Sulphur Matches and Moriah's Ghost

By Dorothea Condry-Paulk

This novel is about a young Cheyenne Native-American girl named Crissy Levi who loves her family and her numerous pet animals. Arriving in Oklahoma from California to live with her Grandparents on their farm, she must learn new things about her Native-American culture and her new rural-American culture. But beyond this challenge she becomes aware of her Grandmother Marmis deepest spiritual belief that all that happens is Gods way of growing his people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479748501

Dorothea Condry-Paulk

Dorothea Paulks live in Oklahoma where she manages her farm, writes and paints. Retirement from career in teaching language arts and in hospital nursing freed time to write. She has published five books at Xlibris since retiring. Sulphur Matches is her fourth novel and her first juvenile book. Adapted from the adult novel, courtesy of Andrew Carnegie, it focuses on the six-year-old Crissy instead of adult characters. She has been writing and publishing since the late sixties: clapbooks, shortstories, articles and one play which Pueblo Press published in 1980. She received her MA in writing from UCO in 1974.

Book preview

Chapter I

THE STICKER PATCH

Tuesday afternoon came sooner than Arns would have liked. If he hurried, he’d have an hour with his horse, Black Feather, before Charlie, the grocer, could get the route run, and that’s what he was doing, hurrying toward the pasture with just a few oats skittering noisily in the bottom of his swinging bucket.

He slowed at the crack of Grans’ rifle, wondering how he could avoid seeing anything dead, anything as lifeless as Black Feather’s mama when he was foaled. Grans would be returning to the house soon, he thought. He flinched at the sound of the second shot, cut far to the right to avert their crossing paths. Just then, his young sister, Crissy called out to him. He turned with annoyance, not wishing to be delayed. She’d followed him out of the house and now, after picking her way to the middle of the sticker patch south of the garden, she was stuck there.

Ohooooo! she screamed tearfully, her small face stretching with panic. The buggy she still clung to held not only Sarah, her cat, but one of the hens. Arns! she pleaded, her free arm treading air as she attempted to balance herself upon bare toes.

You little punk! he returned, watching Sarah stretch precariously over the wobbling side, meowing loudly and anticipating escape while the chicken found its’ route over his sister’s head and went side-hopping and cackling home.

Crissy was barely six and acting like it, he thought with annoyance for he desperately needed to protect his horse from the grocer, Charlie , who demanded him as payment for their food bill.

Moriah! Crissy screamed after her, but the clump of feathers gave her no speck of attention and disappeared inside the chicken house where she stirred an awful ruckus and sent a flurry of feathers and grumpy roommates fleeing her bad humor.

Just five minutes either side of now and he’d have missed all this, he thought. He whirled about and walked on a few steps, twisted around again to see her crouched and trying to remove thorns from her heels. Loud sipping sounds whistled between her teeth.

You got yourself out there! Arns cried. Just get yourself back! He glanced at the screen door knowing Marmi wasn’t about to leave her work as long as he was there to see to Crissy. For all he knew, this might be the last hour he’d have with the pony. Yell for Marmi! he suggested.

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About that time, Sarah poked her head up once more, and wasted no time springing as far as possible, a feat that toppled the buggy and triggered a loud volume of tears from Crissy. The rifle cracked once more, and Arns moved a few feet toward Crissy. The sooner he got this over, the sooner he’d be on his way.

This is the last time I’m gonna do this, ya hear? he scolded crossly, moving with more decision. The commotion stirred Cinnamon from under the porch, his place of semi-retirement since Arns had turned his affections to Black Feather. His tail wagged undecidedly until he whined and barked himself into a chicken-chasing mood, routing them from their house and yard and sending them off in every direction before he dropped exhausted beneath the mulberry, panting and tongue-dripping.

See what you caused? she snubbed as he approached. If you’d come when I asked, everything would be fine. She rubbed at the tears, leaving even richer paths of brown across her cheeks as her eyes traced Moriah’s hasty escape into the patch of wheat. At least, Arns supposed it was Moriah. They all looked alike to him with the exception of Old Ben, the rooster, of course.

For two cents I’d just leave you here, Arns delayed, relishing his power over the situation. Since his eighteenth birthday last month, he’d felt remote from this extreme youth.

Rescuing his friend Joe Bob Dalton last weekend from river moccasins, those evil snakes, has sealed his sense of maturity.

Crissy stared back, stubbornly refusing to reach until he gave her cause, though he knew her feet must smart painfully. A large tear gathered in the corner of her eye and rolled down her willful face. He saw her lips tighten to resist it, but it found her mouth and glistened there.

Arns’ resistance snapped. He looped the bucket over an arm and hoisted her onto his hip. You gonna come back out here again? he asked before moving a step.

Crissy hesitated only a second. I won’t! she agreed, twisting her mouth and tasting tears. Why are tears salty? she asked.

Arns didn’t know why. You oughta have some shoes on. It’s too cold to go bare-footed now.

Grandma says it’ll make me tough, keep the bad colds away this winter. Her words spurted between each bounce against his hip.

Won’t help next winter none if you get pneumonia tomorrow, and he righted her once more on safe ground.

The buggy, she reminded.

Grudgingly, Arns pushed the buggy up when he noticed Grans crossing toward them, a clump of fur at his side. Immediately, he shoved the thing away from him, and started on for Black Feather, leaving Crissy to pluck the thorns from her feet.

CHAPTER II

GRANDFATHER LEVI

He’d gone only a step or so when Grans’ voice stopped him. With dread, Arns watched his approach.

What’d you get? he asked, though he could see his grandfather had bagged a couple of brown squirrels.

Grans held them up by their tails. They’re full of walnuts. I’ll see if we can talk Marmi into a platter of candy, cake maybe, he said, winking at Crissy. She was on her haunches relieving the buggy wheels of their spiny cargo, her eyes drawn mostly to the furry catch.

We got walnut trees out there, grandpa?

Several of them, Grans said in the robust tones a brisk walk always produced in him. Arns will show you.

The acid that’d started with the first rifle crack shot to Arns’ tongue. I’ve got to get Black Feather in for Charlie, remember?

Grans seemed unperturbed and aloof to any implication of wrongdoing in this deal with Charlie, though he had to know it was a criminal thing to sell something that belongs to another. He gestured toward the thickest cluster of trees where their own herd of cattle had rested