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Part One An Odor from Dreamland Sent Another dimension, another era? Northern Ontario. An Ojibwe village at Manitowik Lake, During twilight Cay-ro-say sensed the Breath of Spring arrive. The dreaded day had come to them. She would never allow her family to be severed again. Lifetimes from now she knew this grief would remind her to sacrifice… to keep the family as one because this change in her life today Cay-ro-say could not bear. She linked her arm more securely with Wah-tay-see’s. Her younger sister sang strong for their eldest sister and brother as they retreated by the northern hemlock path into skeletons of sugar maples. Answering Wah-tay-see’s song for their new life, Brown Wolf, One Who Leads the Way, faced their family, raising his arm. Cay-ro-say stepped higher on the rocks for him to see her, inhaling the stinging lake wind and praying at her biting resentment. She could do no more now, not after the days she had spent in praying Go-ee-yaw’s pride away. Turn to us, please, she pleaded tightly within her breath. But one of eight horses gifted by their village blocked her sister’s broad back from view. The final realization. Go-ee-yaw would never turn, she knew. Her sister would stubbornly walk away, the-teacher-who-was-not-so-wise-after-all. Cay-ro-say’s expectation in the moment was so heightened she cringed, waiting as she did for a dream. A breath, a whisper, passed by her shoulder. She had felt the veil open many times. But not at the noon day. And the whisper? A whimper of fear… yes, she heard now. Though she did not know…. whose fear? Yet someone so near to her heart she could touch them in comfort if only she had that comfort to give in this moment. Convulsive sobs broke Wah-tay-see. Cay-ro-say tried to sing for her and burning tears silenced her. Pain stabbed her throat. Then, from the rise, lifted ever higher the shrill voices of their grandfather and grandmother. Tall Heron and Scolding One, crying, mourning, singing. Unfaltering. Why were Go-ee-yaw and Brown Wolf so determined to give everything for the sake of their bond? But Cay-ro-say knew this departure may well have included herself and her older brother, Mo-wa-sah. If they had been given a choice by the Grandmothers, would they have left to be able to stay together? If not for the dreams. The people valued her dreams and would not ask her to choose. Not at this time, they would not… because of what Dreamland sent. Chapter One
The new phone trilled. She squealed and he was gone. Caller identification listed the steel mill. “Daniel?” she said shrill as the phone then realized she forgot to censor her self. What if this was Sam’s foreman? “Hey- Lindsay.” Daniel’s voice was too close to her ear. There wasn’t a chair by the phone at her new cottage, no place to claim her balance. She pulled her dark hair to the nape of her neck, hanging on, keeping vigil on Uncle Herron’s corner. “There you are, Daniel, hi. Sam’s going to be back from the video store in a bit. He took a movie over and is getting another.” Goodness, such jabbering, the way she had for almost twenty years when what she needed to say wasn’t right for anyone. She knew he was in the mill office, the phone in his smudged hand, mahogany hair barely visible under the hardhat, bronze freckles streaked with crane grease. She knew the strong line of his back, like a tall logger just past fifty. Goodness. “Do you need Sam?” she asked abruptly. “No, that’s okay,” he said quietly as she rubbed her chilly forearms, exposed by the brown dress. She had hoped spring arrived this morning, but the draft swept winter back, whistling through barely open windows. She glanced into the living room and a head of floppy gray hair ducked away from the window. She gawked, withholding a curse. “I was thinking,” Daniel was telling her, “I have that lift chair for Sam so, hey, if you two are going to be around, I’ll swing over after I get off.” Hoping to see the spy by the window, she leaned, couldn't see, so she attempted jumping for height but had none, then she vaulted as far as the phone cord allowed. “We’ll be home, Daniel,” she promised, unwrapping her neck from the cord, knowing he would be disappointed if she wasn’t home. He admitted that nine years ago. Nothing changed. She regretted moving to Koontz Lake, as well as was relieved about the move, because now he took twice as long to get here. But with Daniel around less, there was more time for Sam. Her husband needed her to be with him now. And she would be. They hung up and she checked where Uncle Herron had stood, then strolled to the front east window, nonchalantly looking for the gray-headed spy. This was a tight lake neighborhood, people in their own yards could seem to be spying, though not from her east or north windows. No one was outside except a little woman on a Harley taking the corner at the point real slow. She wore a sleeveless plaid flannel shirt, and when she gave the thumbs up sign Lindsay raised a hand to acknowledge her then closed the windows and the layers of lace and sheers. She covered her two skunks with crib quilts. Itty wiggled off her back to see if Lindsay had seeds, but got a pet instead. “Sleep now,” she said, patting Fern too. One more time she checked Uncle Herron’s corner of the kitchen, which was by a never used door to the outside and a narrow stairway to three bedrooms. She could say she was being ridiculous, but somehow he had visited her more than a few times in northwest Indiana just this way. When her dad was alive, he swore the old man had died when he visited in spirit, but they would find him still at Miramichi Bay in New Brunswick sometime later. ‘Wait and see,’ said her dad’s voice in her head now. She would have to wait since Uncle Herron didn’t have a telephone or real neighbor. The phone rang and she recognized the number of a past acquaintance she didn’t want to see ever again. Gooee, who she met in pottery class and had avoided for the last several months, thank goodness. She was not about to answer. But how did that woman get her new unlisted number? She reminded herself to tell Sam and Daniel not to answer anytime Gooee called. She had important things to accomplish in the next few months. Gooee needed a lot of time from people. But that was not her reason for avoidance. Definitely not. Her caution of Gooee aside, Lindsay needed to organize a new life. She had to decide what to do for them when Sam couldn’t work and for her when he was gone. She had no updated skills, only ideas about the field of advertising that she hadn’t considered further, too expended between Sam and her youngest daughter’s needs. Three mortgages due to hardship, then the economy, the war. Their finances were in brittle shape after first one steel mill going bankrupt, then the next. Sam barely skimmed through last time. Now his health. She had to do something. Less than one day being unpacked and already cluttered. Clutter, she could handle, stuffing large baskets, drawers of the old white entertainment hutch and the dark wardrobe near the east window, then the drawer on the seven-foot walnut buffet behind the taupe sofa. She solemnly maneuvered a quiet push broom over the enormous braided rug, around the black silhouette of the one hundred-forty pound canine heartily snoring before the sofa, her newly adopted Newfoundland, Garth. Finished, thank goodness. Now to change. The warmest of March days gave them no snow yet, the only thing to be happy about. So far, so good. She practically rolled her eyes. She didn’t like that expression anymore. Gooee had said that too often, especially in pottery class. She had to stop rolling her eyes, she was seeing little light bubbles clustered in front of her chest like the ones she noticed on moving day. She tried blowing them away but they didn’t swish, didn’t blow, only grew like a swell of snowflakes frozen in place. She pulled the vacuum out of the closet and turned the hose on them. They gathered into a tight cluster and refused to move. Now she knew her vision had pushed her to the point of glasses.
She dressed as she would have even if Daniel wasn’t on his way. Fluffy cream-colored socks that kept her shins warm. Matching cardigan buttoned to her chin, long French jersey skirt in stormy gray. Her rounded figure was warmly shrouded, nothing visible but her thick fingers and indistinct, flat-planed face. Gray eyes with charcoal lashes blinked in the reflection of the white chifforobe mirror as she studied a new scar under her right jaw, her tiny reminder from misjudging the car door corner. Still another mishap. Goodness, she knew she needed glasses, but she looked kinder without them. A near-to-elderly woman with pale copper hair glided behind her in the reflection, wearing short shorts and bifocals. How does one ride a bike with bifocals? And the woman looked Lindsay right in the eye, right into her reflection, as if she heard the question. More chilling than Uncle Herron standing in her kitchen when he really wasn’t. ‘The woman did not hear the question, Clara Rose,’ she reasoned to herself, using her given name, just like her husband did only too often. ‘No, that woman doesn’t read minds. Only Gooee is capable of such adept invasions of privacy at long distances.’ And though Lindsay could feel Gooee out there tracking her like the robust polar after the wayward seal, she lied to herself. She told herself she was secure in a new home. She was. Calm now. But what was there to be calm about, she wondered. She tried detangling her hair with her fingers, then gave up and touched the rounded cheeks dolloped too high on broad, flat cheekbones. Was it the new mirror, or did her cheeks seem more pink than ever, too healthy, too happy when her husband was dying. She smoothed the new silken bedspread with sage-colored leaves under burgundy and pink roses. Before long Sam would be sleeping on this bed instead of upstairs. She knew he wouldn’t stand for it, but she wanted him sleeping downstairs. The steep climb hurt him. He could see their view of the sliver of lake from her bed, same as from his room. Her sister had a daybed to loan them when he needed her with him. Meanwhile, Lindsay would sleep upstairs.
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One day too soon her time would be exhausted with the pain of her husband dying. Scraping the stir fry from lunch into freezer containers, Lindsay decided she would appreciate these leftovers better then instead of tomorrow. Yes, this was better, another meal saved for when she couldn’t bear to leave his side.
She wandered right into the bubbles, through the French doors into the bedroom. Her room. Through another set of aligned French doors to the outside deck, she noticed a woman with long blonde hair strolling the lake lane. She wore a lavender jacket and long skirt. 
