Read Online Crooked River by Shelley Pearsall - Free Book Online
Authors: Shelley Pearsall
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tobacco leaves to draw out the poison. If the swelling grew worse, he said to dig a hole in the ground and have her put her foot inside the dirt, packed in tobacco leaves.
“We tried everything.” Peter Kelley shook his head. “But Ma's foot and leg swelled up as full as the skin could hold. It was black from the poison, truly it was.” He took a deep breath. “We knew she wasn't long for the earth. Not more than a few days left, everyone told us. And we didn't know how we would manage in the world without her. My youngest brother was only four.”
I cast a look at Laura because I remembered this feeling too well.
Peter Kelley continued. “The next day my older brother met a Chippewa man fishing in our river. All of us could speak some words in Chippewa, and my brother the best of all, so my brother told the Indian—” Peter's voice caught in his throat. “He told him about the coming death of our poor Ma.
“That same evening,” Peter Kelley said, “I heard a soft knock on our door, and I opened it to see who it was. Amik's grandmother stood outside in the darkness.” He squinted his eyes. “All these years later, I can still recall exactly what she looked like. She was called by the name Old Turtle Woman, and I remember how she was a small woman with stoopedshoulders and gray-streaked hair, and how she always wore a circle of tiny rabbit bones around her neck.
“The woman pressed a bundle of leaves toward me, saying,
‘Aabajitoonan, aabajitoonan’
—Use them, use them.” Peter Kelley looked down at his hands. “Two of the women in our settlement were already sewing Ma's burial clothes when we bound the leaves on her swollen leg that night as Amik's grandmother had told us to do. But not a one of us expected those leaves would change a thing, certainly we didn't.”
Mr. Kelley stopped and took a long sip of tea.
“And the leaves did?” I asked, hardly daring to believe that they would. It made me shiver to think about that blackened, swelled-up leg with Indian leaves wrapped around it, and the women sewing burial clothes in the next room.
Peter Kelley nodded and gave a wide grin. “In the morning, my Ma was well enough to get out of bed and try on those burial clothes for size.”
“Surely not,” Laura cried.
“Yes, she was fine and well again,” he insisted.
“The leaves did all that?” I said.
Mr. Kelley shrugged. “All I can say is that those of us who saw it with our own eyes believed it to be so. And Ma has lived more than a dozen good years since.”
In the silence after he finished his story, I thought about my own Ma. I imagined the old Indian woman with the rabbit bone necklace coming to our cabin when my Ma was dying. Even then, I was certain she never would have taken help from an Indian.Knowing my Ma, she would rather have died and gone on to the next world than to have allowed Indians to save her. I glanced over at Laura and wondered what we would do if we were in the same place.
Seemed like we were all lost in our thoughts until Mr. Kelley said he didn't mean to keep us from eating our pie, and Laura jumped up to serve the forgotten pieces. I could tell that Mr. Kelley liked that pie real well because he didn't stop to take one breath while eating it. He even picked up the crumbs one by one with the back of his fork. When he finished, he shook his head slowly and said that our Ma's custard pie was the best he'd ever tasted.
Laura just nodded and said that our Ma always was a good cook, but there was still much to be learnt since she had gone.
“Yes, I expect there is,” Mr. Kelley said in a quiet way, and I caught him giving Laura a kind look as he pushed back his chair to leave.
When he reached down to pick up the snowshoe, I couldn't help noticing it again. I think he must have seen me staring at it, because he tucked it quickly under his arm and didn't say one word of explanation about it.
All Peter Kelley told us before he left was that he hoped to return one
“We tried everything.” Peter Kelley shook his head. “But Ma's foot and leg swelled up as full as the skin could hold. It was black from the poison, truly it was.” He took a deep breath. “We knew she wasn't long for the earth. Not more than a few days left, everyone told us. And we didn't know how we would manage in the world without her. My youngest brother was only four.”
I cast a look at Laura because I remembered this feeling too well.
Peter Kelley continued. “The next day my older brother met a Chippewa man fishing in our river. All of us could speak some words in Chippewa, and my brother the best of all, so my brother told the Indian—” Peter's voice caught in his throat. “He told him about the coming death of our poor Ma.
“That same evening,” Peter Kelley said, “I heard a soft knock on our door, and I opened it to see who it was. Amik's grandmother stood outside in the darkness.” He squinted his eyes. “All these years later, I can still recall exactly what she looked like. She was called by the name Old Turtle Woman, and I remember how she was a small woman with stoopedshoulders and gray-streaked hair, and how she always wore a circle of tiny rabbit bones around her neck.
“The woman pressed a bundle of leaves toward me, saying,
‘Aabajitoonan, aabajitoonan’
—Use them, use them.” Peter Kelley looked down at his hands. “Two of the women in our settlement were already sewing Ma's burial clothes when we bound the leaves on her swollen leg that night as Amik's grandmother had told us to do. But not a one of us expected those leaves would change a thing, certainly we didn't.”
Mr. Kelley stopped and took a long sip of tea.
“And the leaves did?” I asked, hardly daring to believe that they would. It made me shiver to think about that blackened, swelled-up leg with Indian leaves wrapped around it, and the women sewing burial clothes in the next room.
Peter Kelley nodded and gave a wide grin. “In the morning, my Ma was well enough to get out of bed and try on those burial clothes for size.”
“Surely not,” Laura cried.
“Yes, she was fine and well again,” he insisted.
“The leaves did all that?” I said.
Mr. Kelley shrugged. “All I can say is that those of us who saw it with our own eyes believed it to be so. And Ma has lived more than a dozen good years since.”
In the silence after he finished his story, I thought about my own Ma. I imagined the old Indian woman with the rabbit bone necklace coming to our cabin when my Ma was dying. Even then, I was certain she never would have taken help from an Indian.Knowing my Ma, she would rather have died and gone on to the next world than to have allowed Indians to save her. I glanced over at Laura and wondered what we would do if we were in the same place.
Seemed like we were all lost in our thoughts until Mr. Kelley said he didn't mean to keep us from eating our pie, and Laura jumped up to serve the forgotten pieces. I could tell that Mr. Kelley liked that pie real well because he didn't stop to take one breath while eating it. He even picked up the crumbs one by one with the back of his fork. When he finished, he shook his head slowly and said that our Ma's custard pie was the best he'd ever tasted.
Laura just nodded and said that our Ma always was a good cook, but there was still much to be learnt since she had gone.
“Yes, I expect there is,” Mr. Kelley said in a quiet way, and I caught him giving Laura a kind look as he pushed back his chair to leave.
When he reached down to pick up the snowshoe, I couldn't help noticing it again. I think he must have seen me staring at it, because he tucked it quickly under his arm and didn't say one word of explanation about it.
All Peter Kelley told us before he left was that he hoped to return one
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