Dark Days at Saddle Creek. Shelley Peterson

“Is my father from a First Nation?”

      “Yes, Bird. And very handsome. His rodeo name was ‘Indian Fred.’”

      Bird let this sink in. She was half Aboriginal. That made her Metis. She sat up straight. Her father was maybe Cree, or Sioux, or Blackfoot. Or some other people, like Apache or Mohawk or Oneida. How astonishing! Why did she not know this until now — this very important fact about who she was? There were so many questions that she needed answered. Which First Nation did she belong to? Did she have aunts and uncles and grandparents? Even brothers and sisters? She resolved to find him and ask.

      “Thanks so much for telling me,” said Bird. “Where is Fred Sweetree now? How can I find him?”

      “Oh, Bird. I thought you knew.”

      “Knew what?”

      Hannah drew in her breath. “Eva’s quite convinced he’s dead.”

      Bird felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “Dead?”

      Hannah nodded.

      “How?”

      “He was in a bush plane accident. There were no survivors.”

      “Oh, no!” Bird’s stomach flipped. “That’s horrible! When did it happen?”

      “Years ago. I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

      “How could I know? Nobody tells me anything!” Bird’s pain turned to anger as she tried to digest all of this new information.

      “Don’t shoot the messenger,” warned Hannah.

      Bird relaxed. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. My mother should’ve told me a long time ago.”

      “I hope I did the right thing, telling Eva’s story.”

      “You did, Aunt Hannah. It means so much to me to finally hear the truth.” Bird turned to hug her aunt. “I can always count on you.”

      Bird simply couldn’t understand why her mother had never wanted to tell her about Fred Sweetree. Maybe Hannah was right, her heart was still broken, but Eva was nothing if not resilient. She’d gotten married to someone else before Bird was even born, and she’d had Julia a few years later. And now she was madly in love with her newest husband, Stuart Gilmour.

      Bird snorted at the thought. The solid, predictable public school principal was the polar opposite of the dashing, carefree rodeo star.

      Just then, Eva flew through the screen door, letting it slam behind her and startling both of them. Aunt and niece were still sitting side by side at the kitchen table. “Speak of the devil,” whispered Bird.

      Eva was out of breath. “Hannah, I have a big, big favour to ask.”

      “Sure. What is it?”

      “Can Bird stay over for a few days? Stuart and I have been invited to visit some old friends at their cottage in Muskoka. They have a daughter Julia’s age. Bird would have nothing to do, and I’m sure she’d much rather stay here!”

      Bird frowned. “Hello? I’m here? Can I make my own decisions?”

      Eva waved a freshly manicured hand in Bird’s direction. “You’d only cause trouble, and you know it.”

      Bird jumped up from her chair. Her heart was pounding. She wanted nothing more than to break something over Eva’s smug, over-painted head. Instead, she looked at Hannah and said, “Can I move back in with you? Not just for a few days but forever?”

      “Bird!” said Eva sharply. “What a hurtful thing to say!”

      “Hurtful?” Bird stopped trying to control herself. “You ignore me, exclude me, say I’ll cause trouble, and you call me hurtful?”

      “It was better when you couldn’t talk!”

      Hannah tried to intervene. “Enough! Look, folks. If I could make a suggestion —”

      “Hannah, my daughter and I will work things out our own way. Can she stay here or do I have to find a sitter or leave her alone at home?” Eva looked pointedly at her wristwatch.

      “Of course she can stay.” Hannah’s face was flushed. “I love having her here. You don’t have to ask. It’s not a favour.”

      Bird was ready to explode. “I was unacceptable when I couldn’t talk, remember? That’s why you sent me here last summer. You wouldn’t even admit to being my mother! And now you have the absolute nerve to say that it was better then? Well, now I can talk! And I’ll say whatever I want to say! I hate you! I wish you weren’t my mother! And you can just … go! … just go! … to Muskoka or wherever you want. Because … I … don’t … care!”

      Bird ran outside, letting the screen door slam. She clambered over the rail fence and raced across Sunny’s field, only stopping when she’d climbed the fence on the other side. She flopped down in the soft grass and closed her eyes. Hot teardrops warmed her face. She hadn’t felt this miserable in a very long time.

      Her mother was utterly foreign to her, that much she knew. Lucky for her that she had Aunt Hannah. Otherwise, who knew where she might end up? Maybe on the streets. Or foraging in the woods like her Uncle Tanbark, Hannah’s half-brother, before he’d gotten help earlier in the summer.

      And then there was her father. She’d just found out two rather large pieces of information. One, he was an Aboriginal, and two, he was dead. She would never be able to meet him. She would never be able to ask him about her family. Never be able to ask him why he’d left her before she was born. And why he had never even tried to meet her before he died. Not once. She really wished Alec were here to talk to. He always understood.

       Bird girl.

      Bird opened her eyes. Cody!

      The small coyote stood close by, his head tilted. You make water from your eyes. Are you in distress?

       Yes, but not in danger.

       I will help you.

       Thanks, Cody. There is nothing you can do.

      Call on me. Cody disappeared from view.

      I have my animals, thought Bird. What do I need Eva for, anyway? She doesn’t understand anything about me.

      A revelation hit Bird — she really didn’t understand anything about her mother, either. Eva was a complete mystery.

       Bird sat up and looked across the field at the Saddle Creek farmhouse. She watched as Eva rushed Julia from the house. Eva was full of energy, and even from across the field Bird could see that she was happy, now that she’d gotten her way. She ushered the limp, resistant Julia into the car, closed the door with a flourish, and spun girlishly to wave goodbye. Hannah stood at the kitchen door. She waved absently as the car drove down the driveway to the road.

       Once the car was gone, Bird stood and brushed the grass off her jeans. Her anger had dissipated, but she still felt the sting of her mother’s rejection.

       While Bird had been watching the house, Sunny had strolled over. Now he stood at the fence looking at her. Hey, Bird.

       Hey, Sunny.

       Don’t be sad.

      Bird patted his soft nose. I’ll be fine. Really.

       People confuse me. You were happy before you went in your house, and sad when you came out. Is something bad in there?

       No, Sunny. My mother made me sad. I’ll get over it.

       Good.

      Sunny bent his neck and resumed grazing. Bird rubbed behind his ears and breathed deeply. She was starting to feel better already.