Blood on the Pen by David W. Huffstetler

Author:David W. Huffstetler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-936222-40-7
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing

Chapter Eight

The answer to Elsie’s question lay in Eddie Carter’s past. She came into the world as her mother’s first and only child. Eddie knew from an early age she was different from other children. She spent hours alone drawing pictures of the furniture in her room. Day after day and week after week she drew the same pictures. The only changes were those that took place in her room from one day to another, a sock lying on the bed or curtains closed against the afternoon sun. And the perspective of the drawings was always from the door, as if she were standing outside her room looking in, standing outside her life looking in.

“Morning Bird,” Tottati called. “Hurry, we need to go.”

“Yes, Mama, I’m coming.”

“Your father will be gone four days. It’s enough time to get you there and back without him knowing it.”

Eddie threw her bag over her shoulder and stopped in front of a mirror. “Why am I so big, Mama?”

Tottati pulled her close. “Don’t talk like that. You are my beautiful girl.”

“But I am big, bigger than most of the boys in fifth grade. They call me names.”

“What kind of names?”

“Ednormous, Fatwina. They all make fun of me.”

“They don’t know you, not the real you. But, when we get back from your uncle’s house, you will know yourself. That’s what is important.”

“How far is it?” Eddie asked.

“Maybe three or four hours. Your uncle Arthur moved to Sonora when he got the job at the slaughter house last year.”

“Is he your brother or Papa’s?”

Totatti threw her arm around Eddie, shook her lightly, and said, “His name is Arthur Redbone. Now whose brother do you think he is?”

Eddie giggled. “Okay. I didn’t know if Redbone was an Indian name.”

“He’s not just an Indian. He’s Comanche. You’ll understand when you get older, and that’s why I want you to spend some time with him. He can show you things about our people that I can’t. He has powers.”

“Powers? Do you mean he can turn people into frogs or something?” They laughed together and walked to the car for their secret drive west.

* * * *

The car rounded the side of a hill, and Eddie saw her uncle’s house for the first time, a four-room, block hut near the edge of a bluff, overlooking rolling hills of junipers, scattered brush, limestone outcrops, and an occasional cactus. The shed showed the wear of long hot summers and the blast of sand from wind storms. And there he was. He was as thin as his sister, like a walking skeleton, and his pockmarked face was as rugged as the sideboards on his shed.

Totatti parked her car next to his truck. Eddie started to get out, but she stopped her and said, “Remember, you must never tell your father that I brought you here. Your uncle can tell you things, ancient things that your father wouldn’t

understand.”

“Yes, Mama, I understand. I won’t tell.”

“Good. Your father, he’s a good man, but he is a man. It would be bad for you and me if he ever found out.

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