Starfish_ A Novel - James Crowley [30]
The next day, the bows and arrows were set aside as Grandpa taught Lionel and Beatrice how to dig a garden. There was a rusted shovel, a hoe, and a pick from the stable; and with Grandpa standing over them, the children soon turned a sunny patch of the meadow into a good-sized rectangle of rich, black soil. They selected an area close to the stream for hauling water, and then Grandpa sent them into the woods to gather dried leaves and moss that he spread and mixed into the freshly turned soil. As they dug, their grandfather was busy lashing and then weaving an odd assortment of grass and tree limbs.
“What is that?” Lionel asked, eager to take a late-morning break from the heavy digging.
“You’ll see” was all that Grandfather said. “You’ll see.”
After they had turned the soil to Grandpa’s satisfaction, he sent Lionel into the lodge for the sacks of seeds that he had brought on his old mule.
“We’ve got tomatoes, corn, carrots, turnips, sunflowers, squash, pole beans, and maybe even some watermelon,” Grandpa said as he showed the children how to plant the precious seeds in their carefully built up rows. “You’re going to have pay close attention to these crops: they’re your life now.” once the seeds were planted, Grandpa sent them for rusty bucket after rusty bucket of water.
“Plenty of water, plenty of water,” Grandpa repeated as he continued to weave the grass, leaves, and tree branches together with his thick hands.
The suspense was killing Lionel. “What is it?” he pleaded.
“Why, don’t you see?” Grandpa said, rising from the old creaking stool that still sat in the yard. “It’s the straw man, who’s going to protect all your hard work.”
Sure enough, standing almost as tall as Grandpa, there was his creation. The straw man’s lifelike arms, legs, and chest were a tight weave of serviceberry boughs and tall grass that grew on the banks of the stream. His head was the leaf-stuffed old grain sack that Ulysses was pulling when Lionel awoke that first day in the meadow.
Grandpa fastened three turkey feathers to the straw man’s head and hung him on a tall lodge pole toward the far end of the garden facing the river.
“I think he’ll do a fine job, but this is a team. Don’t you leave it just to him now, you hear? No, sir, you’ll have to watch for yerselves too, especially for them old rabbits or squirrels. Squirrels love corn. So, watch ’em!”
That afternoon, they continued to practice with the bow and arrows, and that night they found themselves once again in front of the fire with Grandpa telling them stories from when their people ruled the Great Plains.
“The soldiers never did make us leave, ya know,” Grandpa said between long draws from his pipe. “I’m pretty sure we’re the only tribe whose reservation is on our own hunting grounds, not where the government told us to go. we stayed where we were, and although our land is a bit smaller, we’re still here.”
Chapter Eighteen
LIONEL’S NIGHTMARE • BEAR CLAWS • GRANDPA’S CANDOR • GRIZZLY
EARLY THE NEXT morning, when it was still dark, Lionel woke up covered in sweat with Grandpa standing over him.
“You’re having a dream, Lionel. Take a deep breath. It will be all right.”
Lionel sat up and looked around. He was in the little lodge in the meadow by the stream. Beatrice slept soundly next to him; Grandpa crouched beside them, eerily lit by the low firelight.
“You all right?” Grandpa whispered.
Lionel nodded. Grandpa stood up, and in two long, silent strides, was at the door. Lionel wasn’t sure if you could inherit the ability to move the way that Grandpa and Beatrice did, but he thought that they both, when they wanted to, moved in similar fashion.
Lionel got up and threw on his clothes to follow, and soon the two were halfway across the moonlit meadow heading toward the stream.
“Don’t want to wake up Beatrice. I figure we might get some morning air.”
Lionel looked up at the sky. It was still dark, the stars dancing overhead. They walked in silence. Lionel thought about his dream. He had been back on the shore of the river, but the river