Soft Rain answered. “It’s probably just for white children, though,” she said, remembering the white children’s school at home.
“Father told me we’re going to build a school in the West. I will help,” Hawk Boy said.
A school for them in the West! Soft Rain hoped it was true. For a while she forgot about the bitter cold. But the town was far behind them before they came to a fire. By then even her eyelids felt cold, and Hawk Boy’s lips were blue. Soft Rain dared to stop, even though she could barely see the last wagon and the backs of the stragglers.
She and Hawk Boy first warmed their hands and faces, then they turned their backs to the fire. That was when they saw the two white children, a boy and girl, standing at the edge of the woods staring at them.
“They’re coming toward us,” Hawk Boy said. “Look, the boy is hiding behind the girl.” He quickly stepped slightly behind Soft Rain.
The girl held an apple in her outstretched hand. Soft Rain looked longingly at it but shook her head.
Peering around Soft Rain, Hawk Boy whispered, “Take it.”
With a glance at her brother, Soft Rain stretched out her own hand and took the red fruit. “Thank you for the apple,” she said, handing it to Hawk Boy.
“You speak English!” the girl gasped.
“I learned in school. Is that your school we saw this morning?”
“When the weather is good, we go—my brother and I,” she answered.
“This is my brother, Hawk Boy. Our school closed,” Soft Rain said.
Poking her brother, who was bigger than Hawk Boy, the girl said, “Thomas, give it to her.”
The boy reached inside his coat and handed Soft Rain another apple. Hawk Boy was already eating his.
“I’ll save it to share with my family,” Soft Rain said, putting it in her pouch.
“There’s more. Come with us.” The girl led them back to the trees where she and her brother had stood. “Papa saw the Indians on the road yesterday. He said, ‘They’re cold and hungry. We must give them what we can spare.’
“So we packed this,” she said, pointing her foot at a large cloth bag on the ground. “But when I tried to talk to people at the fire, everyone except you hurried away.” Spreading the wooden handles apart, she opened the bag and took out a heavy blue dress.
“This was my last winter’s dress. Mama made it, and look—she sewed on a pocket.” When Soft Rain looked puzzled, she added, “For keeping things in. I outgrew it, but you’re shorter than I am.” While still talking, she pulled open Soft Rain’s coat. “It’s wool, much warmer than this flimsy cotton dress you’re wearing. And here’s Thomas’s old coat—much warmer than Hawk Boy’s.
“Oh, and there’s food on the bottom.” Bending down, she put the dress and coat back in the bag, closed it, and stood up quickly. “We have to go, before it gets any darker.”
“You are very kind. Thank you,” Soft Rain mumbled.
The two white children hurried off through the trees. Hawk Boy threw the core of the apple away. I don’t even know her name, Soft Rain thought.
“She talked so much. What did she say?” Hawk Boy asked.
“Her family gave us food and clothing. Hurry, let’s pick up the bag and go. Night is coming, and we must catch up with the others at the next fire.”
“Agh! It’s heavy!” Hawk Boy grunted as they carried the bag between them, trying to move quickly. It seemed to grow heavier. They put it down often. Finally, through the trees and the darkness, Hawk Boy saw the light of a fire. Dropping his side of the bag, he ran toward it. Soft Rain heaved the bag into both arms and followed him.
“No one is here,” Hawk Boy moaned. “What will we do?”
THE LAST APPLE
Soft Rain set the bag down. “We’ll have to stay here for the night. If we start early in the morning, we can catch up,” she said, her voice sounding calmer than she felt inside. She looked at the smoldering embers. “Find wood for the fire. We need to keep warm.”
While Hawk Boy collected branches, Soft Rain slipped her head through the strap of her pouch and took off her coat. She put the girl’s dress on over hers. Already she felt warmer. She felt for Grandmother’s doll in her pouch and put it in the dress pocket. “For keeping things in,” the girl had said.
Hawk Boy brought an armful of wood. They laid each piece down carefully, blowing on the embers until the new wood caught fire. Then Soft Rain handed Thomas’s coat to Hawk Boy. “Wear this on top of yours. It’s big enough,” she said.
The coat nearly reached Hawk Boy’s ankles. “Long,” he said, squatting down until the coat covered his feet. “Didn’t you say there’s food in the bag?” he asked.
They each took a parcel from the bag. One was thick slices of tender meat and the other was a large loaf of bread. They divided a slice of the meat and broke pieces from the bread. When the last piece was gone, Hawk Boy asked, “Is there another apple?”
He knew Soft Rain had one in her pouch. She took a bite and then gave it to him. But he ate just one bite and handed it back, saying, “I ate all of the other one.” They huddled together, sharing the apple.
“Are we lost?” Hawk Boy asked.
“Maybe,” Soft Rain answered gently. “But let’s remember how the Little People help lost children. Do you still believe?”
“Of course. They will help us.” Hawk Boy rested his head on Soft Rain’s shoulder and yawned.
“Siyu, Soft Rain! Hawk Boy, siyu!”
Am I dreaming? thought Soft Rain. She sat up, blinking at the remains of their fire. She felt achy and so tired. Then she heard the voice again. It was Father calling them.
“Wake up, Hawk Boy,” she said weakly. “Father’s here!”
“We had an apple,” Hawk Boy mumbled as Father approached on horseback.
“Are you all right?” Father asked, putting Soft Rain on the horse without waiting for an answer. “Why did you linger? Your mother thought you were at the rear of the line. She didn’t spread the alarm that you were missing until nearly dark—just before I returned from hunting.”
Father picked Hawk Boy up. “He’s still asleep,” he said.
“We were so cold. We warmed ourselves at the fire. Then we met the white children, and they gave us—”
Father interrupted, “We must be on our way. Your mother is terrified. She needs to know you’re safe.”
“The bag, don’t forget the bag,” Soft Rain muttered, shivering.
Soft Rain didn’t remember the ride to camp. She remembered that Mother and Aunt Kee hugged her. And she remembered hearing Hawk Boy talking to her, saying over and over, “Wake up, Soft Rain. I saved you an apple. Don’t die. Wake up, please wake up.”
The sun was shining into the jolting wagon when she opened her eyes. Why was she in a moving wagon? “You’re awake, Soft Rain! Look, I saved the last apple for you.” Hawk Boy was still talking.
Apples. She remembered there were apples in the bottom of the bag the white children gave them. I have slept long into the day, she thought.
The wagon lurched to a stop. Mother looked over the side. Her eyes, her whole face was smiling. “I am glad you’re awake.”
“How long did I sleep?” Soft Rain asked.
Aunt Kee peered over Mother’s shoulder. “More than a week,” she answered.
“Have I been sick again?” Soft Rain asked.
Hawk Boy stood up, bending over Soft Rain. “Yes, and you talked in your sleep. ‘Don’t forget the bag. Don’t forget the bag.’ You said it over and over. New supplies came while you were asleep. Look!” He stood on one foot, showing her the other one. “Wool stockings from the white man. You have some, too. They’re warm.”
Soft Rain pulled one foot out from under the blanket. “Warm,” she repeated.
Aunt Kee handed her a piece of bread dipped in soup. “Warm your insides, too,” she said.
While Soft Rain chewed, the voices around her faded to silence. She felt herself falling into a vast, warm, dark emptiness.
The sun was gone when she awoke. Her stomach was making noises. She opened her eyes and sat up. “Aunt Kee, I’m hungry. Is there more bread?”
“That was yesterday.” Hawk Boy giggled. “You’ve been asleep again.”
Just then Father rode up. “Soft Rain, you are better! While you slept, we crossed the border of our new land. Tomorrow we reach the river where we will live. There’s someone here who wants to see you.”
Soft Rain couldn’t believe her eyes when a large figure climbed into the wagon and sat himself between her and Hawk Boy. “Uncle Swimming Bear!” she exclaimed. Her uncle’s big arms surrounded the children. They cried together—sad tears; happy tears—until Soft Rain asked, “How did you find us?”
Soft Rain Page 6
