“Because my mom told me.”
“And what did your mom tell you about me?” she asked, and when I didn’t answer, she went on, with a touch of smugness. “Every year, the Seneca offered a sacrifice—a young maiden from within the tribe—to the great spirit of the falls, and it was considered a great honor to be chosen. The women would compete for the chance to be the one to lie in a white canoe that would pass over the falls into the spirit world. There, she would be with the rest of her kin and honored for her sacrifice.
“In 1679, there was a beautiful and strong woman named Lela-wala who wished to be chosen for that year’s sacrifice. Lela-wala was the daughter of the Seneca’s Chief Eagle Eye, and though his wife and other children had died years before, he blessed her decision, and Lela-wala was chosen for the sacrifice. There was also a French explorer named La Salle, who had been living among the Seneca for some time, working to convert them to Christianity, as was the custom of the time. When he learned of the tribe’s plans to sacrifice Lela-wala, he went to Chief Eagle Eye and the other leaders to beg them to withhold their sacrifice.
“But they would not be persuaded. One of the tribal leaders answered him, ‘Your words witness against you. You say that Christ sets us an example. We will follow it. Why should one sacrifice be great, and our sacrifice be terrible?’
“And so LaSalle went away, devastated and furious with Chief Eagle Eye. But he did not understand the Seneca or their ways. He did not see Chief Eagle Eye’s grief at his daughter’s decision, as the chief was a very brave man who had to honor his daughter and his tribe, despite how precious Lela-wala was to him. While he was part of the great web of life and kin, both human and inhuman, she was the thing most dear to his heart that remained alive.
“On the day of sacrifice, the Seneca gathered on the riverbank to celebrate, feasting and singing and dancing, playing games and honoring ritual. When the time finally came for the white canoe to round the corner, everyone fell silent and watched as the little boat came into sight, decorated with fruits and flowers to honor Lela-wala’s life and her death, and the role both played in the tribe’s story.
“But when the boat entered the rush of the current, the tribe saw a second white canoe skirt out from beneath the trees on the far side of the river. Chief Eagle Eye’s grief had been so great that he had decided to join Lela-wala in her sacrifice. The current carried him swiftly toward the falls, and soon he was beside her.
“They looked at one another, their hands reaching out across the water that separated them, and the tribe lost their perfect serenity, a cry of both despair and gratitude rising up through them. Together, the two white canoes dropped over the falls, and the maiden and the chief slipped into the Happy Hunting Grounds, where they were changed into pure spirit, made whole and clean and strong.
“From then on, they lived beneath the falls, where the roaring sounds like quiet music.”
“You were wrong,” I said after a long silence.
Grandmother’s dark eyebrows flicked up, and her eyes brightened. “About what?”
“I didn’t like that story.”
“And you thought I was never wrong.”
I thought hard for a long minute. “Did Lela-wala and Eagle Eye really go to the Happy Hunting Grounds?”
She thought hard for a long minute. “I believe they did.”
“I’m scared to die,” I said.
“Even Jesus was scared to die, honey.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know everything.”
“Not everything.”
“Fine. I read it in a book, and I felt that it was true. Happy now?”
“And the girl who fell from the sky, she was scared when she jumped, wasn’t she?” I said, and Grandmother nodded.
“None of us is alone, Natalie. Her story is my story is your story.”
That’s what the song makes me think of, and I’m so deep in that memory that it takes me a second to surface when he stops playing, reaches for the bagged bottle on the piano, and takes another swig.
“That was beautiful,” I say, crossing the room, and he spins on the bench and spits out his mouthful across the carpet.
He drags one thick, suntanned arm across his mouth and says, “Who’re you?”
“Me?” I laugh. “Are you serious?”
Laughter comes spilling down the hall, and the boy grabs my arm and pulls me toward the back of the room. “Hey!” I object, trying to shake him off. “What are you doing?”
He whips back one of the curtains that cover two deep window bays and an alcove full of stacks of chairs and metal music stands. He pushes me behind the curtain and steps in after me, just as I hear the doors creak open and the laughter spill inward. I recognize the voices immediately: Matt, Megan, Rachel, and Derek Dillhorn.
“Tonight’s the night,” Rachel says triumphantly. “We’re going to find that ghost.”