1. DanielFirst light. I sat up, keeping quiet. My breath made smoke. Ice studded the iron roofing nails of our loft. Rhodas face was ruddy atop her quilt. Wed had a great frost. Was I too late? I must hurry. I slipped off my pallet, pulled on drawers, breeches, wool shirt. Slid belly-bump down the ladder and tiptoed to the front chamber, where a fresh fire crackled. No sound from behind the curtain where Mother and Father slept. Father would be in the barn already. Hed expect me to help him with the chores. But still Twas my birthday, and the sun barely peeking over the hill. Surely I could skip the chores this once. It might be my last chance, til spring.Jodys tail thumped and I stilled her with my hand. Good dog. You stay, I whispered. I wiggled into my jacket, lifted the latch, and went out.The world was white and shining. Frost coated every blade of grass, whitewashed the tips of corn tassels so they looked like the tails of Mishquashim, the red fox. Sheep muttered in the barn and one of the oxen bellowed as I dashed past. Would Father see me? I stayed low, zigzagged through the cornstalks, and ducked into the woods under the hemlocks. Safe so far.I crept to the stream bank, keeping to the shadows. A skim of ice floated over the deepest part of the pool, and the water rippled free only in the open. Would I find him?Dead leaves clogged the branches of my fishweir. If luck is with me, hell show himself, I whispered. But what if hed already gone to sleep for the winter?I slid onto the flat rock and lay on my belly, waiting for the sun to reach the pool. First it stroked the high leaves of the maple with gold, then it warmed my moccasins, next my breeches. Finally, it touched my shoulders and lit the pool, making the ice sparkle There! Mr. Trout slipped from his hiding place under the roots of the maple. Long as my forearm, he swam slow and regal as a real king, not like that silly King George we trounced in the war. The spots on Mr. Trouts back flickered in the sunshine. I licked my lips, tasting him already. Youre mine. Mother would chide me, remind me to thank Cautantowwit, our creator, for bringing me this trout. Was Cautantowwit with me? Thank you, I told him, just to be sure, but fixed my eyes on Mr. Trout. Slow and careful, I rose onto my knees. Pushed up my sleeve. Lowered my hand Snap! A branch broke. Ker-plash! A stone fell into the pool, soaked me from chin to belly. The trout slipped away. I jumped to my feet.Whos there? Caught you! A strange boy jeered at me. He hopped from foot to foot on the far bank, like someone dancing on hot coals. Fool! I shook my fist at him. What did you do that for? Cuz youre a dirty Injun, thats why. A savage. He spat at me, but his spittle blew turned on him in the wind.I bit the inside of my cheeks so hed not see how his words stung me. What an ugly face! He was pale as corn samp, and his yellow hair stuck up in a cowlick on the back of his head. Weve a gander looks like you, I called. For two s Excerpted from Where the Great Hawk Flies by Liza Ketchum All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
