White Water by Linda I. Shands

still in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher. Kara sighed. Mom always made sure the kitchen was spotless and the refrigerator cleaned out before they left on a trip, even if it was just a couple of days. Anne was like that too. In fact, Anne was like Mom in a lot of ways.
    Kara zipped her duffel bag shut and hurried down the stairs. At the bottom, she hesitated when she heard voices in the kitchen. Maybe she shouldn’t interrupt. Besides, she couldn’t talk to Anne if someone else was around. She started to turn around and go back to her room, but Dad’s voice caught her attention.
    â€œThen you think I should tell her now? I wish I could be sure she will understand.”
    â€œWakara is wise for one so young, but you must follow your heart.”
    Kara stood there stunned. Dad and Anne were talking about her! What did she need to understand? And why all the secrecy? Was this what had Dad and Colin acting so weird? She hesitated. Part of her wanted to run back to her room and forget what she had heard. But if something was wrong, she needed to know about it.
    She turned toward the kitchen door just as Dad stepped out carrying a bundle of papers in one hand and a dingy brown, canvas-covered book in the other. When he saw her standing there, a flicker of dismay crossed his face . “Wakara.” He shifted the papers to his other hand. “How much of that did you hear?”
    Anne appeared in the doorway and shot her a reassuring smile. Kara decided to be honest. “Just the part about you not wanting to tell me something because you’re afraid I won’t understand, but Anne thinks I will.”
    Dad nodded. “I hope so.” He motioned her into the kitchen. “We received a package from your grandfather today. He asked me to read the material, then give it to you.” He nodded at Anne. “Would you please make a pot of decaf? This might take a while.”
    It might as well have been a double espresso , Kara thought an hour later as she took the bundle of papers and the canvas notebook up to her room. She would never sleep tonight anyway. She tossed her great-grandfather’s journal on the bed, stared at her reflection in the mirror, and repeated her given name, “Wakara Windsong Sheridan.” Her Yahi name.
    She lifted the charcoal drawing of her great-grandmother from the wall, held it up next to her own face, and compared the features. Eyes and nose, the shape of her chin and brow, were identical. The first Wakara was certainly her ancestor. But Kara had always thought her great-grandmother was Nez Perce. Great-grandpa Irish had written a letter saying he had found the infant Wakara in the woods near a Nez Perce reservation. She had always believed that. But now, if what Dad and Grandpa had read in Irish Sheridan’s journal was true, almost everything she thought she knew about her namesake was a lie.

T HE BEAT OF A BOOT-STOMPING country song shocked Kara into awareness. She groaned and fumbled for the off switch on her radio alarm, then squinted at the digital clock. Six o’clock. She had fallen asleep around midnight, after reading the first couple pages of Irish’s journal. It hadn’t made much sense to her, but she knew that was because she’d been so upset and tired. She wanted to read it again, but this morning they were leaving for Eagle Lodge, and she wouldn’t have time to do anything but last-minute packing .
    She looked at the clock again, then reached for the telephone on her nightstand. Tia’s parents had insisted she go to school today, so Kara knew she would be awake.
    Tia picked up on the third ring. “What’s up?”
    Kara flinched. Her friend had gotten a telephone for Christmas, complete with caller ID. Kara wasn’t sure she liked it, but that didn’t matter now. “You aren’t going to believe this, Tia, but remember the pages from my great-grandfather’s journal? The ones that came with