90

Wesley concluded the gathering, making the final note that they would reconvene the following Wednesday evening, again at seven, where he would begin to take the council again through the first of the stories marked by his wampum. There was much shaking of hands and embraces as those in attendance thanked Mr Armitage for helping return them to their identity and reminding them of their position in the council of the five tribes. Many touched the head of Calum, who, for some reason, would clench his fists tight and squeeze his entire body when they did so, so as to try and make his newly discovered orenda as big as possible. At one point, he was squeezing so hard that he went red and got a little bit dizzy.

The three of them began walking back to Wesley’s beside Hemlock Creek. Calum was asking Wesley every question he could about Thadodaho. About whether you can somehow kill or defeat the warlord, it seemed to him that would be exactly what he would want. Mr Armitage was silently revelling in their conversation. A young one - asking an elder about their legends - this victory had been hard-won.

Then, running behind them, the woman appeared.

“May I accompany you gentlemen home?” She asked.

Wesley wrapped his arm around her, Calum realising before he said it by the look in their eyes - a look he’d seen shared by Ella and Conor many times - that they were siblings, replied, “Yes, my beautiful sister, nothing would delight me more.”

Wesley’s great arm wrapped around her; she turned to Mr Armitage. Calum noticed that she squinted at him a lot, like she saw something crawling beneath his skin, and asked -

“Armitage, a man of simple means. Why does it always seem as though your mind is so full? It is as though you hear nothing unless you’ve made space first.”

“Is it not that way with everyone?”

“No, not usually.” She replied.

“I don’t think that’s fair, Mary. Most people aren’t good listeners, and yes, I have a lot of memories. I have a lot of memories, and I think about them. What’s wrong with that?”

The tone of his final question betrayed his frustrations. He’d hoped to carry the conversation with levity and have her questions pass quickly. He knew Mary; this lapse would keep her on him.

“Good memories?” She asked.

“Many good, some less so. As you’d hope for in a life.”

She was silent for a moment, then. Just long enough for Mr Armitage to relax again.

“What do you remember of the night the girl's mothers died?”

As always, he felt the air leave his lungs. He felt himself pull inwards, saw the locked door. He felt the river begin pulling him back towards his field, before it diverged. Every deep has a river; tonight, his was Hemlock Creek.