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Adelaide sprinted through the trees, her exposed feet nimbly skimming over fallen branches, moss caressing the underside of her calloused toes. Shoes were discarded as soon as the air turned balmy, promising the onset of summer.
Sunlight flickered through the dense forest as the young girl cantered toward the creek, the first sign of salmon splashing in the cool water, seeking their ancestral spawning ground.
Sitting on the shadowy embankment, Adelaide dipped her toes in the sun-sparkling water, breathing in deeply. Her sisters stood at the top of the steep cliff just on the edge of the clearing.
Arlana wore a dress meant only for dress-up. It had likely been a bridesmaid's dress at some point before it found its way from the second-hand store to being Arlana's most cherished possession. She stood in the sunshine, her baby sister at her side, long hair caressing her hips, quoting her favorite heroine, Anne of Green Gables. She'd read the book so many times, she knew it by heart.
Crossing her hands dramatically over her flat chest, she breathed in the shimmering rays bathing her upturned face. Daydreaming of none other than the handsome Gilbert Blythe, it was by far the most romantic love story she had ever read.
Arlana refused to step any further toward the edge of the embankment. It was much too steep and, if she placed her foot in the wrong position, she was certain she would inevitably plunge to an untimely death. Additionally, the trees were swarming with ants and spiders, mosquitoes dancing in the shadows. No, she was perfectly fine exactly where she stood.
Far below, her younger sister sat alone, daydreaming of the surefooted aboriginals who had once prowled this very hill, seeking sustenance from the jumping salmon in the creek. Adelaide had more in common with the stillness and the rippling creek than with her sister who recited prose, frightened of what lay within the forest.
***
THE MCLEESE FAMILY attended their small, rural church like clockwork - twice on Sunday and never missing a Bible study or prayer meeting during the week. Their father, never late, opened the door waiting for his family to enter in a duck-like procession.
They were much too early, the pastor and Sunday School superintendent the only ones who had arrived only moments before the McLeeses.
The sisters walked down the cement stairs, their shoes echoing in the hush despite their efforts to be ladylike.
"Good morning," the snowy-haired Mr. McLeod smiled, locking a small chest where he kept prizes for any newcomers.
It was a very special cabinet that held small trinkets. The Sunday School children were aware that if they invited a friend to join them for Sunday School, not only would their guests get to choose a sticker or pencil, but they would as well.
"'Morning," Arlana murmured, straining for a fleeting look at the treasures within before Mr. McLeod fastened the door, twisting a small key in a padlock.
"You're early," he stated the obvious with a warmhearted grin.
It went without saying, they were perpetually early.
"Do you need help with anything?" Arlana offered, glancing at her sisters who stood at her side now in a horizontal, duck-like position.
If anything, the McLeese children knew how to be on their best behavior.
"That would be great," Mr. McLeod accepted Arlana's offer. "If we finish before the others arrive, I will show you a book I brought today."
Curiosity piqued, the children worked quickly, ensuring the wooden chairs were in a straight line, row by row. Only three rows, however, as only a handful of children attended church, but one could never be certain if today, at last, there would be a visitor. It was better to be prepared.
Sitting down in the first row, the McLeese children peered over the aging man's broad shoulders, examining the pictures of a book he clutched on his lap.
A missionary story! Mr. McLeod enjoyed regaling the children with stories of men and women who gave their lives to bring the Gospel to far-off lands. This story, however, promised to be different. Pictures of Native Americans captivated their attention. Mr. McLeod explained the book was about a missionary who was burdened for the souls of Canada's first people.
"I'd love to be a missionary to the Indians!" Arlana breathed, starry-eyed.
Adelaide stepped back, frowning. Was this the same Arlana she knew? She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing the truth. Natives were the remotest thing from her sister's romance-filled mind.
At nine years old, all her sister talked of was Gilbert Blythe or on rare occasions, Civil War soldiers. An avid reader, Arlana seemed to imagine she would marry one of her book's heroes or a charming man from another era would step out of the pages of history and sweep her off her feet.
Arlana's mooning was rather pathetic.
Oblivious to her sister's glare, Arlana envisioned statuesque, bronzed warriors with muscled chests wearing only loincloths. She could easily lose her heart to such a man. Oh yes, Arlana would love to be a missionary or a captive. Either would be most romantic!
Mr. McLeod's eyes misted. At last one of the Sunday School children caught his vision. Arlana might just become the small Baptist church's first missionary!
Instinctively, he patted the girl's hand with his aged one, "I have booklets at home of missionaries living on Indian reservations. I will talk to your parents and drop them off this week for you to read. I am certain you will be inspired."
Arlana grinned. Anne of Green Gables, already abandoned, rugged warriors in her place, Arlana already was inspired.
****
ARLANA SAT ON THE VERANDA balancing a four-inch-thick book on her scrawny kneecaps, eyes absorbing each word. In an ideal world, Arlana would do nothing other than reading. Okay, so perhaps she would still eat but only while she read.
A navy blue car pulled up in the driveway, Mr. McLeod beaming as he stepped out of the vehicle.
"Hello Arlana," he stooped to reach for the booklets laying on the dashboard, "I brought you the missionary stories I promised."
“Thank you!" Arlana breathed, excitement making her eyes gleam. She held out her hand for the dog-eared books eager to begin reading.
"If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I've been supporting this ministry for many years."
Adelaide held the door open for their visitor before joining her sister. Arlana opened the first book, skimming the first few paragraphs before deciding to look at the pictures first. She held her breath, examining each photograph closely.
Believers stood holding Bibles, others appeared to be singing. In every picture, everyone wore contemporary clothing. There were no feathered headdresses, or buckskin and definitely no loincloth-clothed men. It was impossible to tell which of the men were warriors.
Disappointing did not adequately express the feeling Arlana experienced as she continued onto the next booklet. It was exactly the same as the first. There was a plausible explanation. Once converted, the natives shunned their traditional clothes, wearing instead of the clothing of white people. What a shame!
****
ARLANA BIT HER LOWER lip, glancing up as Mr. McLeod bid her family farewell.
"Mr. McLeod, why are they all wearing clothes like us?"
"That is what they wear now and for many years it has been that way." He wasn't joking, his features somber. "They need to hear the Gospel. I am so happy you are interested in taking the good news of Jesus to them someday."
Arlana looked away. She was the farthest from interested now. The idea was no longer fascinating or romantic, Arlana assumed it was because of missionaries that these Natives were no longer wild and fierce.
She waited until Mr. McLeod's car disappeared from view before gathering up the booklets.
"Here Adelaide, you can have them."
Arlana would have to figure out how to either avoid Mr. McLeod at church or tell him the truth: she no longer wanted to be a missionary. After a few moments, Arlana decided her only choice was to dodge the man she had always respected.
"I knew you weren't telling the truth," Adelaide frowned, clutching the booklets against her heart.
Arlana shrugged, "I wasn't lying exactly. I just thought they looked different."
Adelaide didn't understand her sister. Why should she? Adelaide's motives were true, her heart pure. In contrast, she genuinely cared about the First Nations people, unlike her sister who cared only if they were the same as the past - swoon-worthy. It was a blessing that Adelaide didn't understand her superficial eldest sister.
****
THE THREE SISTERS CROWDED into the tiny washroom, peering into the mirror as they prepared for church. Adelaide brushed her long, ebony hair until it shone like spilled ink. Arlana stood at her side, preening in case at long last, she might be noticed by one of the single men at church.
Years had slipped away since they frolicked in the country, yet their hearts hadn't changed, at least not that much. Adelaide wore her Sunday best as she prepared to meet with God, Arlana wearing her Sunday best hoping to find a Prince Charming who'd sweep her off her feet, still waiting for that elusive, "And they all lived happily ever after."
Jaira swiped Vaseline on her lips in lieu of lip gloss, eyes on their eldest sister. Dreaming of romance was far more tantalizing than their boring sister, Adelaide, who just didn't get it.
Adelaide glanced one last time at her reflection, satisfied that she looked as best as she could before leaving for church.
"Someone told me this week that I have wolf eyes," she sought Arlana's, biting her lower lip.
Arlana turned her deep blue eyes away from the mirror to look at her sibling. Adelaide was very beautiful with her gleaming hair and eyes that were neither brown nor gold, the color of leaves in autumn sunshine.
Wolf's eyes.
Arlana shrugged, "No, you don't have wolf's eyes. They are seriously ugly."
There was no justification for being so cold-hearted. Cruelty dripped over her jealous words, but Arlana didn't care, aware that her sister's eyes were misted with tears.
Jealousy is a terrible thing.
Adelaide was different from her sisters. She was born to run with wolves.