Timecachers (53 page)

“So,” she said in mock anger, “you have finally come for a visit with your sister. Is my cooking so bad you can only tolerate it once each season?”

“Meggie, ‘
siyo
. I am sorry I have not come to visit sooner. You know you are the best cook in the entire wolf clan.
Wado
for the food you sent yesterday. It was delicious and much appreciated.”

The solicitation and compliment was clearly a practiced ritual between the siblings, nevertheless, the praise of her cooking transformed her grimace into a smile.

“Had I known you were coming, I could have prepared an evening meal more fitting for guests. As it is, you will have to settle for a less elegant repast. I do have
gahnohayna
if you will come in and allow me to serve you,” she said as she turned and reentered the cabin.

She poured each of the men a bowl of the thick hominy drink, and said, “Henri has told me of your encounter, and I see you are still carrying your arm in a sling. He also told me of your heroic companion, little
saloli
,” she said, nodding to Sal, “who rescued you on the river. He did not tell me he had also been seriously injured.” She regarded Sal’s assaulted face with compassion.

“Squirrel-man, this is my sister, Meggie, as I am sure you have already surmised.”

“
Osiyo
, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please just call me Sal.”

Meggie did her best to remember her manners and not stare at Sal. She found it difficult not to look at his grotesque injuries. “
Osiyo
, Sal. Thank you for your valor saving my brother from the waterfall.”

“Squirrel-man sustained the injuries you see only today. We had an encounter with some would-be thieves, quite possibly the same hooligans who attempted to cause you and Henri some mischief.”

“His poor face looks like it was kicked by a cow. Could you do nothing to prevent their brutality to him?”

“They came upon him while he was sleeping, after I had gone to greet the morning,” Yonah said, then hesitated before continuing. “I was forced to deal with them most severely upon my return.”

Prompted by the questioning look from Meggie, Yonah continued with the details of the encounter. Meggie listened quietly until he revealed he had fatally wounded Sal’s attacker, when she was unable to suppress a gasp of horror. Sadness filled her eyes. Her reaction made Sal realize just how much of a sacrifice Yonah had made by killing the white man. He had most likely given up his home and contact with his family for the foreseeable future; and quite possibly had traded his own life for Sal’s.

They sat quietly, sipping the
gahnohayna.
The tiny cabin was filled with the heartbreak of the brother and sister, knowing that their separation was inevitable. Sal so strongly felt the ache between them that it nearly overcame the pain of his own physical injuries.

What will you do?” Meggie asked meekly, foreknowing his reply and dreading it.

“Perhaps I will head to the western territory. It is where they wanted me to go anyway.” Yonah kept his voice neutral, trying not to add to the gloomy mood. “You know that it is quite likely I would have been forced to go anyway. I can travel alone to avoid the white authorities, and ensconce myself until the trouble subsides. But let us not talk about it any further at present. We should enjoy each other’s company today.”

“
D’accord
, I agree!” said Henri. His booming declaration of agreement reverberated inside the cabin, causing Sal to flinch. “Little Squirrel, if you are feeling well enough, I would be most pleased to provide an
excursion
grande
of Acres’ acres and allow the brother and sister a few moments together.”

“Sure, Goliath. I think I can handle a little looksee around the place. Lead the way, dude.” Sal followed him outside.

Henri sucked in a great breath of fresh air, his body seeming to expand as it was released from the confines of the cabin. The cabin and property were nearly identical to Yonah’s, situated on a mountaintop with a view of the river far below, which Henri indicated to Sal with a broad sweep of his massive arm.

“Many years ago,
mon père
, who was a trapper and trader from Canada, used that river to trade with the Cherokee. His father before him was also a trapper. The Tsalagi resisted contact with the whites for many years, except for a few French traders they believed trustworthy. Back then the game was plentiful, and one could make a living from the land. It is no more; the bounty of the land has long been overused. As a young man, I accompanied my father on many of his trips here to the south. When I met Meggie on one of those trips—for me it was
coup de foudre
—love at first sight. We were married soon after. That was when I settled here.

“With strong ties of three generations, I have a deep regard for this Indian land. Now I cannot imagine living anywhere else. Meggie and Yonah’s bond to this land go back hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. Giving this up will be
tres
difficult for Yonah, Little Squirrel.”

“Yeah, man, I do understand how difficult it’s gonna be. He and a whole heap of Cherokees are about to be put through a butt load of suffering and loss. I made some good friends in the short time I’ve been here, and it pisses me off to see them mistreated like this.”

“
C’est la vie, mon ami
. It is heartbreaking. I share your anger, but anger will do no good. The people will do what they will do.”

“Yeah, dude, I guess you’re right. But now, because of me, Yonah has gotta live like an outlaw. I hate to think what will happen if they catch the old dude, and it’s all my fault.”

Henri’s immense eyes widened. “
Sottises
, Little Squirrel. Nonsense, you are not to blame; he acted to save your life. Were you not willing to suffer abuse to protect him? What would you have him do? You do not understand Yonah very well if you believe he could stand impassive while a friend’s life is endangered!”

Sal acknowledged him with a grunt. He had been with Yonah long enough to know that what Henri said was true. He also knew that there would have been no reason for Yonah to shoot the man if he hadn’t allowed himself to be captured.

Henri sensed that Sal was still feeling guilty about Yonah, and the pain he was feeling from his beating was evident. In spite of Henri’s rough, mountain-man appearance, his heart was as big as the rest of him. He felt compassion for Sal, and wished there was something he could do to help him feel better. He suddenly brightened as a solution came to mind.

“Come with me, Little Squirrel. Between your look of pain, your blackened eyes, and your dour mood, you are not going to enjoy my little tour. I have just thought of something that may help you feel better.”

He led Sal past a stable and corral. Several horses nickered and ran to the fence when they saw Henri, who whispered soothingly in French to them as he passed. He continued walking toward a large storage shed, breaking into a French song. Sal’s French wasn’t good enough to make out all the words, but he could make out enough of the bawdry lyrics to realize Henri’s song wasn’t exactly
Frere Jacques
.

Henri pulled opened the shed door, continuing to sing and motioned for Sal to enter. They picked their way through, stepping over heaps of feed sacks and farm implements until they reached a dusty old cabinet buried behind a mishmash of items at the very back of the building. Henri began moving things away from the cabinet, slinging them to the tune of his song until he made enough room to open the creaky cabinet door. Great clouds of dust rose from his efforts, setting off a sneezing and coughing fit from Sal.

“Good god!” Sal coughed, waving the dust from his face. “What the heck are you up to, Goliath? You got the family heirlooms hidden in there or what?”

“Je suis désolé, mon
petit ami
,” he apologized. “No heirlooms; only this.” He held up a brown, dust-covered jug for Sal to see. “This was given to me by an old trader friend passing through long ago. It is what we call calvados. In this country they call it applejack. I have kept it here in case there was ever a, uh, medicinal need.”

He wiped the dust from the neck of the jug, pulled the cork, handed the jug to Sal and said, “A drink or two of this will help ease your pain.”

Applejack is produced by distilling hard cider. If done properly, the final product can be as strong as eighty-proof liquor. Henri’s calvados had aged while stored in the cabinet, increasing the alcohol content considerably.

Sal took a sniff of the open jug. It had the smell of strong liquor, but with a sweet, pleasant apple overtone. He figured Henri was right; a good, stiff drink would probably help ease his pain. He took a swig.

“Sweet suffering superman!” he whispered hoarsely. The calvados tasted more like pure grain alcohol than apples. The burning in his throat took his breath away and made his eyes water.

“Oh ho!” said Henri. “Maybe the drink has become too strong? I should have sampled it first.”

Sal handed the jug back to him. “Be my guest, dude,” he said, recovering slightly from the unexpected assault on his throat.

“Perhaps just a drop,” Henri said, accepting the jug and taking a long pull. “
Mais oui
, it has aged well.”

“Aged? I think it’s gone senile. You could remove paint with that stuff, man!”

“It is a taste one must grow accustomed to. I myself have all but given up strong alcohol, but I hoped a small imbibe might lessen your pain.”

Sal had to admit that his pain was beginning to dull as the warmth of the drink spread through his body. “You know, I think it might be helping a little after all.”

Henri grinned broadly and passed the jug back to Sal. “
C’est grand
! Perhaps a bit more, then?”

Sal took another drink, this time a little more tentatively, and found that the second swallow went down much more smoothly. He was able to detect the sweet undertone of apples that the beverage had retained. Sal seldom drank hard liquor, despite an outward show of the wild lifestyle he tended to present. He occasionally enjoyed a glass of wine with dinner or a cold beer on a hot day, eschewing drinking just for the sake of drinking. It wasn’t that he had anything against sensible drinking; he’d done plenty of partying when he was younger. More recently though, his career and other activities filled his life and he had gradually become estranged from the party crowd. It wasn’t really a conscious decision; just something that happened as he grew older.

“Not quite as rough the second time,” Sal said and passed the jug back. “Why do you keep it buried out here in the shed, Goliath? Hiding it from the missus?”

“Not so much of the hiding, Little Squirrel. The strong spirits have been most harmful to many of the Tsalagi people. To some of my French-Canadian friends, the wine and spirits are
douceur de vivre
and they could not imagine doing without it. For myself—
prenez-le ou laissez-le
—I can take it or leave it as you say,” he said. He took another swig, wiped his sleeve across his bearded mouth, and continued. “Some of the Cherokee seem to have something in them that makes them like it too much. Both Meggie and Yonah have seen many of their kinsmen’s lives ruined by the drink, and because of this they have developed strong feelings against any form of alcoholic drink. It is for this reason I do not keep it in the house; to respect their wishes. I think they would not approve even of medicinal use,” he said sheepishly, “so it may be wise to not speak of it to them.”

“Mum’s the word, big guy,” Sal winked. The third gulp began to deaden the ache in his back and replace it with a warm glow. “Hey, I wouldn’t want to disrespect them either, you know. I feel the way you do; I can take it or leave it. I’ve also seen folks whose lives have been devastated by drinking too. Back in Jersey, I had a bud who was killed in an accident while he was drunk, so I can understand why someone who had to put up with a family member with a drinking problem might have strong feelings against alcohol.”

Agreeing that they understood Yonah and Meggie’s feelings about alcoholic drink, they continued to pass the jug between them, certain that because they could not be seen, they were doing nothing offensive. Sal’s pain faded a little with each drink, and Henri’s social etiquette demanded he not let Sal drink alone.

“Say, Goliath,” said Sal, slurring slightly, but feeling much better. “What was that tune you were singing on the way here? It was kind of catchy.”

“Tune? Oh,
oui
. It was
Chevaliers de la Table Ronde.
Just an old song we used to sing when good friends got together. I still remember most of the words.” He began to sing, his huge barrel-chest producing a rich baritone.

“
Chevaliers de la table ronde, Goutons voir si le vin est bon. Goutons voir si le vin est bon. Goutons voir, oui oui oui. Goutons voir, non non non. Goutons voir si le vin est bon
.”

Sal understood enough French to recognize that the song was about the Knights of the Round Table, but not much more than that. His pain had been significantly dulled by the calvados, and despite their conversation moments ago about alcoholic drink, the pair continued to pass the jug of applejack between them. The song seemed to have endless verses, and Henri sang them heartily. Between the buzz from the applejack and the hooking melody of the song, it wasn’t long before Sal joined in, singing the “
oui, oui, oui
,” and the “
non, non, non
” lines of every verse. The singing stopped abruptly when the door swung open and a man stepped into the shed.