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“Down this next valley,” Bryant assured me, then walked up to Black Crow with a serious expression. “Arcans are back here on the mountain, and at least one is down in the town as we speak.”
Black Crow and Bryant began to converse in their tribe’s rapid, liquid language. What was said made Crow’s two brother straighten and frown.
“Come,” Black Crow prodded, shouldering his long bow. “You must tell the elders.”
The village itself was spread neatly throughout the valley meadow edging a river. After a young boy took our horses, Bryant and I followed Black Crow and his brothers through the staring and whispering people as we passed each campfire or thatched shelter.
A woman my age with a single black braid slung across her left shoulder came up to Black Crow as we reached the main lodge. She was dressed in the traditional clothing of the Snoqualmie women that I recalled from Hilly’s museum.
“This is Dove-caller,” Black Crow said to me. “Go with my wife.”
I anxiously looked to Bryant, and he rested a hand on my shoulder.
“Go with her,” he said to me. “I need to speak with the elders and other men, and I’ll find you after. I won’t be long.”
Bryant followed the three men into the longhouse.
“Come. I will give you something to eat and drink,” Dove-caller said, drawing my attention away from the closed longhouse door.
I offered a nervous smile, answering, “Thank you. My name is Callista, by the way.”
“Follow me, Callista by-the-way.”
“No, I’m sorry. My name is just Callista.”
“Follow me, Callista.”
Dove-caller led me through the maze of thatched shelters, opening the entrance door to her own. I followed her inside where two squealing little girls raced up to cling their arms around Dove-caller’s legs.
“These are my daughters, Laughing Otter and Bright Flower,” Dove introduced, then ordered the girls out to fetch food supplies.
“Thank you, but you shouldn’t trouble yourself on my account,” I said.
“I am happy for it,” she said, letting go of a long breath. “It will quiet here while they’re gone.”
I smiled. “I can imagine. Motherhood can be very difficult.”
She sent me a “you don’t know that half of it” look of amused annoyance. “I care for them, but there are times I want only to go wash in the river alone.”
I laughed. “You have very beautiful daughters. And you speak English very well.”
That surprised me. I got the impression that the townsfolk and villagers didn’t associate much.
“I thank you,” Dove-caller replied. “Gray Wolf comes here often to speak with my husband, and I hear them.”
“Gray Wolf? Oh, you mean Bryant? That’s his Indian name with your people?”
She nodded. “Some speak your tongue now. It is good. The elders say we must find peace with the people in the town, so some who can must learn. A traveling holy man comes to teach our children. He says that it is easier for the young to learn their ways.”
Recalling Maggie Thunders dark lesson with the indigenous people, I was tempted to warn Dove-caller not to be too willing to allow outsiders to come in and influence her people without first investigating their intentions.
Should I, though? Would it be tempting fate to try and change the darker events of history?
A classic moral dilemma that I often challenged my own high school students to consider.
“What if you could stop a monster?”I would pose at the beginning of every term.
This intriguing question always grabbed full attention. I would then coolly gaze about the room, seeing the students’ suspicious, interested expressions, hear their covered whispers as I allowed the idea to marinate.
