When Two Feathers Fell from the Sky

by Margaret Verble

Genres: Native American & Aboriginal

Synopsis

Louise Erdrich meets Karen Russell in this deliciously strange and daringly original novel from Pulitzer Prize finalist Margaret Verble: set in 1926 Nashville, it follows a death-defying young Cherokee horse-diver who, with her companions from the Glendale Park Zoo, must get to the bottom of a mystery that spans centuries.   Two Feathers, a young Cherokee horse-diver on loan to Glendale Park Zoo from a Wild West show, is determined to find her own way in the world. Two’s closest friend at Glendale is Hank Crawford, who loves horses almost as much as she does. He is part of a high-achieving, land-owning Black family. Neither Two nor Hank fit easily into the highly segregated society of 1920s Nashville. When disaster strikes during one of Two’s shows, strange things start to happen at the park. Vestiges of the ancient past begin to surface, apparitions appear, and then the hippo falls mysteriously ill. At the same time, Two dodges her unsettling, lurking admirer and bonds with Clive, Glendale’s zookeeper and a World War I veteran, who is haunted—literally—by horrific memories of war. To get to the bottom of it, an eclectic cast of park performers, employees, and even the wealthy stakeholders must come together, making When Two Feathers Fell from the Sky an unforgettable and irresistible tale of exotic animals, lingering spirits, and unexpected friendship.

Release date: October 12, 2021

Publisher: Mariner Books

Print pages: 385

Sample

When 
It 
Was

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It was long after the buffalo thundered toward a great salt lick in lines, bellowing, snorting, and flicking flies. Long after their path, beaten like a drum, had grown four feet wide and two feet deep and had been there for eons. It was after a civilization of tens of thousands of people settled in a large, fertile basin, built a city near the old buffalo trace, and thrived there for over three hundred years. After they laid their dead in stone box containers stacked in mounds thinly covered by dirt, tucked in clusters in caves or, occasionally, hidden alone in groves. After that entire culture was decimated by a change in the climate. After the rains came again, and seeds scattered by wind grew into oaks, hickories, walnuts, chestnuts, sourwoods, maples, pines, catalpas, and cedars; a forest, thick, wide, and high.

It was after the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Shawnee, and Muscogee agreed to share the forest, the creeks, and the salt lick as a common hunting ground for the good of their families. After the braves stalked game every fall and winter, won an occasional scalp in a fray, brought home meat, and enjoyed the fires of their women, played with their children, danced, smoked, and prayed.

It was after the white people came, saw the land was better than what they’d previously stolen, and proclaimed it was theirs. Said no Indians lived there, so nobody would, or should, object to their staking it. Said their big God-in-the-Sky in His goodness had reserved it especially for them. After they reinforced that God’s goodness with guns and dogs, and spread out all over the basin in fortified stations—French Lick, Freeland’s, Barton’s, Buchanan’s, and Robertson’s. It was after John Rains camped on that very spot and, in a single winter, slaughtered thirty-two bears in the knobs eventually named the Overton Hills. After the few bears that managed to survive had scattered.

It was after the allied tribes passed through on their way to the stations. After they explained to the whites (again) that this land was held in common and shared. After those Indians were bribed, humored, and shot. After other Indians hid in the trees and cane, killed who they could, and tried starving out the rest. After they stormed the big stockade and the smaller fortifications. After they were attacked by smallpox, canines, better weapons, and a cannon. After the stream of whites became never ending. After the Indians retreated, were cheated, and removed. After the few remaining buffalo were shot for meat, oil, and sport. After their path filled in with weeds and soil.

It was after Tennessee became a state, and a great Indian fighter became its first governor. After one of his grandsons-in-law built a lovely home for the governor’s granddaughter and started a plantation. After the Northern invaders arrived, the plantation owners fled, and an occupying army took over Nashville. After the Federals freed the slaves and worked hundreds of them to death. It was after General Hood’s army retreated from Atlanta, was decimated at Franklin, and, regrouping in and around that lovely home, wrecked it and all of its surrounds. It was after the Battle of Nashville snaked back and forth over that ground. After soldiers of both sides hid in the giant trees, in the cane, and among the mounds of that ancient civilization.

It was after the peace brought general poverty, hunger, and humiliation. After some former plantation owners sent their darker children north for educations, and started universities for them right there in Nashville. After one former owner bequeathed his dusky children their fair portion of his land, trying to give them a head start in the new order.

It was after a few enterprising entrepreneurs took advantage of the overall destruction, and created new wealth from honest hard work, and from scheming and double-dealing. After they promoted high standards for themselves and, especially, for others. After they developed a new hierarchy, almost identical to the one they replaced. After they invested in railways and electricity, and wanted to make more money by selling rides and wattage by transporting people to places other than work. After trolley parks became that business-problem solution and the new recreational rage in progressive cities all over the country. After the next owner of that formerly lovely home revived and expanded it, and donated two hundred acres of his land to build such a park for Nashville and christened it Glendale. After the laying of the tracks to Glendale was blocked by running into that ancient, prehistoric burial ground, which, aside from being in the way, contained pots, effigies, ear spoons, and whatnots, all worth a lot. After four thousand of the graves were destroyed and robbed, the bones broken and tossed. After the loot enriched several universities, museums, and private collections.

It was after Nashville Railway and Light ran electric lines out to Glendale. After lights were strung all over the place and amusement rides were erected. After both children and adults rode horses, zebras, a red goat, and a unicorn around and around and up and down to a calliope’s sound. After they spun in the Roulette Wheel’s screechy seats and dipped on a wobbly roller coaster that threw their hearts into their throats. After those delights were torn down and replaced with cages even taller than the surviving old trees and used to house a collection of exotic fowl.

It was also after a school for young ladies of higher culture was built abutting the park zoo, and provided instruction in Greek, Shakespeare, math, and archery. After it declined due to the death of its patron. After the Great War was fought, killed millions of people, and destroyed the old world order. After the global influenza pandemic killed millions more.

It was while buffalo, carrier pigeons, and other species were on their way to worldwide extinction, and a few forward-looking people became convinced that locking animals up was better than slaughtering them by the millions. After new pens for monkeys, bears, alligators, sea lions, tortoises, and buffalo were added at Glendale, to exhibit the animals and preserve them from total extermination.

It was in a time of a deep national disagreement over whether people were descended from monkeys. And a time when it’d been decided that even the children of Adam and Eve couldn’t be trusted to drink spirits, beer, and wine in public (or in private, if caught). It was also an era of dangerous racial and social divide. When men in white hoods expanded their tradition of terrorizing Negros to include Catholics, Jews, adulterers, and anybody else they didn’t particularly like.

But it was also when people were trying to shed their grief and get some relief. When the Shriners built a golf club next to Glendale, and hundreds came to the park zoo every warm weekday, and thousands came on the weekends. When people picnicked in droves, enjoyed concerts and shows, swung tennis rackets and croquet mallets, and ran separate races for fat folks and skinny ones. When they chased tickets dropped from aeroplanes, hunted Easter eggs for pony prizes, and joined civic clubs to socialize, fulfill their duties, and erect monuments to the past as they cared to recall it.

It was also a time of real work for those at Glendale who managed the animals, the people, and the living arrangements. For those who maintained the grounds, handled the horses, mucked the cages, and performed in the shows. When motion pictures were rumored soon to get sound, but vaudeville acts and Wild West shows were hanging around, and diving horses and their riders were still quite thrilling.

It was also when one of the star attractions at Glendale took a terrible fall. When an heir to part of an old plantation embarked on a difficult romance. When the zoo’s manager struggled with demons brought home from the Great War. When the patron of the place was trying to outwit his wayward children. And when strange, inexplicable occurrences began intruding upon daily living. It was also when the hippopotamus fell sick. Specifically, it was the summer of 1926.

The 
Main 
Act

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Two Feathers looked forty feet down into the pool. The water was peaceful and slightly brown, the color of the canvas containing it. Beneath the canvas was wood. Two looked at each hook securing the lining and at the boards they were nailed into. A few people were already on benches beyond the pool’s edges, but Two didn’t glance toward them. She was meticulously professional in checking her equipment, and, also, being mysterious.

She stepped back to the middle of the diving tower where the audience couldn’t see her, and eased down to the floor to pull off her cowboy boots. She was wearing her swimming costume under her robe, but diving required long socks and clunky shoes she didn’t like to be seen in. It required, also, a diving helmet that was hard to get on, and not particularly attractive. Two was on the floor because there were no benches up there. Her mare, Ocher, would come up the ramp alone, usually walking fast, but occasionally running, and sometimes at an angle. A knock into a bench would shake the whole tower, and although it’d never happened, everybody in the horse diving business (which wasn’t many people, but more than you’d expect) worried that someday a horse would run into something and bring an entire structure down. Horse diving was risky business. That’s why people liked it so much.

After Two changed into her shoes, she rose, closed her robe, and peeked out at the benches. They were filling, but not enough for her to yet step into the sunlight and wave. She retreated to deeper shade and flexed her fingers and wrists to loosen her joints, limbered her legs by stretching, and visualized Ocher coming up the ramp, hooves slapping the planks. She imagined grabbing hair and harness, swinging her leg. She saw Ocher carrying her to the edge of the platform and stopping abruptly. What was next was harder to gauge. It depended entirely on Ocher’s mood. Sometimes the horse liked to snort and prance. Sometimes she wanted it over. Two believed her steed’s decisions had to do with the size of the crowd. The bigger and louder, the more prancing around. Horses have pride. And show horses have more than most.

But, eventually, Ocher would dive. Always the extreme plunge, not a safer one. It was the dive both Ocher and the audience preferred, but for Two the most difficult. Ocher would go in headfirst, at a completely vertical angle, and it was easy to be tipped off her into the air. Also Ocher would jerk her head back at their landing to keep water out of her nose. It wasn’t uncommon for a diver to get hit in the face as the horse went in. Two would have to dodge, but not so far as to tilt over. The trick was to hang on at an angle while underwater, avoid getting hit or kicked, and come out straight, smiling, and in control. Like she’d done nothing more difficult than ride a bicycle to the end of the street. That illusion had helped make Two a star.

Two wiggled her helmet down over her hair. And she was tucking strands in when she spied Crawford leading Ocher down the path to the ramp. Both children and adults were reaching out to pat. One boy was skipping along close to Crawford, clearly chatting, asking questions. Crawford shook his head, nodded, or, maybe, replied. He was too distant for Two to hear. But she saw Ocher was alert and not overly excited. The ideal mood for a jump.

Two lifted a board in the floor and dropped her robe and cowboy boots straight down into an empty washtub for Crawford to retrieve and have for her after her dive. She walked to the front of the platform, smiled, and waved. The crowd waved back and clapped. Some men put their fingers between their teeth and whistled. Music piped through speakers started up: “I’m Sitting on Top of the World,” the current number one on the charts, and the song most often chosen while Two was on the platform. Two waved more. The clapping, whistles, and Al Jolson continued. Then Two turned her back, walked under the roof, and hopped onto a rail with extra padding and a plank that would keep her from falling should she lean back. By the time she was settled and calm, Ocher was at the end of the ramp and the music had stopped. Crawford shouted, “Three.” Two cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Three,” back.

Two flexed her fingers. Crawford shouted, “Two.” Two flexed her neck. She heard “One” and hooves on wood. She turned. Saw nostrils flaring, ears alert, muscles churning. Ocher was coming up fast. Pounding, nearer and nearer. When Two smelled her horse, she reached. Grabbed her mane, then the harness, and threw her leg over her back. She landed square and tightened her knees. Tucked her fingers under the leather. Then Ocher stopped. They were out in the open. The crowd cheered. The water reflected the sun. Drums started up. A bad imitation of an American Indian beat. Two flung her head back. Appeared to be praying to the sun. Really, she was limbering her neck.

Ocher snorted. Then backed up. Went forward. Eyed the crowd. Whinnied and nickered. The audience clapped louder. Ocher tossed her head. Shimmied down her back. But not from fear. Horses that didn’t like diving didn’t do it. There was no forcing after the initial try; a panicky horse is a danger to itself and its rider. And though a few animal protection activists complained, most folks still believed animals should work for their livings, just like people.

Ocher had been diving for five years before Two got her. She had the plunge down, and wanted to excel and have the pleasure of a jump done well. But she’d also developed a craving for recognition, a lust for attention, and a taste for the crowd. In short, Ocher was basking in the applause, and Two was becoming slightly impatient. Ocher could keep that up for a while. She didn’t have an accurate nose for when an audience was tiring of clapping and wanted to see the jump. And Two sensed this crowd was getting restless. She pressed her heels to Ocher’s sides.

Large, alert ears turned back, then forward. Ocher took a step to the edge of the hanging ramp. She inched down slowly; her muscles tensed, she pushed off hard. The crowd leapt to their feet cheering. Two ducked into Ocher’s mane, snuggled, and dived in unity and freedom. Two leaned in time to keep from getting knocked by Ocher’s head, and the splash was smooth and the water warm. Ocher hit the bottom with her front hooves evenly placed, and she pushed off strong. Two centered herself on Ocher’s back, and they rose together, dripping in sunshine, sparkling with water, and to great applause and more drums. Two undid the strap of her helmet, gave it a tug, and pulled it away from her head while Ocher climbed the ramp out of the water.

Two hopped off. Waved, grinned, and clicked her heels. The drums died, the claps grew. Two slung tassels, shed water, and flung drops. She waved more, grinned and glistened; her costume reflected the sun. The audience was eating her up. And Two loved the attention. Radiated in the admiration. And was thankful to have made it out of the tank alive and uninjured after another dive.

Crawford was on the other side of Ocher, holding her harness, gazing over the crowd at the Overton Hills. He’d camped in them as a boy, still rode through them as a man. But his mind wasn’t on the knobs, or at the diving tank either. It was on his past Saturday night. He didn’t show that. Or move. But Ocher shimmied like Two. She shook her mane, slung water, and sprinkled Crawford. It wasn’t an intentional slight. Ocher loved Crawford as much as she loved her rider.

Two moved to Ocher’s head, spread her fingers, and firmly grabbed her mane. She nuzzled her horse’s muzzle, and kept waving her free hand. The audience had clapped nonstop. And they didn’t let up. But Two never waited until the din abated. She said to Crawford and Ocher, “That’s all,” snatched her robe from a rail, slipped her arms in its sleeves, and picked up her boots. She waved once more. Then she lowered her head and walked off. She gave Ocher the last of the claps.

She stopped just past the ramp to sign autograph books held out in female hands. She also scribbled on newspaper ads where she and Ocher were lauded as “The World’s Most Thrilling and Daring Act.” But many of her fans were men, angling their shoulders to get in the front of the crowd, angling their smiles to get Two’s attention directed on them. She answered questions she heard every day she dived: “Are ya a real Indian?” “Do ya ever get water up your nose?” “Does your horse like diving?” “What are ya doing tonight?” The answers were “Yes,” Yes,” “Yes,” and, “Working.” Two rarely added details because the questions were simple, white people didn’t expect chatty Indians, and she had no intention of starting a romance.