Man Killer enjoyed harvesting the rice and it helped to keep her mind off of her missing husband. The first few days were windy which made gathering the rice complicated. Today was also windy and very hot. She used a long pole to position her canoe in the rice field, the same field she had been tending since she was a girl. She then expertly used the two sticks to pull the stalks over her canoe and to strip off the ripened kernels. Man Killer was as good as any man when it came to gathering rice, but unlike most of the men, her first canoe-loads of rice were given to those who were too old or frail to harvest their own. This made her feel good, even though she never let on about it. Her parents and grandparents had taught her well, and she knew what had to be done.
Stump Nose hadn’t bothered her since returning from his self-imposed exile. Still, she did not trust him, nor did she trust his mother. Wind In Her Face had been thankful towards Man Killer for all that she had done, but there was something hiding behind her eyes. Man Killer could feel it and it bothered her. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it simply would not go away. The old woman knew something, or at least thought she did.
A terrible thing happened that afternoon. One of the young women in the camp who had lost her husband in the attack by the Sioux, decided to pack up her baby and return to the big water. Her grandmother was there and she could not bear to spend another day in the place where she had lost her husband. The elders all warned her against doing something so foolish, they outright forbid it. Still, the young woman’s world had fallen apart this past year. Her name was Sweet Grass and she was very stubborn. She had lost her parents and her only sister in the Dead Winter. Now she had lost her man and some said her mind. She waited for her chance and she slipped away with her baby.
When the others noticed that she was gone, two of the braves were dispatched to retrieve the foolish woman, who really wasn’t much more than a girl. The braves came back an hour later, one carried the crying baby. There was no sign of Sweet Grass, or of her canoe. The braves shook their heads and explained that they had found the baby hanging in its cradle board, all alone on the limb of a great pine tree.
The Old Ones talked about this for hours, trying to reason out a meaning. The baby joined the others and she cried for her mother. Man Killer watched all of this and wished that she could look after the little one. She would give her love and try to be the mother that the little girl needed. Of course, Man Killer knew this would never come to pass.
That evening the sky was angry and it lashed out at the earth with a frightening fury. Man Killer lay alone on her pallet, watching the bright flashes and hearing the great rumbles and crashes. Hailstones fell and they were followed by a driving rain that lasted for nearly an hour. The wigwam shook as the wind howled outside, but it held up to the test. Man Killer prayed that the other wigwams were also faring well. Suddenly, there was a loud crack which was followed by the telltale snapping of live wood. One of the big trees was coming down and Man Killer pulled her knees up to her chest and screamed. It sounded like it was falling right on top of her.
The following morning was spent cleaning up the village and repairing things broken during the storm. All agreed that the Great Spirit was looking after Man Killer, who had narrowly missed getting flattened by the old pine. No one agreed with them more than her, especially when she examined the trunk of the tree and could see the bit marks of a hatchet.
And Man Killer was suddenly afraid.
Huck