she would cast her gift into the deep. She hoped there would be a loon. If a loon cried at just the right time—the time that the moon first turned the ripples gold—it would be a good omen. Any spell that might have been cast over her would surely be broken.
Kendra hoped that she would never again have to face the curse of a German.
There was a strange crackling sound up on the roof. Kendra wondered if a bird or squirrel was doing something quite out of the ordinary. She listened for the sound to come again.
Nonie had stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to listen too.
The sound came again. This time Nonie’s head jerked up quickly. “Come!” she said to Kendra and reached out to nudge her toward the door.
Kendra frowned in puzzlement—not because of the command but because of the urgency with which it was spoken.
“Come,” said Nonie again, and the two of them pushed through the cabin door at the same time.
It was then that Kendra noticed a different smell. In the air about the cabin a new color of smoke drifted leisurely.
“What is it?” Kendra asked, fright making her voice tremble.
“Fire,” said Nonie. “Fire on roof.”
Kendra lifted her eyes to the sloping roof of the cabin. Sure enough.
The smoke was curling upward, caught by the gentle breeze and spiraling around the chimney.
“Get pail!” shouted Nonie, and after one wild glance at the woman, Kendra ran for the pail that stood on the bench by the door.
“Water,” barked Nonie.
With terror making her heart constrict, Kendra dashed for the stream and scooped up a pail of water.
Nonie had already placed the ladder against the side of the house. Now she took the pail from Kendra’s numb fingers and turned to mount the ladder. Her knees were stiff, her shoulders bent. Kendra feared that the woman would fall in her attempt.
“Let me,” she said, taking the pail back. “I will do it.”
When Kendra looked over the side of the roof line, she could see that the fire had started in the chimney. The flames were now extending beyond the stonework and reaching angrily toward the sky. Kendra pulled herself up onto the roof and struggled with the heavy pail of water.
She crept as close to the flames as she dared and flung the water with all of her might. She heard the sizzle and sputter as the water collided with the fire, but even as she watched, the hungry flames flared up again. The water had little effect.
By the time Kendra scrambled back down the ladder, Nonie was there with another pail of water. They exchanged pails and Kendra remounted the ladder.
Again and again she climbed the ladder—up and down. The flames had escaped the chimney now and were licking at the dry shingles of the roof.
But each time Kendra threw another pail of water on the flames, she seemed to make a small bit of headway. Not much. But as the dry shingles soaked up more and more of the cold river water, the fire seemed to lose a bit of power in the struggle.
Kendra’s face burned. Her arms ached. Her back felt as if it were broken, and with all the trips up and down the ladder, her legs seemed like jelly. She wondered if she would be able to fight on.
But she did. She climbed and dumped every pail that Nonie dragged up to her. And finally the flames flickered, struggled, then ceased.
Kendra was ready to collapse. What if they had lost their cabin? What if they had lost their home? The traps? Her books? Their supplies? Everything they owned was in that cabin. What if they had lost it all?
She climbed stiffly down the ladder for one last time and collapsed on the cool ground beside Nonie. Both were exhausted, soot-covered, both flushed from the heat of the fight.
“Mother Earth angry,” said Nonie between gasps for breath.
Kendra immediately thought of the silver cross given to her by the German. Her grandfather had said that it was harmless. But Papa Mac had not understood about Nonie’s gods. Had not realized how angry they could be.
She
Kendra hoped that she would never again have to face the curse of a German.
There was a strange crackling sound up on the roof. Kendra wondered if a bird or squirrel was doing something quite out of the ordinary. She listened for the sound to come again.
Nonie had stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to listen too.
The sound came again. This time Nonie’s head jerked up quickly. “Come!” she said to Kendra and reached out to nudge her toward the door.
Kendra frowned in puzzlement—not because of the command but because of the urgency with which it was spoken.
“Come,” said Nonie again, and the two of them pushed through the cabin door at the same time.
It was then that Kendra noticed a different smell. In the air about the cabin a new color of smoke drifted leisurely.
“What is it?” Kendra asked, fright making her voice tremble.
“Fire,” said Nonie. “Fire on roof.”
Kendra lifted her eyes to the sloping roof of the cabin. Sure enough.
The smoke was curling upward, caught by the gentle breeze and spiraling around the chimney.
“Get pail!” shouted Nonie, and after one wild glance at the woman, Kendra ran for the pail that stood on the bench by the door.
“Water,” barked Nonie.
With terror making her heart constrict, Kendra dashed for the stream and scooped up a pail of water.
Nonie had already placed the ladder against the side of the house. Now she took the pail from Kendra’s numb fingers and turned to mount the ladder. Her knees were stiff, her shoulders bent. Kendra feared that the woman would fall in her attempt.
“Let me,” she said, taking the pail back. “I will do it.”
When Kendra looked over the side of the roof line, she could see that the fire had started in the chimney. The flames were now extending beyond the stonework and reaching angrily toward the sky. Kendra pulled herself up onto the roof and struggled with the heavy pail of water.
She crept as close to the flames as she dared and flung the water with all of her might. She heard the sizzle and sputter as the water collided with the fire, but even as she watched, the hungry flames flared up again. The water had little effect.
By the time Kendra scrambled back down the ladder, Nonie was there with another pail of water. They exchanged pails and Kendra remounted the ladder.
Again and again she climbed the ladder—up and down. The flames had escaped the chimney now and were licking at the dry shingles of the roof.
But each time Kendra threw another pail of water on the flames, she seemed to make a small bit of headway. Not much. But as the dry shingles soaked up more and more of the cold river water, the fire seemed to lose a bit of power in the struggle.
Kendra’s face burned. Her arms ached. Her back felt as if it were broken, and with all the trips up and down the ladder, her legs seemed like jelly. She wondered if she would be able to fight on.
But she did. She climbed and dumped every pail that Nonie dragged up to her. And finally the flames flickered, struggled, then ceased.
Kendra was ready to collapse. What if they had lost their cabin? What if they had lost their home? The traps? Her books? Their supplies? Everything they owned was in that cabin. What if they had lost it all?
She climbed stiffly down the ladder for one last time and collapsed on the cool ground beside Nonie. Both were exhausted, soot-covered, both flushed from the heat of the fight.
“Mother Earth angry,” said Nonie between gasps for breath.
Kendra immediately thought of the silver cross given to her by the German. Her grandfather had said that it was harmless. But Papa Mac had not understood about Nonie’s gods. Had not realized how angry they could be.
She
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