Chapter 8: Accommodations

What am I doing?

I sat up, almost pushing him off me. But not quite; my hands went out and trapped his wrists, holding him close, when he went to pull away.

"What did I do?" he whispered, and his eyes were so very haunted, seemed so appalled by the thought that he might have offended me, that I thought my heart would shatter into a million pieces. "Did I do something wrong?"

I shook my head, not able to speak yet. I was too flustered, and took a deep breath. "No," I finally managed, after a long, awkward moment, "No, nothing wrong at all. Very right, really." I smiled faintly up at him and he relaxed.

"Then what is it?" He reached up to brush my hair back from my face, and I was struck by his concern for me.

My parents hadn't asked me how I was in three years.

I shook my head. I didn't really know what was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong. "I just don't know what to do, Will."

Will nodded. "I know this is…this is so much, so fast…" He touched my cheek gently. "We'll take things as fast or as slow as you want to, Virginia. I know you're scared, I know you're worried about things, about your parents and all…"

All those things and more flashed through my head. But something else bothered me.

"Will, what did you mean, when you said, 'I know' earlier?"

He looked away, as if embarrassed by something, his fingers clenching mine tightly.

"I…I don't know exactly what I meant, or, maybe it's that there are so many things that I was trying to say right then, it's hard to put it all into words…"

I pulled our entwined hands to me, against my heart. "Try."

He sighed. "Well, first of all, I know how confused you are. I am, too." His smile as he looked into my eyes was rueful, but not regretful. "This isn't exactly what my Ma and Pa thought of when they imagined my future, I guess: they saw me as one of the leaders of our tribe. Marrying a girl I grew up with. Having a traditional life." He shot me a sly glance. "And we both know that's out of the question now, I think."

I flushed with pleasure and a bit of shame: pleasure at knowing he was mine and I was his…shame at knowing that he couldn't ever have that future his parents might have imagined for him. It wasn't possible anymore.

"And also," he went on, "I know what it's like to feel so different, like you have all your life. I don't mean to say that I am the same as you, but I'm different, too."

I grinned at him. "Don't be silly, Will." I thought for a moment, chose the most random, preposterous thing I could think of. "What, don't tell me you turn into a bear, like in my dreams!"

"No. Not yet. Probably not ever. But maybe, if it's necessary."

His words, so simple, so uninflected and serious, stopped my heart. "R-really?" I squeaked.

He met my eyes and nodded.

I took a moment to rearrange my views of the world, yet again.

All right, Ginny, let's see if we can make all this make some sense, I told myself. You already know you're a freak of nature: you hear the voices of the dead. That was always normal for me, though, it hadn't taken any getting used to. But I did know that my unusual extra sense wasn't normal for everyone else.

Then, to find out that my dead brother wasn't in fact "dead," and was a vampire living in sin in Mexico with some dreadful female of his new kind…That had been devastating. It had required me to do some serious soul-searching and re-evaluation of what I thought was possible or not. Not so much the living in sin part…that rather appealed to me now…but Jasper being a vampire. A monster. And deeper than that: that vampires exist, period. Legends come to life, living a few hundred miles away, with all of us blissfully unaware as they grazed us like cattle.

And now…Now, apparently, I had to accept that besides vampires there were also other things out there, things I didn't understand at all. It was a logical step in the progression of insanity, I supposed. If one kind of monster exists, then that means that others could, as well. The man I loved, the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with after only having seen him once before, that man also, it seemed, could turn into a bear.

A bear?

"A bear?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. A bear. Or, at least that's what the Elders said it would be. No one has made the change in a generation or so. But before, when they did, they were always bears."

"Like, grizzlies? Or black bears?" I couldn't keep the incredulity out of my voice. "What color are you?" The inane question made me want to slap myself again. My god, he was going to start thinking I was a complete moron, blurting out silly questions and phrases all the time.

But still, I remembered my dream, the fierce huge creature with my Will's eyes, shadowed and foggy with the insubstantial air of dreaming, I couldn't tell what color he was. I had thought it was symbolic, somehow, that he was my protector, and that my mind was projecting the image of a bear onto him, because I had always thought of bears fondly, big and warm and strong, somehow loveable. My favorite fairy tale had always been Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and I'd always been looking for the "just right" for myself, never thinking I could have it…and maybe now I had.

His chuckle deepened into an actual laugh. "I don't know, Virginia, I have never made the change, there hasn't been a reason to."

Hmm. I sat back and pondered that for a moment. "So, then, what is the reason you might change?"

Will smiled, flexing his fingers within mine. "Oh, not much. Threats to the tribe. Enemies. But now that the tribe is off its land, since our people have been moved around so much, things have gotten a little, hmmm, disorganized."

"Oh. Well, that's…that's really…interesting. I never would have thought that kind of thing really happened," I managed lamely. I didn't really know what to say.

Now I understood the "I know" thing from him: it was so much easier to agree and accept but not try to understand or explain.

"Mmmm." Will leaned forward and brushed my lips with his, which immediately set every one of my nerve endings to tingling madly. "Does it bother you? Knowing what could happen?" He held my face between his hot palms, I felt his breath against my skin, and he pulled me closer to him, fitting me against him. "Does it…scare you?"

How absurd. As if I could ever be frightened of him.

I giggled as he kissed me, which was an interesting feeling; I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of him, warm and soft and hard and there against me. I'd never kissed a boy in my life, except Jasper or my father, and that had been in a totally different way…and I never would kiss another man.

"No. Not at all. I think we're quite a pair, actually," I said finally, when my lips were free again, and he was grinning down at me, his face glowing amid the dark curtain of his dark hair. "I can talk to ghosts and you become a bear. Sounds perfect to me."

We stayed there for a while; time has no meaning when you're young, giddy, and completely and stupidly in love. It says in the Bible that to God a thousand years is as to a day, and vice versa. I understand that completely. That sun-soaked morning blended into the heat of the afternoon, but it didn't matter, because we were there together, such a mismatched and unlikely pair, and we loved each other despite all the reasons not to.

When the sun began dipping toward the horizon, Will looked at me sadly and told me it was time to get me home. I pouted and stomped my foot prettily, but I knew he was right: Big John had known we were walking out together, and he would have told Mama Dina. My parents might have been completely clueless to my whereabouts, but Mama Dina would be waiting for me when I came back, and I shuddered to think of what her face might look like in her righteous wrath.

As he walked me home, we held hands, and I couldn't find it in myself to regret a second of the time we'd passed. We talked, easily, naturally as breathing, as if we'd known each other forever. I told him more about my dreams and my voices. I talked about Jasper, but I left out the vampire part again. I didn't understand why, but I felt on some gut level I should.

I told him about Jasper, and how his leaving had torn that hole in the fabric of our family that was just barely patched. And as I talked, I began to realize something: I was that patch. I was the thing holding everything together. If I was gone, if I was ripped away from it all, then everything would unravel, and I would have the complete destruction of my family on my conscience.

I couldn't run away with him, no matter how much every fiber of my being wanted to.

I glanced sideways at him, and my heart thudded at the sight of him, so handsome. But beyond that, beyond his physical beauty, something radiated from him: a gentle warmth like a banked fire, a calmness that crept into my soul and quieted me when he was near. I had never felt safer, more loved in my life, even with all my memories: even as a baby, I hadn't felt so secure, while pressed against my mother's breast.

It was like we were made for each other. How could I deny it?

Just as I snuck looks at him, he did the same to me, and something inside me would throb in response: I was proud to know such a man loved me. But it didn't mean I was the most special, the most beautiful.

I was the most blessed.

I'd been ignoring them, because there was nothing of real consequence to what they said, but since the moment I had taken Will's hand the first time, my whisperers were all aflutter, murmuring all around me, and I knew they were pleased. I guessed I was doing the right thing, then, in loving him, as improbable as it seemed. They had guided me correctly so many times before; I had to trust in them.

We came in sight of the farm's border fence far too soon.

We stopped, and I turned to face Will, his hands clutched tightly in mind, damn the sweat and tingling from my fingers falling asleep.

"When can you come back?" I was amazed at how plaintive my voice sounded. All my pride, gone out the window. So much for Miss Independence. Here I was, the damsel in distress, sighing and waiting for her prince.

Will stepped closer, not touching me. I knew why: I could somehow feel the eyes on us. Someone was watching, from the barn, from the house. He wasn't ashamed to touch me, but he didn't want me to get in more trouble than necessary on his account, I knew it without a doubt.

"As soon as I can. I can't say when. But soon." I closed my eyes and let the sound of his voice roll over me, trying to absorb it into myself, like a snake on a hot rock, so I could bring it up later, when I was cold and alone in my bed, wishing for him. I knew that was how it would be.

I tried to put a brave face on. I didn't want to cry. But I did, a little, I couldn't help it. He caught a tear on his fingertip, and lifted it to his lips. "Soon," he murmured. "I promise." Then he looked toward the farm, his lips pressed into a tight, worried line. "Go on now. Before they come and drag you home."

I knew it was right, what he said, but I couldn't make my muscles move, my body just didn't want to leave him. Finally, he had to turn and walk away. The sight of his back to me made every inch of me hurt.

"Soon, Virginia Whitlock. Soon. You'll be Virginia Standing Bear before you know it."

The words drifted back to me on the hot, late-afternoon breeze, and I took some comfort from them. I watched him go, getting smaller and smaller against the vast horizon as he left me, and then he was gone.

"Come on now, baby. Come on inside."

Strong, warm hands turned me around and pushed me toward the house. The smell of cinnamon and cloves. I let it happen, numb.

I found myself in the kitchen. I put on my apron and began dicing carrots without a thought, my body just stepping in and taking over in the absence of direction from my mind. The rhythm of the knife against the cutting board, the repetitive motion of scooping up the pieces and rinsing them, it soothed me, but most of all, it allowed me to think.

All right, Virginia, you have some things to set straight here, my mind said.

First of all: you are in love.

Second: you are in love with a man your family will never accept. Ever.

Third: you cannot just walk away from your family to be with him. No matter how much you want to.

Fourth: he turns into a bear. But that doesn't matter so much.

Fifth: you are in love.

Round and round they whirled, all those thoughts, all those feelings. I was so glad to be cutting those carrots. If I'd been doing anything else, like stirring the soup or rolling out the biscuits, I might have fallen into the pot or rolled the dough to paper-thinness.

What to do, Ginny? I asked myself. What to do?

No matter what I chose, someone got hurt in the end.

If I chose to leave and follow my heart, I knew that so much pain and destruction would follow in my wake. I knew, with every part of me, that if I left that soon after I would get a letter telling me my parents were both dead.

If I chose to stay, I could never be with Will. I would have to cut him off. I would have to go to that accursed school in Chicago, and I'd eventually end up marrying some dull, redneck rancher or merchant, the son of a friend of my father's, and I'd end up just like all those women on pedestals I'd told myself I would never be.

Was I a monster because I wanted what I wanted?

Monsters. The term jolted me. The definition of the word "monster" had taken on new meaning to me.

What is a monster, after all?

Was Jasper a monster? He'd become what he was through no wish of his own, and now that he was a vampire, he was simply following the directives of his body. Was that monstrous?

William Standing Bear apparently could, in the presence of the appropriate threat, transform himself into a bear. Was that monstrous?

And also…I heard and spoke to the dead.

Was I a monster?

"Baby! Pay attention!"

I didn't realize noticewhat had happened until I looked down and realized I'd cut a sizeable chunk out of the tip of my index finger, and saw the blood. So much for cutting carrots being better than anything else. Stupidly, I stared at the blood running down my finger, over the back of my hand, soaking into my sleeve.

Once again, those hands, so strong and sure, cleaned and bandaged me, then bundled me up the stairs to my room. "Stay here, chil', you're no use t' anyone, not even y'self."

The door closed, and I was alone in the dark with my monstrous thoughts.

The pain from my finger suddenly made itself known: a bright, jagged, throbbing pain that helped me tune out the craziness. Pain is good for that, it pares down all the excess and makes you see what it really important.

"What do I do?" I asked aloud to the darkness. I sat down on my bed and pulled my knees up against my chest, careful of my pulsing finger. "Help me. You've always helped me before. Help me now. I want to do the right thing for everyone."

Silly girl.

You can't do what's right for everyone. Each person has their own path to walk, and sometimes, when your path crosses another's, it can't be helped: the other gets hurt.

You have to do what is right for you, even if it means hurt.

Hurt for others, hurt for you.

You have to live your own life. Your family makes their own choices.

Know thyself, Virginia Lucille Whitlock. Know thyself.

Know thyself. I knew that quote.

I got off the bed and went to my bookshelf, pulling out my Classics textbook. I loved that book, so full of beautiful and bizarre myths from ancient Greece, so full of a savage and compelling history. "Know thyself."

Socrates was the philosopher most often credited with that particular piece of edification. But it was also engraved upon the lintel of the door leading into the temple of the Oracle of Delphi: Know Thyself. How ironic, that the motto emblazoned upon the entrance of a place that doubtful mortals went to in search of wisdom admonished them to know themselves.

Who is Virginia Lucille Whitlock?

Who is Ginny?

I sat back down heavily, not feeling the pain of my finger anymore. I stared out the window at the black night sky and I asked myself: who are you?

When I was a child, I had been carefree, happy, without regrets. I had lived every moment for itself, painful or pleasurable. I hadn't known right or wrong, I'd just existed. I hadn't asked permission from anyone for anything. I'd joked and pranked and laughed as loud as I wanted. I'd behaved like a heathen child, with no respect for decorum. I was a mess.

As I got older, I realized that there was such a thing as society and manners and rules of conduct, often due to the pain of a swat with a switch or a ruler, or occasionally the belt. But I accepted them as I wanted and did as I pleased, regardless of what anyone else thought. I did the bare minimum to be presentable and proper: I was a tidy room with a messy closet, the door closed tightly against the disorganization within. I was a free spirit, governed by no one, inside my own head.

Then…then Jasper left and I inherited, whether I wanted to or not, the heavy mantle of familiar responsibility. Suddenly, in his absence, I was in charge of making sure my parents were happy, and part of ensuring that happiness was doing the "right thing" in their eyes.

I had worked so hard during those years. A child still, I'd put aside my childhood and grown up, I'd made myself strong enough to deal with the things around me. I'd opened that closet door and cleaned it all up, putting everything away neatly, shelving my rebellion and my carefree ways. I'd endured Papa's drinking and indifference. I'd endured Mama's depression and disregard. I'd taken care of everyone but myself. Always, they came first.

And now?

Now, finally, there was something I wanted, with all my heart, soul, and body.

William.

And what should I do? Should I keep up the habit of self-denial? Should I let them cut me off from the thing, the person, I knew would complete me? The person who had completed me?

There had to be a way to do everything. There had to be a way to accommodate their needs and my wants. But who was I kidding?

I didn't just want Will. I needed him. It wasn't an option anymore: if I couldn't be with him…I didn't want to think about it. He was my cold glass of water in the desert. I thought I might die of thirst without him.

What was wrong with me?

This wasn't normal. It wasn't natural. My mind kept throwing up opposition.

"But I'm not normal. I'm not natural, and neither is he!" I screamed back.

Be a good girl. Go away to Chicago and try to forget him. You'll get over him. You're a child.

NO.

I had never heard such a thunderous chorus of them all.

So what do I do? I begged them silently.

Make accommodations.

What on earth does that mean?

They laid it all out for me. Me, putting on a show for everyone, being accommodating to their needs, their wants for me, at least on the surface. Smiling and being the good girl. Not complaining. Helping. Accommodating them…while planning for myself.

I saw myself Pplanning my departure for school. At Tthe railroad depot, blowing kisses to my family.

Then…Jjumping off and into Will's arms. He'd have my Belle there. Running away.

Marrying him in a little Mexican chapel, flowers in my hair.

Yes.

I went to bed and I slept dreamlessly for the first time in forever. I slept the sleep of the just, the sleep of one who has made her peace with the world.

The next morning, I arose rested and completely refreshed, ready to make everyone believe me. I went down to my chores singing. I played the role of the dutiful and happy daughter. I sewed my uniforms. I rode my new horse, alone, into the hot vastness of the prairie. I studied and did my lessons perfectly. I made my accommodations for everyone else: I put a brave face on it. I put a happy face on it. I said goodbye to my life over and over again as I went through the motions.

But every minute, every second, I was with him, in my head and in my heart.

I never stopped scanning the horizon, or searching the shadows for him. I knew he'd be back one day soon, that smile on his face, that slow, sweet smile just for me.

I felt an almost magnetic pull toward him. At any point in time I could stand still and relax and know where he was, far away from me, but my mind found his as easily as if we were standing inches apart. I often stopped and closed my eyes and felt him, and knew he was doing the same, miles away, standing transfixed and thinking of me.

Mama Dina watched me with growing suspicion and worry, but she never said anything: she knew what was coming. Big John watched me too, as if he were waiting for me to fly away on the wind. It was maddening, knowing that every move I mad was examined and pondered and analyzed by them. I had to remind myself over and over again that they loved me, they only wanted the best for me. I'd swallow down my indignation and smile sweetly at them…and I think that made them even more suspicious, actually.

One morning, I was currying Belle in the barn when it occurred to me that I had something to ask Big John. I'd forgotten all about it, in all the drama with Jasper and Will.

"John," I called to him. He was on the other side of the barn, checking on Papa's favorite horse's shoes. He stuck his head up over the side of the stall, eyebrows raised, tense. "When are you going to tell me the story about the necklace? Mama told me you would."

He grinned in relief, and I wondered what he'd thought I might say. Probably thought I was going to ask him to lie for me or something, like I was sneaking away to meet Will.

I wished!

"Lemme get this finished real quick, an' I'll come over there."

I went back to my own work, although honestly there wasn't much to do: Belle was curried and combed so often I rarely raised any dust at all when I took the brush to her. She gleamed like a pearl. A few minutes later, John came and knelt down beside us, picking up Belle's feet one at a time, inspecting them.

"Well, y' know my Pa was Indian. Ojibwe tribe, or Chippewa, as the whites call 'em. Same word, but whites jus' can't say it right." His dark eyes twinkled up at me; I laughed. "His family, his tribe, was from up north, what they call Minnesota now. I was only a little baby when I was there, I don' remember it at all. Pa left home when he was a boy, he had itchy feet, he always said, but he always tol' me it was terrible cold up there, so I don't think I'm missin' much, not rememberin'." We smiled again.

"Now, Pa went further South, ended up in Kentucky, where he started workin' for a blacksmith as a apprentice. When he got big enough he took over the business. Then he met an' married him a Negro woman, my Ma. He said she was just too pretty to give up. She was a freedwoman, her old master in Georgia had died an' he freed all his slaves. Ma took 'er freedom an' she ran north, ended up in Kentucky, an' met my Pa.

"They was happy, but they had a awful time with it, no one wanted 'em around, mixed race couples ain't exactly welcome, especially mixed Black an' Indian…so they thought about movin' back up north. Pa said he thought his Ma an' Pa would taken 'em in; Ma was carryin' me at the time, so they traveled real slow. Made it up there just before the first snow fell, Ma said.

"So my grandparents took 'em in, an' I was born there. When I was 'bout two or so, Pa started hearin' stories 'bout California an' how there was lots of people headin' West, lookin' for more opportunities, an' a man could make his own fortune there how he liked it. So, he decided to go an' see what it was all about, an' Ma wouldn't see 'im leave without her.

"My Grandpa had died right after I was born, so when my Pa wanted to leave, my Grandma said she'd go with 'em. Oh, Pa argued with her for days, but she jus' said she wouldn't stay there all alone. My Pa was her only baby. She said she wanted t' help my Ma with me, and Ma loved my Grandma, her mother in law, so when them two women ganged up on 'im, Pa jus' gave up."

I laughed, and so did John, whose eyes were dreamy and a bit wet with memory.

"So there we went, Pa, Ma, Grandma, an' me, trekkin' west. We never made it to California, we stopped in Oklahoma Territory, Pa got offered a job at a smithy, and no one really looked twice at us, which was good. We settled down there.

"Now, here comes what you're wantin' t' hear." John reached out and ruffled my hair a little. "I'm surprised you been so patient."

I just nodded and waited for him to go on.

"My Grandma, she was getting' on in years by then, but she raised me right beside my Ma. She taught me her language an' told me all the stories an' history. She said she had to, 'cause my Pa didn't really care much 'bout it.

"She told me 'bout all the spirits and the legends. An' one of them was the dream catcher."

And something seemed to come over him then, his voice changed a little, deepening, taking on a singsong rhythm, as if he were channeling someone else, or reciting something so deeply ingrained in his mind that it came effortlessly; his accent dropped away until it was almost unnoticeable.

"This is the way the old Ojibwe storytellers say Asi-bi-kaa-shi (Spider Woman) helped Wa-na-boz-hoo bring Grandfather Giizis (Sun) back to the people, Grandma tol' me. To this day, Asibikaashi will build her special lodge before dawn. If you are awake at dawn, as you should be, look for her lodge and you will see how she captured the sunrise as the light sparkles on the dew which is gathered there.

"Asibikaashi took care of her children, the people of the land, and she continues to do so to this day. Long ago in the ancient world of the Ojibwe Nation, the Clans were all located in one general area of that place known as Turtle Island. When the Ojibwe Nation dispersed to the four corners of North America, to fulfill a prophecy, Asibikaashi had a difficult time making journeys to all those baby cradle boards, so the mothers, sisters and Nokomis (grandmothers) weaved magical webs for the new babies using willow hoops and sinew or cordage made from plants. The shape of a circle represents how Giizis travels across the sky."

John smiled and inscribed a circle in the air in front of me. Then he continued, and I closed my eyes. Listening to him like that, I could almost see his grandmother, brown and wrinkled like a walnut, bright black eyes twinkling and wise. I could hear her voice in his, talking to me through his memories of her.

"The dream catcher filters out the bad ba-we-dji-ge-win (dreams) and allows only good thoughts to enter into our minds when we are abinooji (asleep). A small hole in the center of the dream catcher is where the good bawadjige may come through. With the first rays of sunlight, the bad dreams will perish.

"So when we see little Asibikaashi, we should not fear her, but instead respect and protect her. In honor of their origin, the number of points where the web connects to the hoop are eight for Spider Woman's eight legs, or seven for the Seven Prophecies. It is traditional to place a feather in the center of the dream catcher; it means breath, or air. It is essential for life. In the cradle board, a baby watched the air play with the feather and was happily entertained with the blowing feather. 'I put one over your cradle board when you were a baby, John, and you never cried from nightmares,' Grandma said."

John opened his eyes again and grinned at me. "An' so now you know." His voice was the same as always, and I began to wonder if I was crazy. "I didn't put no feathers on this one 'cause I knew you'd wear it 'round your neck, an' anyways, you ain't no baby no more." I shivered, still hearing the echo of his grandmother's voice in my mind.

Because I've always been here. From the day you were born, I've been here with you.

I gasped in shock. I knew that voice, she had, indeed, been with me always. That voice was one I'd trusted the most. Could it really be her?

Namid.

I looked up at John. "What was your grandmother's name, John?"

He sighed wistfully. "Namid. It means 'star-dancer' or somethin' like that, she said."

To cover up my shock, I blurted out, "What's your real name?"

"John."

We both laughed until our stomachs hurt and we were gasping for air; tears streamed down my face. John! I'd been expecting something so much more…exotic!

As I sat and wiped my eyes, I wondered again about his grandmother, and her voice: it had been whispering in my ear since I was a baby. She had brought so many things to me in my dreams: deep green forests blanketed with snow, frozen lakes stretching to the horizon, the scent of the pines and the cries of the egrets among the reeds.

I shivered again, realizing suddenly that she, Namid, had been a real person, someone that John had known. Of course I'd always known the voices belonged to real people, but it had been so removed; I had no frame of reference to put them in. I had no idea when most of them had died, except for the one who had shown me his death at Jasper's hands.

But I needed to get more used to the supernatural touching me, more accepting that what is weird can also be real. It had been with me from the beginning of my life, and it would be there until the end: that other world just beyond the one I walked in every day—and now I knew that the everyday world was also walked by other creatures I'd never even imagined could be real.

I reached into the collar of my dress and pulled out the pendant. Seven points anchored the mesh of tiny wires to the outer hoop. The silver caught the sunlight streaming in through the barn door, and it did, indeed, look like a spiderweb alight with dew, the tiny turquoise beads clinging like water droplets. I touched the small hole in the center, the hole where the good dreams would be let in, supposedly.

I'd had dreams, lots of them, many of them bad, although I didn't sleep much anymore. My waking times were like dreams. I never wore the necklace to bed, I didn't want it getting tangled up in my hair or clothes as I tossed and turned. Perhaps I should keep it on all the time?

The sounds of a wagon rolling up into the stable yard distracted me, and made John jump up and go see who had come. I felt my heart leap into my throat, the exact opposite direction my stomach took, which seemed to plunge into my feet. My mouth dried up and my eyes teared up. Who could it be? Maybe, maybe, it was him?

I followed John at a more discreet pace, but every slow step was an agony, since my rabid curiosity seemed to be pulling me along bodily. The thudding of my runaway heart increased when I saw the logo on the side of the wagon: Jenkins.

But it wasn't him. Another boy, younger, freckle-faced and buck-toothed, was up on the high seat holding the reins. "Hey, Big John!" he called merrily, jumping down. "Boss sent up those things you ordered." He reached into the back of the wagon and handed John a big parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

"Much obliged, Archie, tell your boss I said so, all right?" John motioned for the boy to follow him and started toward the kitchen. "C'mon in, lemme get Dina t' give you somethin' t'drink 'fore you head back down to Houston."

"Sure, John. Just gimme a minute to make sure the horses 're set, all right? I'll be right there." Archie waited for a moment until he saw the kitchen door close behind John, then he turned and grinned at me, impudent and bold as brass.

"So, you're her, huh?"

I blinked. "I'm who?"

Archie groaned dramatically. "Oh, don't play dumb. Will's girl." He winked at me, then glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching. "He couldn't come, but he told me to see you."

I bit my lip and tried hard not to cry. "Couldn't come?" Not didn't want to come?

Oh, Ginny, shut up. Silly, self-doubting little voice, go away!

He laughed. "Yeah, couldn't. Boss needed him, but he spared me to come all the way up here to bring this stuff." He dug into his pocket and pulled something out: a small package, wrapped similarly to the bigger bundle he'd given John, which he passed surreptitiously to me. "But he wanted to real bad. I've worked there for a year now, and I've never, ever seen Will mad. Not 'til today. And boy, was he ever! I mean, he is a real bear when he's put out!"

I had to stifle a laugh behind my hand, stuffing the package into the pocket of my skirt . Oh, if he only knew, I thought!

"Thank you, Archie. I appreciate it," I finally said, but my mind was not there: it was in my pocket, trying to figure out what was in that little package. "And…well, tell him I said hello, if you don't mind?"

Archie grinned. "Sure!" He scratched his head, and then his smile turned shy, and he blushed and looked away. "He said you were pretty, but I didn't think you'd be this pretty. He's a lucky guy."

I giggled. Wearing my old workaday dress, hay in my hair, which was just pulled up into a graceless knot at the back of my neck, dusty-kneed from kneeling in the dirt beside Belle…Well, I'd take the compliment, no matter how much I felt it wasn't deserved. And besides, Will had said I was pretty, he'd spoken of me to another boy…"Thank you, Archie. I appreciate your help."

His impudent grin returned and he turned to go. He'd taken a few steps when he stopped and looked back at me. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

I waited impatiently, fingering the twine holding the paper onto the package. "Yes?"

"Will said, he'll see you on Sunday, around noon. He said you'd know where."

Fireworks!

Archie must've seen some of the explosions I was feeling inside painted upon my face, because he laughed and ran off to the kitchen.

I looked around nervously, wondering if anyone was watching. Of course they were. But I couldn't see anyone behind the muslin curtains in the kitchen window, so I could pretend I didn't know. I forced myself to walk slowly, sedately, back into the barn, where I let myself into Belle's stall. I carefully shut the little door behind me and went into the corner and sank down into the straw, my knees turning to jelly.

With trembling fingers I undid the twine and clumsily pulled off the paper.

Inside was a letter, several pieces of paper carefully folded into a small, tight square, and there was something hard inside it. Impatiently, I unfolded the pages and the something fell out onto my skirt: something bright and shiny, and very familiar.

It was his necklace. His dream catcher, which was so similar to mine. The only real difference was that it was a bit heavier, and the stones were a bit larger, set into the silver wire.

"Oh!" I gasped. Why had he sent it to me?

I smoothed the letter atop my knees, and looked at it for a moment. His handwriting was even and neat, but it looked like he'd written this hastily, or was excited, by the way it slanted across the page. I took a deep breath and began to read.

Dear Virginia,

I'm so sorry I couldn't come myself. Mr. Jenkins originally told me I could make this delivery to your house, but then he changed his mind, We got in a new horse that is causing problems, and he doesn't trust Archie with things like that, so Archie got to go. Lucky guy.

I have been thinking about you all the time. I can't stop seeing your face. I still can't believe this is happening to me. I dream every night about you, and I always feel like I know where you are, even though you're miles away. I hope you feel the same about me.

I know I can't say a lot of things on paper, I don't want your parents to find out and for you to get into trouble, but I think I have a plan for us to be able to be together, and I want to tell you about it. I have to go ask Mr. Jenkins if I can have a day off on Sunday to come see you and tell you. If he says yes, then I'll tell Archie to relay the message to you.

I'm sending you my necklace. I know you already have one of these, but it's not the same: this one is mine, it belonged to my mother, and now it's yours. It's all I have to give you right now, but it's a promise that I make good on, I want to give you everything. So put it around your neck and carry a little piece of me with you everywhere you go, and I hope when you dream at night, it brings my dreams to you. Maybe we can be together when we sleep, even if we're far apart. My mother told me that things happen in dreams, sometimes. I think she was a lot like you.

I have been writing down a bunch of things, keeping a diary of my thoughts and dreams, and I have also been trying to remember all the old stories that my family and the Elders told me about our people. I think it's important for me to remember, and for you to learn, because I know you'll want to anyway. So I wrote down something for you, the story of how the Lakota people believe the dream catcher came to them. I'm sure you've heard other stories, but this one is ours. I hope you like it.

"Long ago when the world was young, an old Lakota spiritual leader was on a high mountain and he had a vision. In his vision, Iktomi, the great trickster and teacher of wisdom, appeared to him in the form of a spider. Iktomi spoke to the old man in a sacred language that only the spiritual leaders of the Lakota could understand.

"As he spoke Iktomi took the elder's willow hoop which had feathers, horse hairs, beads and offerings on it and began to spin a web. He spoke of the cycles of life....how we begin as infants and move on to childhood, and then to adulthood. Finally, we go to old age where we must be taken care of once again as infants, thereby completing the life cycle.

"Iktomi said, 'In each time of life there are many forces and choices made that can affect the harmony of nature, and interfere with the Great Spirit and all of his wonderful teachings.' Iktomi gave the web to the Lakota elder and said, 'See, the web is a perfect circle but there is a hole in the center of the circle. If you believe in the Great Spirit, the web will catch your good dreams and ideas - - and the bad ones will go through the hole. Use the web to help yourself and your people to reach your goals and make good use of your peoples' ideas, dreams and visions.'

"The Lakota elder passed on his vision to his people and now the Sioux Indians use the dream catcher as the web of life. It is hung above beds or in homes to sift dreams and visions. The good in their dreams are captured in the web of life and carried with them...but the evil in their dreams escapes through the hole in the center of the web and are no longer a part of them. They believe the Dream Catcher holds the destiny of their future."

You are the destiny of my future, you are the dream caught in my dream catcher, Virginia.

I love you.

Will

I closed my hand around the dream catcher and I held it to my heart. Somehow, I knew that I would be able to sleep that night, and my dreams would be good ones.

Author's Note:

The legends about the Dreamcatchers that I have told here, both the Ojibwe and the Lakota Sioux ones, are two of many, many stories concerning the origin of the dreamcatcher. This object is a symbol that is venerated in a majority of the Native American population in the United States and Canada; each tribe has its own version. But regardless of the origin of the dreamcatcher, the purpose is always the same: to sift out the bad dreams, to only channel in the good ones, to guard the sleep of the dreamer, to keep nightmares away.