“Wichapiwin,” Hanna said, dipping her head in an awkward half bow, half curtsey. She had no idea if her gesture signified respect to the Sioux, but she hoped the woman would understand her intent. If there was one thing Mama had drilled into her from the moment she was born, it was respect for older people.

Wichapiwin knelt and fingered one of the prairie plants at her feet. A little taller than ankle height, it had hairy stems that held pale purple flowers in small, inconspicuous clusters. Wichapiwin looked up to make sure that Hanna was watching.

“Timpsina,” Wichapiwin said.

Understanding flashed through Hanna’s mind. “Timpsina!” she exclaimed. Prairie turnip—that was timpsina. Wichapiwin was showing her the live plant.

Wichapiwin stretched out all five fingers, then indicated the plant’s leaflets, in groups of five that echoed the shape of her hand.

“Oh! That’s how you know the plant, because of the five leaves?” Hanna held up her own hand.

Raising her chin, Wichapiwin pursed her lips and turned her head in the direction of the low rise that stretched toward the south. Hanna saw numerous patches of the purple-flowered plants. There was no doubt in her mind now; Wichapiwin was definitely pointing by using her lips instead of a forefinger.

Wichapiwin took a stick from the bag over her shoulder. Hanna saw that it was black and sharp at the tip, probably fire-tempered. Wichapiwin began using the stick to dig into the soil at the base of the timpsina’s stem. The ground was hard and dry; it took her some time to uproot the plant.

She showed Hanna a tuber with a long taproot. Of course it looked nothing like the braided bulbs; it was covered with black dirt. Wichapiwin knocked some of the dirt loose, then twisted the tuber from its stem, leaving the taproot attached. She rubbed away some of the soil with her fingers, revealing a dull brown husk. Finally, she peeled the husk partway, so Hanna could see the tuber’s pure white interior.

“So you peel them first, and then dry them, and then use the root to braid them together,” Hanna said, making gestures.

Wichapiwin spoke again and mimed eating, bringing her hand to her mouth, then motioned toward Hanna.

“Oh, yes, we did eat them,” Hanna replied. “I like timpsina.” She smacked her lips noisily.

Wichapiwin smiled. She put the tuber into her sack and began to work on the next plant. Hanna wanted to help. She wondered if she should return to the wagon for the shovel and trowel, but as she watched, she realized that the pointed stick was perfectly suited to the work. Wichapiwin dug up each turnip while causing the least amount of disturbance to the surrounding earth.

Hanna thought again about the braid of timpsina she had received. It had held at least two dozen bulbs, and only now did she realize how much time and effort had gone into that gift.