Chapter 21

“He looks busy,” Morgan hedged. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

“It’s okay. He loves to meet people who admire his work.”

Miriam walked toward the old man. Morgan followed. The man had once been tall, but was now stooped with age. His long white hair was streaked with black and tied back in a braid.

“Grandfather,” Miriam called out.

He straightened up, turned, and looked in their direction. A smile spread across his wrinkled face. But as they approached him, his smile faltered, a look of disbelief replaced it. “Waabishki-ma’iingan,” he said almost in a whisper.

Morgan recognized the word at once. It was what the woman had said to him the night she appeared at the campfire. The old man in the cemetery had said it, too.