Walking Two Worlds Read online

  Ely smiled as he remembered something else his father had said: “I think it is harder for white people to live as Christians.”

  Ely enjoyed church. It was like going to the longhouse in the old days. People came to see each other and be seen. Even some who were not yet Christians came to church.

  Everyone wanted to hear what Reverend Stone had to say. He told people what the Bible said. Much of the Bible sounded like the teachings in the Good Message. Some of the old people at Tonawanda said they thought that Jesus Christ must have been an Indian.

  Elder Stone’s talks were called sermons. Those sermons were in English, a language that most of his congregation could not understand, but there was always a translator. His name was John Hill, a Seneca from Buffalo Creek. His job was to put the preacher’s words into Seneca for the congregation.

  Ely looked around the room. Where was the translator? He looked up at his mother. That same smile remained on her face. She leaned close to his ear.

  “John Hill will not be here today,” she whispered. “Today there will be another translator.”

  Reverend Stone walked into the room. Every face in the congregation turned toward him. He stepped up to the pulpit and nodded at the Parker family in the front pew.

  Wolf Woman stood up. “My son will translate today,” she said in Seneca. “He can speak the language of the white men perfectly.”

  The reverend held out a welcoming hand. “Eeee-lee,” he said in a warm voice, “Come up here, my son.”

  Ely opened his mouth. No words came out. Hands pushed him up from his seat. He could not feel his feet as he walked forward. Reverend Stone grasped him by the shoulder and turned him to face the congregation.

  A hymn was being sung by everyone in Seneca. It was a long song with many choruses. Ely was glad of that. He did not have to say anything while everyone sang. But that hymn ended too quickly.

  The reverend began to speak. Everyone was looking at them. Ely strained to hear Elder Stone’s words. A strange thing began to happen. The faces of the congregation blurred. The air felt thick. Ely felt like he was underwater.

  Reverend Stone paused. It was Ely’s turn. He did not have to speak English; he just had to say words in Seneca. But the English words were like a whirlpool twisting his thoughts around.

  Ely closed his eyes. He tried to speak. It was like spitting out a mouthful of cotton.

  “Klist,” he said, “wants . . . us . . . to . . . to . . .”

  The whirlpool in his head was getting larger. Things were spinning all around him.

  Then everything went black.

  “You will do better,” Wolf Woman said as they left the church. She brushed back the hair from Ely’s forehead to look at the bump there. It was still swelling. Ely’s head had struck the floor when he fainted and fell forward.

  His brothers and his sister had gone on ahead.

  “Yes. You will do better,” his mother repeated.

  Dragonfly, who was walking by Ely’s other side, said nothing.

  When they reached their home, Ely’s mother went inside. His father put out one hand. Ely stopped.

  His father sat down on the steps. Ely sat next to him. They sat together for a while. Neither of them said anything.

  Then Dragonfly put his hand on Ely’s shoulder and gently squeezed it.

  “Hasanoanda, my son,” he said. “You need to get a different education. You must go to Grand River.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A New Adventure

  Ely turned toward his father. “Grand River?” he said. “Grand River!”

  His father nodded.

  “Yes. You can go to the home of my older cousin, Hummingbird, and his wife Near the Sky. They will be happy to have you stay with them. Their children are grown and have moved away.”

  Grand River! Ely felt excited.

  Grand River was the big Indian reserve in Canada. Joseph Brant, the Mohawk war leader, was awarded the land by the British for his loyalty during the American Revolution. Brant invited all the people of the Six Nations to join him. Many Mohawks, Senecas, Onondagas, Oneidas, Cayugas, and Tuscaroras followed him to Canada. But many stayed in New York.

  “What is it like at Grand River?” Ely asked his father.

  “Different from here,” Dragonfly said. There was a little smile on his face. He was teasing his son.

  “Father!” Ely said. “Tell me.”

  Dragonfly chuckled. “It is better in some ways. It is not surrounded by white people trying to take the land. The forests have not all been turned into farms. All the game animals have not been killed by white hunters.”

  “What will I do there?” Ely said. “Will I go to school?”

  Dragonfly shook his head. “There is a schoolhouse there and many of our people there live in big houses like white people. But your uncle and aunt do not live that way. Hummingbird hunts and fishes and traps. That is part of what he can teach you.”

  This was the old Seneca way. At a certain age, a boy would go to stay with his uncle. A boy could learn more from an uncle than a father. The father might know the same things, but the boy would learn better from the uncle.

  “I will like that,” Ely said.

  “I know you will,” Dragonfly said.

  “Yes,” Ely said. Then the smile left his face. “What about my mother? She wants me to learn to be a white man. I cannot leave if she does not agree.”

  Dragonfly nodded.

  “I have already spoken with her. Your mother agrees. You must learn the ways of the white men, but you must also know our old ways. Grand River is the place for you to do that.”

  “How long will I stay there?” Ely asked.

  “Until you are ready to come home.”

  “When will I go?”

  Dragonfly squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Chief Blacksmith is leaving tomorrow for a meeting with the Six Nations chiefs. He does not speak any English. He may need to talk to white people along the way. You can translate for him.”

  Ely looked uncertain. “Are you sure I can do that?”

  Dragonfly smiled. “Yes,” he said. Then he poked his son in the ribs with his finger. “It will be easy for you to put his words into English. It will not be like trying to turn our preacher’s words into Seneca.”

  Ely laughed. His father’s teasing was always gentle. It never made him feel foolish.

  As his father stood to climb the steps, Ely thought of something.

  “Father?” he said.

  Dragonfly turned around. “What is it?”

  “If it is so good at Grand River, why did so many stay here?”

  “We stay,” Dragonfly said, “because this is our home.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Chief Blacksmith

  Early the next morning, Ely and his father left their farm. The sun was not yet up. It was late spring and already warm. It was best to start out on a journey before the heat of the day. Chief Blacksmith and two other Seneca men were already waiting at the crossroads. The two others were chief Isaac Shanks and his cousin Dragging Horns. Like Chief Blacksmith, they could not speak English.

  Chief Blacksmith was a dignified older man, the leading chief of the Senecas. He carried the title of Donehogawa, Keeper of the Western Door.

  “I greet you in peace, my friends,” Dragonfly and Ely said.

  “I greet you in peace,” the three men replied.

  “I hope you have not waited long for us,” Dragonfly said.

  “Not that long,” Chief Blacksmith said in his deep voice. “Although I was only a young boy when I first got here.”

  “Ah,” Dragonfly said. “I believe that.” He pointed at Ely with his chin. “When we left home this morning, my son here was just this tall.” He held his hand down by his knee. “Look at him now!”

  Ely smiled at their joking. It was often that way when respected Seneca leaders got together. They did not behave like important white men who always acted so serious.

  Chief Blacksmith turned to Ely
. “So this is Hasanoanda.”

  “Yes,” Dragonfly said. “He can help you.”

  Chief Blacksmith nodded. “I am sure he will be helpful. I have heard that he is a fine young man.” He looked at Ely. “So, you wish to go to Grand River?”

  Ely nodded, looking politely down at the ground.

  “Do you speak English well?”

  Ely shook his head. “I speak it. But I do not speak it well.”

  Chief Blacksmith laughed. His laugh came from deep in his chest like the rumble of thunder. “Good,” he said. “Hasanoanda, I like it that you are honest. But I am sure you will do well. We will not ask you to translate any sermons.”

  Ely laughed in spite of himself. The chief’s sense of humor was like that of Ely’s father. “It will be easy to travel with him,” Ely thought.

  Ely’s father put his arms around him. Ely leaned his head on his father’s broad chest. He was eager to go to Grand River. But now he felt sad that he was leaving home. Dragonfly let go of him and stepped back. He handed his son a pack that held clothing and food for the journey. Then he walked away. He did not look back over his shoulder.

  That was the Seneca way. When someone left, you did not say good-bye. White men did that. There was no word for “good-bye” in Seneca.

  “Hasanoanda,” Chief Blacksmith said. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Two Bits Is Twenty-Five Cents

  The journey to Grand River was only about ninety miles, as white men measured it. As the Senecas measured it, it was a journey of three sleeps.

  The roads and trails were level and easy to walk. They spent their first night in the home of a Seneca family on the American side of the Niagara River.

  The next morning they came to the ferry that crossed the river. Blacksmith gestured to Ely.

  “Hasanoanda,” he said. “Talk to the American who runs this ferry. If we only speak Seneca, he may try to cheat us.” Blacksmith gave Ely several coins. “Pay him with this.”

  The white man standing next to his ferry was chewing tobacco. He was short and skinny. He wore a black hat pulled down tight on his head. The hat made his big ears stick out to the side.

  “If this man was a Seneca,” Ely thought, “he would be called Ears Like Wings.” He walked up to the man.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said in his best English.

  The man looked surprised. “You speak American?” he said.

  “Yes,” Ely nodded. “We . . .” He looked at the ferry, which was little more than a raft. “We . . . cross.”

  A crafty look came over the man’s face. “Want to get across, eh? Well, there’s four of you. Ayup, one, two, three, four. So I calculate that you owes me four bits.”

  Four bits? Two bits was twenty-five cents. Four bits was fifty cents. Ely looked at the signboard next to the ferry. It listed the rates for crossing. A horse and wagon with two passengers was twenty-five cents. A single person was six cents. They had no horse or wagon. The man was trying to cheat them.

  Ely walked over to the signboard and pointed at it. He forced himself to look the ferryman straight in the eye.

  “Sir,” he said in a polite voice. “You mean two bits? Six times four equals twenty-four. Plus one cent for tip?”

  The ferryman looked confused.

  “I’ll be danged,” the skinny white man said to himself.

  “He’s never met an Indian who can read and multiply,” Ely thought. That thought almost made him laugh. But he kept a serious look on his face.

  “Sir?” Ely said. He counted out twenty-five cents. “Here.”

  The ferryman took the twenty-five cents.

  None of them spoke while they were crossing. When they reached the other side, they got off and walked until the ferry was out of sight.

  Then Chief Blacksmith took Ely’s hand and shook it.

  “Hasanoanda,” Chief Blacksmith said, grinning broadly. “You did well.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Traditional Home

  When they reached Grand River, Ely thought that the three older men would leave him. They were expected at the council house.

  “I know your aunt and uncle,” Chief Shanks said. “I will show you to the cabin of Near the Sky.”

  So the three men went with Ely to the cabin of Near the Sky and Hummingbird. The two old people were standing in front of the cabin. Hummingbird was a tall, thin man. His face was long and his smile was pleasant. He was much older than Ely’s father, but he still looked strong. He moved gracefully. Near the Sky was short and round. When she smiled, her wrinkled face looked as bright as the sun. She was not graceful like her husband. She seemed to bounce around like a ball.

  “I am going to like being here,” Ely thought.

  He could smell something cooking.

  Everyone greeted each other. Near the Sky pointed with her chin behind the cabin. There was a fire there with a pot hung over it and logs to sit on around the fire circle.

  “Let us eat some food.” Near the Sky said. Her voice was friendly and pleasant to hear.

  That was the Seneca way. Visitors were always given food. You had to accept, whether you were hungry or not.

  Ely was very hungry. He felt like running to that food. But he let the older men walk ahead of him.

  As they passed behind the house, Ely saw many things there. Fish traps woven from willow branches. Animal skins tied onto stretching hoops. A beautiful birch bark canoe turned upside down with two carved paddles leaning against it.

  Everyone except Hummingbird sat down on the logs around the fire. The stew in the pot smelled so good that Ely’s mouth was watering.

  “Creator,” Hummingbird said, raising his arms. “We are grateful for this gift of food. We thank you. We thank my wife for cooking it so well.”

  “Nya:weh,” everyone said.

  Hummingbird sat and they all began to eat. They did not use plates. Every Seneca always carried a wooden spoon hung from his or her belt. They all dipped into the pot of venison stew. It seemed to be the best food Ely had ever tasted.

  When they were done, everyone stood.

  “Nya:weh,” Chief Blacksmith said. “We all thank you for this good food.”

  He put his hands on Ely’s shoulders. “Your nephew is a good young man,” Chief Blacksmith said. “I would be glad to travel with him again.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  First Morning

  There was no bedroom for Ely. He slept by the fireplace wrapped in a blanket. His aunt and uncle were in the small loft above. There was just enough room up there for the two of them. To get up to that loft they climbed a log with notches cut into it.

  Ely did not mind sleeping on the plank floor by the fire. He often chose to sleep that way at home. He liked the warmth of the fire and the sound of the logs burning.

  There was a pile of dry, split wood by the fire. “I will add more to the fire when it burns down,” he thought. He covered his head with the blanket.

  When he woke, it was early morning. Birds were singing outside. The fire was still burning. He had slept through the night, but either his uncle or his aunt had added more wood without waking him.

  “Hasanoanda,” Near the Sky called from outside. Her voice was as musical as the singing birds. “Come here, nephew.”

  Ely unwrapped himself from the wool blanket. He hugged himself and rubbed his arms. Then he pulled on his pants and his shirt. His clothes were cold from being left on the floor all night. The plank floor was also cold as he crossed it on his bare feet. He sat on a bench to pull on his socks and his shoes. Then, rubbing his eyes, he stepped outside.

  His aunt and his uncle were waiting for him. His uncle was wearing a light wool shirt, deerskin leggings, and moccasins. His long gray hair was parted in the middle and tied into two braids. He had a small pack on his back. His aunt wore a long skirt and a blouse. She had a red Hudson’s Bay blanket around her shoulders. She was holding a leather pouch.

  “Did you sleep well?” his aunt asked
in her musical voice.

  “Yes,” Ely said. “I slept well. A baby could not sleep better than I slept.”

  A smile came to his uncle’s long face.

  “Good,” his uncle said. He leaned down toward Ely. “Did you dream?”

  Ely shook his head. “Not last night.”

  “Ah,” his uncle said. “Will you tell me when you do dream?”

  Ely understood. Dreams often were messages. Sometimes they told you what your heart wanted you to do. Other times, dreams came from the natural world or the Creator. They might even predict the future.

  Like his mother’s strange dream? Had it really predicted how his own life would be? Ely pushed that thought away. His uncle was still waiting for an answer.

  Ely nodded. “Yes, my uncle,” he said. “I will tell you my dreams.”

  “Good,” Hummingbird said. “Now I will tell you my dream. In my dream I took you into the woods and left you there.”

  His uncle pointed with his chin at the woods that came close to the back of the cabin. “Let’s go.”

  He turned gracefully and began to walk toward the forest. Ely’s aunt pushed the leather pouch she was holding into Ely’s hands.

  “Tie this to your belt,” she said. “Cornmeal.”

  Ely stood there for a moment. He was barely awake. He felt confused.

  Near the Sky took off the Hudson’s Bay blanket, put it over Ely’s shoulders, and gave him a gentle push.

  “Go,” she said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Deep in the Forest

  Ely thought he knew how to move quietly through the woods. But Ely soon saw that his uncle knew much more than he did. His uncle was twice as big as he was, but he was also twice as quiet.