The Spirit Keeper by K. B. Laugheed Read Free Book Online Page B

I kept my eyes tightly shut and whimpered the whole way. For the first time in our acquaintance, Syawa seemed unhappy when we reached the opposite shore and I fell to my knees sobbing, o’ercome by anxiety. His face was grim as he said something to Hector, but the disgusted tone of Hector’s reply was unmistakable.
    Still on my knees in the mud, I glanced up as Hector spoke. He was saying something about smell—something about how it was too bad the river had not washed away the smell of my clothing. At that, my tears dried up. I rose shakily and walked back into the river ’til the water was up to my waist. I knelt down and rubbed the water into my clothes, glaring at Hector, who watched in astonishment. I scrubbed myself ’til I felt sure my “smell” had been washed away, then stomped out of the water and walked to a log where I could sit and furiously wring out my skirts.
    Syawa grinned at me, delight in his eyes. “You understand his words,” he said.
     • • •
    Yes, I was learning the language, but I still despised water, and so on the day we arrived at a high bank beside a very large river, I knew I was in serious trouble. There was no way I was going to be able to walk across this one, e’en with my companions dragging me by the arms. But as I stood staring down at the watery depths in dismay, Syawa and Hector were peering at something on the far shore, which, when at last I followed their gaze, I found to be an Indian village. The more I looked, the larger the village appeared, and, preoccupied as I was with scrutinizing the huts and people, I failed to see several large canoes ’til they were in the river and coming our way. We had been spotted, which was, apparently, what my companions expected.
    We descended to the riverbank to meet the occupants of the canoes, who obviously knew Syawa and Hector. This, I assumed, must be our destination, the home village of my companions. The villagers eyed me warily as they invited us into their canoes.
    Grateful as I was not to be required to confront the current of this river on my own, I was far from eager to set foot in one of those wobbling, flimsy watercrafts, but before I could begin to fret and without a word of warning, Syawa lifted me up and deposited me unceremoniously in the middle of a canoe. I clung to his arm ’til he gently transferred my death-grip to the side of the vessel. Then he climbed in before me. The rickety craft was pushed into the current, and I clutched both sides with white-knuckled hands, nervous as a cat the whole way.
    As miserable as I was, I took note that Hector, leaning back in the neighboring canoe, was as comfortable and relaxed as I had e’er seen him. Syawa, too, held his face up to drink in the sweet, open breeze of the water-cooled air. Sitting behind him, I could see only a part of his smile, but somehow it seemed sad to me, wistful, tinged with longing. I wondered why his homecoming should make him sad—was he sorry his adventures were finisht? Or was he sorry now to be returning with someone like me?
    I quickly discovered this village was not Syawa’s home at all, but only a place he and Hector had visited on their journey eastward. I believe my companions intended to stop for no more than a night or two, but we ended up staying for several days because shortly after we arrived, my monthly flow began. Aware of my situation, I excused myself to go to the bushes wherein I might tend nature’s business, but an old woman came after me, jabbering away in her incomprehensible tongue. Tho’ I understood naught of her words, I knew enough of reading gestures by this time to see she was absolutely insisting I follow her to a bark-covered dwelling at the edge of the village, where she literally pushed me through the deerskin-covered doorhole.
    Inside the dark hut I found women of various ages lounging ’round a central fire, engaged in casual conversation. When I stumbled in, they all froze and stared at me as I