Mr. N's Class

One night her and Netawatawees Sachem had a chat while sitting by the fire. Mary requests a story. He decides to tell a story about ya-qua-hee (elephant).  He starts talking about their thick fur so Mary speaks up. ” Elephants don’t have fur! It’s hot in Africa.” Her Delaware father says that changes the whole story. He is delighted she knows so much about them and asks if she’d ever seen one. She replies she has not and he looks disappointed. He is extremely happy though, that the elephants were alive! Mary is still imagining about her family, about coming home, and you know what I mean.  Mary also complains about how she needs more strength to Hepte.

It was in the middle of the nigth and Sammy started crying, she spent all night tossing and turning . In the morrning Mr. Stewart came into the kichen with red eyes shruging. i could tell he was sleepy. I know I was sleepy. When Mrs. Stewart tried to give him wet cornmile he would slap her hand away  followed by a “NO!!” with it falling in the posin patch. They glare at Sammyfor a moment then Mr. Stewart growned.

Mary must be going crazy. She is mad at her family (her real family). She scolds them inside her head until her Indian mother interrupts her thoughts to tell Mary they are here.  It turns out Netawatawees Sachem (her Indian grandfather), can read maps better than Dougal can! When he points to somewhere on the map, Mary just says, “Yes.”  I guess that was good enough though.  Mary was wondering why everyone looked so skittish. Her Delaware grandfather didn’t understand. “Why does everyone look so, afraid?”  she corrects.  He understood and told her that they were Iroquois hunting grounds and they had to be ready in case of attack.  They stop at a cave.  Everyone is swimming. Their naked though! Oh well, and she gets in.

Summary

Everything hurts. Mary’s feet, her neck, her shoulders, even her elbows hurt. Even her fingers hurt.

They walk single file, with some men and boys walking ahead of and some behind women and children.

Her stomach growls all the time because there’s never enough to eat. Shes always thirsty, even though she rank and drank at every stream and creek they cross. She splashed water on her face, but still sweat drips down on her forehead and stings her eyes all day.

In her mind’s eye she saw her mothers cooking, so real she can almost taste the juicy pork roast with plum sauce dribbling down her chin. The pastry surrounding her mile-high apple pie would melt in her mouth. Mary’s mother’s cherry butter is tart and sweet, all at the same time.

Summary:

Late next morning they arrive. We turn left at a huge buckeye tree, and she sees  twenty or twenty-five wigwams near a swift river. Women were washing bowls on the river bank. A swarm of children are swimming close to shore.

Near the wigwams huge pots hung on tripods above cook fires. Hovering above the caldronsis steam so savory it makes her stomach hurt. She was ravenously hungry for food, any food as long as it wasn’t samp.

“Allegheny?” I asked.

The old one nods.

Just then a tall, graceful woman holding two gourds steps out of a wigwam and goes toward them.