Pocahontas Leads the Way Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Disney Enterprises, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-06883-3

  Lexile: 710L

  Book design by Margie Peng

  Visit disneybooks.com

  For Jill, Ryan, and Lady Unicorn

  —T.R.

  Special thank-you to Dawn Jackson (Saginaw Chippewa), Cultural Consultant

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Summer Harvest

  Chapter 2: The Healer

  Chapter 3: A Journey Begins

  Chapter 4: A Rocky Start

  Chapter 5: Facing Facts

  Chapter 6: Getting to Know Each Other

  Chapter 7: A Thorny Situation

  Chapter 8: The Plant

  Chapter 9: Grandmother Willow

  Chapter 10: Home Again

  The summer sun shone hot on Pocahontas’s shoulders. It made her feel restored, like a bud reaching the earth’s surface and drinking in the rays of energy to make it grow—just as the bean crop around her had done, coming to life bold and plentiful in the sun.

  She plucked a bean and dropped it in her basket. She smiled to herself, thinking what a marvel it was that every year these crops that fed and nourished her village were planted alongside the corn and the squash, each working to help the others grow: The cornstalks provided the bean vines something to hold on to and grow tall, while the beans helped breathe life into the corn. The squash leaves below shaded and protected both the corn and the beans. It was a kind of magic, and Pocahontas never grew tired of discovering new ways this magic showed itself in the land.

  “No!” A little boy’s shout tore Pocahontas away from her thoughts.

  Pocahontas glanced toward the sound. Nakoma, a girl close to Pocahontas’s age, was picking beans, too. Tomoy, Nakoma’s little brother, had been a handful all day, tugging on Nakoma’s skirt, complaining about the heat, and refusing to follow any of Nakoma’s instructions.

  Nakoma was trying to get Tomoy to help her fill her basket, but Tomoy wasn’t helping at all. He was just hiding in the plants for shade. On the other side of Nakoma’s ankles, her younger sister, Alawa, was dutifully picking the beans just the way Nakoma was showing her.

  Nakoma caught Pocahontas watching them. “You’re doing it wrong, you know,” Nakoma called over.

  Pocahontas paused, clutching the beans she had just picked. She looked at her hands, confused.

  “You should pick them top to bottom, in rows. The way you’re doing it, one at a time, from all different places on the vines—you’re going to miss some,” Nakoma said.

  Pocahontas forced herself to smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She returned her attention to the bean plants. That’s why we aren’t friends, Pocahontas thought. Even though Nakoma had enough of her own chores to focus on, she still found time to tell everyone else what they should be doing and how they should be doing it. And she always had to follow the rules.

  Sometimes when Pocahontas watched Nakoma with her siblings, she’d feel a pang of jealousy, wishing she had such close companions. And she’d wonder if she should try a little harder and give the other girl a chance. Maybe they’d become friends after all.

  But then Nakoma would say or do something that reminded Pocahontas just how different they were. So Pocahontas would give up any hope that the two might become close.

  Pocahontas sighed and looked down at the river below, beyond the gardens and lodges. The water was much higher than usual for the summer. It had rained nonstop for the past three days, which had worried the village, as they were losing precious time to harvest their crops. Nakoma was right about one thing: efficiency was more important than ever. There was extra pressure to get all the beans, corn, and squash picked and stored so the tribe would have food to last through winter.

  Pocahontas never minded the work. But sometimes, when she was doing the same thing over and over and over again, it was hard not to get distracted. That rushing river water was so irresistible. Pocahontas closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her shoulders, letting the other sounds fade away until all she could hear was the river in the distance—water tumbling, journeying, rushing off somewhere new; always, always going.

  Then cries broke through Pocahontas’s moment of peace. Tomoy was wailing at his sister’s feet. Nakoma tried to shush him, with little effect.

  Pocahontas set down her basket of beans and walked over to them. “Hey there, little one.” She crouched next to the boy. “What’s the matter?”

  Nakoma folded her arms. “He always does this,” she said. “Whenever there’s work to be done, he whines and complains and finds excuses.” She huffed. “This time he says he doesn’t feel well.”

  “I’m hot,” the boy sobbed.

  “It’s summer, Tomoy. Of course it’s hot. This is the first time we’ve seen sun in three days,” Nakoma said.

  “Sometimes just looking at the river can help cool me down,” Pocahontas said. “I like to imagine wading in and letting the water rush around my ankles. We can do that after we’re done picking the crops. What do you say?”

  Tomoy sniffled, still crying. “I want to go now!”

  Pocahontas looked at the little boy. His thick, dark hair was clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. Streaks of tears ran down his cheeks, which were blotched red and flushed with heat. Pocahontas felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Even against her own sun-soaked skin, Tomoy’s face felt like it was on fire.

  “I think he has a fever,” Pocahontas said to Nakoma.

  Nakoma kneeled down, looking stunned. “What?” She felt her brother’s forehead. “Oh, no—I thought—I just assumed he was trying to get attention.”

  She turned to her younger sister. “Alawa,” Nakoma said, her face full of worry. “Go fetch Mother, now!”

  The little girl ran to find their mother among the other village women picking beans. Nakoma lifted Tomoy into her arms, and he cried even harder. “I’m sorry,” Nakoma said, her voice soft. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

  Nakoma looked down at her basket, only half full of beans.

  “Don’t worry,” Pocahontas said. “I’ll finish this section.”

  Nakoma nodded and rushed off in the direction Alawa had run. Pocahontas watched them go. She’d never felt such a terrible fever. She wondered if Tomoy would be all right. Glancing back at the river, Pocahontas closed her eyes once more, focusing all her energy in that direction.

  Send some of your cool relief to Tomoy, Pocahontas thought, willing the river to listen. He needs it.

  Pocahontas filled up her basket and Nakoma’s as quickly as she could before she ran down to the healer in the village. Word had already spread about Tomoy’s fever, and other people were beginning to gather as well. Everyone wanted to know what they could do to help the boy.

  Pocahontas joined the group standing outside, trying to peek over their shoulders and around their waists to see what was happening. Pocahontas could just make out the shape of her father, Powhatan, the chief of her people. His large, commanding presence was easy enough to spot from far away. But that was all she could see.

  Nakoma was standing off to the side of the small crowd, clutching her little sister’s hand. She looked miserable.

  “Does Kekata know what’s wrong?” Pocahontas asked Nakoma.

  “He’s examining Tomoy and helping to keep him cool. We’re supposed to stay away in case he’s contagious.” Nakoma sniffled.

  Pocahontas put her hand on Nakoma’s shoulder and waited with her. Finally, the healer, Kekata, emerged from the lodge with Chief Powhatan and Nakoma’s parents.

  “Tomoy has a high fever,” Kekata said, addressing the crowd. The whole village tended to be involved when a tribe member fell ill, both to help out as needed and to be cautious in case the sickness spread. “I’ve seen this kind of illness before, though not often. I have enough medicine to get him through the next couple of nights. But he’s very ill. I will need to make more of this medicine—otherwise the boy will not survive.”

  Next to Pocahontas, Nakoma let out a small whimper.

  “What do you require to make the medicine, Kekata?” Pocahontas’s father asked. “We’ll send a team to fetch whatever it is.”

  “The ingredient I need is an herb, a white flowering plant that blooms in the shape of soft fingers. I was going to make a trip to replenish my supply a few days ago, but then the rains came.” Kekata held up a dried plant. Tiny white buds dotted the green stem, giving it the appearance of a thick tail feather. “This is the last one I have, which I’ll use in Tomoy’s medicine tonight. It grows plentifully in a grove to the north. It will take about two days in either direction.”

  “Then we’ll send our fastest men,” Chief Powhatan said. “Mingan, Pikwa, Wahun—you’ll set out immediately and bring back as much as you can carry.” The three strong village men nodded in agreement.

  Pocahontas stared at the plant Kekata was holding. Like the rest of the tribe, she’d been taught from a young age to identify all the plants that grew around her: what was safe for eating, g
ood for medicine, practical for shelter, and helpful for other uses. She didn’t know the name of this plant, but she was sure she’d seen it before.

  Pocahontas spoke up. “Wait!” Her father, Kekata, Nakoma, and the rest of the crowd turned to look at the daughter of the chief. “I saw this plant down the river. It’s just off the bank.” She looked at Chief Powhatan. “Father, when we were fishing last month, I went ashore and gathered raspberries, remember? I’m sure I saw this plant growing next to the berry patch.”

  “Pocahontas,” her father began, using the voice he always did when he was going to tell his daughter no.

  She continued quickly before he could go on. “I’m sure it was there. It looked just like that plant.”

  Kekata nodded thoughtfully. “It may be that you saw the plant there, Pocahontas. But with the heavy rains of the last few days, the river is swollen and flooded. The waters are too rough for the men to journey safely downriver. The rapids will be almost impassable.”

  “But it will be much faster than the trip you described,” Pocahontas protested. “It might only take one day instead of the four days it will take to get to the grove to the north and back!”

  “Pocahontas,” the chief said firmly, “if our men get caught in the rapids and drown, then not only will Tomoy not have the medicine he needs, but we’ll have lost more of our people. Everyone would be worse off than before.” He nodded to the men chosen to make the journey. “We’ll proceed with the plan to go north.”

  With the chief’s words, the crowd of villagers broke up and everyone began to return to their usual activities.

  Pocahontas was disappointed. She knew how high the water was; she’d been watching it rush and churn and tumble all day. But weren’t her people supposed to be brave? Wasn’t the health of little Tomoy worth the risk?

  “Go on,” she heard Nakoma say. Alawa had been tugging at her arm, begging to run to her mother. Nakoma let the little one go, and Nakoma’s mother scooped Alawa into her arms, kissing the hair on her youngest child’s head.

  Pocahontas watched the men pack their blankets and supplies, getting ready for the foraging trip. She watched her father speak with Kekata and Nakoma’s parents in a hushed voice. She watched the other villagers store the day’s crops, care for the young children, begin the evening’s dinners, and set about all the other usual tasks for that time of day.

  And then she watched Nakoma, whose face was filled with deep sadness for her brother. Pocahontas knew that look of grief. She’d seen it on her own father’s face on the rare occasion someone mentioned her mother. But unlike with her mother, who had passed away years before when Pocahontas was a baby, this time Pocahontas could do something.

  “Come with me,” Pocahontas said to Nakoma. “I have an idea.”

  Pocahontas ushered Nakoma away from Kekata’s lodge and the activity of the village. She led her closer to the river, where the rushing water would drown out any chance of their being overheard.

  “What’s going on?” Nakoma asked.

  “I’m sure I saw that plant your brother needs for his medicine. And if I’m right, we can pick it and get back long before the warriors return. Even before Tomoy needs his next dose. It will give him a much better chance to survive,” Pocahontas said.

  “We can pick it?” Nakoma raised her eyebrows. “How would we do that?”

  “We’ll take a canoe,” Pocahontas said.

  “But you heard your father and Kekata. The waters are too dangerous.”

  “I’ve gone down the river fishing with my father a million times,” Pocahontas said. “I’m sure I’ve been on the river when it was this high before. And anyway, we really wouldn’t be going that far.”

  Nakoma looked at the river. Pocahontas wondered if Nakoma heard what she did: the water almost begging the girls to jump in, its current running and pointing in the direction of the plant that would heal Nakoma’s brother.

  “It’s been calling me all day,” Pocahontas said softly. “My father has shown me all the tricks for avoiding the most dangerous parts.”

  “While you were listening to the river, I should have been listening to Tomoy,” Nakoma said. “Then maybe we would have realized he was sick sooner—and people would already be on their way to bring the cure.” She wiped a tear falling down her cheek. “I owe this to him.” She turned to Pocahontas, her eyes determined. “Let’s go.”

  Taking care to remain unseen, Pocahontas and Nakoma walked along the river to the place where the tribe’s dugout canoes were stored. The boats were all made from tree trunks that had been burned in patches, then scraped and smoothed out to form a hollow, round-bottomed space inside. Some canoes were so large they could hold up to forty men. Pocahontas knew that would be more than she and Nakoma could handle.

  “That one should do.” Pocahontas pointed at one of the smaller canoes, which fortunately was at the edge of the collection of boats. Several paddles rested inside. Nakoma and Pocahontas began to push and drag the boat toward the river. The ground was coated with slime and mud from the river water, which helped the canoe glide along in spite of its weight.

  When they reached the riverbank, the girls stopped and watched the water. Pocahontas could see that it did actually look higher and choppier than she’d noticed before. There was usually a drop down to the water, but now it sloshed up and over the sides of the bank.

  “You’re sure you can navigate this?” Nakoma asked, staring at the water.

  Pocahontas looked behind them at the village. No one had noticed the girls moving the canoe. No one was going to stop them.

  “I can do it. We can do it. We’ve been on this river and in these boats our whole lives,” Pocahontas said. “On the count of three?”

  Nakoma nodded.

  The girls pushed the canoe up to the water’s edge. They gripped the wood tight as the water lapped around the nose of the boat, trying to grab it and pull it along in the current.

  “One…two…” the girls counted together, bending their knees in a crouch so they could spring forward quickly, “three!”

  On three, Nakoma and Pocahontas shoved the boat in the water and jumped in. The canoe immediately lurched away from the bank. Pocahontas quickly grabbed one of the paddles and shoved it against a river rock to help straighten out the boat. The canoe shot down the river, the sound of rushing water filling Pocahontas’s ears with its song. She breathed in the crisp, clean air and skimmed her fingers along the frothing surface. This was her favorite place to be: on the water, in a boat, on her way somewhere.

  “And away we go!” Pocahontas cheered, twisting around to see Nakoma behind her.

  Nakoma was wearing a very different expression. Her face was almost as gray as the rocks near the bank. “Are you sure we aren’t going too fast?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No such thing!” Pocahontas shouted, grinning. She tipped her head back and watched the towering evergreen trees rush past. She imagined the branches pushing their canoe along, helping the girls move swiftly. Birds perched overhead, the only creatures who might have felt freer than Pocahontas did. On the shore, a deer, munching on some plants, looked up as the canoe bobbed past. Pocahontas waved.

  “Pocahontas!” Nakoma cried.

  Nakoma was pointing shakily downriver. Pocahontas followed her gaze and looked at the waters ahead. The rapids were approaching—fast.

  This was the part of the river that had worried Chief Powhatan and Kekata and made them decide the trip was too dangerous. The rapids had come up much sooner than Pocahontas had expected, likely because the whole river was moving faster than normal.

  The rapids were always dangerous, but they were a part of the daily life of the Powhatan people when they went downriver. On the calmest days, the rapids would gently dip the canoes in a few spots. On the most treacherous days, it required a good amount of paddling to keep the boats on a steady course. But Pocahontas had gone through these rapids so many times with her father she had the motions memorized.

  “Grab a paddle!” Pocahontas shouted to Nakoma.

  “I’ve got one!” Nakoma shouted back.

  As their canoe approached the rapids, the sound of the river grew louder and louder, crashing against rocks, tumbling and hurrying to get wherever it needed to go.