They had hardly reached Mianney’s shack and called out to her when she was instantly with them. The old River Cat, who was rumored to be ancient—some said she had always lived—had long, jet black hair that was smooth and shining from the walnut oil she rubbed into it each day. Dangling far down in front of her was an ornate necklace of beads, and on each wrist she had broad woven bracelets, decorated with copper sunbursts.
Mianney carried a small basket. Without any word of greeting to her visitors, she pulled a bundle of dried herbs and two green-colored balls of thorn tree pitch from the basket. Arranging the herbs and pitch balls in a ceremonious pile before them, with seeming magic she produced a glowing coal from her jacket pocket and lit the pile. A sudden burst of flame, and the herbs and pitch balls sent up a sharp pillar of fire.
As the small fire flamed, Mianney’s deep brown eyes darted here and there gleefully. Her bubbling wild intensity frightened some superstitious people, who said she was a demon in disguise. Mianney did seem to do things that were supernatural. The flames that burned so furiously for a few moments, suddenly died down, leaving a dense pungent cloud of smoke. Still without speaking, with lightning quickness Mianney lifted Helga to her arms and ascended the ladder to her shack. In the blink of an eye she and Helga were gone. A wisp of pungent smoke, swirling where Mianney had stood, was all that assured Pickles and Lupes that she had actually been with them a moment before...
As Mianney held Helga close through that long-ago night, flute music, rising and falling from a more distant cabin—belonging to Edna Note—was a safe and soothing sound in the dark.
That flute music—so comforting, such a balm on her terror—was, for Helga, a symbol of her deliverance. The peaceful imprint of the flute melody wafting to her during the darkest part of the night struck Helga in the heart as powerfully as the shafts of yellow sunlight that illumined Mianney Mayoyo’s shack the next morning. It was as if her mother’s promise to return soon had been fulfilled.
~
Now, as the memories from ten years before faded, the sight of Miss Note, graying and bent, sent shivers down Helga’s spine. A powerful instinct of the heart urged Helga to quickly push through the crowd, hurrying to see Miss Note. The stooped old Badger, her face still hearty and strong, greeted Helga gleefully.
“Helga, Helga, Helga...Look at you,” Edna smiled, her eyes tearing with joy, clasping Helga in a tight embrace. “Even my eyes that are not what they used to be can see that you are changed. You are no longer the wild rapscallion that aged me beyond my years.” The elderly music teacher laughed, continuing to hold Helga by the shoulders, gazing intently at her as if seeing something in Helga that eyes were not needed to see.
“Miss Note, I’m truly sorry...”Helga began. “I never meant...”
“...Never meant to put mice in my longhornphone...or to smear my flute with snake grease...or to call me ‘Old Lady Sqawkbeak’?” Edna smiled. “You know, of course, that now I laugh about all those old torments..I’m so happy you’ve returned while I can still greet you.” Travelers have brought us news of you. Everyone is so excited. Sareth and Elbin are waiting for you over by the Perquat’s wagon, and there are lots of other folk over at the Commons. I couldn’t wait to see you, so Neppy helped me get through the crowd. We’ve heard some amazing stories...can it all be true? There must be time for you to tell us everything.”
Helga stepped back and looked at Miss Note fondly. “It seems strange, as I think about it, Miss Note,” she began. “I’ve seen unbelievable things and been terrified for my life. I can hardly believe what has happened to me. But, as strange as it seems, my greatest adventures were within myself.”
Helga paused, looking embarrassed. “I was going through some confusing times when I used to torment you. Somehow, although everyone was kind, I didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. I felt so strange. That’s why I left the Rounds. When I met the Lynx who knew my father, I just had to go.”
“You’ve changed since I last saw you, Helga,” Edna observed.
Helga paused, looking off into the distance as if again seeing something there. “My story is not my own, Miss Note,” she said. “In my mind I see so many friends who are not here and able to tell the part they had in my adventures. My story is actually many stories. As I tell it, it may sound like one story, but it is really many stories that cross each other. Creatures that I will never know have had a hand in my story and I in theirs. So, you’ll have to forgive me as I tell my story...I don’t know it all myself.”
The elderly Badger smiled. She bent down and picked up a tuft of grass and some dirt. Giving some to Helga, she put some in her own pocket also. The rest she tossed up in the wind. “That’s the way our stories are, Helga—many people have a piece of it, and the story carries on in directions we never know.”
Bad Storm Breakin’
A few months before Helga’s triumphant return to the Rounds, her brother, Emil, went on a journey which was to have profound consequences for her story…