Cady and the Birchbark Box E-Book

Ann Dallman

• Herausgeber: Modern History Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 214

Beschreibung

In Cady and the Birchbark Box, Cady Whirlwind Thunder solves the mystery behind a weathered journal found inside an old birchbark box. Why was the box buried behind a deserted garage? This is the question her friend and "crush," John Ray Chicaug, asks Cady after the two of them find it. And what meaning do the notes in the book have? Cady's grandma and her ever-present companion, a noisy blue jay, encourage her as she puts together the pieces and ultimately restores the reputation of a deceased elder. Cady does all this while navigating through another school year, earning a place on the school's soccer team and continuing to calm her temper and adjust to life with a new stepmother and baby brother.
"I love Cady and the Birchbark Box. I read it with my daughter, who is very interested in Native American culture. The book is a fun adventure, sprinkled with history and culture. It is a great book for kids and adults alike. Great read!"
-- August Brill, M.S., bilingual teacher, Chicago public schools
"This well-crafted, beautiful novel immerses readers in the elegance of Native American culture as it delivers an emotional, intriguing mystery that readers from middle grade through adults will enjoy. Highly recommended!"
-- Christine DeSmet, author of Fudge Shop Mystery Series
"Ann Dallman's writing is a teacher's dream come true. Cady is a character students can relate to and learn from. While Cady is learning about her Native American culture and traditions, readers become immersed in a culture they may not have knowledge of."
-- Gina Zanon, 5th-grade teacher, Menominee, MI
"Another great mystery with our strong Anishnaabe Kwe Cady! As with the first book in this series, Cady and the Birchbark Box gives the reader insight into life on a Native American Reservation while also taking them on an exciting journey! The characters feel authentic and the use of Native traditions sprinkled throughout makes this book feel like home. I got sucked into the story immediately and love a good mystery! Native readers (children and adults alike) will feel seen and I wish I had this series to read when I was a child. I am thrilled that my children will grow up with Cady on their bookshelf. We will read of her adventures while drinking ginger ale and sitting outside with the blue jays. Until next time Cady, bama pi."
--Larissa Wandahsega, Hannahville Indian Community member

Leseprobe

Cady and the Birchbark Box: A Cady Whirlwind Thunder Mystery

Copyright © 2022 by Ann Dallman. All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Haley Greenfeather English

Interior illustrations by Joanna Walitalo

Book #2 in the Cady Whirlwind Thunder Mysteries

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Dallman, Ann, author.

Title: Cady and the birchbark box / by Ann Dallman.

Description: Ann Arbor, MI : Modern History Press, 2022. | Series: Cady Whirlwind Thunder mysteries ; 2 | Audience: Ages 10-12. | Audience: Grades 4-6. | Summary: "Cady is tasked with solving the mystery of a birchbark box containing an old journal and helping clear the name of a deceased tribe member"-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2022003400 (print) | LCCN 2022003401 (ebook) | ISBN 9781615996513 (paperback) | ISBN 9781615996520 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781615996537 (eBook)

Subjects: CYAC: Shipwrecks--Fiction. | Potawatomi Indians--Fiction. | Indians of North America--Michigan--Fiction. | Schools--Fiction. | Upper Peninsula (Mich.)--Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories. | LCGFT: Novels. | Novels. | Detective and mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.D2873 Cag 2022 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.D2873 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022003400

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022003401

This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by

 

Modern History Press

www.ModernHistoryPress.com

5145 Pontiac Trail

[email protected]

Ann Arbor, MI 48105

 

Distributed by Ingram (USA/CAN/AU), Bertram’s Books (UK/EU)

Audiobook available at Audible.com and iTunes

For Mila and Jed

Contents

1 - Didis (Blue Bird)

2 - Wshkeja (In the Beginning)

3 - Wagnogan (Wigwam)

4 - Wanket (Dig)

5 - Mozhwet (Cut Hair)

6 - Mkek (Box)

7 - Yajmowen (Story)

8 - Gawye (Quill)

9 - Atseknegen (Room)

10 - Mezodanek (Family)

11 - Jiman (Boat)

12 - Skongemek (School)

13 - Jigatek (By Trees)

14 - Koye (Grandmother)

15 - Bmadzewen (Life)

16 - Gwdekto (He Struggles)

17 - Mjegkowe (Friend)

18 - Lac Superieur (French) Lake Superior

19 - Nishode (A Twin)

20 - Mitchimakinak (Mackinac Island)

21 - Wawyeya (Circle)

22 - Wigwas (Birchbark)

23 - Mzenakzegen (Picture)

24 - Ekwak (The End)

25 - Bama Pi (Until We Next Meet)

Acknowledgements

Discussion Questions

About the Author

If you would like to practice pronouncing the Ojibwe words in this book, we recommend the “Ojibwe People’s Dictionary” online (https://ojibwe.lib.umn.edu/about-ojibwe-language)

1 - Didis (Blue Bird)

The wind gusted and blew water onto the ship’s deck. Because I wore an old pair of running shoes, my feet slid across the deck’s surface. I held a small book in my left hand and with my right reached out for something to hold onto to stop my sliding. I coughed and my breath seemed to freeze in the air.

I heard a persistent tapping sound. Where was it coming from? The tapping grew louder. I took a step forward until—with a jolt—I sat up and found myself wrapped tightly in my bedsheet. I had been caught in a dream. Now I was awake, and caught only in a sheet.

Tap, tap, tap, click, click, click.

I looked at the window. The tapping was coming from outside my bedroom. That pesky blue jay was back again and tapping his beak on my windowsill!

Why was he here? Was another mystery on its way? Why did his taps sound like “book, book, dig, dig?” I like books but I don’t go digging in dirt to find them. What did it mean if another mystery was on its way? I didn’t have time to solve another one. I had school and soccer tryouts coming up.

Last spring, I had solved the mystery behind an antique beaded necklace I’d found hidden under my closet floor. That mystery had come to me after I told my school’s principal that I’d found an eagle feather on a hallway floor. Eagle feathers are sacred. Some even believe when an eagle feather drops, it means a warrior has died. The principal called one of the tribe’s elders to restore the feather to a place of honor. Later, the principal told me that since I’d respected the feather, a mystery would come to me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the antique beaded necklace hidden under my closet floor. Our school principal sure knew what he was talking about. I then spent weeks trying to find the story behind it. I looked in old books and pored through microfilm at the library. I even talked with my grandma and other elders trying to learn the story about the necklace. After all of that, I’d learned why the mystery had come to me! I’d also learned not to get as angry about my life and I’d even made friends at my new school. Later, I had a dream. My dream told that I’d receive another mystery to solve.

Who am I? Cady Whirlwind (Wawyasto) Thunder, the Queen of Mystery?

Cady is a nickname for Cadet. My mom called me Cadet because she’d been a Girl Cadet.

“Was that like a junior version of the Girl Scouts?” I asked her.

“No, Cady, everyone thinks that. I was a crossing guard, or cadet, in elementary school. I loved being a cadet because we got to leave school early, wear a sash and walk out to stop cars and help people cross the street. Those were happy days for me, Cady, so I wanted to name you something to bring back my happy memories.”

My mother left Dad and me when I was only seven. I’m not sure why. When I ask my dad he always tells me, “It’s a story for another day.” Then he adds, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Earlier tonight, before I’d turned off the little lamp on the table next to my bed, I’d thought about John Ray Chicaug. I’m waiting to turn fourteen and John Ray is almost sixteen. I have a crush on John Ray. He’d left for North Dakota earlier this summer to study with his elders. He told me before he left I wouldn’t hear from him while he was gone, and he was right. He hadn’t called me, or sent a text message—which didn’t stop me from thinking about him every day. I know he’s older than me but I still like him. When I was in the middle of investigating the necklace mystery, he helped me.

I tried to sketch him one night but gave up. Maybe someday I’ll be able to draw him. He’s tall, almost six feet in height. His dark brown hair is thick, cut in a blunt, straight line and almost touches his shoulders. His eyes are as dark as his hair. He’s quick on his feet, probably from all the boxing he does. What I really like is that he’s filled with so much energy that the air around him vibrates.

John Ray had treated me like a real person and not just a little kid. He’d seen me as a real, live girl—and he kissed me! Me, Cady! It was just a soft little peck but it was a kiss and the first one I had received from a boy.

May the Creator be with you in all which you do and say. This is my wish for John Ray.

I switched on the little lamp next to my bed, got up and walked to the window where I waved away that noisy bird. Then I retrieved the antique beaded necklace from its hiding place under my closet floor.

I held it in my hand and made my wish—to win a spot on the school’s soccer team. Tomorrow was a big day, and I needed my sleep because Coach Jones was holding tryouts for the team. I’d sprained my ankle last spring and had to quit training. It wasn’t a bad sprain and healed fast. I’d been running again for most of the summer.

“Even though school doesn’t start for two weeks, I want the kids on my team to start practicing now. I need to get them in shape if we’re going to have a successful first season.” Coach had been interviewed for the rez newspaper and the paper had also placed a quarter-page ad about tryouts on the front page. The team would be coed and I wanted to be in the starting lineup.

I babysat my little brother, Colson, while Francine, my “stepmonster,” worked at the donut shop. That meant I had to run early—before she left for work at 6:30 a.m. or after she got home at 3:30 p.m.

My dad didn’t work a set schedule. If he was home it meant he needed quiet time to plan his classes and work on the computer and not watch Colson. My job was to keep Colson away from dad when he was working. My dad is in his fifties and teaches our native language on the reservation, which is twenty miles from Barnesville, the town where we now live in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Francine is a lot younger. We didn’t get along very well last year. This year is better, maybe it’s because we’ve grown used to each other.

Anyway, I “digress.” Digress is my new favorite word and it means to step away from something for a little bit. Last year it was “surreal,” which has been overused and is worn out now because everybody uses it. “Digress” is much fancier and makes me sound older.

Tap! Tap! That pesky bird came back! Why wouldn’t he leave? And why did I keep hearing the words “books, research, and ship” in my thoughts?

I walked to the window and lifted the shade a few inches. Tap, tap, tap, went his beak against the window. Morse Code or just blue jay business? I could feel my nose wrinkling up the way it does when I’m concentrating hard on something. I started to count out the seconds. I gave up when I reached twenty. Now new words repeated in my thoughts, “Irish,” and “journal.” Irish is my best friend. I’m telling you—she’s no writer.

Journal? Was the book I held in my dreams a journal? I flopped back down on my bed. My head nestled into my favorite yellow pillow. I reached out to touch my nightstand and felt for the switch on my small lamp with the blue-and-white polka-dot lampshade. Then I changed my mind and didn’t turn off the light and instead felt under my bed for my sketchbook. I grabbed it and sat back up. I opened the brass-colored clasp on its front cover and a page fell open.

I use my sketchbook for beadwork designs. I also like to draw funny cartoons of my friends. The opened page showed my latest creation—a caricature of Irish. She’s got curly red hair and green eyes and pale skin covered with freckles. She likes to brag her grandparents came from County Claire in Ireland. I happen to know they own the donut shop where Francine works, and they came from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and not Ireland. Irish’s real name is Josephine.

Irish isn’t native but our school has an open-door policy to all students in the area. Irish likes our school because it’s in a rural, which is why she’s there and how I met her.

“I like to get out of the city and enjoy nature,” she once told me.

“Yeah, Irish, like Barnesville is such a bustling metropolis,” her friend, Derek, joked.

“Well, it is to me,” she answered back. “I just like it better out here.”

Her mom started calling her Irish when she was two-years-old and threw temper tantrums lasting for almost an hour. Now everyone calls her Irish. I don’t like to think about what she’d do to me if I called her Josephine or told the other kids her real name.

I’d “focused”—the word “focus” is another new favorite word and means to concentrate your interest or activity on something—on Irish’s super-curly hair, intense green eyes and purple glasses (which she hardly ever wore). I put the glasses in the drawing because I knew it would make her mad. I drew her wearing one of her colorful outfits…a T-shirt with a leprechaun on its front, bright red clogs and bedazzled jeans. Irish bedazzled everything.

“I don’t care if it’s gone out of style. I love jewels, I love bedazzling,” she told me proudly one day, stomping her foot for emphasis.

Underneath my sketch I’d written a date. I looked at the date again and was stunned. The date I’d written was tomorrow! I shook my head in disbelief—summer was almost over and school would start soon. School and tryouts for the soccer team and babysitting my baby brother. It would be easy to forget about my dream and the blue jay’s visit.

Irish and her boyfriend and I planned to meet tomorrow afternoon after tryouts for the soccer team. She changed boyfriends a lot. I wondered what this one would be like. Is the mystery the blue jay wanted to tell me connected to Irish and her new boyfriend? My stomach did a somersault, which meant I was starting to worry.

Enough of this worrying. But what is the meaning behind the words the bird seemed to tap out?

I put the necklace back in its hiding place. It was too precious to me to leave out in the open. I got back into bed, turned out the light and went to sleep.

2 - Wshkeja (In the Beginning)

The next day I got up early to go running, came home, showered and gave my baby brother his breakfast. After I’d played with him for a little bit I put him in his crib for a nap. I woke him up an hour later because Dad was going to drive me out to the rez where tryouts were being held for the soccer team and he’d have to go with us.

Once we got to the soccer field, in back of the school, Coach had each of us run laps and then lined us up.

“I want each of you to show me how you’d dribble the ball down the field,” he told us before blowing on his whistle.

“Listen up, guys. The first one to get the ball kicks it to Jerry and who then kicks it to Cady.” He read off all of our names and added, “Once you’ve been passed the ball, kick it to the next person and get off the field. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” we agreed in unison.

“I can’t hear you,” he bellowed at us, “That’s something we’ll need to work on.” He blew his whistle again and we did as he’d instructed. Coach put us through more drills for the next hour and a half when he blew his whistle again.

“Huddle up. You’ve all made the team, but some of you are going to have to work harder to get up to speed. I’ll help you with that, so will your team mates. And all of you need to earn a grade point average of at least a C. Got it? Now get out of here.”

With a lot of whooping and yelling, we left the field. I even high-fived a few of the guys.

I walked over to where Dad was talking to one of the other parents and bent down to touch little Colson. He smiled up at me while sitting in his stroller waving his sippy cup.

Dad shook hands with one of his friends before looking at me.

“Congrats, Cady! Now let’s go home.”

An hour later we were in our kitchen, where I cleared off the counter and spread out bread, bologna, mustard and mayonnaise to make sandwiches for lunch when Francine surprised us by coming home early. It was already nearing the end of August, and my days of babysitting would soon end. School was set to start the day after Labor Day, a little more than a week away.

“Ed, I’m home. We finished up early at the donut shop. Where’s my baby? Where’s Colson? Who’s made lunch?” she sang. The kitchen door slammed behind her. “My boss sent me home with donuts. He made too many blueberry ones, and I’ve got a dozen of those and a gooey caramel-frosted one for my baby.”

“Why, thank you, dear,” my dad said and kissed Francine’s cheek. Didn’t he know the caramel donut was for Colson and not for him? My baby brother would make a mess, but he’d be happy.

“How about you, Cady? Want a donut?” Dad asked.

“Dad, you know I don’t like the blueberry ones. I’ll make a bologna sandwich and have a dish of applesauce Grandma made for us.”

“Suit yourself. We’re leaving soon anyway. I promised Francine I’d take her and Colson to see her sister’s family.” Francine’s family lived about twelve miles north of Barnesville.

“They’ve asked us to stay for supper,” Dad continued.

“We’ll be home about 8 p.m. I don’t want you roaming around when we’re gone. I’ve left a list of chores for you. When you’re done, you can go to Irish’s. Listen to me, I want you home by eight this evening. Understand?”

“Yes, but Dad, I need to tell you something. It’s about my dream.”

Dad told Francine he’d be out in a few minutes, he took me aside.

“Okay, what’s this about a dream?”

After I told him that in my dream I’d been sliding around the deck of an old ship, clutching a small book in my hand, he took a deep breath.

“You want to know what it means, right? But, Cady, you must wait and see. You have been given a gift for solving mysteries. If a mystery comes to you, then you must use your gift to help solve it or you will lose the gift. You know this, we’ve talked about it.”

“But, Dad…”

“Enough, Cady, I’ve got to go.”

Dad and I were getting along pretty well, even Francine was easier to get along. Now that Colson was almost a one-year-old, he’d started sleeping through the night. He was eating more solid food, so he wasn’t as fussy because he wasn’t hungry. All this meant Dad and Francine and I were sleeping better which made us get along better because we weren’t tired and crabby.

School started in two weeks, and I didn’t want to get grounded. I figured I could breeze through the chores in about an hour, which would leave me almost six hours of freedom! Dad wrote a list of my chores each week in a blue spiral-bound notebook, which he kept next to the coffeepot. He wrote the list out each Sunday night, making it clear they were to be completed by Saturday noon. My list this week: wash the kitchen floor, strip the sheets from my bed and put on clean sheets, clean my bedroom and the bathroom.

“By the way, Cady, you’ve been pretty good about helping us out with Colson this summer. Here’s twenty dollars. I know you and Irish like to hang out, I want my girl to have spending money. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Dad hardly ever handed out money. He was old school and told me at least once a month, “I give you food to eat and your own bedroom. If you want anything more you’ll have to earn it.” When I told my older brother, Bruce, about this he just laughed. Bruce was twenty-seven-years-old and lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

“Yup, that’s Dad. However, if you’re ever in deep trouble, he’ll be there for you. In the meantime, you’ll have to find a job. Maybe you could babysit more? If your beadwork improved you could sell it at pow wows.” Bruce couldn’t help smiling when he said it. If anyone else had insulted my beadwork I’d have been mad. Bruce is the oldest of my three older brothers. He’s good to me, so I let it slide. I don’t know the other two because they live in California where they grew up. The four of us are half-siblings: we have the same father and different mothers.

“Thanks, Dad.” I took the money and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.

He shook his head and laughed and I could hear him mutter “women” under his breath.

“Behave yourself while we’re gone. You and Irish stay out of trouble and I’ll see you later tonight,” he said. He tapped me on the shoulder and turned to pick up my little brother in his baby carrier.

Francine waited for him in the driveway and yelled, “Ed, come on, come on, what’s keeping you? Let’s get going already.”

“Well, okay. We’re off. Bama pi, Cady.” The kitchen door slammed, his footsteps pounded down the back steps on his way to the car. Bama pi means “until we meet again.” We don’t have words for goodbye in our native language.

“Bama pi,” I whispered back. I wondered if he heard me.

Two hours later my chores were done, and I ran the four blocks to meet Irish in her backyard. Waiting is something Irish doesn’t do well because she’s always moving, always in motion. The backyard at her mother’s house looked like a kid’s paradise. Irish’s mom ran a daycare out of her house so the backyard had a swing set, one of those giant sandboxes shaped like a turtle with a lid to keep out stray cats, and a deck-like treehouse. Because the tree house was off limits to the little kids, you needed to drag a ladder out of its hiding place to reach it.

Irish sat on her little sister’s swing and pumped her legs to their absolute limit as she swung back and forth. She jumped off when she saw me and ran up to me to give me a hug. I could hear the gum cracking in her mouth when she squeezed me. She smelled like peppermints.

“Oh, girl, I’ve got a surprise for you. Come on.” She grabbed my hand and started running.

“Where are we going? Why are you in such a hurry?” I asked.

“Cady, you’re so silly. Come on, I’ve got a surprise! They’re waiting for us.”

“Who’s waiting for us? What’s going on, Irish? I thought we were going to meet your new boyfriend somewhere.”

“You’ll see, it’s a surprise. Come on, slowpoke!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Come on, we don’t want to be late!”

3 - Wagnogan (Wigwam)

Irish didn’t slow down for almost fifteen minutes. I checked the time on my old style and beat-up silver-colored cell phone. She led me down four blocks until the Main Street intersection where she turned right and started to jog. She ran pretty fast even though she wore a pair of fur-lined pink clogs. She dropped my hand before we slowed to a complete stop. She took a deep breath and then took off again. Four blocks later we turned to the left and went another two blocks.

I’d never been in this part of town before. Most of the houses were abandoned. Some even had boards covering the windows.

“Irish, what are we doing here? What’s going on?”

“You’re with me, so quit worrying. It’s okay.” She stopped suddenly and pointed to one of the abandoned houses.

She punched me on the arm again and ran up a broken sidewalk to the house’s porch.

She stopped at the porch’s steps, turned and looked at me. “Come on, don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”

I could feel my shoulders trembling a little. Irish knew I sometimes had flashbacks to when I was a little girl. Abandoned houses were one of my triggers. I started to get mad at her for bringing me here. I shook the fear out of my shoulders and looked around.

Emptiness and loss hung in the air. Three small bicycles, each one missing parts, littered its front yard. Garbage bags lined the street in front. They’d been ripped open, probably by a stray dog. Pieces were missing from the sidewalk leading from the house’s front porch to the street, and other parts were broken and jagged. Tree roots, sand and dirt pushed up through the cracks breaking the sidewalk apart. Chunks of cement had broken off from the sidewalk and were scattered through the yard. The front yard had more tall weeds growing in it than grass.

“What a mess,” I said out loud as I kicked a little red plastic tractor, already missing three of its four wheels, so I didn’t do much damage.

Craaassh!

What?

I looked up at the porch and saw Irish’s friends, Derek and James, walking out through the house’s front door and onto the porch. One of them must have found an old glass bottle on the porch’s floor and kicked it. He noticed me staring at him, looked at me, and then looked down at the bottle and kicked it again. Now it lay shattered at his feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would make so much noise. Guess I was just excited,” Derek said.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered under my breath and kicked a stone out of the way.