The Birchbark House: Chapters 3–4

Off she ran, skipping and bounding in her thin summer makazins, her soft old tradecloth dress fluttering.

As she scraped at the hide, nicking bits of meat and gristle from the surface, she began to get all empty and peculiar and faint inside.

She worked so hard, all through that afternoon, that her grandma, watching her keenly, made a great fuss over the work Omakayas had done on the hide.

There was something about the way he smiled when she made a face, surprised, so grateful, that made her kiss and touch his hair with great passion and indignation in her heart.

Neewo brandished his chubby fists, blithered at the water, blasted spit excitedly at the sparkling waves, and turned his melting and mischief-filled eyes upon his sister to tell her that she was the most wonderful human on earth.

He banged it purposefully at little circles of green lichen scattered on the stone’s surface.

When the stick broke in two, he yelled in sheer joy and continued beating the rock with the short end of it.

Regretfully, she lifted him into her arms, a delicious baby weight, and carried him jouncing back to the clearing and the house.

Mama was constantly preoccupied with him.

The missionaries. They might want to use Pinch as an example—but of what? Things not to do?

Often, he dressed himself quite handsomely—full turban, beaded velvet vest, calico shirt of fine red cloth, a bandolier bag, earrings.

At any moment, Deydey’s mood could change to barbed annoyance.

Perhaps because they had fallen into that angry silence, they walked quietly enough to come upon One Horn, the magnificent buck deer who had lost half of his antler rack defending his island territory.

Unafraid of the girls, One Horn stepped out onto the path and stood alert in the early light, basking a little, warming his coat.

“What’s wrong with you girls?” he said, his voice sharp. “The crows are feasting while you stand here and jabber!”

They continued toward the net, and then slipped under the nets to forage, hopped further beneath, toward Angeline, until they finally ran into the wall of twines and flapped high into the ceiling of the net.

They already had a pile of birds large enough to fill the biggest parching tray, which Angeline had fetched from the camp.

Deydey usually talked about his travels, the places he’d seen and the people, the close calls and momentous encounters with animals, weather, other Anishinabeg, and best of all, ghosts.

I wanted to get my men and our canoe past that spit of land—it’s shaped like a little hook and juts out into the river.

I had barely dozed off when a sudden shaft of lightning hit near, struck a tree that crashed down in the woods.

Deydey solemnly produced the pieces of shirt that his daughters had used to frighten off the birds that day.

This time, he drew from his small sack a long, thick band of indigo ribbon for Angeline. For Mama, a precious dress length of calico cloth, deep red with blue and pink flower sprigs all over it.

Pride fought with dismay inside of her, and she took the gun-barrel hide flesher from her father with a conflicted heart.

But she took Deydey’s gift with a tender thanks, knowing how much he delighted in choosing the presents, and how rarely he praised.

Almost resentfully, she looked over at Deydey’s new makazins.