Chapter 62

While I snuggled with Millie, I could hear John's question repeat over and over in my head as if on a recorder. He had asked, "Daddy, will we get another mama?"

Only Millie could answer that question, and I wasn't going to tell her what John had asked. That Minya and Mato were both up and listening told me the three must have discussed the situation. Little ones do talk and can have serious conversations. I wish I could have heard that one.

I could understand that Minya and Mato might feel that way as their parents had been killed and replaced, then they had two mothers plus a grandmother here, so why not another replacement mother?

John knew Millie was his mother, but he had also known Rosita as another mother. He had fallen asleep with Rosita as often as he had with Millie. I suppose he might have expected that he could get another mother. It was worth a chuckle to think that my son was probably on his mother's side on that subject. I doubted that Millie would be shopping for another woman for me right away. I figured that my mom, Sissy, and sister-in-law were going to be all of the help necessary to keep the home and kids happy. I liked that my nieces and nephews were here most every day and being schooled by their mothers.

I lay snuggled with Millie, listening to her breathe evenly while sleeping. I was spooned against her back, hugging her while her hand was holding mine in place over her motherly breasts. The twins were more than old enough to be weaned, but Millie didn't want them to stop nursing. John was still crawling into her lap and unbuttoning her blouse to get at a breast. I think it was now more for comfort than the milk, but he still wanted that closeness. He was healthy, as were the twins, so it must be good for them.

I think I was asleep when I had the feeling of a presence.

The dogs were anxiously licking me, trying to wake me so they could go out. I crawled from bed and let them out, noting that the clock on the stove said five fifteen. At least the dog clock still worked.

I was warming some old coffee when Mom walked in and sat at the little table. I gave her the first mug and made another for myself as I assembled a full pot to brew.

Mom smiled at me when I sat down across from her and asked me, "Well, did your Rosita visit you?"

I was stunned. How could she know or even ask?

"She did, but didn't say anything. I saw Dad and Grandma, and she spoke to me."

Mom looked startled as she asked, "What did Mom say?"

I didn't really want to tell her, but I described how Dad and Rosita were standing on each side of the fireplace and Grandma was sitting in the rocker. I told Mom that Grandma said, "You need to listen to them, Mike. You need to listen to all of them, especially the little girl who plays in the mountain flowers."

Mom asked, "What does that mean, Mike?"

"I don't know, Mom. All of them have told me to watch for and listen to the little girl who plays in the mountain flowers, and I have. You'd think that little girl would be tired of talking to me by now."

Mom laughed, "You're so funny, Mike. You're having dreams of your father, Rosita, and now your grandmother, and are worried about a little girl who plays in the mountain flowers. You're too much. Let's wait until spring when the mountain will be covered with those beautiful flowers, then do what the little girl tells you."

"You know that it must be more than just following a path, Mom. Up to now, I've been told where to find untold riches and also that I will be needed to help someone. The whispers have all been right on the button so far, Mom. I think I need to listen to what my ghosts have to say."

"You're right, Mike. You do need to listen, but remember you are mortal, and have to listen for clues that will keep you that way."

I heard the gurgle of the coffee pot telling me the pot was finished brewing, so I got up, hugged my mother, picked her cup up, and moved toward the coffee maker.

After pouring Mom a fresh mug of coffee, I dressed and went to do the outside chores. The ladies from below were busy milking the cow and processing the milk. I fed the outside critters and the steers that would be going to the butcher.

Back inside the cabin, Millie was feeding the twins, who were no longer falling asleep after breakfast, but wanting to get down and continue trying to walk. John was always around them, trying to help them stand as they kept experimenting. Watching the older child coach the younger ones is fascinating, as the learning experience must still be fresh in the older child's mind. The kids were very perceptive of each other and knew what each other needed.

It was time for me to review our status with all the leaders of the various groups today. The weather forecast was for heavy snow, so the trucks needed to be loaded with the sand chemical mixture, ready to go. Although all the farms needed to be ready for the snow, the most important one would be Esteban's so that his stock would be well fed, under cover, and have plenty of water.

Cows were funny. They are happy if they have plenty to eat and drink, and a fairly clean, dry area to lie down to chew their cud. You knew the cow would give a lot more milk during the bad weather, as she will have been lying down chewing her cud all day when she wasn't drinking water and eating hay.

The snow was coming down hard by six in the evening. That our trucks were all out working gave me some peace of mind, but I also knew how treacherous it was for those trucks and the men driving them. The men would push the trucks hard to clear the snow from the roads as fast as they could, but they could end up in a ditch if they hit a high or a really slick spot. They all had radios and their cell phones, so they could call for help if they weren't knocked unconscious. Hmm. I'd heard that some cars were being delivered with systems that would automatically call for help in the event of a crash. I decided to ask Bernie if there was anything like that available to retrofit the sand trucks.

I monitored the radio all evening to be sure the men didn't have any problems. They switched off after four hours so some of them could rest. Their own plan was working as the snow fell heavily on the mountainous terrain.

I took my truck out around three AM and cleared the snow from our lane, Ben's place, and down to the main road. I cleared the widow's drive on the way back, then the other side of the road all the way to the house. I knew the men would have done it, but there's no sense in making them do more than they have to. Besides, this was my mountain and I need to keep the roads cleared when I can.

The folks from below were coming up to do morning chores by the time I came back to our driveway. I parked my truck, did the heavy outside work, then carried milk cans to the summer kitchen. The house was busy with the older girls helping Millie make breakfast. I loved how they had taken up the slack that would have normally been Rosita's efforts.

It's funny how a dozen huge trucks were in our parking area as it neared six thirty, and all of the roadmen were having breakfast with us. What was even more surprising was that their wives were with them.

Jimmy told me, "This is what makes us a family, Mike. We know we can come here, get warm in front of your fire, eat well, and be safe from all that awaits us." The fact that Calvin and John were there made Camille's day, as she sat next to the man she was so interested in.

It was typical that Mom had taken them both into my office for a while, and all three were smiling when they came out. A little later, after the men had left, Mom took me into the office and said, "I talked to the two of them and cautioned them about doing anything more than they should. Both agreed and it was so sweet when Camille kissed Calvin and told him that he wouldn't regret waiting. You know, Mike, we did something special when we took those girls in."

I saw the girl dancing in the flowers when I was drifting off to sleep that night, but she danced to right in front of me and said, "I need to teach, I need to instruct, and I need to help them know where they came from."

That was it. She left me a cryptic message as she played in the flowers and flitted away. I had no idea what she meant.

This was Friday, the day we prepared for market. We were all busy and I had to talk to the butcher to make sure of what I would be bringing him and what he was sending me. I had to reduce the temperature and keep the meat smoking if he didn't need all that I had ready in the smoke houses.

My next concern was that it was time for Sylvia Porter to visit. To keep this on a level where I felt I had the upper hand, I called her.

"Sylvia, this is Mike Grayson. How are you?"

The woman answered, "I'm fine, Mike. You know it's time for an unannounced visit, don't you?"

"I do, Sylvia, but I have to advise you that we've had an unexpected problem. Rosita has passed away. She was stricken with cancer, and she succumbed to the disease while the cancer center at the university in Lexington was trying to save her."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mike. I should have been told, but your county only tells the state what they want. It's like you're all on another planet or something."

"Don't feel that way, Sylvia, we're just a bunch of folks who try to do the right thing, but screw up some of the time. The folks here have a tendency to want to keep our business here."

"I know, Mike, but it seems as if you all do what you like, then advise us of what you've done later."

"Well, we're telling you early this time, Sylvia. Rosita has passed and we're continuing without any outside help."

Sylvia became serious, "I might have someone to send you that is in need of the help you can give her, but she can provide something special to your children, Mike."

"What could someone do for the kids, Sylvia?"

The state worker told me, "I have a lady who is an Oglala Sioux, needs a temporary home, and who could possibly teach your two some of their tribal history. Could you take her in while she finds her way in life? She needs some time with a family such as yours to get her thoughts together."

"I don't want someone who is going to want to stay on, Sylvia. Right now, at this moment, we don't need anyone attempting to take on any additional responsibilities by trying to mess with our Minya and Mato."

"I've not steered you wrong so far, Mike. This woman needs the type of atmosphere your family has and the closeness you share with all the people there. Help me on this one, Mike, and I promise to help you on something in the future."

"What kind of situation could this woman have been in that she needs a home? Was she ejected from her reservation or have some run in with the law? We couldn't possibly keep her around our kids if she's had a booze or drug problem, especially the young Basset girls."

"It's not like that, Mike," Sylvia said. "Her parents passed away and she couldn't keep her family home. She was living with some relatives. The men in the home where she lived were very domineering and decided to use her as a toy. She went along with what was happening to her because she was alone and felt there was no other way for her to survive, but she became pregnant. The men sold her to a mobster who was going to sell the baby, then put her into his group of prostitutes. She was found during a raid and had to be hospitalized with a miscarriage. She's like the girls you just took in, and is just as much in need as they are. This girl or actually woman could use the love and peace you have in your home, Mike. You could help her become more confident in herself. The state really doesn't have a place to put someone like this to help them. I don't feel that I can just put her out on the street. Help me, Mike?"

I had to think about the situation and take a closer look at what she was talking about. I told her, "Come visit us and talk to Mom and Millie, Sylvia. You may have to convince my sister and sister-in-law, as well as the three girls from Pennsylvania. I'm not saying we'll do it or not do it; I'm saying that the women need to make that decision. It's not like we're a rehab center, you know."

Sylvia wanted me to think about something. "You know, this girl was raised on a reservation with some very traditional Native Americans. She knows the culture and traditions, and even speaks the tribal language. She could teach Minya and Mato about their culture. They could give her new hope for herself in turn."

"Like I said, Sylvia, come talk to the women of the house and see what they say. Another outsider scares me a little."

"I know, Mike; I saw that terrible incident on TV. You were lucky to have survived, but you helped rid us of those people. They had already killed and would have killed again. You took care of that problem just as you are the warrior to protect this little Indian girl."

Was Sylvia laying it on thick or being serious with me?

I talked to Mom about what Sylvia wanted when I got off the phone, and she looked as skeptical as I felt. She only offered, "We'll see what this is all about before we make a decision, but like you just said, we're not a rehabilitation center."

My day didn't require me to do anything around the house, but D asked me to help distill some of his special wine. The man had too many special wines now, and was constantly doing something different with them. It was odd, though, since it was usually the poorer wines that we distilled. Funny how mediocre wines often make great brandies.

Sylvia Porter walked up and tapped me on the shoulder while D was observing the distilling temperatures.

After my heart rate came down to under a hundred, she introduced me to another lady who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She wasn't anything to write home about, but she wasn't bad looking, almost like a Native American, but you never know as the different cultures brought different people to us.

Sylvia said, "This is Winona Wolfcry. Winona means the first born daughter."

We all shook hands before Sylvia continued, "Winona is special as she comes from one of the oldest families in her tribal group. The family has almost all died off, and you know some of her history. I just wanted you to meet her."

I couldn't believe this was who Sylvia had talked about, who I had thought was a young girl. She didn't look like a young girl who had been forced into being used by relatives and sold to a slaver. She was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, with a heavy inexpensive coat keeping her warm. Her face had the high cheek bones and forehead of a Native American, but her gentle smile full of bright white teeth gave her a very pleasant, gentle appearance.

I liked her long black hair that was in a thick French braid down to the middle of her back. Her big black, or actually dark brown, eyes made her appear as if she was interested in everything around her.

Winona looked around at the equipment and made an observation, "You make whiskey. That isn't good."

I looked at her a second before answering, "This isn't whiskey. This is a special brandy that people from the big cities pay a lot of money for. We don't make any whiskey, just wine and wine products."

The girl or lady looked confused when she said, "I don't know what you say, brandy. I know wine, but only cheap wine they sell on the reservation. When men can't afford whiskey, they buy the cheap wine and it makes them just as mean and just as sick."

I told her, "I doubt anyone on your reservation will ever have anything such as this to drink. Not everyone likes this kind of spirit."

Sylvia said, "I must take her inside to meet your family. I saw you here by the distilling shed when we drove up and wanted her to meet you, and you to meet Winona."

I wanted to talk to Sylvia but not in front of the girl or woman, whichever she was. I had the impression from the conversation I had with Sylvia that this person was young, like a late teen or something like that. How are we going to take in someone like this with a houseful already? I'd bet Mom would probably be thinking the same thing. I'll let her and Millie tell Sylvia to take her back where she came from.

D came back and told me, "This batch is going to be so expensive that I think I'll skip keeping a bottle for us to sample. It's going to be special."

I told the man, "Keep some anyway. I have to know what fifty dollar a bottle stuff tastes like. I'm sure you'll enjoy having a sip from time to time."

D grinned as he jokingly said, "You da boss." After a pause, he said, "You should probably go to the house. That lady with the big braid has all of the other ladies gathered around her right now. You better make sure she isn't a snake oil salesman, or a salesperson in this case, and by the way everyone in there is listening to her."

I could see all of the adult women and the girls from the orphanage huddled together when I quietly entered the house and took my boots off. I could hear a melodic voice telling the ladies of how life on a reservation was now compared to what life had been before reservations.

I poured myself the last of the coffee and made another pot. I leaned up against the low wall on that end of the kitchen so I could listen in. Winona told of how women had once been the head of households, they were the ones growing and gathering all the food except for game. Even small game was captured and trapped by women. Women were highly respected and treated with dignity in the old days. It was after they put all the people into reservations, and gave them money, that women lost their place. Many kept the traditions, but just as many became slaves of liquor and idleness. She told how the family structure was torn down over the years, and how criminal behaviors began developing as the older families died off. That had happened to her family, and the tribal elders put her in a home with distant relatives when she was the last of her family, so that she wouldn't have to be given a separate stipend. It was the same there as everywhere; a group of greedy people wanted to live off others.