hat a White man could tell who he was at such a distance！ Ta…Kumsaw； the most ferocious hater of Whites in all the woodland； being called by a White man's name？
But Alvin knew better than to ask for explanation。 He just followed close behind till Ta…Kumsaw finally came to where he was going。
It looked to be a house like any other house； maybe a speck older。 Big； anyway； and added onto in a jumbly way。 Maybe that corner of the house was the original cabin； with a stone foundation； and then they added that wing onto it bigger than the log house； so the cabin no doubt got turned into a kitchen； and then another wing across the front of the cabin； only this time two stories high； with an attic； and then an add…on in the back of the cabin； right across the…roof of it； keeping the gable shape and framing it with shaped timbers； which were whitewashed clean enough once； but now were peeling off the paint and showing grey wood through。 The whole history of this valley in that house desperately just throwing up enough of a cabin to keep rain off between battling the forest； then a measure of peace to add a room or two for fort； then some prosperity； and more children； and a need to put a grand two…story face on things； and finally three generations in that house； and building not for pride but just for space； just for rooms to put folks into。
Such a house it was； a house that held the whole story of the White man's victorious war against the land in its shape。
And up walks Ta…Kumsaw to a small and shabby…looking door in the back； and he does not so much as knock； he just opens the door and goes inside。
Well； Alvin saw that； and for the first time he didn't know what to do。 By habit he wanted to follow Ta…Kumsaw right into the house； the way he'd followed him into a hundred mud…daubed Red man's huts。 But by even older habit he knew you don't just walk right into a house like this； with a proper door and all。 You go round to the front and knock polite； and wait for folks to invite you in。
So Alvin stood at the back door； which Ta…Kumsaw of course didn't even bother to close； watching the first flies of spring wander into the hallway。 He could almost hear his mother yelling about people leaving doors open so the flies would e in and drive everybody crazy all night； buzzing when folks are trying to sleep。 And so Alvin； thinking that way； did what Ma always had them do： he stepped inside and closed the door behind him。
But he dared go no farther into the house than that back hall； with some heavy coats on pegs and dirt…crusted boots in a jumble by the door。 It felt too strange to move。 He'd been hearing the greensong of the forest for so many months that it was deafening； the silence when it was near gone； near pletely killed by the cacophony of the jammering life on a White man's farm in spring。
〃Isaac；〃 said a woman's voice。
One of the White noises stopped。 Only then did Alvin realize that it had been an actual noise he was hearing with his ears； not the life…noises he heard with his Red senses。 He tried to remember what it was。 A rhythm； and banging； regular rhythm like like a loom。 It was a loom he'd been hearing。 Ta…Kumsaw must've just walked hisself right into the room where some woman was weaving。 Only he wasn't no stranger here； she knew him by the same name as that farmer fellow out in the fields。 Isaac。
〃Isaac；〃 she said again； whoever she was。
〃Becca；〃 said Ta…Kumsaw。
A simple name； no reason for Alvin's heart to start apounding。 But the way Ta…Kumsaw said it； the way he spoke it was such a tone of voice that was meant to make hearts pound。 And more： Ta…Kumsaw spoke it； not with the strange…twisted vowels of Red men talking English； but with as true an accent as if he was from England。 Why； he sounded more like Reverend Thrower than Alvin would have thought possible。
No； no； it wasn't Ta…Kumsaw at all； it was another man； a White man in the same room with the White woman； that's all。 And Alvin walked softly down the hall to find where the voices were； to see the White man whose presence would explain all。
Instead he stood in an open door and looked into a room where Ta…Kumsaw stood holding a White woman by her shoulders； looking down into her face； and her looking up into his。 Saying not a word； just looking at each other。 Not a White man in the room。
〃My people are gathering at the Hio；〃 said Ta…Kumsaw； in his strange English…sounding voice。
〃I know；〃 said the woman。 〃It's already in the fabric。 〃 Then she turned to look at Alvin in the doorway。 〃And you didn't e alone。〃
Alvin never saw eyes like hers before。 He was still too young to hanker after women like he remembered Wastenot and Wantnot doing when they both hit fourteen at a gallop。 So it wasn't any kind of man…wishing…for…a…woman feeling that he had； looking at her eyes。 He just looked into them like he sometimes looked into a fire； watching the flames dance； not asking for them to make sense； just watching the sheer randomness of it。 That was what her eyes were like； as if those eyes had seen a hundred thousand things happen； and they were all still swirling around inside those eyes； and no one had ever bothered or maybe even known how to get those visions out and make sensible stories out of them。
And Alvin feared mightily that she had some power of witchery that she used to turn Ta…Kumsaw into a White man。
〃My name is Becca；〃 said the woman。
〃His name is Alvin；〃 said Ta…Kumsaw； or rather； said Isaac； for it sure didn't sound like Ta…Kumsaw anymore。 〃He's a miller's son from the Wobbish country。〃
〃He's that thread I saw running through the fabric out of place。〃 She smiled at Alvin。 〃e here；〃 she said。 〃I want to see the legendary Boy Renegado。〃
〃Who's that？〃 asked Alvin。 〃The Boy Rainy God〃
〃Renegado。 There are stories all through Appalachee； don't you know that？ About Ta…Kumsaw； who appears one day in the Osh…Kontsy country and the next day in a village on the banks of the Yazoo； stirring up Reds to do massacre and torture。 And always with him is a White boy who urges the Reds to be ever more brutal； who teaches them the secret methods of torture that used to be practiced by the Papist Inquisitions in Spain and Italy。〃
〃That ain't so；〃 said Alvin。
She smiled。 The flames of her eyes danced。
〃They must hate me；〃 said Alvin。 〃I don't even know what a Inky…zitchum is。〃
〃Inquisition；〃 said Isaac。
Alvin felt a sick dread in his heart。 If folks were tellin such tales about him； why； folks would regard him as a criminal； a monster； practically。 〃I'm only going along with〃
〃I know what you're doing； and why；〃 said Becca。 〃Around here we all know Isaac well enough to disbelieve such lies about him and you both。〃
But Alvin didn't care about 〃around here。〃 What he cared about was back home in Wobbish country。
〃Don't worry yourself；〃 said Becca。 〃Nobody knows who this legendary White boy is。 Certainly not one of the two Innocents that Ta…Kumsaw chopped to bits in the forest。 Certainly not Alvin or Measure。 Which one are you； by the way？〃
〃Alvin；〃 said Isaac。
〃Oh； yes；〃 said Becca。 〃You already told me that。 I have such a hard time holding people's names in my head。〃
〃Ta…Kumsaw didn't chop nobody up。〃
〃As you might guess； Alvin； we didn't believe that story here； either。〃
〃Oh。〃 Alvin didn't know what to say； and since he'd been living like a Red for so long； he did what Reds do when they have nothing to say； something that a White man hardly ever thinks of doing。 He said nary a thing at all。
〃Bread and cheese？〃 asked Becca。
〃You're too kind。 Thank you；〃 said Isaac。
If that didn't beat all。 Ta…Kumsaw saying thank you like a fine gentleman。 Not that he wasn't noble and fairspoke among his kind。 But in White man's language he was always so cold； so unflowered in his talk。 Till now。 Witchery。
Becca rang a little bell。
〃It's simple fare； but we live simply in this house。 And especially in this room。 Which is fitting it's such a simple place。〃
Alvin looked around。 She was right。 It only just now occurred to him that this room was the original log cabin； with its one remaining window cast