“Left on her own,” my mother continued, “without a husband and with a small child, your grandmother did not give up. After all, among our people a woman is always the head of the family. Clan members are just as important to her as any husband. And that is true for her children, who inherit that clan from their mother’s side. That is why, like me, you belong to the Bird Clan while your father is Paint Clan just like his mother.”

She held out a spoonful of the stew. “Here, taste this.”

I remember how good that stew tasted. It was wonderful, as always. But before I could say anything my mother shook her head. “Needs more seasoning, doesn’t it?”

My mother reached into one of her jars of herbs, crumbled up several dried leaves, and shook them into the pot.

“So,” she said, “Wuhteh was not really on her own. With the help of her family and her other clan members, she began to trade. And she did well in that business, so well that when he was still a young boy, just a bit older than you, your father began to help her.”

My mother paused and lifted her head toward the sunset direction—as if someone was approaching. I looked, but there was no one to be seen. She shook her head and continued her story.

“It was not easy for your father. A childhood accident and sickness had weakened one of his legs and made him lame. But he made up for that by being a hard worker and he excelled at everything he tried. He took over the trading from his mother and did even better than she had done. He was also a great artist. He spoke well and was a wonderful singer. He had such a strong gentle voice. From the first day we met, I knew I wanted him for my husband.”

My mother went back to stirring the stew. It seemed that she had finished her story, but I wanted to know more.

“Can you tell me?” I asked. “What was it like then with my father?”

My mother pushed back her graying braid and sighed deeply. “It was not easy,” she said. Then she struck her stirring spoon hard against the side of the metal pot. “And now I will talk no longer because this stew is done.”

I haven’t thought of that conversation with my mother for a while. But now that Sequoyah has returned from Arkansas, all of those memories are coming back to me. And thinking about him makes me wonder again about what it was like in those days when my father was a young trader.