Reading the Bones (16 page)

Out on the shell mound Sleek Seal is glad that the others have left. She wants to be alone at her grandfather's side. The tears roll freely down her cheeks. Shuksi'em told her not long ago that he would soon leave this world. “When you go, Grandfather, I will go with you.”

He smiled at her and laughed. “No, my child, you will stay here until the Great Spirit calls you to the next place. And when you arrive, I will celebrate just as I did the day you were born.”

Now Sleek Seal pulls out her small pendant from under her deerskin cover and removes it over her head. The small, delicate face that Shuksi'em carved was to watch over her as she journeyed through this world. But now she calls on its powers to guard another and pushes it into the soft shell mound that embraces Shuksi'em's body.

“Grandfather, I have the wisdom of your words to guide me in life. But you are going to a strange place. Take this amulet on your journey to keep you safe and to remember me. When we come together again, I will wear it once more.” She pushes it even deeper into the mix of broken shells that now envelopes her grandfather — down as far as it will go.

About a week after the excavation was finished my mom
phoned. “So how's my junior archaeologist doing? After finding a prehistoric Indian in Aunt Margie's yard, I hope you're not going to tell me you're now out digging for dinosaurs.” Mom laughed as if it was the funniest joke in the world. It was good to hear her so happy.

“Actually, Uncle Stuart says that's it for backyard digging,” I said. “Now that we've finished making the pond, he says there's going to be no digging up of anything — not even weeds.” Then, before Mom had a chance to crack any more jokes, I poured out the whole story to her — about the fight with Aunt Margaret, about Mrs. Hobbs dying, the pendant ... everything.

When there was silence, I thought maybe I'd made her cry again. “Oh, Peggy, I'm sorry I haven't been there for you.”

“Mom, everything's okay. I'm okay. But I still miss you.”

“And I miss you, too, Peggy. But I have good news. I've got a job!” At first I felt happy, but then I realized my mom's news meant I'd have to leave Crescent Beach.

“When am I moving with you to Toronto?”

“You're not.”

I stopped breathing. “You mean I'm staying here with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stuart?”

“Yes. For a while ...” After a moment, she added, “And so am I!”

I was confused and didn't know what to say.

“Peggy, my new job is in Vancouver. I'm coming home, sweetheart. We're going to be together in just a few days.”

I started to sniffle. “Mom ... that's the best news I've heard in a long time!” My voice had gone up
entire octave so that I sounded like Mickey Mouse.

Later that afternoon I sat by the new pond in the backyard. I liked the way the ferns dipped just over the edge, their graceful fronds reflected in the water. Kneeling, I searched for the baby koi fish swiftly manoeuvring around the rocks and lily pads. I smiled when I looked at the tiny brass plaque Aunt Margaret had made that read: peggy's pond. When I gazed into the clear, dark water, I caught my own happy reflection and laughed. Then I remembered it was time to get ready — TB and I were going sailing.

While I was learning to be an archaeologist, I had the opportunity to study the remains of an individual removed from a disturbed burial site at Crescent Beach, British Columbia. When I first encountered the remains, housed in the osteology lab at Simon Fraser University, I was fascinated by the bean-shaped hole in the frontal bone and the bent and fused vertebrae that looked more like a boomerang. At first those bones were nothing other than dry and brittle fragments of matter — no more full of life than a bunch of LEGO blocks. But as I learned to read the bones I was surprised to find myself thinking more of the individual they represented and the life he had led. After three months, I completed a detailed analysis and research report, which had grown to be more than a hundred pages. I also had a new-found respect and sense of connection to the individual. This story grew out of that experience.

While all of the characters in this book are fictitious, the town of Crescent Beach does exist on top of a prehistoric Coast Salish summer village and burial site. Problems first began in the early twentieth century when people saw the place as a wonderful summer retreat. As roads and a railway were built, there were major disturbances, and several burial sites were exposed. Some of those sites were simple, like the one described in this
book. Later burials were more elaborate and contained such grave goods as beaded bracelets and carved antler handles. Archaeologists believe the height of occupation for the Crescent Beach site was between thirty-four hundred and sixteen hundred years ago.

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