Fay Robinson - Christmas On Snowbird Mountain

All this land, as far as he could see across the Snowbird and Unicoi ranges, had once been the home of the Ani Yunwiya, the Principal People, but the nine hundred acres his family owned now had come to them only fifty years ago.

His father had taught him about the mountains as a boy, the places where the deer wallow and the wild boar root, where caves exist that can hide a man forever and wild berries grow in such abundance that you never have to worry about hunger.

Such secrets, gifts from parent to child for countless generations, were bonds to Elohi, Mother Earth, the Center. Ryan had neglected his obligation to pass along what he had learned to his daughter. Perhaps she felt disconnected, as well, and that was part of her problem.

She wouldn’t like that he hadn’t brought the truck, but maybe on the walk home they’d see wild turkeys or the pair of comical mink that had taken up residence near the stream, and it would make her smile. So little did these days.

The death of her mother from pancreatic cancer last March had been hard on the six-year-old, even though Nia had never lived with Carla nor visited her in London more than a handful of times.

Nia was experiencing what the therapist called Separation Anxiety Disorder. She’d lost one parent. Now she was afraid of losing the other.

Ryan had tried explaining about the eternity of the soul, that it’s alive before it goes into the body and remains alive after it leaves, but she was too young to fully understand. So he’d sent her to psychologists to help her deal with the grief. After three months of meetings with one and then four months with a second, he couldn’t see much progress. Nia remained confused and unhappy.

His vibrant, outgoing daughter was gone. In her place was a quiet child who cried for no reason and didn’t want to be alone, sleep or even go to school.

The doctor had suggested trying drug therapy after Christmas to control the anxiety attacks that had begun in the last month, but the thought frightened him. Nia was only a baby. Medications carried risks, especially in someone so young.

He didn’t know what to do. His grandmother counseled patience. She believed something besides Carla’s death was bothering Nia.

Nana Sipsey had taken of the sacred tobacco one night and had a vision: a redbird with a broken wing would heal his child’s heart and, in so doing, heal itself.

Ryan hadn’t voiced his skepticism, but it existed. His grandmother came from a long line of healers of the Ani Wodi, the Red Paint Clan. He trusted her knowledge of medicines for simple cures of headaches, colds and such.

Accepting prophecy was difficult for him, though, especially when something as important as the emotional stability of his daughter was at stake.

Ahead, John Taylor’s Trading Post came into view. The school bus pulled up outside just as Ryan left the woods.

This short stretch of road was the heart of Sitting Dog. A gas station-grocery store, an activities center and a volunteer fire station were the only buildings, but the eighty-four residents could find just about anything they needed, from tools to eggs, without driving the twenty miles to Robbinsville.

Their small community didn’t have a McDonald’s or a Blockbuster, but the store had videos for rent and its lunch counter served food that appealed to both Indians and whites.

A bank would be nice, but people who worked over on the reservation, Qualla Boundary, fifty miles to the northeast, took care of check cashing and deposits before driving home.

“Sa Sa,” he called out, and Nia turned. She’d gotten off the bus with two friends who lived nearby, Iva Williams and Mary Throwing Stick. “Hi, girls,” he said as he walked up. “How was school?”

Mary answered for them. “Buddy Henderson brought his tonsils in a jar and made Iva sick. It was so gross.”

“I didn’t puke, though,” Iva said proudly.

Ryan tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. “I’m glad to hear it.” He pulled Mary’s braid. “You didn’t puke on anybody, did you, Pretty Miss Mary?”

She giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Uh-uh.”

“Nia, how was your day?”

Nia shrugged and didn’t say anything. Ryan didn’t press. Simply getting her to go to school this morning had been a triumph. He was thankful she’d made it through the day without coming down with one of her stomachaches or headaches.

“How’s your dog?” Ryan asked Mary. “Did she have her puppies yet?”

“Six of them. All black. Can Nia come by for a minute and see them?”

“Maybe another day.” Darkness would fall soon and he still needed to recheck a couple of measurements at the activities center before the trek home. Workers were building an addition to use as a child care center and small library. Ryan had promised to complete a wall mosaic in time for the reopening, during the Christian holiday next month, and he was sorely behind. “I’ll bring Nia to visit this weekend, Mary. We have chores to do right now.”

“Can she come to my slumber party on Saturday? Iva’s coming. And Tracie. And Kimberly. And…” She rattled off the names of ten or more little girls in their class. They were going to make banana splits and play games, she added with excitement.

Nia didn’t jump in and beg to go, so Ryan hedged. “We’ll see. Her grandmother might have other plans for her. She can let you know tomorrow.”

The girls’ mothers arrived to drive them home, and Nia finally spoke, telling her friends goodbye.

Once they were alone, Ryan tried to talk to her about her reluctance to attend the sleep-over party. “Sounds like a lot of fun, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“You like Mary. And all your friends will be there. Don’t you want to go?”

“I want to stay home with you.”

Ryan didn’t push it. When she didn’t want to do something, no amount of cajoling would work. She was like her mother in that respect. In the few months he’d dated Carla, he’d learned two things: to let her have her way and to leave her alone when she curled up inside herself.

“I need to go into the center for a few minutes,” he told Nia. “Do you want to come with me or wait in John Taylor’s where it’s warmer? You can buy some paper to practice your writing.”

The buildings were adjacent. She’d be safe in the trading post among his neighbors. And it would be good for her to go in by herself.

“Can I go with you?” she asked.

“The heat’s turned down, since there aren’t any activities today. You’d be cold.”

She looked around. “Can’t I stay in the truck?”

“I came down the trail today.”

“We got to walk in the snow?”

“Walking is good for you, and the snow’s not deep. Besides, I told your grandmother and Nana Sipsey I’d see if I could find some possum wood grapes for a pie. You can help me pick them.”

“But…the dark might get us. Or we could get lost.”

“We’ll be home by nightfall.” His answer didn’t seem to reassure her. He knelt down. “Hey, I’d never let anything hurt you. I know every inch of these woods.”

“What if we meet a bear?”

“Mr. Bear is probably sleeping right now. He’s snoring in his cave.”

“But he could hear us and wake up.”

“I’ll wrestle him if he does.”

“He might bite you.”

“I’ll bite him back.”

She smiled a tiny bit. “Oh, Daddy.”

“Will you go into the store? Show Daddy what a big girl you are and buy the paper yourself.”

“I’m scared to.”

“Remember what Dr. Thompson said. When something scares you, ask yourself why. What do you think’s in there that can hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.

“You’ve known John Taylor and his wife since you were a little baby, and you’ve been in the store hundreds of times. Nothing in there will hurt you.”