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  For

  Frances Foster

  salt of the earth

  beloved editor

  and friend

  “We told each other that we would in future be friends, doing all the good we could to each other, and raise our children in peace and quietness.”

  MihŠihkinaahkwa, Miami Chief (Little Turtle) to William H. Harrison, Governor of the Indiana Territory September 4, 1811

  INTRODUCTION

  In the summer of 1812, at a place where three rivers meet, the sky is filled with birds of many kinds and colors. The rivers are home to fish, beavers, turtles, and otters. In the forest are deer, bears, wolves, porcupines, foxes, bobcats, squirrels, and rabbits. There is no electricity; there are no telephones. Transportation is by horseback, boat, or on foot over rough roads and trails.

  In this time and place, two communities live side by side:

  Kekionga is part of the Miami nation, a Native American community made up of villages along the rivers. People have lived in Kekionga for many generations, hunting, fishing, and farming as the seasons change.

  Within walking distance of Kekionga, in a fort built with logs, lives a group of about eighty soldiers, sent by the United States government as part of an effort to claim the land and protect the people who are settling on it. Some of the soldiers’ wives and children also live in the fort, which is called Fort Wayne. A few other families live outside the fort, within an area enclosed by a wood stockade. Inside this enclosure are fields where the soldiers and their families raise farm animals and crops. Hunting and fishing in the rivers and forest outside the stockade are important to this community, too.

  Just inside the stockade, near the gate, is a trading post, and beside the trading post is the home of the trader and his family.

  Although there is sometimes distrust and fighting between the two communities, friendships and intermarriage are also common. For a few hundred years, there has been communication and trade between the Miami people and the French, British, and, more recently, Americans.

  Please imagine that Anikwa and his family are speaking Miami, a Native American language (today the name of the language is spelled “Myaamia”; the name “Miami” has nothing to do with present-day Miami, Florida), and James and his family are speaking English. Each child knows a few words and phrases of the other’s language, and some of the adults can speak both languages.

  A glossary at the back of the book gives definitions of Miami names and words, a guide to their pronunciation, and the address of a Web site where you can hear them spoken.

  At the time of this story, the border between the United States and Canada has not been established; the British and American armies are engaged in what will later be called the War of 1812. Tribal leaders of surrounding areas are seeking to create a Confederation of Tribes that would keep land to the north and west of the Ohio River as their nation, separate from the newly formed United States.

  The characters in Salt are fictional, but the historical events did happen to people who lived in Kekionga and Fort Wayne in late August and early September of 1812.

  CHARACTERS

  Names in Native American languages have been suggested by tribal members who speak the languages. As was common in 1812, I have kept some names in the original language, and used English translations for others.

  Anikwa—Twelve-year-old boy, Miami

  Old Raccoon—Anikwa calls him Father. He is Anikwa’s father’s younger brother, and in the way Miami people think of family, as a close male relative, he is considered to be Anikwa’s father

  Mink—Old Raccoon’s wife

  Wiinicia—Old Raccoon’s mother; Anikwa calls her Grandma

  Rain Bird—Fourteen-year-old girl, daughter of Old Raccoon and Mink, considered an older sister to Anikwa

  Toontwa—Six-year-old boy, son of Old Raccoon and Mink, considered a younger brother to Anikwa

  Kwaahkwa—Sixteen-year-old boy who lives in Kekionga

  Wedaase—Ottawa man who comes to Kekionga

  Piyeeto—Shawnee man who has lived in Kekionga for some time

  James Gray—Twelve-year-old boy, American, lives outside the fort, within the stockade, in a house near the trading post

  Lydia Gray—James’s mother

  Joseph Gray—James’s father, a trader

  Molly Gray—James’s baby sister

  Isaac Briggs—Eleven-year-old boy, lives in the fort

  Mr. and Mrs. Briggs—Isaac’s father (a soldier) and mother

  Becca Briggs—Isaac’s younger sister

  SALT IN THE SEA, SALT ON THE EARTH

  A shallow sea

  moves over the earth,

  salty, sun-warmed.

  Water rises

  as mist,

  fog, clouds,

  leaving a thin coat

  of salt on the ground.

  JAMES

  Dang mosquito bit me right where I can’t reach it.

  I rub my back against a hickory tree—up and down,

  side to side. There—almost got it. Might look silly,

  but nobody’s watching. Except a squirrel—I hear it

  up there in the branches, and I get out my slingshot.

  Ma will be happy when I bring home something

  for the soup pot. Where is that old squirrel, anyhow?

  Sounds like a whole family of ’em, laughing at me,

  and I can’t see even one. What? Not again! It’s

  Anikwa, laughing as he jumps down from the tree

  and lands beside me. How long has he been watching?

  I swear he can sound like anything! Squirrel, bumblebee,

  bluebird, or bullfrog. Once, I heard my baby sister crying,

  but when I turned to look—it wasn’t Molly, it was him!

  ANIKWA

  James looks

  up in the tree like he thinks

  there’s a real squirrel hiding somewhere

  in its branches. I suck in my cheeks

  to make myself stop laughing—

  he shakes his head,

  puts away

  his stone and slingshot,

  gives me a smile that means I got him

  this time, but next time he’ll be watching if I

  try that trick again. Come on, he motions as he heads

  to the berry bushes. I’ve seen him out here picking berries

  every afternoon since they started to get ripe.

  Makiinkweeminiiki, I say, pretending to

  put berries in my mouth and

  pointing down the trail

  toward the bushes.

  He nods his head.

  Yes, he says,

  blackberries. As we walk

  to the berry patch, he tries my word—

  makiinkweeminiiki, and I try his—blackberries.

  I roll both words around like berries

  in my mouth.

  JAMES

  Wonder if my mouth is purple-black, like Anikwa’s. I sta
rt to head back

  up the trail toward home. But wait—what’s he saying? Kiihkoneehsa—

  that means “fish”! He points to the river trail, meaning, Follow me, so I do.

  When we get to the river, he pulls a string of seven fish out of the water

  and gives me a nice-size trout. Wish I knew how he catches all these fish.

  Thanks! I say, and then I repeat it in his language: Neewe. We walk along

  together; I’m happy because he gave me this fish, so I start whistling.

  He figures out the tune and whistles along with me. Yesterday, I found

  a bee tree full of honey. Wonder if he’s seen it. C’mon, I motion, this way.

  It’s off the trail a little, past the muddy place. We climb over the big log,

  not far from where the trail splits, his trail going to Kekionga, and mine

  going back to my house and the fort. Huh? What’s that deep hole?

  Looks like a person dug it. We step up for a closer look and jump back—

  a man we’ve never seen before is standing in the hole, watching us!

  ANIKWA

  When I get home,

  Grandma’s cutting deer meat

  into strips she’s hanging on the drying rack.

  I show her the fish I caught. She smiles.

  Some for now, and some to salt

  and save for winter.

  We’ll need more

  salt before too long, she says.

  Grandma, I say, I saw a man. She looks up.

  Standing in a hole, I tell her, near where the trail divides.

  He’s not from here. Do you know who he is? She thinks about it.

  I saw an Ojibwe man walking on that trail yesterday, she says. Maybe

  he wants to see what’s happening here. She doesn’t seem scared.

  She needs more hickory wood—her fire’s almost out—

  so I say, Toontwa, let’s get firewood for Grandma.

  Toontwa likes to eat—a lot—but he doesn’t

  like to carry firewood. I saw foxes

  playing behind the big rock,

  I tell him. We could

  look for their den. That gets him

  interested. How many? he asks. Five, I say.

  I pick up my wood-carrying basket and walk off.

  He follows with his basket like I

  hoped he would.

  JAMES

  Ma asks, What did you see today? I tell her about a dead turtle in the creek,

  and a tree that fell across the trail, but I don’t mention the man, or the hole

  he must’ve dug. Ma might get worried and say I can’t go out by myself.

  She’s cutting up the fish when Pa comes in and sits down at the table.

  Look what James brought home! she says. Nice-looking trout, says Pa. Where

  did you catch it, Son? I could pretend I caught it. But I know better than to

  lie to Pa. That’s one thing he won’t abide. Anikwa caught it, I admit.

  Ma says, Next time his aunt and uncle come to trade, give them a little extra.

  Ma calls Mink and Old Raccoon Anikwa’s aunt and uncle, but Anikwa

  calls Old Raccoon his father. From what I can tell, Miami children

  have a lot of parents. That’s good if your ma and pa die, like his did.

  His mother died of smallpox when he was two years old, and then

  a year later, his father got killed. In a skirmish, Pa said. That’s like a war,

  but smaller. Makes me wonder: Who’d take care of me if Pa and Ma died?

  ANIKWA

  This lacrosse stick

  is too big for me, but I like to use it

  because it was my father’s. Grandma tells me,

  He was the best lacrosse player I ever saw.

  He was so good, he could

  make it seem like his

  younger brother

  was as good as he was.

  I wish I remembered him better.

  They say his voice was like strong music.

  Everyone loved to listen to him speak. When people

  started arguing, he said what he thought, and then stayed quiet

  while other people spoke. People listened to him, and thought

  carefully about anything he said. His words, Father says,

  rose to the top, when we had to make hard decisions

  about war or treaties—what to do

  when all the changes came

  across our land.

  At first,

  new kinds of sickness, then

  a different kind of people—starting with men,

  who soon brought families. Then soldiers, and the fort.

  Like the bees that flew in from the east

  and settled on our flowers.

  JAMES

  I’m going out fishing, alone, when here comes Isaac: Where you going? Dang.

  I was hoping to catch a lot of fish and give one to Anikwa. I never see him

  when Isaac’s with me. Don’t want to be mean, so I tell Isaac where I’m headed.

  He walks along beside me, talking, talking, talking. There’s gonna be a war here.

  Not sure I’m supposed to tell you. Your pa and ma might not want you to know.

  Like he’s old enough to know about it, and I’m not—I’m older than he is!

  Course I heard about it, I say, even though I haven’t. I keep quiet, hoping

  he’ll say more, and he does: My pa says the Indians are on the British side.

  That can’t be true. You don’t know what you’re talking about, I blurt out.

  They’ve been our friends since Ma was a girl. Her grandpa traded with them!

  He shakes his head. I know what I’m talking about, but you don’t, he says.

  I bet you don’t even know about the siege. I shrug, like I know but I don’t care.

  The Indians might block the fort, he says, so we can’t get out until the British come.

  Then they’ll all join up and attack us. Trying to act like he knows everything.

  ANIKWA

  Kwaahkwa

  and I came to this quiet

  place to fish. We listen to the river

  whisper in that soft, low voice

  it has sometimes. There’s

  a pair of bluebirds

  singing

  on a low branch of the oak.

  Two fish arc out of the water near

  the eddy, showing us exactly where they are.

  Then, over by that sycamore that fell last year, a big

  bullfrog starts up talking like a drum. I answer, and he

  answers back. And then we hear something else—

  James’s quiet voice, Isaac’s scratchy loud one.

  It sounds like they’re arguing. Everything

  except the river and the frog stops

  talking. The bluebirds fly

  away, the ducks dive

  underwater.

  We move into the shadows,

  crouch down behind a rock, and watch.

  Not exactly hiding, just staying quiet, listening

  and keeping our eyes

  open.

  JAMES

  Isaac keeps trying to show off how much he knows. Don’t worry, James,

  he says (he thinks I’m scared), the Americans might get here first. Pa told me

  our army is bigger than the British army. But if the Indians join the British,

  we’re done for. He slices his hand across his throat. I know how to scare him:

  lead him past the hole I saw when I was with Anikwa. If that man’s still

  standing in it, Isaac will jump out of his skin. Better not, though. He’d tell

  his ma, and she’d tell mine, and they’d make us stay inside the stockade

  where they could keep an eye on us. I’d hate that. We’re walking by the river,

  near where Anikwa gave me the fish, when Isaac comes to a sudden stop.

  Look! He points. Over ther
e by that tree! He picks up a rock and throws it

  as hard as he can. I think I hit it! He runs over, leans down, and holds up

  a dead bullfrog, so proud of himself. Isaac, I ask, what’d you do that for?

  That frog didn’t hurt you. He stares at me. For fun, he says. How come you

  never like to have fun? I look around—I sure hope Anikwa isn’t watching.

  ANIKWA

  Splash!

  The frog stops talking.

  Did it jump out of the way in time?

  Did it sink down in the mud?

  Or—did that rock hit it?

  I lean back so I can

  see: Isaac

  lifts the bullfrog

  from the water at the river’s edge.

  The frog’s legs (strong enough to cross a creek

  in two jumps) dangle from his hands. Isaac smiles like

  he’s in a war against the frogs and he just won a battle. I grab

  a rock to throw at him, but Kwaahkwa says, You know

  frogs taste good. That boy gets hungry, just like us.

  Then Isaac swings the bullfrog by its legs,

  around and around, over his head.

  He’s about to throw it

  in the deep part

  of the river.

  No one will have that frog

  for supper. I jump up and run to try

  to stop him, or catch the frog, but it goes flying

  through the air just before I

  grab Isaac’s arm.

  JAMES

  Isaac and Anikwa slip in the mud and end up in the river. I didn’t see

  which one pushed first, but they could both get pulled downriver.

  Who should I help? I pick up a long branch and lie down on the bank

  to hold it out. Isaac reaches it first—he grabs it and pulls himself up.

  Anikwa is still in the water, sputtering from all the water in his nose

  (and because he’s mad about that frog, I bet). I don’t see Kwaahkwa

  coming until he reaches out to Anikwa, pulls him out of the water,