“Was my father good at what he did?” I asked.

My mother nodded. “He was a talented silversmith,” she said. “He was the best blacksmith in our town. Once he stopped drinking, he worked hard at whatever he chose to do.”

“Was he unkind when he drank?” I asked. I wanted to know why their marriage had ended when I asked that question.

But my mother simply shook her head. “No,” she said. “He was always a kind person.”

“Why did he give up smithing if he was so good at it?”

“Your father has always had many ideas. And whenever he had a new idea, he would put aside what he had been doing before. He has always been very determined.”

My mother paused then and looked out the window, as if remembering something. “It is just,” she added, “that some of his ideas have been more useful than others.”

My father now lives at the house of that second wife. Sally Guess, whom he married six years ago, is her name. She comes from a family even more prominent than my mother’s.

Their marriage did not end after she destroyed his work. He did not get angry at her about the fire. But when he went to Arkansas Sally Guess and their little daughter, Ahyokah, did not go with him. She preferred to remain close to her family here in Willstown and maintain her farm. However, she and Sequoyah did not divorce. She and Ahyokah have even visited him in Arkansas, and I understand that my father is quite close to my half sister.

Their big cabin and their farm are far over on the other side of Willstown. That cabin shows that Sally Guess comes from a well-off family. It is so large and well-built that it makes my mother’s cabin look poor in comparison. Every now and then I see Sally and Ahyokah, who is now six, nearly the same age I was when my father left my mother’s house. Whenever I’ve seen her, Ahyokah has seemed like a bright little girl—her dark, serious eyes darting everywhere, taking everything in. She also has a quick laugh that sounds almost like a robin’s chirping. I suppose that to some people she would seem likable. I think I would find it rather irritating to be around her.

Still, I have to admit that seeing her has almost made me wonder what it would be like to have a little sister such as her, to not be the only young person in my mother’s home. But that is not what I want. I have no desire at all to get to know her. I have never spoken to either her or her mother. I do not think they know who I am.

“Uwohali,” my mother says again. “What is it?”