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and where you come from. At least you know who you are and no one can take that away from you."
He had expected an attack, she figured, was confused by her concern. His rage dissipated in the steam
coming off his cup of coffee. He nodded to himself and smiled drunkenly.
"Sounds real simple when you say it, Kate. Too bad it's not. Only tonight I wish it was."
He took her hand in both of his and kissed her fingers. "Thanks for the coffee. I think you would have
been a good lay, too." He threw his leather jacket on and searched his pockets for the keys to his truck.
"Think I'll go make love to that bottle under my seat."
She sat alone at the old green table, listening to the crackling fire in the woodstove, desolate, unsatisfied,
unable to move. Her head was throbbing now that the euphoria was gone and her stomach churned like
water in a washing machine. She laid her head on the table and fell asleep in her tears.
She awoke to a sudden chill and the shrieking sound of hinges as Nookomis Mina came through the
kitchen door. "Why aren't you in bed Wase'ya-Cathleen? Are you all right?" The old woman looked
around the quiet cabin. "You have a good time with Douglas Fairchild?"
"No." Cathleen hauled herself to a standing position and made her way to the sink. As she reached it, she
felt the bile rise in her throat. She bent over and emptied her stomach into the brown-stained basin.
"Southern Comfort." Nookomis Mina concluded as she passed her a damp rag for her face.
Cathleen took it from her and sponged herself off. "Is there anything you don't know about me?"
"I don't know what path you are going to choose." The old woman smiled at her as she dropped Alka-
Seltzer into a glass of water and handed it to her. "Douglas Fairchild is a good boy, very smart but mixed
up and angry. It's always been that way with Marten Clan, Woodland Pillager People. He'll settle down
some day, come to his senses when he gets all that anger out."
"Why is he so angry, Nookomis?" She shivered as the alcohol released its grip on her. Nookomis draped
the Siwash sweater over her shoulders.
"It probably has something to do with the years he spent at Leech Lake in residential school. He was six
when Welfare took him away. When he turned ten, he ran from that place and came back here. His
backside was so bad with beatings he couldn't sit down. There's probably more to the story, but he
never spoke of it to anyone."
"Oh, no." Cathleen put her hand over her mouth. She realized she had sensed the truth.
"Douglas was smart enough to know that his healing was here, among his own people. He worked hard
for a trade, got his dignity back. He still has a lot of anger though. Sometimes it makes him drink.
Sometimes it makes him hurt himself."
"He didn't need to hurt himself with me around." She cradled her throbbing head in her hands.
"Seems to me you hurt each other. Oh well, at least he didn't get the rest of that bottle he hid in his
pickup. Where did you buy it for him? Spengler?" Nookomis Mina laid her hand on Cathleen's shoulder.
"C'mon, you need some sleep for tomorrow."
"You could at least chew me out for what I did, Nookomis. God knows I deserve it." She moaned into
the old woman's shoulder as she let her lift the sweatshirt over her head and replace it with one of Nana's
flannel nightdresses.
"Why should I? You're doing a much better job than I could. Hush now and lie down." She smoothed the
quilt around her and then left silently. Cathleen did not hear the kitchen door close.
Chapter Eight
Rebirth
A throbbing headache and a queasy stomach drove her from the warmth of the old quilt. Cathleen
groped for the chamber pot underneath the bed and willed herself to connect with the cold porcelain.
Next, she stumbled to the woodbox for some choice faggots to interest the pulsing embers in the stove.
Once these were engaged, she went for a bigger piece. The smell of pungent fire, a burst of thick gray
smoke caught her eyes as she poked the piece toward the hottest spot in the firebox. It would take at
least a quarter of an hour to work up enough heat to boil water, so she plopped herself down into the
armchair and leaned her slippered feet against the warm metal of the stove.
The black notebook lay within reach. Cathleen flipped slowly through the pages, not concentrating on the
words, but on Nana's perfectly formed letters, a legacy of her years of teaching. Time was short until the
ceremony and there was still much to go through. So what she chose to read now better help her to
understand these people who saw her as sister and daughter. That would mean reading about Vincent
Gidagaakoons, where his path had crossed back into Nana's, how it resulted in the birth of Elijah, and
why their paths had split again.
Her thumb stopped halfway through the notebook. Nana had written "Six Nations" at the top of the
page. She would have been in her mid-twenties at this point in her story judging from the date. Daddy
was born in 1921. That put Elijah's birth somewhere between the beginning of the First World War and
the years directly after.
***
The Past: September, 1914
"The day finally came to take my post as teacher to the Iroquois people of the Six Nations Reserve
in southwestern Ontario. I traveled by train to a white town called Brantford, the closest stop to
the reserve. As the train slowed I could see a tall, plainly dressed woman on the platform. I knew
she must be the Bridget Donnelly who had written to thank me for accepting a position that
offered little but hardship. She couldn't know how I looked forward to coming to this place. In her
letter, she told me she was the public health nurse, sent out by the province to see to the physical
needs of the Indians and to ensure that their children grew up with the essentials of life.
"Annie Graham, I presume?" Her bright blue eyes sparkled with energy and good humour. Her
warmth and kindness dispelled my anxiety. I fell in love with her spirit instantly. "Welcome to the
middle of nowhere. Wait here and I'll see to your things." She went off leaving me to scan my
surroundings. I stood on the platform of a typical Ontario redbrick train station, its round turret
at one end and a waiting room at the other. To the side of the station was a hotel built of the same
red brick. It was named "The Joseph Brant", after the great Iroquois Chief and English ally
responsible for establishing the reservation and its white trading post a little over a hundred years
ago. On its ground floor was a tavern, already noisy with early patrons. Some of them sat on the
steps drinking beer and sizing me up.
She escorted me to a buggy where a solemn Indian driver sat waiting. "May I introduce Seth
Crow Catcher to you? Seth, this is Annie Graham, the new schoolteacher." She climbed up beside
him and offered me a helping hand. "Seth is elected chief of the Oshweken Seneca and chair of
the committee who decided on your appointment. He was most anxious to come along and greet
you on behalf of the Christian Indian community."
I offered my hand and tried to give him what I thought would be a professional smile. He looked
deeply into my eyes and smiled. "You are one of us. What tribe?"
"Ojibway." His directness caught me off guard enough to answer him directly.
He nodded his approval and continued. "What clan?"
"Bear." I flushed and stole a glance at Bridget. What must she think of me? I asked myself. But
when I dared to glance in her direction, she winked at me.
"I knew there was something special about your application letter," Chief Crow Catcher [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]