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Authors: Janette Oke
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wrapped their moccasins with strips of leather thongs and rubbed them generously with bear fat to keep the dampness of the trail from penetrating. They collected their baskets, ready to go.
Nonie chose the trail along the banks of the stream. Kendra was fascinated with the tumbling, frothy water that bubbled and splashed its way over the rocks she knew lined the bottom, though they could not be seen now through the foam.
“Sister River is in a hurry,” she said to Nonie.
Nonie nodded silently. She never had called the stream “Sister River,” but the child seemed to have taken all of nature into her family.
They were nearing the point where the stream made its sharp turn and headed almost back in the direction from which it had come, giving the Indian people the name of Bent River, when a strange moving in the water caught Kendra’s eye.
She stopped short, knowing that the movement was unusual but not able to figure out what was different about it.
She turned to Nonie and saw that the woman had also stopped, her dark eyes clouding as she looked toward the same spot. Strange words escaped the woman’s lips. Words Kendra had never heard before. Nonie seemed upset.
Then Nonie’s chilling cry filled the air and she raised her arms over her head and began to call to the heavens. “Aiyee—aiyee,” she wailed, making Kendra’s eyes fill with fright, her spine tingle.
She didn’t know whether to cling to the woman’s skirts or turn and flee toward the cabin.
“Aiyee,” called the woman again, entreating the sky in a nameless petition.
Kendra began to cry. In the water the strange thrashing continued, and Nonie kept up the pitiful cries to the skies.
Soon Kendra was frightened into action. She darted to Nonie, yanking on the woman’s skirts, her own wails filling the air around them.
Nonie stopped her strange chants and reached her hands down to the child. She still moaned from somewhere deep inside her.
“What is it? What is it?” Kendra cried, shouting her words above the cries of Nonie and the noisy gurgling of the stream.
“Brother Beaver,” moaned Nonie. “Brother Beaver.”
Kendra’s eyes widened. She had seen many beavers. Many times. That had never caused concern before. She liked to watch them. Nonie liked to watch them. They had spent many hours on the banks of the stream watching the beavers fell their trees and build their dams. Nonie had never wailed before.
“Trap,” said Nonie. “Trap.”
Kendra knew of traps. Her grandfather had traps lining one entire side of the cabin. Traps had never been cause for lamenting either. She was puzzled by Nonie’s strange behavior.
Her eyes dropped to Nonie’s moccasined feet. Her grandfather had warned her to watch the trails for hidden traps, though he had assured her that no trapper would set a trap on the foot paths used by the people of the area. Still, he had told her of the dangers of traps and had set and sprung some in her presence to show her their strength. They had snapped small sticks as if they had been kindling wood. Kendra had vowed to watch carefully for traps.
But there were no traps attaching themselves to Nonie’s feet. Kendra lifted her eyes again.
Nonie was still moaning and swaying, rocking the body of the small girl along with her.
Kendra looked back at the stream.
And then she saw it. A large beaver had managed to pull itself to the bank of the stream. On one front leg dangled a piece of redwet ugly metal. The beaver thrashed and pulled, its tail whipping the water, its large eyes wide with terror. A strange agonizing sound escaped its throat. Kendra had never seen anything so awful. Never heard anything so pain-filled.
“What happened? What happened, Nonie?” she cried. “How did it get in the trap?”
“Aiyee,” wailed Nonie, letting go of the child and lifting her hands again.
“We’ve got to help it, Nonie,” said Kendra, her eyes filling with tears. “We’ve got to get it out.”
But Nonie had
Nonie chose the trail along the banks of the stream. Kendra was fascinated with the tumbling, frothy water that bubbled and splashed its way over the rocks she knew lined the bottom, though they could not be seen now through the foam.
“Sister River is in a hurry,” she said to Nonie.
Nonie nodded silently. She never had called the stream “Sister River,” but the child seemed to have taken all of nature into her family.
They were nearing the point where the stream made its sharp turn and headed almost back in the direction from which it had come, giving the Indian people the name of Bent River, when a strange moving in the water caught Kendra’s eye.
She stopped short, knowing that the movement was unusual but not able to figure out what was different about it.
She turned to Nonie and saw that the woman had also stopped, her dark eyes clouding as she looked toward the same spot. Strange words escaped the woman’s lips. Words Kendra had never heard before. Nonie seemed upset.
Then Nonie’s chilling cry filled the air and she raised her arms over her head and began to call to the heavens. “Aiyee—aiyee,” she wailed, making Kendra’s eyes fill with fright, her spine tingle.
She didn’t know whether to cling to the woman’s skirts or turn and flee toward the cabin.
“Aiyee,” called the woman again, entreating the sky in a nameless petition.
Kendra began to cry. In the water the strange thrashing continued, and Nonie kept up the pitiful cries to the skies.
Soon Kendra was frightened into action. She darted to Nonie, yanking on the woman’s skirts, her own wails filling the air around them.
Nonie stopped her strange chants and reached her hands down to the child. She still moaned from somewhere deep inside her.
“What is it? What is it?” Kendra cried, shouting her words above the cries of Nonie and the noisy gurgling of the stream.
“Brother Beaver,” moaned Nonie. “Brother Beaver.”
Kendra’s eyes widened. She had seen many beavers. Many times. That had never caused concern before. She liked to watch them. Nonie liked to watch them. They had spent many hours on the banks of the stream watching the beavers fell their trees and build their dams. Nonie had never wailed before.
“Trap,” said Nonie. “Trap.”
Kendra knew of traps. Her grandfather had traps lining one entire side of the cabin. Traps had never been cause for lamenting either. She was puzzled by Nonie’s strange behavior.
Her eyes dropped to Nonie’s moccasined feet. Her grandfather had warned her to watch the trails for hidden traps, though he had assured her that no trapper would set a trap on the foot paths used by the people of the area. Still, he had told her of the dangers of traps and had set and sprung some in her presence to show her their strength. They had snapped small sticks as if they had been kindling wood. Kendra had vowed to watch carefully for traps.
But there were no traps attaching themselves to Nonie’s feet. Kendra lifted her eyes again.
Nonie was still moaning and swaying, rocking the body of the small girl along with her.
Kendra looked back at the stream.
And then she saw it. A large beaver had managed to pull itself to the bank of the stream. On one front leg dangled a piece of redwet ugly metal. The beaver thrashed and pulled, its tail whipping the water, its large eyes wide with terror. A strange agonizing sound escaped its throat. Kendra had never seen anything so awful. Never heard anything so pain-filled.
“What happened? What happened, Nonie?” she cried. “How did it get in the trap?”
“Aiyee,” wailed Nonie, letting go of the child and lifting her hands again.
“We’ve got to help it, Nonie,” said Kendra, her eyes filling with tears. “We’ve got to get it out.”
But Nonie had
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