The Return of the Indian by Lynne Reid Banks

Bear’s pulse, gave Bright Stars some simple instructions, and then said, “Gentlemen, I think, if you don’t mind, I’d better be getting back to St. Thomas’s. Goodness aloneknows how they’re coping without me! I’m afraid the unthinkable has happened and I have fallen asleep on duty … I will simply never live it down.”
    She shook hands with Bright Stars, and then gave her a pat—not on her shoulder, oddly, but on her stomach.
    “Take care of your husband,” she said. “And take care of yourself, too.” Bright Stars looked shy. “You’ll have a nice surprise for him if he doesn’t come to very soon!” Then she waved to the boys, straightened her wilted cap and, hiking up her skirt over her black stockings, clambered back into the cupboard.
    When she’d gone, Omri watched Bright Stars settling down at Little Bear’s side. He was still lying on the “table,” warmly wrapped up and sleeping soundly.
    “What did she mean about a surprise?” he asked Patrick, who was yawning hugely.
    “Oh, come on! Didn’t you notice?”
    “Notice what?”
    “Her big belly. She’s going to have a baby.”
    “A baby! Wow! That’d be great!”
    “Are you nuts? That’s all we need!”
    “Indian women manage by themselves,” said Omri, who’d read about it. “They don’t make any fuss. Not like our mothers.”
    “I should think any mother’d make a fuss if she had to have you,” said Patrick. “Where do I kip?”
    Omri was beginning to feel exhausted too, but it seemed heartless to go to sleep.
    “Do you think we should?”
    “She said he’d be quite okay. She told Bright Stars what to do. There’s not much we can do, anyway. Look, can I just put these cushions on the floor? I’m knackered.”
    In three minutes he was flat out.
    It took Omri a little longer. He crouched by the chest and stared at Little Bear and Bright Stars. She must be tired too, especially considering …
    “Do you need anything, Bright Stars? Something to eat?”
    She raised her tired eyes to him and gave a little nod.
    “I’ll get you something!” he whispered.
    Down he went once again. He didn’t turn on lights this time. The reflection from the kitchen light could be seen in his parents’ bedroom. He had no desire to explain to anyone what he was doing up at such an hour. The light from the streetlamp was enough to show him cake, bread, butter—
    What was that?
    Something had gone past the window. He’d seen it out of the corner of his eye. He froze. He could have sworn it was a man’s head. When he could unfreeze, he went to the window and looked out.
    All he could see was Kitsa sitting on the sill. Which would have settled the matter, except for one thing. Her head was up, her ears were pricked—and not at Omri, but in the other direction.
    Omri climbed the stairs with the food, feeling more than a little uneasy. It seemed to him, on reflection, that the head he had seen had shone in the streetlamp as if it had no hair.

Chapter 9
A Good Luck Piece
    Little Bear’s recovery was little short of miraculous. The operation was a complete success. By the next day he was sitting up, demanding food and other services, not particularly grateful for his deliverance and, in general, very much himself as Omri remembered him.
    He was unable to hide his delight at seeing Omri again. He tried to conceal his feelings behind a mask of dignity, but through his wooden expression his black eyes gleamed and a grin kept twitching at his stern mouth.
    “Omri grow much,” he remarked between slurps of a mug of hot instant soup. (There was a distinct shortage of toothpaste tops throughout the house, which Omri’s mother was to remark on.) “But still only boy. Not chief, like Little Bear.”
    “Are you a real chief now?” Omri asked. He was sitting on the floor beside the chest, gazing in rapture at his little Indian, restored to him, and, almost, to health.
    Little Bear nodded impressively. “Father die. Little Bear chief of