Lottee Dina's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The two new braids held, but Lottee's bunch of oil stalks was almost gone. She had to reach the river and cut more. She stood and reached for her basket. Then she heard a splash. The baby otter had left the flowers. It scrambled across the yard toward the sound of the river, its little blue dress dragging in the dust. Lottee ran and caught it just as it slid down the muddy bank. Its paws slipped on the wet ground. If it went in alone, it would get trapped again, the way she had first found it. "You can't keep doing this," Lottee said. She carried the otter back to the porch. It squirmed and chirped and pointed its nose at the water. The moment she set it down, it turned and dashed for the river again. She caught it a second time. Her arms ached. She could not walk to the river for oil while chasing a slippery otter every minute. It would slide back and drown, or trap itself, the instant she looked away. Lottee looked around the homestead for something to hold it. The pigpen was too muddy. The goats would butt it. Then she saw the apple tree by the porch steps, its trunk sturdy and its branches heavy with red fruit. The lowest branch curved into a wide, safe fork. That could work. She found a length of soft rope in the barn. She tied one end around a strong low branch. She tied the other end loose around the otter, over its blue dress, with enough slack to climb and rest but not enough to reach the water. Then she wedged an apple into the fork of the branch. The otter sniffed it, then hugged it and gnawed the skin. It settled into the fork, tethered, busy, and far from the river. Lottee watched a moment to be sure. The otter chewed the apple and swatted at a low leaf. It did not pull at the rope. It could not slide down the bank. For the first time all morning, it stayed put on its own. She grabbed her basket and hurried to the river. On the bank, the green plant grew thick. She cut stalk after stalk, more than she had ever taken, until the basket was full and heavy. She looked back once toward the house. She could not see the otter, but she heard no splash and no distress. It was safe in the tree. Lottee climbed back with the full basket on her hip. The otter still sat in the apple fork, apple core in its paws, dress rumpled but dry. She untied it and held it close. "Now I have enough," she said. The basket held stalks for many more braids. But she looked at the tethered rope and the tree and knew the otter would need watching every single day until her crown was done.