I'm a thirteen-year-old-half-breed, a mongrel, according to my mom's father. He's full-blooded Kootenai Indian and I am only half-Indian. My dad's heritage is a mix of Scot, Irish, French and Ger-man. So maybe the old man is right, I am a mongrel, like most Americans, a mix of nationalities. But, with him, it's not a simple fact. It was spoken with disgust and loathing ten years ago and my mother died because of it. My older brother Chris and I hate him. For ten years, no one heard from the old man and we were fine with that. Then a letter shows up saying he wants me to spend the summer with him. Dad said my mother would have wanted her youngest son to know her people. I fought against it and lost in the end. I always do when it's 'what Mom would have wanted'. So I'm stuck on the Kootenai-Salish Indian Reservation in northwestern Montana. All I have to do is find his stash of booze and I'll be on my way home.
WILDFIRE!
By Trisha DavisiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 Trisha Davis
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4620-1616-7Chapter One
I had heard the stories many times. About my mother belonging to the Kootenai Indian tribe in northwestern Montana; and Dad, who isn't Indian in any way; and how that was a problem for my grandfather. As I got older, the story of my mother's death was told.
I knew Mom, my older brother Chris, and I visited her father the week before my third birthday. Chris was only nine then, but he remembered their argument. Mom wouldn't let our grandfather drive us to town because he had been drinking. Hot words hurled between them when he told her to "crawl home to your white boy and take your mongrels with you."
Mom, mad and crying, called to us, "Chris, get Buddy. Take him to the car. We're leaving right now!" Chris said he remembered her picking up a rock and throwing it at the house. She called Dad from a phone booth and said we were on our way home because her father was mean-drunk. Chris told me things my dad hadn't. Chris said he heard our grandfather call us mongrels, half-breeds. Chris said he hated our grandfather. And I did, too.
Mom was still angry when we got back on the highway. She must not have seen the truck cross the centerline until it was too late. According to the police report, my mother swerved to miss it. Then our car went over the guardrail, rolled down an embankment, and landed upside down in a stream. I was in the back, strapped into my car seat, dry and unhurt. Chris's arm was broken in two places. My mother, knocked unconscious, drowned.
Dad blamed himself, claiming if he had been with us, there wouldn't have been the ugly fight and Mom wouldn't have been on the road. But I knew the truth. If Chris and I had never been born, she would still be alive.
* * *
Within six months, Dad took a biology job in Alaska and we left Montana and the places that held memories of my mother.
Chapter Two
I grew up in remote Alaska cabins so Dad could study bears and their habitat year-round. Chris and I were homeschooled by our PhD dad. That meant there were no excuses for poor grades. With him "there ain't no such word as ain't." By the first of every month, we had to pick one new word from the dictionary. And he insisted we use the word often so we would remember it. May's was
risible: it means something can make you laugh. June's would be
superb. I hadn't picked out July's yet.
As usual, I was tagging along with Dad when his boss and friend, Nick, gave him his summer assignment. "I've got some great news, Mike. We finally got the funding to work with the Canadians on relocating some grizzlies to Montana and Idaho. I'll be sending you as the main grizzly biologist, and Savannah Hansen will serve as liaison. The Canadians will be the project managers until you're in transit with the bears."
"Savannah Hansen, huh? Isn't she that new grad down in Anchorage?"
"No, that's AJ you're thinking of. Savannah's been working out of Skagway for several years. You'll meet her next month. She knows her job and will make yours a lot smoother. I think you'll make a good team."
"Nick, you're not trying to set me up again, are you?" It wouldn't have been the first time.
Ignoring Dad's question, Nick went on. "Mike, I know you like having your boys with you, but with this being an international effort, it would be best if they stayed around here. Chris and Buddy can stay with us. Hailey has been complaining about our empty nest now that Rachael is off to college. Frankly, I'd enjoy their company. They're both good to have around the homestead."
"We'll talk it over and I'll let you know, though I doubt Chris will take you up on it. I'm pretty sure he plans to go out on a fish processor for most of summer. Between college and his girlfriend, he needs a good summer job."
Hailey was a superb cook. You knew that just looking at her and Nick. There's plenty of food, always. But she clucks. You know, like a mother hen when she worries about her brood. Hailey never let me out of her sight. It was okay when I was little, but by the time I was twelve I liked to get out and hike by myself. I hoped Dad would say no, but I didn't know where I would stay if he did.
That's the day the letter came.
Chapter Three
You're going to say no, aren't you, Dad?"
My grandfather had not spoken to my father or me or Chris, not once, in all the years since Mom had died. Suddenly, he wanted me to come to Montana and spend the summer with him.
Dad was hesitant. "I don't know Buddy. He says he's forgiven me for not being Indian." He snorted and shut his eyes. After a moment he nodded, opened his eyes, and studied mine. "I'm not sure I've forgiven him, though. I'll have to think on it. If it was just me I'd say no, but I have to think of what your mother would've wanted too."
I hated it when he made decisions based on what my mother would have wanted. I was sure she wouldn't want me to go to Montana. She wouldn't want me to spend the summer with a rotten old man.
"You know, your Aunt Rose sends one letter a year. I don't know why, really, other than staying in touch with you boys. The last few mentioned Sebastian and how he's sobered up. Volunteers at the Cultural Center, helps out at the Bison Range. He's mellowed some, I guess. Enough for Rose to encourage him to write that letter. I don't think he would have done it on his own." I could tell Dad was trying to be fair. For Mom.
"The day after your mother's funeral, old Sebastian got roaring drunk. He said the worst thing that ever happened to his Katie was meeting me." Dad was quiet, staring at the cloudy sky before softly going on. "Meeting your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me." I sat there. I didn't know what to say except, "Dad! You can't send me there. How could you even think about it? He said we're mongrels! Chris hates him and so do I. And what about me? What if I don't want to go? Why should I?" My mind searched for a reason not to go, anything that would make sure I stayed in Alaska. "Let me stay with Hailey. I could use some good, solid mothering. I'm running wild as an Indian." Stupid. I am Indian. Well, half anyway.
"I know, son. I don't blame you. I wouldn't even consider it if it weren't for Rose. She would like to get to know you some too. And she's right; you should know your mother's side of the family. I just never gave any thought to if, or when, that would happen."
"So let them come here. I don't see anyone trying to get to know us." I fidgeted. I was losing the biggest argument of my life. "What does that old man want with me anyway?"
"He says he wants to get to know one of Katie's sons." Dad pulled at neck hairs sticking above his henley shirt, a habit he had when he was thinking seriously. "I guess he figures Chris is too old. Maybe he thinks he'll have a better chance with you. Let's think about it for a few days. If it doesn't work out, I'll tell Hailey she has a houseguest."
That night I planned how I'd take off if Dad said I was going to Montana. I figured I would take the two-man raft Dad had given me for my thirteenth birthday. It was small enough that I could manage it, yet big enough for me and my camping gear. We were staying in a cabin on Wolverine Creek, about a mile up from the North Fork of the Kuskokwim River. It would be easy; I'd float all the way to Bethel. There were people along the river that would trade food for work....
