Long Snows Moon (14 page)

“Two thousand,” Jameson said.

“I guess we’re paying for her art lessons,”
Claire retorted as she placed the soda bottles by the register.

“Claire, please,” Analise scowled.

“I’ll throw in the drinks for free,” Doc Jo
Jo said with a wink. “Here you go. The pedigree papers, a pamphlet
I have personally created on the care and maintenance of your new
puppy, as well as some information on the wolf hybrid. They are a
rare and wonderful breed, if not an exercise in patience. They
require a firm hand, so if you find, for any reason, you are unable
to manage or care for this animal I would appreciate if you would
bring her back.”

“For a full refund?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” Doc Jo Jo chuckled.

Jameson whispered to the puppy, “Keep her
safe and bring her home.”

Long Snows Moon licked her nose.

“I hope your daughter loves this animal. She
is special.” She handed her back to Analise.

“She never stopped talking about you,”
Analise whispered as she cuddled the pup. “You have grown into a
beauty.” She cast a poignant glance at the locket Jameson wore.

“Will you tell her I said hello and I painted
it for her?”

Analise shook her head. “No, I'm sorry, I
can't tell her, she is on a different path. I think hearing that
will make her falter. She must stay on course. She must procreate
our family. This puppy is part of her wedding dowry.” She held Moon
close as she backed away, her face a mask of regret. “I'm
sorry.”

Dowry or bribe? Her lie felt like a slap.
Jameson rushed upstairs to the safety of her loft to hide her pain
and rage.

Her eyes went black as she watched Claire
cart the enormous canvas. Doc Jo Jo scurried to open the door.

Claire howled, not unlike a wolf. Standing on
the deck before them was a wolf. Claire backed away and stumbled
over her own feet. Her ass hit the ground with a thud and the
painting fell on top of her.

“Make it go away!” Claire screamed.

Doc Jo Jo moved the painting and helped her
up. “It's okay,” Doc Jo Jo kicked the door closed and cast Jameson
a chiding look.

Jameson shrugged innocently.

“Come with me, you skinned your elbow. Let me
apply some cream.”

Doc Jo Jo led Claire through the store into
the kitchen. Jameson heard Claire wail when Doc applied the balm.
Served her right. She needed to learn respect.

“Analise! Where are you?” Claire
hollered.

Analise was on the porch, kneeling next to
Two Stars, running her fingers through his fur as if it were made
of mink.

When the women were gone, Jameson slipped
downstairs and clipped the leash on Berry’s collar. The gravity of
her mother’s news left her navigating the narrow bridge between
loss and renewal, between life and death. The news about Devon's
marriage opened a hole in her heart the size of Nevada. She led
Berry out of the kitchen and rushed for the cover of dark woods
beyond the store, feeling light-headed and disconnected. The ground
beneath her feet felt tilted. In her haste, Jameson lost her
balance and almost fell twice.

She felt its eyes on her. Jameson glanced
back at the owl on its new perch atop the greenhouse roof. The owl
blinked. It was not his fault. He was the messenger.

I am sorry, my sister, but your mother is
needed elsewhere.

Chapter Sixteen

The sun blazed
through the high window coaxing Devon from sleep. She sat up,
shocked by unfamiliar surroundings. When she realized she was in
Jameson's loft she sighed and pulled the downy blanket to her chin.
Whatever Jameson put in her tea made her sleep deep and delicious.
Jameson had been thoughtful to bring in her purse and overnight
bag. She left a note on an end table that read: Good Morning Shadow
Wolf, Moon and I are out back. I got your things out of your car
for you. Please make yourself at home, take a shower, sleep all
day, or browse through my library of books. Feel free to stay as
long as you like. Room and board are free at Elk’s Pass Sundries,
as well as anything else you want or need downstairs. Help
yourself. It was signed, J.

Jameson laid out a fresh towel, a
travel-sized toothbrush, toothpaste, and some clean clothes. She
picked up the clothes and smiled. She tried to recall the last time
she wore a t-shirt. She’d always been part of the linen and khaki
club. The t-shirt was soft cotton and a color Devon never wore. The
purple had faded over time to light lavender.

She took in the furnishings and the unusual
furnishings throughout the room. The thing that struck her was the
grand painting above the couch. How she hadn’t noticed it had much
to do with her state of mind.

It was a depiction of a woman in her middle
forties dressed in ceremonial attire. The colors were bold and
primary, even the woman’s face done in hues of yellow, red, and
blue. She stood with her eyes closed and her head turned toward the
setting sun. Behind her was the silhouette of a buffalo. Her arms
were raised to the sky, and in one hand, she held a pipe, and on
the other upturned palm, perched a raven.

Devon knew it was Jameson’s mother, and
realized she owned a piece of Jameson’s art. Devon recognized the
style.

She read the signature. It was signed Raven
Song, like the one in her own bedroom.

“Raven Song,” Devon whispered in awe. She
clutched her heart. Jameson had been with her all along.

She noted a few other works of art including
stunning framed photographs of animals, a pack of wolves sleeping,
a deer hurdling over a fallen tree, a few intricately woven dream
catchers.

She took her cell phone from her purse. It
was dead as she figured it would be. She found an outlet and
plugged it in to charge.

In the tiny bathroom, Devon inspected her
face in the mirror. She looked beyond haggard. Her hair was matted
and tangled. Her eye make-up made her look like a raccoon. The bump
on her head looked like an alien growth exploding from her
forehead.

“Real nice,” she muttered.

She stepped into a hot shower, mindful of her
bumps and bruises. The pressure was hard and the water smelled
pure. She let it carry her worries away and wash them down the
drain. Devon wondered if she ever felt this serene and carefree.
The troubles that had plagued her yesterday were now arcane and
although her body battered, her spirit soared like an eagle above
the trees.

Fly high and you can see more clearly.

She toweled off and dressed in Jameson’s
well-worn clothes.

She had to hobble but Devon made her way
downstairs, but not before a perfunctory glance in the mirror. She
was not in the habit of going anywhere without make-up, but the hot
water had made her cheeks rosy and her eyes glistened with the
ardor of last night’s kiss. The languid feeling was as out of
character as the clothes, but she wasn’t urgent to leave. She had
nowhere to be.

The cuckoo clock told her it was eight. She
noted from the sign that the store opened at nine. She smelled
coffee and found the kitchen. She poured a cup and watched Jameson
outside, in the herb garden sprinkling something on the plants and
talking to them. Moon sat at the open gate and watched her, too.
When she saw Devon in the doorway, she bounded toward her, barking
with delight.

Devon sat on the back steps and cuddled her
dog. She waved to Jameson.

“Good morning!” Jameson called. “How do you
feel?”

“Not bad, actually.”

“Are you hungry?” Jameson asked, weaving her
way through the plants.

“A little,” Devon admitted.

“Good, I’ll make us some breakfast.” She
helped Devon to her feet and the three went inside. Jameson eased
Devon into a chair and pushed her up to the wide table.

“This set is magnificent,” Devon noted.

“Solid oak,” Jameson replied, rapping on the
tabletop. “I learned a lot sitting at this table. My mother used it
to dry her tobacco and her herbs. She used it to make her salves,
to bottle her ointments. She taught me how to weave my first dream
catcher right here, and taught me history of the Native American,
or as the politically correct folks say, First Nations people. She
taught me about Wakan Tanka.”

“Wakan Tanka?”

“Another name for God, the Creator, the Great
Mystery. How do you like your eggs?”

“I don’t eat meat,” Devon said.

“Eggs aren’t meat.”

“They would be if we didn’t eat them.”

“They haven’t been fertilized.”

Devon laughed. “This could go on and on. I do
not eat meat or anything that has been inside it. I never
have.”

“But, why?”

“I can’t eat the flesh of a living thing,”
Devon shuddered.

“That is their purpose, sustenance,” Jameson
told her. “Do you eat salads?”

“Yes.”

“Plants are living.”

“They don’t bleed and they don’t scream,”
Devon told her.

Jameson checked Devon’s forehead with an
expert touch. “I have a balm for the cut. Can I put some on it or
is it still too tender?”

Devon touched it. “It still hurts like
hell.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Jameson smiled.

She went out front and returned with a small
jar. She dabbed some on the wound as Devon inspected the bottle.
The label read Doc Jordan’s Antibiotic Balm, no ingredients, just
the name.

“What’s in this?”

“Secret family recipe.”

“Do I smell camphor?”

“That’s one ingredient,” Jameson
admitted.

“What did you give me last night? I don’t
even remember falling asleep.”

“I gave you Sleep Tea,” Jameson said.

“Another secret family recipe?”

“Yes, it’s a mixture of Valerian Root,
Passionflower and a few other herbs.”

“If you sold that stuff I could get rid of my
Xanax prescription.”

“I make it myself and I do sell it, right out
there, by the pack or by the pound,” Jameson pointed to the store.
“Do you still have pain?”

“I’m okay. I took a few pain relievers before
I showered. I could use a manicure, though.”

Jameson laughed and took Devon’s hand. “Broke
a few during your Medicine Walk, I see.”

“Is that what it was? I wondered about that.
I still can’t believe I ended up here.”

Jameson kneeled in front of Devon. “Maybe
because here is where you were going,” she stated.

“Thank Wakan Tanka you found me.” Devon
smiled.

Jameson giggled and got up. “Very good, I’m
impressed. Okay, nothing that bleeds or screams, how about
pancakes?”

“Great,” Devon agreed.

Jameson scrambled some eggs with the
hamburger leftover from last night for Moon and a stack of
flapjacks for them.

“Last night was surreal,” Devon, mused. “I
feel as though I’ve been sleeping forever and I just woke up. Now
I’m ultra-aware of my senses and I’m absolutely starving.”

“It’s coming,” Jameson smiled.

“Not just my stomach. It’s my mind that’s
ravenous, my spirit, my body.”

“I can help you feed those things.”

“My soul aches,” Devon sighed. “Is that even
possible?”

Jameson pulled a chair up beside her and took
Devon’s hands. “Stay here for a while.”

“Okay,” Devon whispered, close to tears. “Why
am I so emotional?”

“You can’t stuff your feelings down forever,”
Jameson said. “Eventually your subconscious mind will guide you to
find a way to release. You want to be free of the emotions you find
cumbersome.”

“That’s a fine wisdomism, Raven Song,” Devon
praised.

“You remembered that?” Jameson asked.

“Not until this morning when I saw the
signature on the painting upstairs. I own a piece you did about ten
years ago. My mother must have bought it for me when she got
Moon.”

“Shawnodese, spirit keeper of the south. He
is a coyote.”

“The south,” Devon mused. “That is the only
direction that didn’t come to me in the woods.”

“You had company?” Jameson asked.

“Yes, Mudjewkeewis of the West, the bear told
me the time of the great sleep has ended that I must discover my
own heart.”

“Good advice from a bear,” Jameson
teased.

“Seriously, then Waboose of the North, the
buffalo, I think, was telling me to quit drinking.”

“Over-indulgence is considered weakness.
Excess use of liquor, tobacco, or other drugs clouds your
connection to the spirit world.”

Devon nodded, wishing for some bourbon for
her coffee.

“And Wabun of the East, the golden eagle,”
Jameson asked. “What gifts did he bring?”

“Illumination, insight, spiritual
enlightenment. He was magnificent.”

“The eagle’s feathers have in them the power
to heal. Their feathers are a symbol of honor for medicine people,
warriors, and chiefs. The golden eagle has given many feathers to
my mother and in them the knowledge to cure.”

“Why didn’t I get visions from the south? Why
didn’t the coyote come to me?”

Jameson put the pancakes on the table and sat
across from Devon. “Shawnodese is like the raven, he is a
trickster, but he is also a teacher. He tricks us into learning
without us realizing. His gifts are growth, trust, and love. The
south is the time of midday, of summer. It represents early
adulthood and a time of rapid or sudden change. “

“I have had the painting on my wall for ten
years. It is the last thing I see before I sleep and the first
thing I see when I open my eyes.”

Jameson nodded. “You were born under the
Harvest Moon, one of the three moons of Shawnodese. Your inherent
connection is your birthright.”

“But why didn’t he speak to me?”

“Shawnodese cons us into learning things we
might not have thought we needed. If you learned anything this far
it was because of the influence of Shawnodese.”
I painted it for
you.

Devon nodded and took it all in. “Growth,
trust, love. My head is still cloudy. I could use something to perk
up my coffee. It helps clear the cobwebs.”