Читать книгу A Deadly Distance - Heather Down - Страница 8

Disappointed, embarrassed, relieved, and saddened at the same time, Mishbee returned to her people’s summer gathering. Besides losing her prized pendant, she had also dropped her blueberries in the confusion and wasn’t sure how she was going to explain her empty-handed state to her family and friends.

Luckily for Mishbee, most of her people were out at the small island cliffs hunting great auks. Many others were fishing. A small number were still harvesting berries as Mishbee was supposed to be doing. Her mother and Oobata were sitting outside the wigwam, tending the fire and making soup. Mishbee noted how the mixed grease and oxidized rock used to create the sacred and practical red ochre glistened on their skin. Besides being used in celebrations and ceremonies, the lotion served as excellent protection against the sun and was a remarkable insect repellent.

Mishbee’s mother greeted her daughter quizzically, brushing away several strands of her own long dark hair that had escaped her braid and fallen across her face. Loving but also stern, Mishbee’s mother knew how hard it was to survive in this land. Winters were difficult and food wasn’t always plentiful. There was no room for carelessness or mistakes, and children had to be taught that if they were to survive. Mishbee’s mother wouldn’t be pleased with what had happened today.

“You’re back already, Mishbee,” her mother said.

“Yes, I ...” she answered cautiously, feeling as if her mother could see right through her. Worried that she would have to explain herself, Mishbee tried to divert her mother’s attention. “What’s in the soup today, Mother?”

“Murre and kittiwake,” her mother said, stirring the birds she was cooking by continually putting hot rocks from the fire into the birchbark pot.

Mishbee’s mother looked at her intently. Did she notice the missing berries? Would Mishbee have to explain herself, after all? Just as her mother’s lips parted to say something, several men, including Dematith, strode into the temporary camp carrying seabirds they had hunted at the cliffs. The arrival of the food allowed Mishbee to dodge her mother’s questioning eyes.

“How are you, Little Bird?” Dematith asked, smiling.

Mishbee liked his pet names for her and his easy manner. She was pleased that Oobata would soon be his wife. Mishbee breathed deeply and began to relax a little. “Look at all those birds, Dematith! You had a good hunt.”

Dematith put down the auks and looked squarely at Mishbee. “Yes, Little Bird, we had an excellent hunt. I’m tired and hungry now. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to work so hard.”

“I worked all day long, too!” Mishbee said indignantly, speaking with mock authority as if reprimanding him harshly. She enjoyed bantering with Dematith.

Her relief turned to panic, though, when her future brother-in-law peered at her strangely. “Where’s your pendant, Little Bird? Don’t you like it anymore?”

Mishbee gasped, and her head began to spin. She couldn’t possibly explain the missing pendant to Dematith. She had to think fast. “I... I put it in our wigwam.”

Mounting confusion filled her. She didn’t know what to do. If she went back to find the pendant, she could easily meet an uncertain fate, but how could she explain her carelessness to her family? Her thoughts tumbled uncontrollably. Then she knew what she had to do. With most of her people focused on the men returning from the hunt, Mishbee stealthily retraced her steps back into the woods. When she approached the blueberry patch, she silently floated from tree to tree like a phantom. Her movements went unnoticed except by the most sensitive animals.

Then, to her surprise, Mishbee caught sight of her birchbark basket. It sat upright, half filled with berries on the rock where the stranger had sat. She had only just covered the bottom of the basket before she had made her abrupt departure. Beside the basket, Mishbee was delighted to see her pendant repaired and whole again. Maybe this boy was sent by the Good Spirit, after all.

Mishbee sat absolutely still for over an hour, watching, waiting for signs of the stranger who had earlier caught her unaware. When she was sure no one was lurking, ready to spring a trap, she slunk cautiously to the rock. She picked up her pendant and hung it proudly around her neck, then gathered up her berry basket and sneaked back to her hiding place to wait for the stranger to return. He had spared her life and put berries in her basket. Convinced that the kind gesture wasn’t a trap, she wanted to reciprocate his goodwill.

A long time passed before Mishbee heard rustling in the trees. She had almost begun to believe the boy wouldn’t return and was nearly ready to head home when the stranger noisily appeared from the brush. Wearily, he walked over to where the berries and pendant had been placed, put his musket on the ground, and slowly lowered himself onto the damp rock.

Unnoticed, Mishbee slid into the open area in plain sight. The boy was still looking in the other direction, and she was able to get close enough to touch him on the shoulder. Then she spoke a greeting.

Startled to hear a voice, the boy jumped back and whirled around with his fists clenched tightly in front of him. “Who’s there?” he cried. When he saw who it was, he took a deep breath, relaxed his hands, and smiled. “You scared me. I guess we’re even now. Where did you come from?” He stared at Mishbee for a moment, then said, “Hmm, where are my manners? My name’s John Harper.” He tipped his hat forward in a polite gesture.

Mishbee held up her pendant and nodded, hoping to thank this stranger for rescuing her dearest possession. Tentatively, she picked up a small green branch from the ground and motioned for the stranger to take it from her.

John was surprised by this dark-haired girl’s gesture and wondered what it meant. Apprehensive about what might happen if he did not take the branch, he pulled the unusual gift close and nodded to show appreciation.

She seemed delighted with his action, and her eyes danced with what John believed was excitement. He pointed at the pendant. “Carve,” he said, motioning with his hands as if he were deeply engaged in creating a carving himself. “I carve, too. Except I carve out of wood. Most say I’m very good with wood.”

The girl delicately fingered her pendant. John could tell that the carving somehow held great significance for her. He knew what it meant to value a possession. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he traced the outline of the circumference of his father’s gold watch. He remembered with pride when his father said to him just before he left England, “See this watch, son? It was my father’s once. But now you’re almost a man. It’s time you have this.” Then he placed the timepiece in John’s shaky hands. John recalled being a small boy watching his father faithfully wind the heirloom and care for it with great pride. Maybe this girl’s pendant was equal in value and sentiment to his treasured gift from his father.

John looked up at Mishbee. “I can tell you love that pendant probably the same way I love my watch.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Then the girl abruptly turned and began topping off her berry basket as if John were invisible.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Should he leave or should he stay? He watched as the girl ignored him and picked her berries. “Could you grace me with your name?” he asked, trying to divert her attention from the berries.

Mishbee kept picking.

“Your name?” he repeated, this time louder.

The girl didn’t even bother to look in his direction. Realizing he wasn’t getting very far with his attempts to communicate, John walked up to the girl and gently tapped her shoulder with his forefinger. She glanced up at him questioningly. “I’m John,” he said, indicating himself. “John.” Then he pointed at her.

She smiled and nodded. “Mishbee.”

“Mishbee,” he repeated triumphantly.

She kept working at her task. John still felt strangely out of place, so he busied himself by picking a small bouquet of everlasting daisies in a small nearby clearing. When he was finished, he brought the flowers to Mishbee and held them out. “These are for you. Some people call them dead man’s flowers and others call them everlasting daisies. I’m not sure why they have two names. I guess two different people can look at the same thing and have very different ideas.”

Mishbee studied him quizzically, obviously not having a clue what he was doing or saying. Suddenly sensing his naivety, John felt embarrassed and silly. He pulled the flowers back to his side. “I guess you don’t have a vase or a front parlour to display these in, so I’ll take them home.”

The girl glanced at her basket, then turned to leave. John could see that the basket was full. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Mishbee didn’t answer. Instead, she left as quickly and quietly as she had come, disappearing into the brush. John knew better than to try to follow her. Danger might lie ahead. There was nothing left for him to do except head back to find Allen.