Read Something to Hold for Free Online Page B

if it's going to help, "Since the animals were people." And she runs off to play foursquare.
    ***
    When I go into the house for lunch, the kitchen is empty—the table is not even set. I hear soft voices from the living room. Mom sits on a chair pulled up close to the couch. She is handing a cup to an Indian woman about my grandma's age who is sitting back against the ivy pillow. A dark scarf is tied back around her head, and she wears a plaid wool jacket over her wing dress and high moccasins.
    Mom says, "Kitty, you remember Mrs. Queahpama? She gave you a ride last summer."
    The woman eases the saucer down onto the coffee table, then reaches out a small, wrinkled hand to me. I quickly cross the floor and take her warm palm in mine. She was wearing dark glasses last time, but when I look into her eyes, I remember her.
    "I was resting on your steps, and your mom invited me in for a cup of coffee," Mrs. Queahpama says, a web of smile lines spreading out from her eyes. "It's a long walk from the clinic back to my house."
    I smile back and settle myself into a chair by the sofa.
    "I've been telling your mom about the old days," Mrs. Queahpama says.
    "Very old?" I ask.
    "Oh, yeah. When the mountains were young." And then she chuckles and her whole body jiggles.
    This is what I want to know. "Were the animals really people once?"
    Mrs. Queahpama nods, smiling. "You
are
talking about old times."
    "Well, how could they be people?" I ask. I hope I'm not being rude.
    Mrs. Queahpama doesn't look offended. "The Creator put our people here," she says, "to care for the land so the Earth will provide a home for all living things. Before people, the animals were the caretakers. My
káthla
and my aunties, when they told stories, they always started that way, 'When the animals were people.'"
    "That must be a long time ago," I say.
    "Our home has always been here," Mrs. Queahpama says. "Since long ago, when the animals prepared the world for us."
    I think about the empire builders. "But then the white people came," I say. "And made Indians live on the reservation."
    Mrs. Queahpama leans back into the sofa cushions. "Do you know what that means?" she asks.
    I thought I did—that the government made the people live in a certain place. The way she asks it makes me wonder. So I shake my head.
    "We signed a treaty with the United States government," Mrs. Queahpama says. "They took almost everything. But we reserved this land for ourselves."
    I hear both sadness and pride in her voice.
    "Most of us were forced to leave our homes." She nods, then leans toward me. "But we carry our roots with us "—she touches her creased palm to her chest—"right here. So we never forget who we are."
    I have to hurry out the door to get back to school in time. The trees haven't shed their leaves yet, all gold and green around the campus. The walk is quiet and sunny, a good time for thinking.
    I have no idea how it would feel to carry those roots inside so they'd stay with me wherever I went. I wish I did.
    I do know one thing, though. Mr. Nute has never heard of the animals who were people.

A Lot to Learn
    M R. Nute hangs his jacket on the hook, picks up the songbook, and stands at the front of the room. It's now or never. I raise my hand.
    He looks surprised. "Yes?"
    "Mr. Nute ... um ... I'm wondering about the song."
    "Yes," he says again, slowly.
    I glance around the room. Everyone else is looking down.
    "Well ... we're talking about what makes America great—courage and vision and stuff..." This sounds dumb, but I place my hands on my desk to steady myself and keep going. "I'm wondering how it fits."
    "We're proud of our state song," he says.
    I nod. "But, Mr. Nute"—I flail around for a way to put this—"it's about you and me and Franklin..."
    Franklin's head jerks up. He shoots me a look that says,
Why are you dragging me into this?
    I've got to spit it out. "The song's
only
about us."
    "What are you talking about?" Mr. Nute asks.