Free Growing Up Native American by Bill Adler Page B

use. Meantime the men hunted desultorily. If one brought in a deer it was all to the good—more broiling of fresh meat. But they were too near the large circle to be hopeful of finding many.
    To Waterlily these were memorable days, for this was the time she began to like her mother best and enjoy being with her more than with the other family members. Before, she had turned as readily to her grandmother, aunts, and other relatives as to her mother—it was the way of related families—but now she was learning to appreciate her mother for the rare and sympathetic person she was. The two were beginning to have little heart-to-heart talks on serious matters that were on Waterlily’s mind, which her mother seemed to anticipate.
    There was that lovely afternoon when they went from the camp for a walk, just Blue Bird and her three children, Waterlily, Ohiya, and Smiling One, who was now past two winters. Beyond the knoll they sat down to rest, and there was nobody and nothing in sight, only country. Blue Bird looked on her children fondly and said, “Now I am truly happy—surrounded by my children.” And this she said because here was one of her rare opportunities to love them without limit, and to show them that she did. For in the larger family, where all adults acted parental toward all the children, they tried to be careful not to seem partial to any.
    Waterlily said eagerly, “We are happy, too, Mother, having you to ourselves. Mother, let’s play that game ‘hard times’ that we used to play with elder brother.”
    â€œDo you remember that, Waterlily?” Blue Bird was surprised. “You were very little, you know, when your brother Little Chief invented it for the three of us. It was fun, wasn’t it?” Then she added, looking far off, “Your brother is too big to play with us any more. He is out there somewhere, riding with the other boys. And that is right. These are the times when he must learn to ride. It is needful that all men ride well. Come now!”
    She pulled her wrap over her head and brought her three children under it. They snuggled up to her as she began a running commentary about their “awful plight,” and listened to the imagined misery with playful shudders.
    â€œNow…here we are…all alone…just us four. On a wide, deserted, strange prairie. And worst of all, we have so little food, and it is not likely we shall find any more…Oh dear, isn’t it terrible?”
    â€œTerrible! Terrible!” The two older children repeated in a chorus, being well into the spirit of it.
    â€œAll we have is this tiny shelter…only a makeshift and not at all secure…Well, at least it protects us…if only the wind would not blow so hard!”
    â€œThe wind! The wind!” They shuddered again.
    â€œCome, Ohiya,” the mother said, “a little closer in. Waterlily, pull the tent downward and hold it firm, there, back of you…Oh, for some anchoring pins! But there is no tree to cut from, alas. The wind grows worse, and colder. It could rip our shelter right off…Hold tight! Oh, whatever shall become of us!” The children loved it—it was such fun to be so wretched when it was only play.
    Ohiya added his bit of make-believe by crying, “Mother! Look at Smiling One, crawling out from under the tipi!”
    â€œNo, no, Smiling One, come back here or you will freeze! All of you, keep close so we can warm one another.” They huddled still closer, in a tight knot. And then Ohiya began to moan in great misery. “What is it, my son?” “Mother, I am starving…soon I shall be dead. I have eaten nothing for three days and three nights…”
    His mother was appropriately distressed, as she hastened to offer him food. “Here, son, I have a very little pemmican…a mere handful. But at least hold a bit of it in your mouth…don’t swallow it…swallow the