A good knife is an essential tool that can be used as a weapon or help construct other survival items.
~
The wooden sign swings above me—Tommy’s Fishing Shack: Where Anyone Can Fly—squeaking in the breeze. As I push through the door, ready for my morning shift, the slight smell of leather finds my nose. The store is quiet and empty. Tan clothes, fishing vests, and waders hang on racks, while rows of fishing rods line the back wall. Soothing Native American music floats through the peaceful space. No matter how much time I spend here, entering the shop always feels like I’m wrapping up in an old sweater on a chilly night.
Comfy and warm.
I call out to my boss. “Tommy?”
A bass-toned voice answers me from the back room. “Elu! Be out in a second.” I grin at the Cherokee nickname he gave me when I was just a kid, or usdi. Elu means “full of grace.”
I’m full of something, but it definitely isn’t grace.
I stroll toward the front counter, staring at the old pictures hanging along the wall. Some are of Tommy posing with famous fishermen who have frequented his well-respected shop. Others showcase him with large fish he’s caught in tournaments. I always tease him about not displaying the smaller catches. Each time, he explains it away.
Only show your best side. No one wants to see the ugly one.
A picture hanging on the wall catches my attention. The second my eyes settle on it, I jerk my head to one side as if I’ve been slapped. Chewing on a fingernail, I glance back at the photo of Dad and Tommy, both wearing disarming smiles. I gnaw on the next finger as I lean in closer. Dad’s wearing his favorite t-shirt with a flyfisherman on the front that says, Fly Me to the Moon.
How could I not have noticed this before?
It’s the same shirt he was wearing the last time I saw him.
Tommy appears from the storage room with a large box in his hands. I smile at his outfit. Even when he’s on land, Tommy dresses as if he’s going fishing or just coming off the river. Shoulder-length, white hair peeks out from under a fishing hat, decorated with lures.
He glides up to me. “You’re late again.”
I give him a hug. “How do you know? That old watch hasn’t worked in years. Can’t believe you haven’t fixed it yet.” I’ve never seen him without it since his wife died. Ama gave him the gift for their 50th anniversary.
Tommy bends over and sets the box on the floor. “Time is nothing but an illusion.”
“Good. I’ll remember that next time you accuse me of being late.”
He chuckles. “Smart girl. Too smart, if you ask me.” For the first time, he takes notice of me. His face crinkles, revealing the map of his long life. “Good lord, you look tired.”
“Gee, thanks.” I brush my bangs away from my face. “Is that how you make a ge ya feel good?”
His eyes flicker in the artificial light. “Elu! You’ve been practicing your Cherokee.”
“Not really. I think I got lucky on that one.”
He stares for a minute then frowns. “All right. What’s wrong?”
I pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Nothing. It’s just been a long week.”
He sits on the stack of boxes. “I’m all ears.”
I cave instantly. “I found a Cheetos bag in the woods. Gave it to Carl.”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t you remember? Dad always carried those with him. Carl promised to dust the bag for fingerprints if I let the case go.”
Tommy pops open his pocketknife and slides it across the box. “No matter what you think, Captain’s a good cop.”
As he pulls out a bundle of waterproof socks, I launch into the next topic, not wanting to debate Carl’s effectiveness yet again. “Oh yeah, yesterday I came across some guy while I was out fishing. By Bear Creek.”
“Who was he?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. Said he was fishing.” Tommy mumbles as he returns to his inventory. I review the store checklist and a question pops into my head. “Oh! I almost forgot. Do you know anything about a place called Sidehill?
Tommy pauses for a second, searching his memory bank. “Hm, don’t think so. Why?”
“In the file, there was a reference to a place called Sidehill. I thought you might have heard of it since you were born in these mountains.”
He fumbles with a stack of price tags and answers quickly. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but let me think about it.”
I huff and puff. Another dead end.
Tommy’s eyes narrow. “By the way, what file?”
“Huh?”
“You said in the file. What file?”
No use lying to him. I suck in a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll tell you, but promise me you won’t get mad.”
He squints and folds his arms across his chest, resembling a real chief. “Uh oh. What did you do?”
“I borrowed my dad’s case file from Carl’s office.”
He frowns. “Borrowed? You mean stole? Are you nuda?”
“Crazy with a capital K. There wasn’t much in the file. Anyway, Wyn’s returning it for me. Carl never even missed it.”
Tommy covers his ears with his hands. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this. I can’t get involved in your shenanigans. Got too much on my plate. Forget Elu. I should call you du-la-di-nu-li-ni-gv-gv.”
“Nah. Doesn’t sound as cool. Plus, it’s a mouthful.”
Tommy doesn’t smile. “Well, Ama was ‘strong-willed’ too. But she always knew where to draw the line. You and Wyn are lucky you haven’t been busted for any of your crazy antics. If you aren’t careful, you’re both going to get into real trouble one of these days. And to be honest, I can’t afford any around here. Got enough problems of my own.”
I stop what I’m doing. “What do you mean?”
He waves me off. “Things are tight. Got Ama’s medical bills I’m still paying off.”
“Man, seems like everyone’s having money issues in this town.”
Tommy goes back to what he was doing. “Never mind all that. You don’t need to worry about me. You got enough on your plate.”
“You can say that again.” I stack some papers and count the cash in the old register.
He walks up and hugs me tight. “You know I support you in what you’re doing to find your dad. However, I don’t want you doing things that’ll get you into trouble. Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
He cups my shoulders with his large tanned hands. “If you find out something new, you’ll talk to Les or Captain first. Promise me you won’t do anything dangerous, especially on your own.”
“I promise.” I cross my fingers behind my back and jump into a new subject. “You’ll never believe what else happened.”
Tommy grins as he stacks fishing tins in a perfect column. “You gonna make me guess?”
My eyes widen for emphasis. “I ran into Simon. Face to face. From here to there.” I point at my feet and then to the back room.
Tommy stops working and gives me his undivided attention. “Go on.” After I tell him the play-by-play of my encounter, he whistles. “How did he look?”
“Big and bad.”
He chuckles. “Good for him. What do you think it means?”
I think about the animal totems I studied on the reservation. “Well, bears are confident in their power, but sometimes they forget to show caution. So, if one shows up, it means you have to pay more attention to how you think and act.”
“Interesting.” Tommy straightens some shirts on a rack. “Maybe he was just hungry.”
I can feel my face redden. “Very funny. Hey, speaking of bears. Did you talk to Chief Reed about closing the Cherokee Bear Pits yet?”
Tommy sighs and removes his hat. “Elu, there’s nothing I can do.”
I turn away from him and straighten a t-shirt display. “I don’t see how we can let this happen. Those bear pits are a disgrace to the reservation. It’s animal abuse. Offensive. Disgusting.”
“I don’t disagree. But Chief Reed says it brings in a lot of income. Nothing I say will change his mind.”
I face him and work hard to keep from yelling. “Tommy, those bears live in a cement pit, sitting in their own crap. Grizzlies. Sun bears. Last time I went there to see Chief Reed, the poor things walked in endless circles, begging tourists to feed them Lucky Charms or old cat food. One bear was so depressed, he had sores from lying in the same spot for so long.”
“I know all this.”
“Then why can’t you do more to stop it? You live there. Chief Reed is your nephew. He should set them free.”
Tommy places his hat back on his head and frowns, shaking his head. “Those bears wouldn’t stand a chance in the wild anyway.” My mouth hangs open, and he puts up his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m not condoning it. I’m just saying it’s bigger than me. Reed isn’t going to impact the whole reservation because of an old man like me.”
I flop down in a chair and concede. “It’s just so hard to watch something so awful and be so helpless to change it.”
Tommy pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’ll work itself out. You’ll see.” He squints at me. “Maybe this will make you feel better.” He reaches behind the counter and pulls out a long wooden box.
I trace my finger over the three intricate carvings decorating the lid—a bear, a wolf, and a black panther. I look up at him in surprise. “You made this?”
He nods and smiles proudly. “With my own two hands and a load of love. I know you’re into animal totems, so I did some research.” He points to the pictures. “The bear, or yona, tells you to be aware of your limits. The wa-ya, or wolf, will help you develop strength in your decisions. And the panther, tlv-da-tsi, encourages us to eliminate our fears of the dark and reclaim personal power.”
I gawk at him. “This is awesome, but I thought you didn’t believe in any of that stuff.”
He shrugs. “This gift isn’t about me. It’s about you. Open it.”
I slide back the lid to reveal a knife resting on purple-velvet padding. Tiny turquoise and red beads line up in perfect rows, decorating the deerskin sheath. I ease the knife out of its pouch and hold it up to the light, admiring the craftwork. The word “Elu” had been carved into the shiny blade. I gasp softly. “It’s beautiful.”
Tommy lightly runs his finger along the edge. “Hand cut from steel. Strong, like you.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love it … and you.”
Tommy half bows. “Gv-ge-yu-hi too, Elu.” Then he eyes me. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get back to work. I’m not paying you to stand around and chitchat.”
I salute. “Right away, Chief.”
Tommy shuffles off to the back office. I tuck the present into the side pocket of my backpack before assuming my position behind the counter. As I wait for customers, the soft music, a blend of beating drums and sorrowful chants, sways around me. The end of summer is so slow in this town. My eyelids grow heavy from a lack of sleep. I flip through my notebook, reread my notes, and doodle little flowers in the corners. My tummy protests. Only one more hour until my break: sugar, caffeine, and a catnap.
Someone whistling a song breaks my trance.
At first, I think it’s the music. Until a big burly man with a pockmarked face steps in front of me. I recognize him from Mr. Fields’ store. He’s decked out in a Cabela shooting shirt with suede patches on both shoulders and expensive-looking pants. Dude screams hunter from a mile away. Rich one, too.
He speaks with a thick country drawl that even I find hard to understand. “Yew work here?” Before I can answer, the man frowns and, for some reason, speaks slower and louder. “I … SAID … DO YEW … WORK … HERE?”
Obviously, he’s confused because I’m not deaf or stupid.
I suppress a deep sarcastic urge to answer, Noooo, I’m just hanging out behind the counter wearing a store apron and a name badge. Instead, I simply reply, “May I help you?”
He places both hands on the counter and leans in a little too close for my comfort. “You got any guns?”