Chickadee (12 page)

Sister Seraphica tugged at Mother Anthony's wrists.

“Oh, Mother Anthony, please! You're hurting him!”

“Don't be disrespectful, girl!” cried Mother Anthony.

Chickadee struggled, twisting and kicking to get away. But before Chickadee could wiggle away, Mother Anthony snatched up a pair of scissors to cut off his braids. When Chickadee saw the sharp scissors in her hands, he was sure that he was going to die.

With a desperate lunge, he ripped himself from the Sisters' grip and popped out of the tub. He grabbed his ball of clothes. Then, with a tremendous leap, he cleared the table and raced out the door. He didn't stop once he got outside, but kept on running across the muddy yard and on into the safety of the woods. And even then, as the brush closed over behind him, he kept on running. With the ball of clothing under his arm, he sped as fast as he could through the underbrush, in which direction he couldn't tell. It didn't matter. He heard their calls at first, and then their calls died out and there were only the sweet sounds of the woods.

After some time, he entered a great stand of pine and all he heard was the sound of wind tossing high in the pine needles. That sound had always lulled him to sleep. He felt better, but still he kept going. When he'd run until he was exhausted, he stopped and put on his old, familiar clothing. He tied on his leggings and his moccasins. He looked around carefully, for any sign they were following. He listened. His heart thumped wildly, but there was no sound of pursuit.

Chickadee breathed more easily, took stock of where he was. Moss clung to the colder, moister sides of the huge pine trees, telling him which way to go. So he started walking the way the trees pointed. North. Giiwedin. Home.

A
s Chickadee set off for home, his family met in Pembina, at the cabin of Chickadee's uncle, Quill. It wasn't a very large cabin, and everyone was crowded into it talking.

“Quill isn't here,” said his wife, Margaret.

The grown-ups sat wrapped in their blankets on the pounded earth floor and ate the dried moose meat that Omakayas had brought along, seasoned with the new maple sugar.

“Where has he gone?” asked Omakayas.

“Quill was hired on the oxcart train down to St. Paul,” said his wife proudly. “He made his own cart and is hauling for the fur trader.”

“Our little brother has become a responsible man!” laughed Angeline, nodding at Omakayas.

The packs of furs that Animikiins, Two Strike, Fishtail, and Mikwam had worked hard for all winter were stacked around them. Two Strike had also killed a beaver on the way to Pembina, and its skin was stretched out on a willow hoop. The beaver meat was boiling on the little stove that heated the house.

Quill had surprised everyone. From a wild boy who drove his sister Omakayas half crazy, he'd become a young man. He was not a completely sensible young man, but he'd managed to build a cabin and even plant some potatoes. This was all because he wanted to keep his wife, who threatened to leave him if he kept up his old, wild ways.

Margaret was half French and half Ojibwe—both sides of her were no-nonsense sides, Makoons thought. This was the first time the family had met her, and Makoons could tell that although she tried to be nice, her real feelings showed through.

“Come in,” she had said. But her face said,
Stay out
. “Sit down and have some tea,” she had said out loud, but her face said,
I wish you'd go away.

The inside walls were whitewashed, pasted over with written papers. A bed, covered with thick blankets, was pushed against one wall, and there were two chairs at a small wooden table. Deydey sat on one chair. Margaret gave the other to Nokomis. Everyone stood uncomfortably until Margaret asked them to sit down on the bed. A tiny woodstove with a pipe sticking into the wall glowed hotly. Margaret put more wood into the fire, and set a kettle of water on top to boil. Everyone ran out of things to say, suddenly, and stared at the floor. Margaret was silent until Deydey began to speak to her in her language, Metis, which was a combination of French and Ojibwe, just like her family. Deydey had learned the language when he was a little boy. Margaret smiled a little, and then Deydey made her laugh. She got up, moved a large pot onto the stove, and, still talking to Deydey, warmed up some stew and made a bannock.

As everyone ate, Deydey explained everything that Margaret had told him in her language. Margaret had described how she had persuaded Quill to settle down, make a garden, and pray. She described the long expeditions to hunt buffalo that the two went on together, with her family. Deydey said that Margaret was very strict about going to the Catholic church, and that once she found out why the family had left the sugar bush, she had said she would pray hard for Chickadee's return.

The family began to talk to Margaret through Deydey, who translated everything they said.

“Since we know who took our Chickadee,” said Omakayas, “we have agreed to intercept them here when they deliver the mail.”

“Even now, we have our lookouts, Two Strike, Fishtail, and Animikiins,” said Nokomis. “They will not let those skunks get away.”

“We will wait here,” said Mikwam, “for Quill to return.”

Margaret looked worriedly at her bed. Then her face brightened, and she told Deydey something that took a long time to explain.

Deydey nodded from time to time as she spoke, and then he looked very thoughtful. Finally, he told the family what he had heard.

“Margaret is urging us to stay in Pembina. She says that so many families have moved on to the other town, St. Joseph, because of the flooding, that there are abandoned cabins. She says that Quill misses us and wishes we were here to hunt the buffalo. She misses her own family, who have moved even farther west. She wishes we would stay here, only not in her bed.” Deydey smiled as he said the last sentence.

“We are only here to collect Chickadee and sell the winter's furs,” said Omakayas. She and Animikiins lived far off in the bush for a good reason—wherever people gathered, so did illness. “We will bring Chickadee back with us,” she said.

At the mention of his brother's name, Makoons felt his spirits sink. He leaned against his mother. He felt that only she missed his twin as much as he did.

“Nimama,” he whispered, “ I dreamed about Chickadee again last night.”

Omakayas put her arm around his shoulders. Every bite of the bannock was tasty and soft, especially dipped in the tea and maple syrup that Margaret provided. His grandfather winked at Makoons in sympathy. But still he was so lonely for Chickadee that every bite, every sip, made him lonelier. He couldn't help wondering if his brother had anything as good to eat. He couldn't help wanting to share.

“My brother's wife,” said Omakayas at last, through Deydey, to Margaret, “it has been a good visit. We will find somewhere else to sleep tonight. If we have Chickadee, we'll be warm and happy anywhere we camp!”

“Wait,” said Yellow Kettle suddenly, “and listen and think. We have come so far. This is our chance to see your brother, Quill, my son. If there is a place for us to live, we can stay and gather up our winter's food. It might be a good idea.”

“There is another reason,” said Deydey. “There is a school here.” He pointed at the wall. “The twins must learn to read, and to write the white man's language. If they do not do this, everything will be stolen from them.”

“Not if we go back! Not if we live far from everybody!” cried Omakayas, holding Makoons.

“There is good in what everyone says,” said Nokomis. “But we cannot decide this until we know for sure whether we can stay in one of these left-behind houses.”

Everyone agreed that this was true, and in addition, that they would have to wait for Chickadee's return
somewhere
. But not in Margaret's bed, as she was very protective of her pretty bed, it was clear!

As the family took leave of Margaret she entreated them to think over all she had said. This time, when she spoke, her face did not have the opposite expression. She meant it. She had begun to like Quill's family very much and, although she didn't want them to take over her carefully groomed cabin, she wanted them, very much, to stay.

“I
will not stir,” said Two Strike. She sat on a rock and sharpened each of her knives on another rock. She stared into the distance. So did Animikiins and Fishtail. After a time, the air grew dark and cold. Fishtail made a fire. Animikiins took out some dried pemmican. They ate. They slept. They woke again, and waited. Two Strike kept a lookout while the two men hunted. The air grew dark and cold again, and Fishtail built up the fire. Animikiins roasted the rabbits he'd caught. The three ate, slept, and waited again by the rock.

At first there was just a dot on the horizon. It was a curious dot. After it appeared, it disappeared. Then after a time it appeared again. The dot seemed to go forward, then backward, to enlarge and shrink. It wavered and sank out of sight. When it finally got big enough so that the watchers could tell it was a man carrying a large load, Two Strike growled.

“Something is wrong here,” said Animikiins.

“Let's find out,” said Fishtail.

The three ran toward the strange figure and soon reached Babiche, who staggered beneath a tremendous weight. His brother was on his back, groaning and half conscious. The huge canvas mail sack was at his feet.