The Liberation of Ravenna Morton Read online

  Katherine said she would definitely be the charter captain. Not just another pretty face, Katherine was a licensed ship captain. Any time there was the risk that a charter might desire a male striptease, Katherine and their uncle, a sixty-five-year-old retired Coast Guard colonel, took over. Esme didn’t know yet that there were occasional out-of-towners who were condescending to the shop owners and locals. It was the price paid for having a successful tourist season. You learned to prioritize the level of disrespect you were willing to accept, and if playing the hick helped sales, you might even stoop to that.

  “I’m surprised people are still fishing in the fall,” Esme said.

  “Fishing’s pretty much an around-the-calendar sport,” Wiley answered. “We run fishing charters until there’s ice on the lake. We’d ice fish if the liability risk wasn’t so high.”

  “I ice fish,” Ravenna said, looking at Esme.

  “Isn’t that sort of drastic?” Esme asked, surprised. She thought of Eskimos fishing in the Arctic, of walrus skins and igloos. Not women with long hair and red lipstick standing on the edge of a pond with a fishing pole.

  Wiley and Ravenna both laughed.

  “No, not really. Last year it never got cold enough to make the ice safe. So I fished right over there,” she said, pointing to a little cove off the river. It was surrounded by grassy lawn, but had a small inlet, which allowed the water to flow in and out. “I don’t need to walk out on the ice. I can make a little hole about a foot from dry land and put my line down. I get blue gills and sunfish and even trout.”

  Esme involuntarily shuddered. She liked fish, but didn’t like to think about where it came from. Ravenna pushed back her chair. She went to the open shelves over the sink and, standing on tiptoes, got down a large mason jar that had something hard, gray and unappetizing in it.

  “Dried fish,” Ravenna stated.

  “Dried fish,” Esme echoed. She took the bottle to be polite. “You can it, too?”

  “I put it in the jar so it will stay nice, that’s all,” she replied. “I like doing it. It’s not as much work as you might think.”

  “Like fish jerky?” Esme asked, hoping they wouldn’t expect her to taste it.

  They laughed again.

  “You could eat it like that if you were on an expedition, but here in civilization I prefer to reconstitute it with tomato juice or just water, and make nice soup or patties. I don’t care for salted fish,” Ravenna said. And remembering that Wiley made part of his livelihood selling smoked and salted fish, she backpedaled. “It’s because I have high blood pressure. Not because it doesn’t taste good.”

  “If I have to eat fish to make you happy, I’ll do it,” Esme said, laughing. It’d taken her a while, but she was finally relaxing. This was just conversation, getting to know one another.

  “You wait, you’ll love it,” Ravenna said. “Do you cook Greek food?”

  “Ah, no, not really. I was learning how to cook when my mother got sick. Before that, my father always cooked, so I didn’t have to learn. I worked in the city, and every night when I came home, food was already prepared.

  “The community of people I live in is very close,” Esme continued, wanting to explain what life was like back in White Plains. “When one of my aunts made a pan of food, she’d make two so she could give one away. My mother did the same thing. We all ate what our neighbors and aunts were serving their families in the same three-block area. The only time it was a problem for me was when everyone was cooking lamb. The smell could be overwhelming.”

  “Oh, I love lamb,” Ravenna said. “Mike brings lamb for Easter.” Ravenna realized she may have gone too far calling Esme her granddaughter so soon, so she was careful how she introduced Mike. “Mike is April’s father.”

  “I know,” Esme said. “She took me to his studio last night. His work is amazing.” It struck her how Mike and Ravenna were artists and Maria didn’t have any talent at all.

  “Are any of your children artists?” she asked, and Wiley gave a whoop.

  “No way! No talent in any of them,” he said.

  Ravenna was kinder, but laughing. “The girls are good at decorating their homes, but the boys, not so much. I wish one of them were interested in basket making.” She put the tea water back on. Bending down to put another log in the cookstove, she continued. “Do you do anything imaginative?”

  “Me? No, not really. I knit a little bit, but from patterns. I didn’t think I had a creative gene in my body, but I guess that isn’t true,” Esme said. The idea that she could actually be creative excited her. “I like looking at art, and I appreciate crafts.”

  “Well, there you go,” Wiley said. There was quiet for a few moments. He stifled a yawn. “I guess I better get back into town before I have to take a nap. We have a couple of charters going out tomorrow, and I need to get the boats ready.”

  Esme didn’t want to leave yet, but she didn’t have any other way of getting home.

  “If you want to stay, Regina will be here in a few hours. She’ll take you home,” Ravenna said, hopeful.

  “Okay, if you’re sure she won’t mind, I’ll wait for Regina. Wiley, thank you so much for getting me here,” she said.

  He offered her his hand to shake. “My pleasure,” he said. “Let me know when you want to come back. I try to take the boat out every morning. I usually don’t stay this long, though, do I, Miss Morton?”

  “No, no. We’re too busy. But today is a special day. I’ll see you later, Wiley.” Ravenna walked out with him and watched while he pushed the boat into the water and got in with a limber jump.

  Esme got up from the table and stood at the door to her grandmother’s cabin as Wiley put the oar into the water to get further from shore before starting the motor. It started right up with a brrrrrr. Ravenna put her hand up in a salute as Wiley Hoffman waved back at her.

  Chapter 4

  The Dust Bowl of the 1930s was one of the worst weather disasters to hit the United States. In the midst of the Great Depression, when a fifth of the population was unemployed, the summer of ’36 was also the driest recorded in Michigan.

  The following year the U.S Census listed one hundred forty-two Indians living in Michigan; fifteen of them lived along the Kalamazoo River outside of Saugatuck. Ravenna Morton was born that year in what had been her mother Peggy’s family cabin. The Ojibwa family was a holdout when the government tried to assimilate the tribe in the 1920s. Ebert Ojibwa, Peggy’s father, held on to their land allotment, unlike his brothers and cousins, who moved west.

  “We’re sick of the snow,” Ebert’s youngest brother said. “If you were smart, you’d come with us.”

  In time, the family would give in and move, leaving Peggy behind.

  Peggy and Robert Morton eventually moved in to the cabin together to start their family. The years flew by as they worked the land and built their life. As the economy improved, Robert’s brothers left Michigan for Missouri. Peggy was pregnant with their ninth child and had her heels dug in so deeply, she wasn’t going anywhere. And since Robert was in love with her, he was staying along the riverbank, too.

  “Your brother will drag his family to Missouri and then what? At least here we have our land,” Peggy said. She prepared lunch for her children, four boys and four girls, and after they ate, they would walk through the white pine forest, across the dirt road called Riverside Trail in those days, and up the hill to their parcel of land. It was just five acres, but they’d planted enough corn and potatoes to get them through the winter, if they could just get rain. In the cycle of drought, it was another dry summer. Watering the field was accomplished by means of a relay in which a line of the children interspersed with parents would pass leather buckets filled with river water from the Kalamazoo to the top of the hill. It was an act of futility, but Peggy was determined to save at least part of the drought-tolerant corn.

  The small kitchen garden next to the cabin produced more than the field of corn and potatoes because of its proximity to the
water. As Peggy’s time to give birth drew near, she chose to stay close to the house and tend the little garden while the older children went up the hill. When she got up that morning, she could feel her body preparing for the birth. The baby’s head was pressing down with such force that she could only walk a few steps without sitting for a minute. After so many previous births, she had little of her own muscular support. Robert’s mother taught Peggy with her first birth, and she remembered now, a length of cloth wrapped under her belly and tied in a firm knot at her back would bring some relief. Robert was up early drinking tea when she came out of their sleeping space with her belly wrap in place. He looked at her suspiciously.

  “If you have something to tell me, you better say it, because I’m leaving out that door in ten minutes.” He took a drag on his cigarette, looking at his wife out of the corner of his eye.

  “Ha! What do I need to tell you anything for? What will you do about it?” She was standing in front of him, tying her long hair into a braid to keep it out of her face. Little things were annoying her, and the hair was high on her list.

  He looked around her to make sure they were unobserved. Their kids were interlopers of the worst kind but still safely asleep at that hour. “Come here,” he whispered.

  She walked to him, flaunting her body, knowing the impact it had on her husband. She chuckled. “What do you want? Whatever it is, forget it.”

  He embraced her and put his ear up to her belly. “Boozhoo,” he said softly.

  She put her hands on his shoulders. He was a good, hardworking man. They’d been together for thirteen years, and he never disappointed her. She’d make him a favorite dish when he came home that evening.

  “Tonight you will get something good for dinner,” she said. He looked up at her with a mischievous grin, but she play-slapped him. “Not that.”

  He finished his tea and stood up to leave. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into another embrace. They were passionate about each other, and he was looking forward to being with her again after the baby was born. He stooped down to kiss her and then left the cabin.

  Robert worked at the sawmill in town; he hitchhiked or took their rowboat, depending on the weather. Today he’d boat in. They kissed good-bye again, and Peggy stood at the riverbank watching him untie the boat and push it out into the moving water. “Gi zah gin,” I love you, he said. He waved once more and turned from her while she watched him rowing downriver toward Douglas.

  After he was out of sight, she went to use the outhouse before the children awoke. That’s when she saw the bloody show. Debating whether to call him back, she decided against it. He’d be in the way, and she really liked being alone when she gave birth. Still only a dull burn under her belly, the pressure of the baby’s head on her cervix doing its job to open it up, Peggy began her day.

  Preparing the food for eight children was a full-time job. It was too hot to use the woodstove in the house, so in the summer she cooked on a small cast-iron stove Robert set up for her outside in what she called their summer kitchen. She had a small icebox and a pump for water and an old table leaning against the woodshed attached to the house. Overhanging it was a narrow roof made of corrugated metal to protect the cook from the rain, if it ever rained. Peggy loved being outside when it rained because of the sound of the drops hitting the tin. It was a favorite place when it was too hot to be indoors.

  Peggy put rice porridge on the back of the little stove and was going to bake bread, too. They had smoked fish and a few of the early harvest vegetables from the kitchen garden. A large, glass jar of tea floated in the cold water of the cove. With the food for the day ready, she went into the house to wake up her children. The older ones would haul water up the hill. She had a box of clothes ready from the last child, a two-year-old girl. By the time lunch was over, she called for Ravenna, her eldest, and asked her to take care of the younger children; she was going to prepare her bed for the birth.

  In her supplies, she had a large, oiled canvas sheet from an old sail she placed over the bed. She covered the canvas with layers of newspapers, and over the newspapers, an old white sheet that had seen many births in her family. She placed newspapers around the side of the bed. She preferred to deliver standing up, but if it took too long and she became tired, she’d get on the bed. Stacks of clean, folded rags and the items to care for the baby were within easy reach, arranged on the top of the chest of drawers she shared with Robert. She went outside again and pumped water into an enameled basin.

  “You okay, Mama?” Ravenna asked.

  Peggy nodded, now beyond the phase of labor in which she could speak without grunting. Ravenna took the basin from her and followed her into the bedroom. Peggy motioned to pull the drapery closed for privacy. Ravenna helped Peggy undress. She was amazed at the size of her mother’s breasts. Peggy took one of the clean rags, wet it from the basin, and with soap she made herself, began to wash off. Ravenna looked the other way, but Peggy didn’t mind her presence; it was how women taught each other.

  “You don’t have to hide,” she said, trying not to grunt. “This baby will come from my body, just like Nadie did. You must clean yourself to make it safe for the baby.” Peggy bathed quickly and then put on an old sleep shirt of Robert’s. She thought, I wish he was here after all.

  “Do you want to lay down now?” Ravenna asked.

  But Peggy didn’t answer; she bent over and rested her head and arms on the bed and grunted.

  “Get me the bucket from under my bed,” Peggy whispered.

  Ravenna got down on her hands and knees and pulled the bucket, used as a chamber pot in winter, from under the bed.

  Peggy pulled it over with her foot and crouched over it. “When my waters break, it’ll go into the chamber pot instead of the floor.”

  Ravenna nodded her head, having no idea what waters would break, frightened at the visualization. Her mother was always thinking ahead. “Okay,” Ravenna answered.

  Peggy didn’t make much noise when she gave birth because she was concerned about upsetting her other children, especially the boys. She heard her oldest boy, John, whispering to Ravenna.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, you better take care of the others,” Ravenna said proudly. “She only wants me.” She stayed close to her mother as Peggy began to moan softly.

  Peggy crawled up on the bed and stayed on her hands and knees and began to rock back and forth slowly. “Get some of those cloths and put them here by my side.”

  Ravenna did as she was told. Then, things happened so quickly; she stayed by her mother to help her but didn’t know what to do unless Peggy asked. Peggy stayed on her hands and knees and spread her legs apart slightly. She had her upper body on the bed, and her rear was up in the air. She grunted again, and Ravenna could see she was pushing the baby out.

  “Wash your hands now, Ravenna,” she said.

  She ran outside and washed her hands at the pump. When she came back in, Peggy had rolled to her side with one leg bent up and both her hands reaching down between her legs. She was holding on to the head of a bloody baby to support it, pushing it out a little more with each grunt. She gave a yell, more of an involuntary gasp, and the girl infant was born.

  “Oh! A girl,” Ravenna said.

  Peggy was working fast, wiping the baby down with the clean rags. The cord attached to the baby’s belly snaked up into Peggy. Ravenna had never seen such a thing, and it scared her.

  “This cord feeds the baby while she’s in my body. You tie off the cord after the blood drains back into her,” Peggy instructed.

  Ravenna helped get the cord tied off while Peggy worked on the little body, and finally, the baby started to scream.

  “That’s a good sound.” Peggy was smiling, exhausted. She got the baby wrapped up and handed her off to Ravenna. In the next moment, the placenta delivered. Later, Peggy said that was the most painful part, to have that huge thing slither out after the baby tore up her insides. Peggy washed, placing some
of the clean folded rags in between her legs. She rolled the worst of the mess off the bed like a giant bloody cigar. She’d deal with it later. But first, she needed to nurse the new baby.

  “I’m going to call her Pules,” she said, climbing back into bed.

  Ravenna handed the baby over, and Peggy began nursing her.

  “I like that name,” Ravenna said, confused why she’d call the baby a name that meant pigeon, but not wanting to question her mother.

  “So what did you think of the birth?” Peggy asked.

  Ravenna stood close to her, watching the tiny mouth latched on to her mother’s huge brown nipple. Ravenna sighed. “I’m not sure, Mama. It’s very barbaric.”

  Peggy laughed. “That it is,” she replied. “I’m lucky because my births have all been easy.” Except for Nadie. Peggy remembered how glad she was that her sister had been there to help, visiting from Wisconsin. She wouldn’t have been able to deliver her alone, but she kept it to herself. Two years ago, Ravenna was too young to watch a birth. Thank God this was an easy delivery, because there was no one else to help her now. She heard of women who died with a baby half hanging out of their bodies.

  The baby fell asleep. “I’m going to rest while Pules is sleeping. You go oversee things for me, okay? You’re a big girl now. Thank you for helping me so much.”

  Ravenna walked through the curtain and closed it behind her, relieved. Her mother was not always this kind to her. The smell of the birth was heavy in the air; Ravenna would remember it for the rest of her life. She made sure the windows and doors to the longhouse were open; the smell would upset the younger children.

  The boys were back from watering the fields up on the hill. “What did she have?” John asked.

  “A little girl,” Ravenna said.

  The others groaned. “Not another girl!”

  Ravenna shushed them. “Mama is trying to sleep, so you have to be still.” She went to the ice chest to see what Peggy had prepared for their meal.

  The children were sitting at the outdoor table eating when it finally started to rain. Light drops fell first, sitting on top of the layer of dust that covered the yard. But soon, it started to come down steadily. The older children whispered to the rain, “Hurray!” They’d be spared having to haul water up the hill if the rain continued.