Read Salt Online

Authors: Helen Frost

Salt (2 page)

going back to my house and the fort. Huh? What's that deep hole?

Looks like a person dug it. We step up for a closer look and jump back—

a man we've never seen before is standing in the hole, watching us!

ANIKWA

When I get home,

Grandma's cutting deer meat

into strips she's hanging on the drying rack.

I show her the fish I caught. She smiles.

Some for now, and some to salt

and save for winter
.

We'll need more

salt before too long,
she says.

Grandma,
I say,
I saw a man.
She looks up.

Standing in a hole,
I tell her,
near where the trail divides.

He's not from here. Do you know who he is?
She thinks about it.

I saw an Ojibwe man walking on that trail yesterday,
she says.
Maybe

he wants to see what's happening here.
She doesn't seem scared.

She needs more hickory wood—her fire's almost out—

so I say,
Toontwa, let's get firewood for Grandma.

Toontwa likes to eat—a lot—but he doesn't

like to carry firewood.
I saw foxes

playing behind the big rock,

I tell him.
We could

look for their den.
That gets him

interested.
How many?
he asks.
Five,
I say.

I pick up my wood-carrying basket and walk off.

He follows with his basket like I

hoped he would.

JAMES

Ma asks,
What did you see today?
I tell her about a dead turtle in the creek,

and a tree that fell across the trail, but I don't mention the man, or the hole

he must've dug. Ma might get worried and say I can't go out by myself.

She's cutting up the fish when Pa comes in and sits down at the table.

Look what James brought home!
she says.
Nice-looking trout,
says Pa.
Where

did you catch it, Son?
I could pretend I caught it. But I know better than to

lie to Pa. That's one thing he won't abide.
Anikwa caught it,
I admit.

Ma says,
Next time his aunt and uncle come to trade, give them a little extra.

Ma calls Mink and Old Raccoon Anikwa's aunt and uncle, but Anikwa

calls Old Raccoon his father. From what I can tell, Miami children

have a lot of parents. That's good if your ma and pa die, like his did.

His mother died of smallpox when he was two years old, and then

a year later, his father got killed.
In a skirmish,
Pa said.
That's like a war,

but smaller
. Makes me wonder: Who'd take care of me if Pa and Ma died?

ANIKWA

This lacrosse stick

is too big for me, but I like to use it

because it was my father's. Grandma tells me,

He was the best lacrosse player I ever saw.

He was so good, he could

make it seem like his

younger brother

was as good as he was.

I wish I remembered him better.

They say his voice was like strong music.

Everyone loved to listen to him speak. When people

started arguing, he said what he thought, and then stayed quiet

while other people spoke. People listened to him, and thought

carefully about anything he said.
His words,
Father says,

rose to the top, when we had to make hard decisions

about war or treaties—what to do

when all the changes came

across our land.

At first,

new kinds of sickness, then

a different kind of people—starting with men,

who soon brought families. Then soldiers, and the fort.

Like the bees that flew in from the east

and settled on our flowers
.

JAMES

I'm going out fishing, alone, when here comes Isaac:
Where you going?
Dang.

I was hoping to catch a lot of fish and give one to Anikwa. I never see him

when Isaac's with me. Don't want to be mean, so I tell Isaac where I'm headed.

He walks along beside me, talking, talking, talking.
There's gonna be a war here.

Not sure I'm supposed to tell you. Your pa and ma might not want you to know.

Like he's old enough to know about it, and I'm not—I'm older than he is!

Course I heard about it,
I say, even though I haven't. I keep quiet, hoping

he'll say more, and he does:
My pa says the Indians are on the British side
.

That can't be true.
You don't know what you're talking about,
I blurt out.

They've been our friends since Ma was a girl. Her grandpa traded with them!

He shakes his head.
I know what I'm talking about, but you don't,
he says.

I bet you don't even know about the siege.
I shrug, like I know but I don't care.

The Indians might block the fort,
he says,
so we can't get out until the British come.

Then they'll all join up and attack us.
Trying to act like he knows everything.

ANIKWA

Kwaahkwa

and I came to this quiet

place to fish. We listen to the river

whisper in that soft, low voice

it has sometimes. There's

a pair of bluebirds

singing

on a low branch of the oak.

Two fish arc out of the water near

the eddy, showing us exactly where they are.

Then, over by that sycamore that fell last year, a big

bullfrog starts up talking like a drum. I answer, and he

answers back. And then we hear something else—

James's quiet voice, Isaac's scratchy loud one.

It sounds like they're arguing. Everything

except the river and the frog stops

talking. The bluebirds fly

away, the ducks dive

underwater.

We move into the shadows,

crouch down behind a rock, and watch.

Not exactly hiding, just staying quiet, listening

and keeping our eyes

open.

JAMES

Isaac keeps trying to show off how much he knows.
Don't worry, James,

he says (he thinks I'm scared),
the Americans might get here first. Pa told me

our army is bigger than the British army. But if the Indians join the British,

we're done for.
He slices his hand across his throat. I know how to scare him:

lead him past the hole I saw when I was with Anikwa. If that man's still

standing in it, Isaac will jump out of his skin. Better not, though. He'd tell

his ma, and she'd tell mine, and they'd make us stay inside the stockade

where they could keep an eye on us. I'd hate that. We're walking by the river,

near where Anikwa gave me the fish, when Isaac comes to a sudden stop.

Look!
He points.
Over there by that tree!
He picks up a rock and throws it

as hard as he can.
I think I hit it!
He runs over, leans down, and holds up

a dead bullfrog, so proud of himself.
Isaac,
I ask,
what'd you do that for?

That frog didn't hurt you.
He stares at me.
For fun,
he says.
How come you

never like to have fun?
I look around—I sure hope Anikwa isn't watching.

ANIKWA

Splash!

The frog stops talking.

Did it jump out of the way in time?

Did it sink down in the mud?

Or—did that rock hit it?

I lean back so I can

see: Isaac

lifts the bullfrog

from the water at the river's edge.

The frog's legs (strong enough to cross a creek

in two jumps) dangle from his hands. Isaac smiles like

he's in a war against the frogs and he just won a battle. I grab

a rock to throw at
him
, but Kwaahkwa says,
You know

frogs taste good. That boy gets
hungry, just like us.

Then Isaac swings the bullfrog by its legs,

around and around, over his head.

He's about to throw it

in the deep part

of the river.

No one will have that frog

for supper. I jump up and run to try

to stop him, or catch the frog, but it goes flying

through the air just before I

grab Isaac's arm.

JAMES

Isaac and Anikwa slip in the mud and end up in the river. I didn't see

which one pushed first, but they could both get pulled downriver.

Who should I help? I pick up a long branch and lie down on the bank

to hold it out. Isaac reaches it first—he grabs it and pulls himself up.

Anikwa is still in the water, sputtering from all the water in his nose

(and because he's mad about that frog, I bet). I don't see Kwaahkwa

coming until he reaches out to Anikwa, pulls him out of the water,

and starts talking fast—not sure what they're saying, but it looks

like Anikwa would push Isaac back in the river if Kwaahkwa didn't

stop him. Anikwa takes off his moccasins, squeezes out the water, and

puts them back on, glaring at Isaac the whole time. He walks away with

Kwaahkwa, glancing at the river where the dead frog floats downstream.

Isaac shakes himself like a dog trying to get dry.
See?
he says to me.

That boy just attacked me for no reason! I told you they're not on our side.

SALT'S LONG, SLOW JOURNEY

The earth lifts and tilts.

Water flows

from high ground

to low, around

and under rock.

Salt carried by water

moves through sand.

Salt and sand

through time,

pressed into stone.

ANIKWA

Seven raccoon,

one fox, four otter, sixteen beaver,

two deer. Their meat has fed us; now Father

counts the pelts he'll trade. Grandma has

a basket of maple sugar. Toontwa

has a rabbit skin and I have

two skunk pelts.

Mink made three extra

pairs of moccasins to trade. Now

we're ready. We start down the trail, talking

about what we need: a pair of socks, a ball of twine,

a new blade for the ax. A copper cooking pot. Needles, thread.

Cotton cloth. Red, blue, and yellow ribbons.
Salt?
asks Mink.

Father scowls and says,
When I was a boy, we walked

to the salt licks
,
or our Shawnee friends brought

salt
when they came to visit. I don't like

to buy it from the traders.

Mink is quiet.

We have to have salt—

without it, we get sick when we work

in the hot sun. But she understands.
We'll get salt

next time,
she says. A blackbird flies past.

Aya, niihka,
I say.
Hello, friend.

JAMES

Anikwa comes up the trail with his family. I haven't seen him since Isaac

killed the bullfrog—is he mad? At me?
Hello,
I say. He answers,
Aya … niihka
.

He names the pelts he's carrying.
Paapankamwa
(fox).
Amehkwa
(beaver).

And others—too many words to remember. I carry a basket for his grandma,

and she smiles and calls me
myaamiinse
—that means “Miami child.” This basket

is full of maple sugar, and she always has a little extra. While they're trading,

Anikwa plays a tune on a willow whistle. Could I make one? I point to the whistle

and take out my knife. We go find a willow tree, and Anikwa shows me how

to cut a stick at an angle, make a notch through the bark, and tap the stick all over

so the bark comes loose and slips right off. After I slice off a piece of wood

to make a mouthpiece, he helps me cut another notch and slide the bark back on.

I put the whistle to my mouth and blow—it works! The sound it makes is lower

than Anikwa's. He plays fast, and I play slow; soft, loud, then soft again.

We sound so good, two yellow birds stop to listen and sing along with us.

ANIKWA

When we

walk into the trading post

playing our whistles, they've finished

with their trading. Grandma saved

some maple sugar, and gives

us each a big piece

(a tiny piece

for baby Molly). James's father

gives us each a stick of licorice candy—

it tastes like flowers and honey mixed together,

and I suck on mine as we start home. So does Toontwa.

But Rain Bird puts hers in her pocket without even tasting it!

She's never done that before. What's wrong with her?

Mink glances a quick question at Grandma,

who raises her eyebrows for a second

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