daughter with leather thongs, toppled them both into the bog. People said that when you heard a loon calling across Cranberry Bog on a foggy night, it was really the voice of the drowned girl.
“At least she died with her father and so her spirit was not alone on its journey to the Sky World,” Wanda White Cloud said. “Better than the girl who lay with a French missionary. When he learned she was pregnant, he ran away. She was so ashamed she ran to Indian Point and threw herself over the cliff. My cousin, Sam Pine, said he was hunting for deer in the woods by Indian Point two winters ago when a fog suddenly arose out of the ground and out of nowhere stepped the prettiest and saddest-looking girl he’d ever seen. He called to her, but she walked away. He followed her right up to the edge of the cliff and nearly fell over. They say she prowls the woods looking for young men to lead to their deaths and that if you ever see a fog rising by the Point, you’d best head the other way.”
There seemed to be a fog in the kitchen, so heavy was the smoke from the women’s pipes. The smoke and the talk of spirits made Corinth light-headed, so that the edges of things began to blur. She watched as the blue of her mother’s gingham dress began to bleed out onto her white apron, like blueberries staining white milk, and then Corinth was suddenly rising up, looking down on her own body and the bodies of the three women sitting around the table, her spirit carried upward on a plume of the sweet smoke. The smoke from up there was like a light frost lying on top of everything—clear enough for her to see through but making everything seem separate and faraway and close all at the same time. She could see the bald spot on the top of Mary Two Tree’s scalp, where a hank of hair had gotten pulled out by a threader at the glove factory where she worked before coming to the lumber mill. She could see the cards in Wanda White Cloud’s hands—a two and a six of spades, an eight and a three of clubs, and a jack of hearts—and she watched while Wanda raised the bid and Mary folded her cards down on the table.
Just like Wanda White Cloud to bluff, Corinth thought. Her mother always said that Wanda White Cloud would tell a lie when the truth would do. I’ve got to tell Mama, she thought, and the thought, as if it were a lead sinker, dragged her right back down into her bones—so fast and hard she gasped as if the wind had been knocked right out of her.
“Have you been into the molasses again, Cory, and choked yourself?” her mother asked.
She shook her head and then, climbing into the warmth of her mother’s lap because her whole body felt cold, like a coal stove that’s been left unlit all summer long, whispered into her mother’s ear, “Wanda doesn’t have any cards that match, Mama, you can beat her easy.”
She felt her mother stiffen and was afraid she’d made her angry, but when she looked up, she saw her mother studying her the way she did when she thought she was sick. She touched a hand to Corinth’s brow and Corinth leaned into it, hungry for its warmth.
“You feel cold, child. Go sit by the fire.”
And then her mother met Wanda’s bet and raised her two bits. When she put down her cards, Wanda turned around in her chair and looked at Corinth long and hard with her black eyes, and Corinth, even though she was crouched right next to the fire, felt a cold breeze blow right through her . . . as if she were still outside her body and Wanda White Cloud had sent a wind to scatter her spirit to the four corners of the earth.
Later when she was in bed her mother came into her room and, sitting on the edge of Corinth’s mattress, asked her how she’d known what Wanda’s hand was. Had she sneaked under the table and peeked? Corinth explained how she’d risen above the table with the smoke. She didn’t think her mother would believe her, but she did.
“Women of our people have been able to do this before,” she
“At least she died with her father and so her spirit was not alone on its journey to the Sky World,” Wanda White Cloud said. “Better than the girl who lay with a French missionary. When he learned she was pregnant, he ran away. She was so ashamed she ran to Indian Point and threw herself over the cliff. My cousin, Sam Pine, said he was hunting for deer in the woods by Indian Point two winters ago when a fog suddenly arose out of the ground and out of nowhere stepped the prettiest and saddest-looking girl he’d ever seen. He called to her, but she walked away. He followed her right up to the edge of the cliff and nearly fell over. They say she prowls the woods looking for young men to lead to their deaths and that if you ever see a fog rising by the Point, you’d best head the other way.”
There seemed to be a fog in the kitchen, so heavy was the smoke from the women’s pipes. The smoke and the talk of spirits made Corinth light-headed, so that the edges of things began to blur. She watched as the blue of her mother’s gingham dress began to bleed out onto her white apron, like blueberries staining white milk, and then Corinth was suddenly rising up, looking down on her own body and the bodies of the three women sitting around the table, her spirit carried upward on a plume of the sweet smoke. The smoke from up there was like a light frost lying on top of everything—clear enough for her to see through but making everything seem separate and faraway and close all at the same time. She could see the bald spot on the top of Mary Two Tree’s scalp, where a hank of hair had gotten pulled out by a threader at the glove factory where she worked before coming to the lumber mill. She could see the cards in Wanda White Cloud’s hands—a two and a six of spades, an eight and a three of clubs, and a jack of hearts—and she watched while Wanda raised the bid and Mary folded her cards down on the table.
Just like Wanda White Cloud to bluff, Corinth thought. Her mother always said that Wanda White Cloud would tell a lie when the truth would do. I’ve got to tell Mama, she thought, and the thought, as if it were a lead sinker, dragged her right back down into her bones—so fast and hard she gasped as if the wind had been knocked right out of her.
“Have you been into the molasses again, Cory, and choked yourself?” her mother asked.
She shook her head and then, climbing into the warmth of her mother’s lap because her whole body felt cold, like a coal stove that’s been left unlit all summer long, whispered into her mother’s ear, “Wanda doesn’t have any cards that match, Mama, you can beat her easy.”
She felt her mother stiffen and was afraid she’d made her angry, but when she looked up, she saw her mother studying her the way she did when she thought she was sick. She touched a hand to Corinth’s brow and Corinth leaned into it, hungry for its warmth.
“You feel cold, child. Go sit by the fire.”
And then her mother met Wanda’s bet and raised her two bits. When she put down her cards, Wanda turned around in her chair and looked at Corinth long and hard with her black eyes, and Corinth, even though she was crouched right next to the fire, felt a cold breeze blow right through her . . . as if she were still outside her body and Wanda White Cloud had sent a wind to scatter her spirit to the four corners of the earth.
Later when she was in bed her mother came into her room and, sitting on the edge of Corinth’s mattress, asked her how she’d known what Wanda’s hand was. Had she sneaked under the table and peeked? Corinth explained how she’d risen above the table with the smoke. She didn’t think her mother would believe her, but she did.
“Women of our people have been able to do this before,” she
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