Chapter 9: DREAMING OF WARRIORS

Arlana sat on the veranda balancing a four-inch-thick book on her scrawny kneecaps, eyes absorbing each word. In an ideal world, Arlana would do nothing other than reading. Okay, so perhaps she would still eat but only while she read.

A navy blue car pulled up in the driveway, Mr. McLeod beaming as he stepped out of the vehicle.

"Hello Arlana," he stooped to reach for the booklets laying on the dashboard, "I brought you the missionary stories I promised."

“Thank you!" Arlana breathed, excitement making her eyes gleam. She held out her hand for the dog-eared books eager to begin reading.

"If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I've been supporting this ministry for many years."

Adelaide held the door open for their visitor before joining her sister. Arlana opened the first book, skimming the first few paragraphs before deciding to look at the pictures first. She held her breath, examining each photograph closely.

Believers stood holding Bibles, others appeared to be singing. In every picture, everyone wore contemporary clothing. There were no feathered headdresses, or buckskin and definitely no loincloth-clothed men. It was impossible to tell which of the men were warriors.

Disappointing did not adequately express the feeling Arlana experienced as she continued onto the next booklet. It was exactly the same as the first. There was a plausible explanation. Once converted, the natives shunned their traditional clothes, wearing instead of the clothing of white people. What a shame!

****

Arlana nibbled her lower lip, glancing up as Mr. McLeod bid her family farewell.

"Mr. McLeod, why are they all wearing clothes like us?"

"That is what they wear now and for many years it has been that way." He wasn't joking, his features somber. "They need to hear the Gospel. I am so happy you are interested in taking the good news of Jesus to them someday."

Arlana looked away. She was the farthest from interested now. The idea was no longer fascinating or romantic, Arlana assumed it was because of missionaries that these Natives were no longer wild and fierce.

She waited until Mr. McLeod's car disappeared from view before gathering up the booklets.

"Here Adelaide, you can have them."

Arlana would have to figure out how to either avoid Mr. McLeod at church or tell him the truth: she no longer wanted to be a missionary. After a few moments, Arlana decided her only choice was to dodge the man she had always respected.

"I knew you weren't telling the truth," Adelaide frowned, clutching the booklets against her heart.

Arlana shrugged, "I wasn't lying exactly. I just thought they looked different."

Adelaide didn't understand her sister. Why should she? Adelaide's motives were true, her heart pure. In contrast, she genuinely cared about the First Nations people, unlike her sister who cared only if they were the same as the past - swoon-worthy. It was a blessing that Adelaide didn't understand her superficial eldest sister.

****

The three sisters crowded into the tiny washroom, peering into the mirror as they prepared for church. Adelaide brushed her long, ebony hair until it shone like spilled ink. Arlana stood at her side, preening in case at long last, she might be noticed by one of the single men at church.

Years had slipped away since they frolicked in the country, yet their hearts hadn't changed, at least not that much. Adelaide wore her Sunday best as she prepared to meet with God, Arlana wearing her Sunday best hoping to find a Prince Charming who'd sweep her off her feet, still waiting for that elusive, "And they all lived happily ever after."

Jaira swiped Vaseline on her lips in lieu of lip gloss, eyes on their eldest sister. Dreaming of romance was far more tantalizing than their boring sister, Adelaide, who just didn't get it.

Adelaide glanced one last time at her reflection, satisfied that she looked as best as she could before leaving for church.

"Someone told me this week that I have wolf eyes," she sought Arlana's, biting her lower lip.

Arlana turned her deep blue eyes away from the mirror to look at her sibling. Adelaide was very beautiful with her gleaming hair and eyes that were neither brown nor gold, the color of leaves in autumn sunshine.

Wolf's eyes.

Arlana shrugged, "No, you don't have wolf's eyes. They are seriously ugly."

There was no justification for being so cold-hearted. Cruelty dripped over her jealous words, but Arlana didn't care, aware that her sister's eyes were misted with tears.

Jealousy is a terrible thing.

Adelaide was different from her sisters. She was born to run with wolves.

****

It is amazing how greatly time can transform the way people perceive things. At one time unimportant, add a sprinkle of time to it, and, in many cases, it is now valued.

Arlana never would have envisioned as a child that she would ever treasure her sister Adelaide so much. Jaira was a given, her "baby girl" and live doll, but Adelaide, they had never been close. Now, with time, Arlana had a new admiration for her peaceful sister. Adelaide was sensible and prudent with a kind heart, characteristics Arlana had never taken the time to appreciate in her younger years.

Now, each with a family of their own, the sisters had somehow or another found their way back to salvage the years that had been squandered.

"I was thinking of going for a drive," Jorken glanced up from his tablet, intruding upon Arlana's thoughts, "Is there someplace you'd like to go? It's supposed to be nice weather today."

Arlana nibbled the inside of her cheek. They didn't go for drives often, so this opportunity to choose wasn't something she was going to decide on casually.

"Would you mind taking us to the reservation? I'd like to go to the gift shop, and it is a nice drive. The cost of gas is cheaper."

Arlana threw in that tidbit of information as a "selling point."

Jorken took a while to respond, much too long for the impatient Arlana. Okay, so perhaps not as much had changed over the years as Arlana would like to admit, the virtue of patience still elusive.

"Ya why not," Jorken eventually decided, "Okay get ready, we'll leave in ten minutes."

Arlana strapped her child in his booster seat before passing him a small camera to keep him entertained on the drive. It took less than an hour to reach the reservation, farms scattered along the road. There would be abundant opportunities to take pictures of scenery he didn't see in Kingston.

Aziel took pictures, pointing out cows, horses and the occasional sheep as they drove along the twisting road. Jorken turned up the radio volume, but not too loud, allowing him to still speak over the country music playing on their local radio station.

"Why are you so quiet?" Jorken stopped to notice Arlana hadn't spoken a word since they'd left their apartment.

"I'm thinking," Arlana replied, eyes focused on the passenger window.

Notepad and pen on her lap, she strained to examine the name of the old burial ground on the side of the road, fractured, blanched gravestones sloped sideways.

"Those must be from the 1700s!" Arlana's voice was as animated as Aziel's.

"I'm not going to stop," Jorken didn't care that he hadn't been asked, "It's just weird you wanting to take pictures."

Arlana didn't bother to look at Jorken, after all, she might miss something whizzing past.

"They are forgotten," she explained, recording the name of the cemetery in her notebook. She'd research it later that night after her son was in bed. "Maybe they were Loyalists..."

Arlana pointed to a signpost at the edge of the road, bearing an image of Loyalists - just a silhouette, but it was sufficient. It confirmed that Arlana was on the correct track.

"Do you remember I told you about the Loyalists before?" Arlana called back to her son who was homeschooled.

"Yes, Mother, they were loyal to the King so had to leave America. Many came to Kingston where we live," Aziel grinned, recalling what she had shared with him on one of their walks in town.

"That's right! You've got a good memory," Arlana encouraged, "Did you see that sign? Can you imagine that the Loyalists may have walked along this road in search of a new home?"

"Maybe they rode on a horse, or a donkey," Aziel added, "Or a wagon."

Mother and son grew silent again, each lost in their thoughts.

Jorken shattered the silence, continuing to speak of goodness knew what, Arlana's thoughts in the portals of the past.