Chapter 26

The life is the red wagon rolling along
The life is the red wagon keeps the feet upon the ground
The life is the red, is the red, oh, it's no big deal
But when the feet are dragging you pull for me
And I pull for you, you pull for me and I pull for you

The life is the red wagon, simple and strong

By Jane Siberry

From "The Life Is the Red Wagon" lyrics © BMG Rights Management

Allie sat in a booth at Becky's Diner waiting for Ahnah to arrive. When Ahnah had asked Allie to meet her for brunch a few days after New Year's Eve, she hadn't known what to think. Chris had assured her his mother just wanted to get to know her better. She clasped her hands in her lap, remembering the last time she was here. Hopefully, a repeat of "The Great English Muffin Fiasco," or something similar, wouldn't occur. She glanced at the door then looked around at the seasonal decorations, at the fresh snow that blanketed everything outside—it was just enough to cover the Christmas Eve snowfall that had turned dirty and grey. These things comforted her somewhat; she realized this time of year, no matter what else may happen in her life, would always remind her of Chris. A wistful smile creased her face.

"Allie. Thank you for meeting me," Ahnah said as she approached the booth and sat down.

Allie's fingers fidgeted beneath the table. "Hello, Ahnah. Of course." It wasn't like she felt she could've refused. Once Ahnah was settled, Allie took a deep breath and mustered some courage to ask the question that had been plaguing her. "Can I ask . . . um . . . why . . ."

"Why I wanted to meet you?" Ahnah filled in as she removed her gloves and set them on the bench beside her. She looked at Allie. "Honestly? Chingachgook talked me into it."

Allie sat back, wondering at her feeling of disappointment.

The waitress who stopped at their table and handed them menus was not the one who'd had the hots for Chris. This woman was older, her expression that of someone who'd pretty much seen it all and didn't much care for what she'd seen. She took their beverage orders: coffee for Allie, green tea for Ahnah. At least Ahnah would finally get her green tea, Allie thought. Then chided herself for being uncharitable. It wasn't Ahnah's fault that Allie was not much of a tea drinker. As they stared at their menus, Allie speculated about why Chingachgook had "talked" Ahnah into meeting her. What did he expect to accomplish? Did he like Allie? Did he not like Allie? Her mind spun trying to sort out her conflicting thoughts.

After their beverages arrived and they'd ordered (Allie avoided anything with "muffin" in the name or description), Allie felt Ahnah's eyes on her. She looked up to meet the unrelenting gaze. "Do I make you nervous, Allie? Beyond the fact that I'm Chris' mother."

Allie blinked, thinking she better get used to Ahnah's directness. Her immediate impulse was to deny the supposition. But why bother? Ahnah was right. And Allie was tired of keeping things hidden. Of burying her fears. So instead, she admitted to at least some trepidation. She nodded, "A little."

"Why?"

"Well," Allie began then hesitated. She seized her coffee cup and took a large gulp. Her eyes watered as the steaming liquid scalded her tongue. She swallowed, coughed, and did her best not to spit coffee out of her mouth—or nose. What was it with her and this restaurant that she couldn't seem to have a meal without some sort of embarrassing incident? Napkin pressed to her lips, she cleared her throat, "Excuse me."

"Are you alright?" Ahnah asked.

"I'm fine. Coffee was hotter than I expected." She grabbed her glass and took several sips of water, cleared her throat again. Just as she was about to speak, the waitress arrived with their meals. Once everything was delivered and they were alone again, Allie looked at Ahnah's expectant face and continued, "I know what Chris did for me. What he gave up for me. I know I can never repay him. And . . ." Allie hesitated, unsure how to bring up this topic.

"And?" Ahnah coaxed. When Allie remained silent, she stated, "Don't be afraid to share your thoughts with me, Allie. I prefer you be honest instead of trying to figure out what you think I want to hear."

She appreciated the echo of Chris' similarly encouraging statement. So, she took another deep breath and continued, "I'm guessing I'm not the kind of woman that you or your husband want for your son."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, first of all, I'm white—"

"Allie," Ahnah interrupted her, "if you make my son happy and love him like I think he should be loved, I wouldn't care if you were blue, green or purple."

Allie's lips curved into a half smile. "Thank you for saying that. After what he went through, I wasn't sure how you'd feel."

"Well, you know we don't live on the Rez. We live in town. And all my children went to the local public school. Chingachgook and I taught them about their heritages and to take pride in who they are. I'm a traditional Inuit dancer. It's one way I keep my heritage alive for me and my children. In fact, Chingachgook and I met at a Gathering of Nations event."

Allie nodded. "Chris has mentioned that."

Ahnah continued, "We are, of course, proud of who we are, and from whom, and where we come from. But we also understand that our children live in a white world. And we don't want them to be alienated from that or feel some kind of 'separateness.' They deserve all this world has to offer, just like anyone else. And we've raised them, hopefully, to know the difference between what is good and right, and what isn't—in both the Indian world and the white world—for lack of better terms. These were not easy choices for us, but parents of Indian children make these decisions all the time."

Some of the tension eased out of Allie as she watched this woman speak. She could see how fiercely protective she was of her family—and understood, perhaps, where Chris' own protective instinct came from. But she also saw an acceptance of things that were different from her own experiences, her own views . . . things that were out of her control. She took a deep breath and said, "If I were you, I would wonder about me. I know . . . I know my past situation doesn't give you confidence in me, or my judgement." When Ahnah remained silent Allie continued, "Chris speaks of you and his father and siblings often. Always in glowing terms. And now that I've met you, I understand why." Allie cleared her throat again. "You are, obviously, a strong woman. Someone who wouldn't let anything—or anyone—hurt you or your family. Or anyone you love. So, I understand your apprehensions about me. And I truly want to be the best me—the best version of me—that I can. For Chris. For myself." Allie stopped. Now that she'd basically laid herself bare to this woman, she didn't know what else she could say or do to convince her that she truly loved Chris for who he was, not what he'd done for her.

"When I was a teenager," Ahnah cut into Allie's thoughts, "my best friend and I swore we'd never let a guy come between us. And for a long time, none did. We were close, Isabel and me. More like sisters. We'd dated, but neither of us had had a serious boyfriend. Until Frank discovered Isabel."

"Frank?"

"We were sophomores, he was a senior. And I admit, he was a good-looking guy. Tall, dark brown, wavy hair, bright blue eyes. Played soccer. Popular, of course. Personally, I didn't trust him. But then, I rarely trusted the popular kids—my own preconceived notions at that time. For whatever reason, he started paying attention to Isabel. She was . . . well, she was a really sweet girl who always tried to make everyone happy. We used to ground each other—I'd remind her how to say 'no,' and she'd remind me to be a little more careful of other people's feelings."

When Ahnah hesitated, Allie asked, "What happened?" Although, she had a sinking feeling she knew how this story might go.

"You can probably guess. Isabel was enraptured. Totally under his spell. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. She started spending more and more time with him. We didn't get together like we used to. And usually, her bruises weren't visible. But one time, she had a black eye. She made up some kind of excuse—I don't even remember, now, what it was. But I started wondering, and I confronted her one day. I outright asked her if Frank was beating her up."

"What did she say?"

"She denied it. But what really hurt and confused me was that she got angry. At me. She said I wouldn't understand what she had with Frank. And she couldn't be friends with me anymore. That I should just leave her alone."

Obviously, this still pained Ahnah. Her eyes told their own story. "And did you? Stay away?"

Ahnah breathed deeply before answering. She looked directly at Allie and said, "Unfortunately, I did."

"Was she . . . is she . . ." Allie couldn't finish her sentence. Too many ugly scenarios swirled around in her head. Scenarios that could have been hers if not for the unrelenting love, support, and friendship of the people around her.

"I don't really know. One day, she stopped coming to school. I tried calling her. My mother tried to contact her mother, but no one ever answered our calls. I even went to her house, but her mother wouldn't let me in. Said to leave them alone. That they'd be moving in a couple of months, anyway."

"She wouldn't let you in? But why? You were such good friends."

"I think it was a combination of things. Her mother was not thrilled that Isabel's best friend was Inuit, but she tolerated me. There are so many of us up there we're hard to avoid. And I think that maybe . . . maybe her mother was ashamed of the whole situation. For all I know, Isabel might have become pregnant. But . . ." Ahnah shrugged.

"You never heard from her again?"

Ahnah shook her head. As she lifted her cup, Allie saw Ahnah's hand tremble ever so slightly, and her heart opened. "I like to think that maybe Isabel found a better life in a new place. But I always wished I had done something to help her."

"You were young, Ahnah. I don't know how much you could have done."

"I should have told someone my suspicions. I should have insisted that she stop seeing him. But in the end, I think I was too afraid of what I might unleash. And the dumbest thing of all was that I didn't want to embarrass Isabel. Can you imagine? I was worried about embarrassing her!" Ahnah shook her head in disgust and set her teacup down.

Allie understood those feelings—the sense of guilt that lingered, even after all these years. Thinking you could have, should have, done more, but didn't or couldn't. She reached out and captured Ahnah's hand that still clutched the teacup. "She would have had to be ready to help herself, too," she said quietly.

Ahnah looked up at Allie, obvious surprise on her face. After a moment, her expression softened into a genuine smile. On New Year's Eve, Allie had felt a smidgeon of the warmth she knew this woman harbored. Now, as she looked at Ahnah's beautiful, smiling face, she experienced it full force—bestowed on her. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as she realized that as strong and formidable as Ahnah was, she was not perfect; she had her own doubts and demons. Just like Allie. Just like everyone.

Allie let go of Ahnah's hand and continued eating her meal. "So, could you tell me about any antics Chris got into when he was a kid? He told me he caused that grey streak in your hair," Allie ventured. And so, the morning progressed with Ahnah ratting Chris out, and Allie confessing to a few grey-hair inducing incidents in her own childhood.

That evening, as Allie lounged on her couch watching an old movie, Chris texted her.

Chris: You still in one piece?

Allie: [laughing emoji] You're a funny guy. Yes, still in one piece.

Chris: Told you she doesn't bite. Usually. [winking emoji]

Allie: But you didn't tell her I do! [winking emoji] LOL

Chris: Because that's TMI for my mom!

Allie: [shocked emoji]

Chris: [smiling emoji] I love you. [3 emojis blowing kisses]

Allie: [eye roll emoji]

Allie: ❤️❤️❤️ I love YOU! ❤️❤️❤️

They lay in bed, Ahnah reading a book and Chingachgook listening to a podcast on his phone. Ahnah set her book aside and tugged the sleeve of Chingachgook's pajamas. He removed his earbuds. "I think you're right," she said.

Chingachgook's eyebrows shot up. "About?"

"Allie. I think she truly loves Christopher. And she's wiser than I expected."

"Ah," Chingachgook replied, smiling. "So, it was good to meet her today?"

"Yes. I supposed I was being a little protective. I don't want to see Christopher hurt. His feelings run deep. He's sensitive."

"Yes, but also strong. He is aware of his abilities and capacities. He's wise, like his mother."

"Strong, capable, and loyal. Like his father."

Author's Note:

I do not own "The Life is the Red Wagon" by Jane Siberry. The lyrics to this song are "simple and strong" but very meaningful, I think. It reminds me of the famous William Carols Williams poem, "The Red Wheelbarrow." So short, so simple, but heavy with nuance and meaning; I think Jane does something similar in this song. It just pulls together (pardon the pun) so many things—childhood memories of when you (hopefully) felt safe and secure, the idea of taking turns pulling for each other when things get tough or you think you just can't go another step. I thought the refrain of the song fit this chapter.

A HUGE "thank you" to Mohawk Woman, who despite a busy schedule, took time to "beta read" Allie and Ahnah's meeting at Becky's. I really needed an informed opinion about how I portrayed the decisions Ahnah and Chingachgook made about raising their children. I certainly have no experience or firsthand knowledge of what it's like to be the parent of an American Indian child, but I tried very hard to imagine how I might feel—or at least how Ahnah and Chingachgook might feel. And I also thought about Chingachgook, in LOTM, sending both Nathaniel and Uncas to Reverend Wheelock's school so they would learn about the white world. I wanted to echo that idea here.

Well, one more chapter to go plus the epilogue! I tried to fit everything into this chapter so it would be the final one, but it just wasn't happening. (I also tried to keep the story to 25 chapters—but that didn't happen either! Obviously!) I rearranged scenes several times, added things in, took things out, etc., but it was not flowing well. So, I gave in; as soon as I surrendered to the idea of adding one more chapter and moving a scene to the epilogue, it felt like things fell into place. As Mohawk Woman reminded me, sometimes the story writes itself. While the next chapter is, basically, written, the epilogue isn't finished. I think I'd like to post them at the same time, but readers, let me know if you'd rather read the final chapter before I finish the epilogue and I'll post Chapter 27 next week.

[I was trying to insert the emojis in Chris and Allie's txt conversation so that you could actually make out which ones they were, but they kept coming out too small. If anyone knows how to get them to show up bigger, please PM me!]

As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting.