Shadows Cast by Stars (17 page)

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Came to see your brother.” He leans toward me,
smiling at my discomfort. “Not coming out?” When I don’t answer, he shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He grabs the hem of his shirt, as if he’s about to take it off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, if you aren’t coming out, I have to come in, don’t I?”

“Like hell you do.” I spot Paul walking across the sun-deck up at the house. “Paul!” I scream. “Paul!”

It takes only a second for him to assess the situation. He bounds down the hill, snatching an ax from the woodpile along the way. By the time he reaches the dock, he’s going for blood. “Cedar, get away from my sister!”

The muskrat boy drops the hem of his shirt and holds up his hands. “What’s the matter, Mercredi? I’m just having a bit of fun!”

Paul pulls his lips into a snarl. Cedar takes another step back, inching toward a rowboat tied to the other side of the dock. “Listen, man, I was just messing with her. No harm intended.”

“Get out of here.” Paul heaves the ax from hand to hand.

“I’m going. I just came by to tell you that the Band’s meeting tonight at sundown. At the park. Be there.” He returns Paul’s snarl with one of his own, steps into the rowboat, and rows away.

Paul waits for him to leave and then turns on me. “What the hell are you thinking? Swimming naked where everyone can see you?”

“Don’t yell at me! He’s your creepy friend. Besides, I didn’t know anyone was home.”

“Dad and I just got back, and he’s no friend of mine.” Paul swings the ax up onto his shoulder. “If you want to swim, wear a swimsuit next time.” He starts down the dock, but draws up, favoring his right foot.

I wince. His sole is bleeding. He must have cut it running down here. I wait until he’s gone and then haul myself out of the water, dressing as quickly as I can so I can follow Paul and see to his foot, but by the time I’ve scurried up to the house, he’s left.

“Leave him be,” my father says when I ask where Paul’s gone. “He’s struggling to find his place.”

“His place is here with us,” I mutter as I storm around the house, searching for something to wear tonight that’s not threadbare or a crumpled mess.

“Yes, but he also has to figure out how to live with everyone else. We don’t exist in a vacuum.” My father nods at the dress in my hand. “Wear that. It reminds me of your mother.”

“This?” I frown at it. “It’s too creased.”

“Here. Give it to me. I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“Are you going tonight?”

My father smiles one of his rare smiles. “Yes. Should make an appearance, being one of the new families in town, shouldn’t we?” He drapes my dress over his shoulder and meanders off, humming to himself.

I
don’t know how my father did it, but an hour later, I’m wearing a wrinkle-free dress, the only dress I own. My mother wore this dress once, and gave it to me before she passed. It was too big then, but it isn’t now, and I wonder what she would think, me standing here, old enough to wear a dress she wore when she was my age. When I come down the stairs, my father’s there in the kitchen, looking up at me with tears in his eyes. He brushes them away, and clears his throat. “Tickle from the dust,” he mumbles. “You know.”

I smile. I do know.

Just then the kitchen door creaks open. I turn, expecting Paul, but it’s Bran—Bran like I’ve never seen him before, with a collared shirt and clean shorts. He’s even slicked his hair back out of his eyes.

I don’t know what to do. The last time I saw him, I blamed him for Paul getting involved with the Band. The time before that, I kissed him.

“I was hoping,” he says. He pauses to swallow, and I realize this is new to him. But then again, this is new to me, too. “I was hoping I could take Cassandra to the gathering,” he finally says, forcing the words out so quickly that my father can scarcely stop himself from laughing.

I look at my father. He looks at me, arching an eyebrow as if to say,
Is this what you want? Are you sure?

Yes, Dad. I’m sure.

“Well, I guess that’s okay. Go on. Have her home sometime tonight.”

I kiss my father’s cheek and follow Bran outside.

We walk down the hill in silence, both too shy to speak. He holds the canoe for me, and once we’re both seated, paddles us out into the lake. Bran’s humming, just under his breath, a sound that should calm me, but it doesn’t. My hands have found the sides of the canoe and grip it so tightly that I can’t feel my fingers anymore, but not because of Bran. It’s the shadow I saw in the water. I’m looking for it now, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s looking for me, too.

Bran taps my shoulder. “Are you nervous?”

For a moment I wonder how he could know, until
I realize he’s talking about the gathering. “A little,” I admit.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

From somewhere on the other side of the lake, a raven cackles. If Bran hears it, he gives no sign. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks.

“Mind?”

“About me coming to get you?”

“No,” I say. He can’t see my smile. I don’t mind at all.

Bran continues to talk while he paddles. My brother is a good wood worker, he says. That’s what they’ve been up to while I’ve been with Madda. He tells me about the totem pole they’ve been working on, the images he’s carved, the paints he’s using. I close my eyes and the pole appears in my mind, an enormous grizzly holding a salmon in its mouth, a raven, a kingfisher. I wonder if Bran is aware that he’s talking about his own totem, and Paul’s, too.

“Would you like to see it?” he asks. I look back at him and nod. He grins as a blush stains his cheeks. Something in my chest tightens at the sight of it. “Good. Maybe Paul’s surprise will be ready by then.”

“Surprise?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Maybe not, but that’s okay. I like surprises.

We arrive at the beach all too soon. Bran stows the canoe under the lazy boughs of a willow before taking my hand and leading me toward the park.

Dozens of people mill about. Someone is playing a drum, but everyone else is talking, waiting. Tents have been erected near the road, and the aroma of food wafts toward us. “Hungry?” he asks. I nod. “Good.” Bran holds the flap to the nearest tent open for me. “Inside. Ms. Adelaide will feed us.”

“How can you be so sure?” I say, poking him.

“Just go.” He pokes me back. “You impressed her when you helped out after the earthquake. She likes you.”

Ms. Adelaide mans a cook fire out the other side of the tent. Stacks of venison ribs are arranged over a metal grate, sizzling as fat drips onto the coals. “Meat’s not ready yet, kids,” she says with a broad smile, twisting her massive body to push past a table.

“Doesn’t matter.” Bran settles himself on a crate.

“Hiding out then, are you?” Ms. Adelaide gives us a cockeyed stare and laughs.

Bran shrugs. “Nope. Got any of your doughnuts kicking around, looking for a home?”

“I knew you were after something, Bran Eagleson.” She shakes a finger at him, and then draws a large box
out from under the table. “Here. One each. Just don’t tell anyone where you got them from. This is a special batch for the Elders—for after.”

Bran hands me his doughnut so he can fumble for something in his pocket. “Stay here,” he says to me as he retrieves the doughnut from my hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“Need to give something to someone. I’ll be right back. It’s okay if she stays with you, isn’t it, Ms. Adelaide?”

“Sure, if she doesn’t mind doing some work—and eat that doughnut before anyone sees!” she hollers, waving a basting brush at Bran’s back. She hands me the brush and a bowl of sauce. “Go on, that meat won’t cook itself.” She sits down on a crate with a groan, and mops her brow. “So, you going around with him?”

I slather the sauce on the meat, thinking of her question, then take a seat beside her. She smells of heat and blood and perspiration. “I don’t know.” Because I don’t. But if not, what is this, then? Just Bran being nice?

She waves her hand in front of her as if the answer’s obvious. “You aren’t sure, huh? Well, if you ask me, you are. He wants to, at least. What about you?” She peers at me. “What do you want?”

What do I want. I look outside. Paul is making his way through the grounds, walking with Avalon. “What I want,” I say slowly, “is for my brother to be happy.”

“Ah.” Ms. Adelaide follows my gaze. “And you think he’ll be happy with her?”

“No. I don’t.” But he looks happy, and that’s got to count for something.

“So, now I know what you want for your brother. How about you?” She laughs. “Look at me, pestering you with questions. But if I could go back to your age, there is one thing I’d do.” She fixes her gaze on me with such intensity that I can’t look away. Her shade is a bear, a great mother bear, reaching over her shoulder to touch me. “It would be to listen to my gut and follow it, no matter what. You’re a thinker, I can tell, and thinking is good, but if you don’t listen to your gut, well, you don’t got much.” She pokes me in the stomach. “You ask your gut what it thinks about Bran, and you follow its advice, and don’t let anyone, not Avalon or Bran’s fool mother tell you otherwise.” She pushes herself up, taking the bowl of sauce with her to slop more on the ribs.

Listen to my gut
. I want to. It’s what told me to kiss Bran the day of the earthquake, but the trouble is, what if it’s wrong?

“Talk to him,” Ms. Adelaide says, though she doesn’t
look at me. “Going ’round and ’round in your head will get you nowhere at all. Talk to him, and then you’ll know what’s what.”

“Talk to who?” Bran steps into the tent. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Speak of the devil,” Ms. Adelaide says. “You look like you just swallowed a canary.”

“Nope. I just found out my mother’s gone home with one of her headaches, so tonight, I’m free!” He pulls me to my feet and spins me around in a circle. “Free!”

“Go on then, free boy. You’re going to get into trouble if you stay around my kitchen. Out!” Ms. Adelaide shoos Bran from the tent, but grabs my elbow before I can leave. “Now, girl, listen to me,” she whispers. “They’ll be bringing out whiskey later—stay with Bran and don’t let him drink any. He’s just kicked it, and for him to go back to the bottle? Tragic.” She shakes her head. “Shame we have it here at all. Probably best if you just get Bran to take you home after Madda does her thing. The men, well, things can get out of hand, and you’re new—different.” She cups my chin with her wide, firm hand and gives me a searching look. “Promise?”

“I promise,” I say, shocked at everything she’s just implied. Is that why Bran’s shade is so strange? Because of whiskey? If so, what does that mean for Helen’s own
newly healed shade? Did she have the same problem, or is it something else entirely?

“Good.” She squeezes my chin. “I knew you had a good head on your shoulders. Make sure you have a little fun tonight.”

Bran waits for me a few paces away, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “What did Ms. Adelaide want?”

“She said that things can get out of hand sometimes, and if they do, you’re to take me home.”

He nods. “That’s true. And I will. But for now let’s go and get a seat. The drumming will start soon, and then the dancing.”

“Do you dance?”

“No.” He purses his lips. “Not until my father returns.”

“Why is that?”

“Don’t know.” He picks a pinecone up off the ground and throws it as far as he can. It bounces into the trees. “Just doesn’t seem right without him. He’s the one who taught me.”

The longhouse is already full of people when we step inside, but space is made for us near the fire. This is my first time inside the longhouse. Heat rises from the coals in invisible ribbons, making the sisiutl, the double-headed mythical serpent, painted on the far wall look
alive. Already the transformation from here to the time of myth has begun, and when I look around, I see that other people feel the shift too.

The drummers have all ceased playing, save for one lone man. He’s ancient, and as the shadows of the fire ripple across his face, I can see his shade, a raccoon, hovering so close I can’t tell where it ends and the man begins. He beats a slow rhythm on his drum—
ba-bump, ba-bump
—like a heartbeat. I feel it deep in my chest, deep in my bones. Those sitting around me feel it too. I can tell from the way their breathing shifts, the way they close their eyes and listen.

Above, through the smoke hole, the moon peers down at us: Cree, Dene, Anishinaabe, Métis, white, half-breeds, some with the names of their native tongues, some with the names given to them by the white man, some with names that I’ve never heard of before. We’re a strange stew, but we all wait together to see what the moon has to say. The Elders have been cloistered away in a sweat lodge all evening. The crowd’s on edge.

Never takes this long
, someone nearby whispers.