“What if there’s an emergency? What if someone has a heart attack and you have to call an ambulance? How does the ambulance get to the patient?”
“That can’t happen, honey,” Margaret said, her voice gentle, “because there’s no telephone service. The state hasn’t run the lines yet.”
No telephone? What year are they living in here? Faith wondered. She looked at the poles by the side of the road, at the wires strung between them. Well, at least there must be electricity. We won’t have to sit in the dark. Probably.
They passed a number of small houses, perhaps a dozen in all, as they made their way to the farm. The modest homes were only a couple of hundred yards apart and a number of them appeared to be abandoned. They stood in clearings, often with a garden and a few outbuildings alongside. A few had smoke rising from chimneys. In others, women toiled in the gardens. The women stood to wave as the Chevrolet pickup passed, and to scrutinize Margaret and Faith. In a small community like this, Faith realized, everyone knew everyone else. Her arrival—and her mother’s—came as no surprise.
So, what exactly was expected of Faith Covington? Because there would definitely be expectations, she knew that. It was like switching schools or moving into a new neighborhood. You had to figure out where you fit in with everyone else around you. Not that it was easy... Far from it.
Faith’s thoughts were interrupted when Ben stopped the car and pointed to a dead tree by the side of the road. The tree was still standing, though there wasn’t a speck of green on any of its limbs and its bark was sooty black. Perched on one of the tree’s highest branches, a large owl, perhaps two feet high, stared over the top of the pickup. The owl’s gray head was almost perfectly round and its oddly flattened face appeared to melt back on itself. A series of feathered circles, divided by a hooked beak, lent the bird’s face a sleepy appearance, except for the close-set yellow eyes. Those eyes were entirely awake. Awake and watching.
“The owl has secrets,” Ben said. “If she whispers her secrets in your ear, you can see the future.”
“Please, Ben,” Margaret broke in, “don’t fill her head with that nonsense.” She turned to her daughter. “The Lenape have a story for every occasion. They use stories in place of science.”
“I thought owls were nocturnal,” Faith said, drawing on her own knowledge from science class.
“Some are, but not all,” Ben said. “Some are very active during the day. And some come out when they want to tell you something.”
Margaret shook her head, but nothing more was said.
A few minutes later, they reached their destination: Eva Darkcloud Benton’s home at the end of the road. To Faith, it really was the end of the road. The end of life as she’d known it, at least.
Aunt Eva’s single-story house was bigger than most. A small chicken coop stood in one clearing. A larger building stood midway between a shed and a barn. And Aunt Eva had a garden, surrounded by a head-high fence made of chicken wire, that covered most of an acre.
A tall, stocky woman rose to her feet as they approached. She had a hammer in one hand and clasped a dozen nails in the other. Behind her, the fence had buckled and a section was almost touching the ground.
“Bear came through last night,” Ben explained. “Knocked the fence down. Don’t know why. There’s nothin’ in there to eat, not ’til the crops come in. Reckon that bear was just feelin’ ornery. Don’t like nobody messin’ with his forest.”
Margaret opened the car door. “You listen to Ben,” she said to Faith as they got out, “and you’ll think every animal in the forest is a genius. You’ll think the animals have more politics than Washington, D.C.”
Faith paid no attention to her mother. The woman marching toward them—her Aunt Eva, no doubt—was wearing overalls. Women usually didn’t wear pants. But here came Aunt Eva, gray ponytail swaying, work boots slapping, the top two buttons of her work shirt undone. No makeup, of course, and no hat, no jewelry, no purse. Aunt Eva was a big woman, taller than Faith’s mother, maybe taller even than her father, with wide shoulders and broad hips and a round belly the approximate size and shape of a small watermelon. Though her face and neck were wrinkled and she appeared to be at least in her sixties, there was nothing feeble about her long stride.
“Margaret, welcome,” she said. “And you, too, Faith.”
“Thank you for having us,” Faith said, standing alongside her mother. “I’m pleased to be here.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. But here you are anyway.” Aunt Eva looked Faith over. “Tell me, do you do well in school? Are you smart?”
Faith gave the questions a moment’s thought. In fact, she did very well in school and she did consider herself to be smart. She just couldn’t say it out loud.
“Bragging isn’t polite,” she said.
“Not polite? Indians brag about everything. And why not? Nobody’s gonna brag for you. But I can tell right away that you’re smart and that you know it, too. So listen carefully to what I’m gonna tell you. You’re up here in the middle of nowhere on this rundown Indian farm and you maybe feel like your whole life has fallen apart. But what you need to do is make the best of the situation. You don’t learn from doing the same things over and over again. All you do is get yourself in a rut. But now you have an opportunity to learn, a real opportunity. So, listen close and don’t be too quick to judge.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Same old Aunt Eva,” she said. “You might have saved the speech for dinner.”
“Same old Margaret,” Aunt Eva returned. She met Margaret’s eyes momentarily then returned to Faith. “The few summers she spent here, your momma couldn’t wait to get away. Personally, I don’t blame her. Life up here is about hard work and little reward. And I don’t expect you to become an Indian, either. I met your papa once and I know him to be a good man. He’ll find his way before long. He’ll find his way and you’ll be leavin’ soon enough. I’m hopin’ you’ll take what you learn here with you.”
Faith tried to frame some sort of response, something besides, “Yes, ma’am.” But she had no idea what she was supposed to learn and she was still too shocked by Aunt Eva’s general appearance to concentrate on her advice. One thing, though, did strike her. Woman or not, Aunt Eva was in charge.
“I’ll try,” she finally said.
“Good, good. Now you take the rest of the afternoon to settle in. You can work tomorrow. Today, you can explore a bit, but you don’t want to be wanderin’ into the forest. If you’re not friends with the forest, you can get lost real easy. Every year some fool tourist dies in those woods.”
Though Aunt Eva’s last warning rattled her a bit, Faith shook it off. In fact, she felt relieved to discover that the house included running water, a real bathroom, and a kitchen sink. But there was no living room, only a large kitchen with a table and chairs, a refrigerator, and a huge, wood-burning stove.
“Lands, I did grow to hate this stove,” Margaret said. “At first, everything came out either burnt or raw. I couldn’t maintain a constant temperature in the oven.”
“But you learned,” Ben said.
Margaret wasn’t consoled.
“You remember how that thing works?” Aunt Eva asked with a grin.
“I think so. Is the firewood still in the same place?”
“Yep.”
Margaret and Ben led Faith to a small bedroom on the opposite side of the house. There were two narrow beds with iron headboards in the room, a dresser that looked as if it might disintegrate if somebody sneezed too hard, and a single lamp on a small table. Home sweet home.
“You ladies gonna be okay?” Ben asked as he set the luggage down. “’Cause I get to get up on the roof, fix a leak around