6 The Wedding Read Free Page B

had
just said, but he apparently wasn’t trying to talk me out of marrying Chuck.
    “The what?”
    “The Ojibway marriage ceremony. I’ve been
studying to become a Midewinini. ”
    “Oh. Well. See, the thing is, we are kind of set already.” Wendell’s
face fell and I rushed on. “But I still need friends to do readings. Maybe you
could lead us in a prayer.”
    Wendell began to look happy again.
    “I could do that.”
    “Good. Is there something traditional for a wedding, or do you write
your own?” I put the lid on the pot and let it begin to steep. Wendell likes
his tea strong.
    “There is a traditional prayer, of course.”
    So no hope of constructing something bland and acceptable
if the prayer were offensive. Father White was going to give birth to
kittens when he heard about this, but what could I do? Wendell meant more to me
than Father White did.
    “Tell me about the prayer,” I invited. I made no offer of milk for the
tea. None of us take it that way because dairy is scarce. We have no farmers in
the Gulch. There are some small livestock, like sheep who give wool, but no one
is trying to earn a living with a shovel and hoe, or keeping cows that would
have no natural grazing eight months of the year.

 
    *   *   *

 
    Anatoli and the Mountie arrived in Soda Springs early in the
morning. The moment they rode into the tiny town, Chuck could tell there was
something wrong. The place was too quiet. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys
of the few rough cabins on the main street. The Mountie stopped his bike at the
outskirts of town and held his hand up for Anatoli to do the same. He lifted
his goggles onto his helmet and surveyed the street, looking for any sign of
life. There was no movement. There were several broken chairs, tables, and
other household debris littering the dirt thoroughfare. The Mountie removed his
scarf and looked to Anatoli, cocking a questioning eyebrow.
    “Yes, comrade, there is something wrong here,” Anatoli said,
agreeing with Chuck’s silent question.
    The Mountie dismounted his bike and laid it down in the dirt
on its side. He removed his helmet and gloves and set them on the end of the
handlebar. Anatoli did the same. The Mountie retrieved his rifle from a scabbard
tied to his motorcycle. Anatoli followed suit. The two men walked cautiously
into town, stepping off the dirt track toward the first cabin. The door was
ajar.
    “ Hello, is anyone in here?” the
Mountie called, nudging the door open with the barrel of his rifle. “This is
Chuck Goodhead with the RCMP.”
    There was no verbal response. Chuck was about to leave when
he heard a thumping sound coming from inside the cabin. He entered the building
cautiously. The knocking was being produced by a man sitting on the floor with
his hands bound behind his back and around a wooden post. There was duct tape
covering his mouth. He was knocking his head back against the post to get their
attention.
    Chuck looked around the cabin and sensing no threat rushed
in to kneel beside the man. He laid his rifle on the floor, peeled back an edge
of the duct tape, and then ripped off the rest. The man’s eyes went wide and he
almost screamed in pain. Chuck’s hand shot out to clamp itself over the man’s
mouth.
    “Quiet,” Chuck said.
    When he received a nod of agreement from the bound man
dressed in long johns, he removed his hand. The words that came gushing forth
were expressed in a harsh whisper.
    “Boy, I sure am glad to see you, Mountie. I’m Andy Smith, we
talked on the phone. It’s old Woody Sykes. He’s gone nuts. He came out of the
woods and started tearing everything up. He was going wild. Kept mumbling
something about his daughter, but he doesn’t have a daughter. He stuffed this
note into my pocket for you when he found out you were comin ’.”
    The Mountie looked down and saw that there was indeed a
piece of paper poking out of the man’s shirt pocket. He fished it out and began
to read.