THEO
SMOKING SALMON hissed in Solomon’s fire pit. He had nearly finished carving his fourteen-foot canoe, complete with elaborate etchings along the side of the red cedar. The depictions were the same as those on his totem that stood in his yard and told the story of his family. At the head of the canoe was the face of his old wolf.
The tiny Soul Box that Frog kept clutched between his limb and cheek was gone from its perch on the log. For the first time in my life, the box was nowhere to be seen. Then Solomon’s door thrust open. There he stood with a feather headdress in his hands, small moccasins, and other items. I recognized that dress as the one that had been in a cedar box in his cabin since his ten-year-old daughter died of smallpox.
“Here, Little Mouse,” he said and handed it to Tula. “Wear daughter’s dress.”
“Really?” Tula’s eyes widened. “Can I put it on now?”
“Yes,” he said. “Go inside.”
She looked at me.
“Go ahead,” I said then sat down on a stump, the heavy reality hitting me. He was giving things away because it was the end of this journey.
Solomon’s lean body looked more skeletal. He stirred his fire.
“Sol, you feelin’ okay?”
“I do not know what an okay feels like, but I am good.”
“Right.” I assessed his many projects: wood carvings, hide tanning, and what looked like the packing up of his things. “You goin’ somewhere soon?”
Just then Tula sprang out of the door in full regalia. She twirled, holding out the caramel-colored buckskin where it was split and beaded up the side to reveal the suede pants beneath. Her hair was in jumbled braids with an eagle feather hanging loose from one tress.
“Duh-HOOTS-nuh!” Solomon said looking pleased. He placed a small necklace in her hand and said, “You wear first daughter’s dress and necklace to your party. You will be strong warrior, Nancy Little Feet.” He patted her head. “Very strong girl warrior.”
Tula’s face beamed with a pink glow and a half-smile. I pictured myself receiving the Eagle Feather, recalling the spark that blazed through me that day. That spark now burned in her. She began her spirit dance by the fire, patting one foot, then the other, chanting and wearing her outfit. She looked to her hands lifted in the air, then back to her feet, weaving her steps on the soft ground around the fire pit. She had learned her dance well. Her chant was rhythmic.
Solomon stood next to me and said, “They are gone.”
“Who?”
“Children with dark eyes,” he said. “Gone to their Ancient Ones. You let them go now.”
I stared into the fire.
“Let them go,” he said. “They are happy.”
I swallowed hard and said, “You were only able to let Ruby go after you avenged her.”
His strong profile did not budge as he watched Tula dance. He craned his head and looked at me; his eyes turned from hazel green to silver-grey.
“It was the right thing to do,” I quickly added.
“And will you burn down a country of madness like you burned down a store? No,” he said. “Let them go. Feed wolf who wants love and peace.” He opened his door and said, “Yes, I will go soon,” and went inside.
Solomon’s fire burst into flames. Gold and red sparks spiraled to the sky.
“Come on,” I said to Tula, and held out my hand.
“Solomon says you’re like a son,” she said not taking my hand but walking by my side.
“He was like a father to me, us when we were young.”
“I bet he was a good daddy,” Tula said and suddenly slipped her tiny fingers into mine.
“The best,” I said blinking away a rush of tears. “The very best.”
“He says I should stay close to you, Immie, Bud, and Pearl,” she said as I unlocked Imogene’s door. “He says I can trust you most of all.” She looked up at me as if to assess with her disbelieving eyes.
“Well—”
“He says you were a good warrior.”
“Well, honey that was a long time ago,” I said locking the door behind us.
“That’s what I thought,” she said heading to the stairs. “Cause you’re old.”
“Well, I’m not that—”
“But Solomon says no, you’re still a good warrior, you just forgot how.”
“Right.” I stood at the bottom of the stairs as she bounced up them in her Indian dress.
She stopped at the top, turned around, and pulled her hands to her hips. “He says you’re a sleeping warrior who’s gonna wake soon,” and then she turned to go into Imogene’s bedroom.
“Oh my goodness!” Imogene swooned. “An Indian princess.”
I remained at the bottom of the stairs, running my finger along the worn edges of the sleeping tin soldier in my pocket.