The Mystery of the Indian Carvings Read online

  She hurried on, and the Fletchers’ roof, wreathed in drifting fog, came into sight.

  What was she going to do about Karin?

  God keeps His promises. That’s what Melissa had written.

  Okay. She would trust Him to help her.

  “Lord,” she prayed, “I can’t love Karin by myself—I don’t even like her. But You’re powerful, and Your love is big enough. Please give me Your kind of love.”

  The trail soon ended, and as she stepped out of the trees, Karin’s voice reached her, sounding amused. “Well, here she is, the little lost lamb come home.”

  Julie bit her lip and whispered, “Lord? I need You!” She waited for a warm feeling inside, but all she felt was calm.

  She walked past Karin without saying a word, and into the kitchen.

  Aunt Myra looked up from the stove. “Julie!” she cried. “How could you do this to me?”

  The Old One

  “What?” Julie said. Now what had she done?

  “Going off into the fog on your own like that,” her aunt said. “Don’t you care about all the trouble you cause around here? I’m afraid I’m going to have some unhappy things to tell your father when he comes next week.”

  Julie looked at Karin. She wasn’t smiling, but her blue eyes flashed triumph. Of course.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Myra.” She felt an immense weight of tiredness. “I got lost in the fog.”

  As she started to walk through the kitchen, her aunt said, “No, no. Sit down. We kept lunch waiting for you.”

  Julie expected a further scolding while they ate lunch, or questions about where she’d gone, but Aunt Myra had retreated into troubled silence.

  Afterward, she hurried outside, purposely avoiding Karin. But her cousin caught up with her and asked in a low voice, “Did you have a good talk with our local Indian spirits?”

  “Why’d you go off and leave me? That’s kind of a dangerous trick to play.”

  Karin shrugged. “Oh, I figured you’d say a prayer, and God would send an angel to lead you out, safe and sound.”

  The thought of Siem and Robert as angels in disguise made Julie giggle. “He did,” she told Karin. “He sent two of them.” She headed for the steps, smiling to herself at the astonishment on her cousin’s face.

  The rocks on the beach felt slippery, and they’d be damp, but she sat down anyway to watch the ocean. It looked more beautiful than ever, silvered and mysterious under a veil of shifting fog.

  She hugged her knees to herself. What a lovely place, this island! And today she’d found a friend. How could she bear to leave next week?

  She jumped up and searched until she found a gray pebble worn smooth by the waves. She would put it in her collection to remind herself of this foggy day, and of Robert.

  Longing rose inside and melted into burning tears. She choked them back and kept walking down the beach, warming the pebble in her hand.

  During the next few days, she tried to pretend that she wouldn’t be leaving. With Uncle Nate still away, Aunt Myra seemed so troubled about the stolen club and Siem’s poisoning that Julie began to wonder if there was something else, some deeper reason for her aunt’s worry.

  She helped around the house as much as she could, but she sensed Aunt Myra’s disappointment in her. It was always a relief to escape to the beach or the woods.

  Reading plenty of books and working on her Bartlett Island collection kept her busy. It was fun using the reference books in the library to identify the leaves and flowers she pressed.

  In the tide pools she found purple starfish, and sea urchins, which reminded her of spiny green pincushions, and little shells that looked like cone-shaped hats. She learned from Karin that they were called limpets.

  Although Karin often wore a dark, angry face and usually acted as if she couldn’t wait for Julie to leave, she didn’t seem to mind answering questions. Was this because she enjoyed feeling superior to her city cousin? Julie liked to think that it was because she loved the island too.

  More than once, Julie reminded herself that at least they shared this interest. If only they had more time, perhaps they could’ve become friends.

  Sometimes she dreamed of doing a great deed, like finding the missing raven club, so the whole family would think she was wonderful. But her daydream always crashed when she remembered that Uncle Nate was returning at the end of the week. Her aunt would be sure to tell him about finding her in his study.

  In spite of her fears, when Friday morning came, she went with Aunt Myra to pick up her uncle. Stan was there too, talking with Vivian Taylor in front of the general store, and they both came over to say hello.

  Julie listened to the woman’s friendly chatter, and wondered when she’d be finished with her project.

  Was Stan still helping with the research? It sounded like an interesting job, and she meant to ask him more about it, but her uncle hurried them off to the car as if he were anxious to get home.

  All the way back, Aunt Myra poured out her tale of what she’d endured while Uncle Nate was away. It sounded as if Julie was involved in most of it, and she dreaded her uncle’s dark frown. But he gazed thoughtfully into the trees and took a deep breath of the fragrant air, as if he were glad to be back.

  She could tell he was concerned about Siem, though, by the careful way he examined the dog. “Seems to be all right now,” was his only comment, but his face was grave as he put his stethoscope away.

  At church on Sunday, she looked for Stan, thinking to ask him about the research job with Vivian Taylor, but he hung around with the teenagers, and she felt shy about joining them.

  On Monday morning, the birds awakened her early, and she decided that first thing, she’d look for the Indian village and Paul Edenshaw. If she could find Dad’s old friend, maybe he wouldn’t be quite as disappointed in her.

  Right after breakfast, she headed for the trail Robert had told her to follow. She’d started whistling to cheer herself up when a drumming sound echoed through the woods.

  She stopped to listen and realized that she’d heard it before, but not this close.

  “I’m going to find it . . .” she said aloud, and started into the bushes at the side of the trail.

  Immediately the sound stopped. She stood still, exasperated.

  “You’ll never find him, making all that noise,” said a soft voice behind her.

  She whirled in surprise. “Robert, you always sneak up on me!”

  “Shh. There he is again.”

  Was Robert laughing at her?

  “C’mon, let’s find him,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Put your feet down quietly, like this.” He showed her how to slide her feet onto the leaves and moss, avoiding twigs, and she followed him through the trees. The drumming grew louder.

  There he was: a large gray bird with a flaming red head, pounding at a rotting stump. He paused to tear out great chunks of the soft wood, using his beak like a dagger, and then resumed his energetic drilling.

  “A woodpecker!” she said. “What’s he after—bugs?”

  “That’s right,” Robert said, and they watched the bird until it flew off.

  He looked at her. “You asked me some questions about the Old One. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Oh, yes!” Julie said. “Right now, though? Won’t he mind?”

  “He knows you’re coming.”

  Robert led the way back to the beach and along the shore past the Fletchers’ house. “My shortcut,” he explained. “There’s an easier trail through the old forest, but it takes longer.”

  They came to a wide expanse of tumbled boulders, and he grinned at her. “This is where The Spill takes a spill into the ocean.”

  She took a deep breath and followed him, scrambling her way over and around the rocks as she’d done before, and finally they reached the smooth, sloping rocks on the other side.

  He pointed into the trees. “That’s the old graveyard over there,” he said, and she glimpsed some of the taller totems.r />
  We must be getting close, she thought.

  Sure enough, once they’d passed the graveyard, it wasn’t long before she saw the house Karin had pointed out. An old man stood outside, gazing at the ocean.

  “Is that the Old One?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he said.

  The man sat down on a rock, a commanding figure despite his slender frame. Below his thick, silvery hair, his face looked as dark as leather. They stopped in front of him, and Robert inclined his head. “I have brought Julie Fletcher to meet the Old One.”

  Timidly she extended her hand, wondering how to address an Indian shaman. “Hello,” she said.

  The old man took her hand in both of his, and she felt the strength in his long, slender fingers. “I am glad you have come to Bartlett Island,” he said in a deep voice.

  She stood silent, bewildered by such a welcome.

  The brown eyes seemed to be looking inside her. “Robert tells me you wear an Indian sea otter,” the Old One said.

  She unclasped her necklace and handed it to him. Gently he examined the small otter, and the smile lines around his eyes deepened.

  “Your father is alive and well?”

  “Yes, he is,” she said in surprise.

  He returned the necklace to her and gestured for them to sit down on the rock beside him. He picked up the piece of wood he’d been whittling, and spoke in a remembering tone.

  “Many years ago, when your uncle and I visited the Queen Charlotte Islands, there were still a few sea otters alive. They used to inhabit all the western coast, until the fur traders killed them.”

  The old man’s hand moved expertly, shaping an animal’s head out of the wood. “The Indians thought that sea otters might be humans wearing a disguise because their behavior to each other is so tender. Your uncle is an excellent photographer, and we took many pictures.”

  He touched the small otter, still cradled in Julie’s hand. “Like that one, otters prefer to float on their backs, whether they are eating, sleeping, or just resting.” The old man sighed. “Most of them are gone now.” ”

  He dusted the wood chips from his lap. “Will you take a message to your uncle for me? Say that the Old One would like him to tell you the story of your otter.” He did not smile, but the kindness in his eyes warmed her heart.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will ask him.”

  They walked back the way they’d come. Robert was silent, and Julie’s mind overflowed with questions. The Old One was not the simple Indian medicine man she’d expected to find. He seemed well-educated, and besides that, he had something mysterious about him.

  Robert seemed to be deep in thought, and she wondered whether he was thinking about the Old One too. She started to ask, but stopped when she saw Karin coming down the beach.

  For once her cousin had a smile on her face, and she looked prettier than ever in a new green top. “Hi!” she said. “Where’ve you been?”

  Julie waved toward the rocky point behind them.

  Karin looked intrigued. “What? To Dead Man’s Point? There’s nothing there, except the graveyard and . . . Oh! Did you talk to the Old One?”

  “Yes,” Julie said, wishing she didn’t have to answer.

  Karin turned an anxious face to Robert. Her eyes were soft and pleading. “Would you take me to the Old One? Please? I have to ask him an important question.”

  Julie watched him, wondering what he would say. When Karin wanted something, she was hard to refuse.

  His eyes were dark and cold as the pebbles on the beach. “I cannot take you to the Old One,” he said. “Perhaps you should go alone. But be warned, he does not welcome visitors.”

  Karin flushed. “You—you savage!” Her eyes turned to ice. “You could take me if you wanted to. You took Julie. You’ll be sorry for this, wait and see.” She whirled and ran back down the beach.

  Julie stared after her cousin, feeling sick.

  Robert spoke softly. “I’m sorry if this makes problems for you. But the Old One would not see her. He knows what is in her heart.”

  “I’m not afraid for myself,” she said. “Karin can be a dangerous enemy.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” Robert smiled his rare smile. “I have to work this afternoon, but I’m usually at the cave in the mornings, if you ever need me.”

  He disappeared into the trees that fringed the beach and Julie continued on, wondering what Karin would think up.

  Just stay quiet, she told herself. That’s the best thing to do.

  As soon as she sat down at the lunch table, Aunt Myra leaned forward, her voice high and fretful. “Julie, what can you be thinking, going off with that Indian boy? There are so many Indians around here! You can’t be too careful.”

  “Why?” she asked, forgetting her plan.

  “Well, they could be dangerous. And they’re not decent people—with their idols and their heathen ways. They’re pagans.”

  Julie stayed calm. “I found out something interesting about totem poles,” she said. “Robert told me they don’t worship them as idols. They show what the family crest is. Or they tell a story. He said—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more!” Aunt Myra’s voice was shrill. “I have enough problems without worrying about you and those Indians. Do you understand?”

  Julie bit her lip. “Yes, Aunt Myra.” She glanced anxiously at her uncle. He was reading a medical journal as he ate his sandwich and didn’t seem to have heard anything.

  Karin would be quite pleased, so she didn’t look in her direction and excused herself as soon as possible. She wanted to tell Uncle Nate what the Old One had said, but this wasn’t the time.

  That evening, Karin wore a brightly malicious expression, and Julie knew her cousin was plotting something else. Trouble for Robert. Or her? Or both of them?

  Before she fell asleep, she thanked God for helping her—at least she hadn’t lost her temper. She told Him her worries about Karin, and reminded herself that Christ, the powerful God, would protect her.

  But what about Robert?

  The Wolf Totem

  The next morning, Julie saw her uncle on the stairs and quickly gave him the Old One’s message.

  He gazed at her, nodding in his absentminded way. “Right,” he said, and kept walking up the steps.

  Disappointed, she started for the beach, but on the way she caught a glimpse of Karin and changed her mind. Today she was going to stay away from her cousin and out of trouble.

  She hurried back to her room, chose a mystery, and carried it with her into the woods. She’d sit and read in the hidden place she had discovered behind the old stump.

  Once she got there, she began puzzling over one question after another. To start with, why was the Old One so interested in her sea otter? And why had Karin been so eager to talk to the old Indian? And what about the missing club, and Siem’s poisoning?

  She couldn’t think of any answers, so she settled down with her new story. Too soon, it was time to leave, but she picked a fern to press for her collection. It would remind her of this secret place and the way the ferns lifted their ruffled swords to the sunlight.

  That afternoon, Stan arrived to take Karin on a bike ride. As Julie cleaned up the kitchen, she wondered about the two of them. They didn’t seem to have much in common, but maybe Karin fascinated Stan in spite of himself.

  She looked up. Her uncle stood in the doorway, watching her. He asked her to come up to his study, and she felt a twinge of anxiety. Was this it? The sorry-you-can’t-stay-here speech?

  He began by talking about the Old One—that was a good sign.

  “Did Robert take you to visit him?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Julie said. “They were both curious about the sea-otter pendant my father gave me.”

  Her uncle looked at her knowingly. He took a small object from the top drawer of his desk and dropped it into her hand. She stared at the small wooden carving. “It’s just like mine!”

  “That’s right. When
your father and I were boys, our great friend was a man named Paul Edenshaw.”

  She leaned forward. Maybe now she would find out.

  “Paul was very talented, the descendant of a famous Haida artist. We often went to visit him, and he carved a small sea otter for each of us. He left the island for a while and returned several years ago to live by himself.”

  “He’s still living here?”

  “Yes. The Indians hold him in such high respect that for a long time they have simply called him the Old One. I don’t think even Robert knows his real name.” Her uncle’s eyes twinkled. “I believe you’ve already met Paul Edenshaw.”

  Julie laughed. She’d found him at last! No wonder the old Indian had asked about Dad.

  She glanced up at the large otter on the shelf above them. “Did he carve that one too? It seems to have the same sort of face.”

  “Yes.” Her uncle lifted it down. “It’s part of the story.”

  She examined it, admiring the way its flippers curved up to form a graceful handle. She traced the delicately-carved lines that gave it the same kitten-face as hers. But this one wasn’t sleeping.

  She touched the otter’s round, shining eyes. “These eyes are beautiful. What are they made of?”

  “Abalone shell. The Indians liked to use it for decoration,” Uncle Nate said.

  The otter’s forepaws looked different too. They curved above its body instead of being folded across its chest.

  As if he guessed what she was thinking, her uncle said, “It’s unusual for an otter to have twins, but it does happen.” He took his small otter and fitted it into the curve of one of the large otter’s forepaws. The other forepaw was still empty, waiting.

  Smiling, Julie took her otter off the chain, and he slipped it into place.

  Now the mother otter looked fully content, with both youngsters in her arms.

  “Watch,” Uncle Nate said. He pressed the two small otters down against the mother’s body with one hand, and twisted the base slightly with the other. It swung open to reveal a hollowed-out space.