The Shadow of the Wolf Read online

  “Fawn,” I begged, “please do something.”

  Fawn only shook her head. “If I let the wolf get away, my father will be angry with me. We trap animals because the white man gives us money for the skins. Our land has been taken away. The animals are all that are left to us.”

  Fawn’s words made me angry. “I didn’t take your land,” I snapped. “My papa is helping to get it back.”

  The wolf lay very still, looking up at us with its green eyes. There was dried blood where the trap dug into its leg. I began to cry. Fawn picked up a dead branch. I covered my eyes so that I would not see her kill the wolf.

  For Chris, Robin, Ron, Drew, Rex, and Sue,

  and all my friends at the Petoskey library

  The September of 1841 arrived a red and gold leaf at a time. The ferns turned brown and shriveled. The falling acorns made little plopping sounds on the roof One by one the singing birds left us until the woods were silent. Papa began to grow restless. That worried Mama.

  With Papa there is no standing still. Even before our Potawatomi Indian friend, Sanatua; came, Papa was asking travelers about the northern woods. In our home of Saginaw, cabins had shot up everywhere. Papa is a surveyor who came to Michigan to measure out the miles of empty woods. Now there was little left to measure, and Papa was thinking about moving north.

  A house had sprung up where I once picked blackberries. A family built on the opposite shore of the pond where I had spent many early mornings and evenings fishing. Their house stood where the blue heron used to nest.

  I was excited when Sanatua came for Papa’s help. “The Ottawa who have taken my family in have heavy troubles,” he told us. “White men have come to buy up all the land around their village. One day the white men will cut down the trees. They say wood is needed to feed the bellies of the great steamships. They must have wood for building. In their villages, houses appear like mushrooms after an autumn rain.”

  “What will happen if the Ottawa lose that land?” Mama asked.

  Sanatua frowned. “With no land on which to live, the Ottawa, like my own tribe, the Potawatomi, will be sent far away.”

  “How can you stop these men?” Papa asked.

  “Some years ago the Ottawa chiefs were deceived into selling much of their land to your government. In exchange, your government gives them money each year. The Ottawa can buy some of their land back, but it is not easy. The surveyors they hire cheat them. They take the best land for themselves. That is why I thought of you. You are a man the Ottawa could trust. But there is not much time. You once spoke of wanting to move north. Come and see our land. See if you would not be happy there.”

  Papa could hardly wait to saddle his horse and ride north with Sanatua. Mama and I stood by the window to watch them leave. I wanted to go along with them as far as the woods, for I can run as fast as Papa’s horse can trot. But Mama would not let me. “You are thirteen now, Libby. Flying skirts don’t become a young lady,” she said.

  It was hard for me to stand still when all my thoughts were traveling north with Papa. He would soon be seeing my dearest friend, Fawn. Fawn is Sanatua’s daughter. In Indian her name is Taw cum e go qua.

  In the distance Papa and Sanatua grew smaller and smaller. Soon they were gone altogether. Mama sighed and picked up William, who was beginning to cry. William is my year-old brother. I knew Mama held William not just because he was crying, but because he felt good. I used to hold my doll for the same reason when I was not so grown up as I am now.

  I also knew that Mama did not want to leave Saginaw. Our small cabin was comfortable. We had cushions on the chairs and curtains on the windows. Mama had made a garden. The Maiden’s Blush rosebush had been only a twig when we brought it from Virginia. This summer it had five blooms. Mama saved all the petals and put them in a bowl with spices.

  I did not know how I felt about moving. Like Papa, I was sorry that the woods were disappearing from Saginaw. And if we went north, I would see Fawn. I had made friends in Saginaw, but none like Fawn. She was happy to watch a caterpillar on a leaf for five minutes at a time. Still, it was troublesome to think about going to unknown country.

  While I waited for Papa to come back, I returned to my favorite places: the tall elm tree where the oriole had nested, the little stream where I had gathered tadpoles, and the stand of poplars where I used to hide in the early evenings to watch the beavers cut trees for their lodge.

  When Papa returned three weeks later, he had a great surprise. He had bought a house in the northern woods! “We must hurry and pack our things,” Papa said. “It will be a long trip on poor roads and the winter comes early there.” We could see his heart had stayed in the north.

  Mama bit her lip as she does when she is unhappy. “Rob, we came all the way from Virginia to Michigan. Now, just as Saginaw is becoming settled, you want to take us away.”

  “Vinnie, I’m tired of living in a bundle, like squirrels packed into a hollow tree.”

  “But, Rob, our cabin is so comfortable.”

  “Wait until you hear about our new home. It was built for an American Fur Company trader. It has a kitchen and a parlor. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms.” At that Mama looked happier. Our log cabin had only two small rooms.

  “Papa,” I asked, “would I have my own room?”

  “Yes, Libby,” said Papa, smiling, “but that is not the best of it. The house is on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. The lake is as big as a sea. And the lake is not like land that someone can buy and sell. It will always be there.”

  I was happy at the thought of a room of my own. I was even more excited to think that I would soon be seeing Fawn. When we parted, she had given me the silver eagle that she wore around her neck. “It will be as if you are one of our Eagle clan,” she said. I had given her my bracelet with the tiny gold heart that had belonged to my grandmother.

  Mama turned up her sleeves and I put on my oldest apron. Papa nailed together boxes to hold our possessions. We began to pack our things for the trip north.

  Last to go in the wagon was William’s cradle. It had been woven for him by Fawn’s mother, Menisikwe. Around the top of the cradle was a border of sweet grass that made our whole wagon fragrant.

  Eagerly, Papa coaxed our horses, Ned and Dan, onto the trail leading north. I could not help looking back. The sun was shining on our cabin. Geese and ducks were swimming on our pond. This year we would not watch them fly away as winter came. Instead, we were the ones to leave.

  I began to understand how Fawn and the Potawatomi tribe had felt when they were forced to leave their village. I remembered how the women had cried out and the men had shouted angry words.

  I had been there when it happened. I was visiting Fawn when the soldiers had come. Because I was wearing Fawn’s clothes, the soldiers believed that I was an Indian, too. They meant to take all of the Potawatomi Indians to the empty country of the west. Sanatua and his family risked their lives to bring me back to Mama and Papa. Then they fled north to join the Ottawa. Now we were following in their footsteps.

  There seemed to be no end to the trip. Each day, as dusk came, Papa would unhitch the wagon next to some small stream or lake. He would walk off into the woods with his musket in search of rabbits or squirrels for our dinner. I would gather firewood and Mama would put on a kettle of potatoes, carrots, and turnips.

  At night Mama and I would make ourselves snug in the wagon. Papa would throw a quilt over a bed of pine branches and sleep under the sky. I tried it, but only for one night. The hooting of the owls and the cries of the wolves sounded much closer than they did in the wagon.

  We spent hours in forests dark as the inside of a pocket. Then, suddenly Ned and Dan would pull our wagon into a meadow that was filled wi
th sun. We traveled through forests of pine trees so tall I could not see to the top of them. We came upon golden-leafed birch and sugar maples with leaves in every shade of red from scarlet to rust.

  We forded streams and crossed rivers on log bridges. On wet days Ned and Dan struggled through mud. On dry days dust as fine as flour sifted onto everything. William fussed and cried because the wagon bumped so. Mama grew more and more silent. Papa tried to be cheerful for all of us. I could see, though, that he wished we would hurry and get there.

  The closer we came to our new village of La Croix, the more Indians we saw. The men wore breechcloths and leggings that went from their ankles to their hips. Some had calico shirts embroidered with beads. They wore feathers in their hair or bright cloths wrapped around their heads. The women were in calico dresses or long tunics. Their leggings went only to the knee and were folded over at the top. Their hair was braided with ribbons or hung down with no ornament but a beaded band around their foreheads.

  The Indians were curious about us. When we stopped in the evenings to camp, they peered into our wagon. Although Mama and Papa invited them to join us, they preferred to sit a little distance from our campfire, talking long into the night. What they liked best was William. The Indian women would pick him up from his cradle and pass him about, exclaiming at his bonnet and dress. When they first did this, Mama was frightened. But when she saw how carefully they held him and how they laughed at his gurgling, she forgot her worry.

  We came to La Croix on a day so warm and sunny it was hard to believe it was the end of October. We saw a small mission church and next to it a great wooden cross, which gave the village its name. La Croix is French for “the cross.” There was also a cooper’s shop, where barrels were made for the fish the Indians caught and sold.

  Scattered among the woods were two or three cabins. Through the trees we had our first glimpse of Lake Michigan. Along the shore of the lake were Indian wigwams with their coverings of birch bark or woven rush mats. Nearby were the fields where the Ottawa grew their corn. Beyond the fields were the Ottawa’s burial grounds, with little birchbark houses to mark the graves. Two years before, Fawn’s brother, along with hundreds of other Indians, had been carried off by the smallpox.

  Sanatua greeted us. He told us that their chief was anxious to meet Papa. “Each day more land is eaten by these greedy men. But first you must take your family to your house. The tribe is thankful for your coming. They have brought wood so you will keep warm this winter. Here is maple syrup and a basket of fish for your dinner. Tomorrow I will come and take you to our chief.”

  “And Fawn?” I asked. “Will I see her?”

  “Today Taw cum e go qua is gathering acorns with her mother. Tomorrow I will send her to you.”

  We left the village and once again entered the woods. After only a few miles we turned onto a road so narrow that the branches of the trees scraped against the sides of our wagon. I could see Mama was holding her breath. Suddenly there in front of us was our house. Mama and I didn’t wait for the wagon to stop. We jumped off. Mama ran toward the house. I ran toward the great Lake Michigan. Below me was a wide sand beach. Beyond the beach, as far as your eye could see, was the lake.

  The ride that day had been hot and dusty. I took off my shoes and stockings. Then I gathered up my dress and ran down the bluff and into the lake. I felt the wet sand between my toes. Gulls soared over my head. The cold waves slapped at my legs. As I looked over that endless water; the world seemed to grow.

  Mama was calling to me. After I rubbed the sand from my feet, I hurried into the house. It looked enormous to me. Downstairs was a parlor with a large fireplace and a kitchen with another fireplace for cooking. There was one big bedroom for Mama, Papa, and William. I was to have the other bedroom. Because of the roofs pitch, you could only stand up in the middle of my room. But there was a window that looked out upon the lake and a door to close.

  Mama was as pleased as I was. “Rob, I’m glad we came. The house needs a good cleaning, but when I hang our curtains and put down the rugs, we will have a fine home. And to have a lake right at our doorstep! Have you ever seen such a blue? Tomorrow I mean to get out my watercolors and paint the lake.”

  Papa laughed. “Why would you want to paint it, Vinnie, when you have it right here?”

  I soon understood why Mama wanted to paint the lake, for it was forever changing. If you did not catch the lake’s color or the way the sun shone on it, the color and the dazzle would be lost forever.

  That evening a rain began to fall, and we quickly got to know the house better. The roof leaked, so we had to put pails in the bedrooms to catch the water. Every cupboard we opened showed that mice lived in the house. When we lit a fire, the chimney smoked so badly we had to open all the windows and doors, inviting the storm inside.

  Papa promised to clean the chimneys and patch the roof first thing in the morning. Mama scrubbed the cupboards and scolded the mice out of the house. We made a fine dinner of the fish Sanatua had given us. Mama cooked up some apples we had brought from Saginaw, and we each had a bit of the maple syrup on them. We had just finished our dinner when we heard a knock at our door.

  The man at the door had no more shape than a dumpling. You had to search for his eyes and nose and mouth in all the folds of his skin. He was gasping for breath from the effort of riding his horse to our house. When Mama offered him a chair, he sank down upon it.

  Finally he was able to speak. His name was George Blanker, he said. He was dressed in a fine suit and tall hat. In his hands he held a box, which he now handed to me. “Here you are, little girl, a small present.”

  I carefully lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a doll more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. She had a china head with pink cheeks, real hair, and blue eyes that seemed to look right at me. She was dressed in silk and even wore tiny leather shoes. I exclaimed with pleasure.

  Papa looked less pleased. “That’s very kind of you, sir, but it is a more generous gift than we would expect from a stranger.”

  I gave Papa a questioning look. Mr. Blanker cleared his throat. “Mr. Mitchell, sir, I hope we will soon be friends rather than strangers. I understand you are a surveyor. Our company is in need of one. I can promise we will pay you well.”

  “What is your company, sir?” Papa asked.

  “Why, I represent one of the largest timber companies in the state of Michigan. We own thousands of acres. We are logging downstate now. But we want to have a new supply of forest ready and waiting. If you don’t buy ahead, the price becomes too dear. There is a fine harbor just south of here where steamers can load the logs and take them down to Chicago. They say houses are rising there at the rate of one a day.”

  Papa’s lips tightened. “Where will this land come from?”

  “Why, from the Indians!” Mr. Blanker looked pleased with himself. “According to the Treaty of 1836, the government has the right to take back the land around here that the Ottawa Indians have been living on. We mean to buy up that land. And I will tell you a secret.” He lowered his voice and looked about as though there might be spies in the room. “I have heard that there is a grove of bird’s-eye maple around here. I mean to have it. Bird’s-eye is all the thing for furniture.”

  Mama has often enough told me that children should be seen and not heard. Still, I could not help asking, “What if the Indians want to buy back their land?”

  Mr. Blanker gave me a surprised look, as if a dog had suddenly started talking. Then he appeared cross. Finally he laughed.

  “Well, miss, we are going to get there first. We’re a lot shrewder at buying land than the Indians. Let them go up to Canada or out west. Why, I heard only the other day that those Indians want the government to give them citizenship status. They want to be able to vote. What do you say to that?”

  Mama sat up very straight in her chair. She reached over and took the doll from me. Carefully she wrapped the doll up and placed her back in her box. Then she handed the box to M
r. Blanker.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  Papa stood up. “I’m afraid I have already pledged to work for someone else.”

  “Someone else? Tell me what that company has agreed to pay you and I will double it.”

  “There is no company” Papa said. “I have come north to survey land for the Ottawa and to help them buy back as much land as they need.”

  All the folds on Mr. Blanker’s face puffed out like the cheeks of a frog. “You will never get rich working for Indians.”

  “It was never my plan to get rich; Mr. Blanker. I only wanted to help the Indians, who are my friends. Now I have another purpose. It is to see that you do not get the land. Good day, sir.”

  The door slammed as Mr. Blanker stamped out of the house.

  “Who was that man?” I asked.

  “He is what is called a timber cruiser,” Papa said. “Such men go about scouting large sections of land for logging companies.”

  Mama sighed. “We have been here less than a day and already we have an enemy.”

  “We have right on our side, Vinnie. That is all the protection we need.”

  I told myself Mama had been right to give back the doll. Still, my arms felt empty. I knew I would never see such a doll again. It was wrong, but I would have given up many trees to keep her. The loneliness of this strange, new place made me long for something of my own to hold on to.

  We were all too tired from our travels to let Mr. Blanker’s rudeness keep us awake. For the first time in his life William slept through the night. Papa said the sound of the waves soothed him. Indeed, the washing of the waves against the shore is the most restful sound you can imagine. Somewhere between one wave and another I fell asleep.

  Papa worked on the roof all the next day. When he finally came in to supper, he had a present for me. “It’s not a fancy doll, Libby but it will be company for you.” He handed me his handkerchief, which he had knotted into a kind of little bag. I nearly dropped the handkerchief—it was moving! Papa told me to untie the knots.