Dancing Fawn Page 13

  “I haven’t heard that term. What is kinnic kinnick?

  “The bark of the red willow. Some is placed in the pipe and lit, some sprinkled back to the earth in four directions: east for the rising sun, west for the land of darkness—the spirit world, and south for all that Mother Earth provides, then north—the power of winter and cleansing snow. When one draws from the sacred pipe, he offers his thanks to his guiding spirits for all that has been given. The rising smoke is but the breath of the Great Spirit.”

  She understood the gist of his story. The ceremony created a connection between the Lakota and their God, but even after talking for hours, some things remained unanswered. His words faded into the distance, and her attention fixated on Little Elk’s handsome profile as he spoke. She lifted her hand and stroked his angular cheek. “Little Elk, as much as I love listening to your stories, I cannot promise I will ever understand all your beliefs, rituals and customs. Listening has helped me see things more clearly, but I am curious about one thing.”

  “What do you question, my Dancing Fawn?”

  She sat up. “We have talked about vision quests, naming ceremonies, and counting coup. I see how touching the enemy in the presence of a witness and living to tell about it is considered a brave deed and more honorable than killing, but I have to ask. Why was my family killed? Was there no honor to be had in simply touching them and letting them live?”

  His eyes widened, and he rose to his knees beside her. “I wish I had an explanation for you. The raid was not planned. The attack on your family was just foolish, young braves, trying to prove something to themselves and each other.” He took her hand and placed it against his chest. “Do you feel my heart?”

  “Yes, a strong and steady rhythm, but what has that to do with my question?”

  “Just know that with every heartbeat I shall always regret I rode with that raiding party. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

  * * *

  Fawn pulled her hand away and rose to her knees beside him. “I do not blame you, Little Elk. At first I did, but then I discovered what a loving and kind person you are. I hold only Black Crow responsible, and he is no longer part of our lives.”

  Little Elk reeled her into a one-armed embrace and caressed her cheek with his free hand. “Loving and kind, am I? Come, lay with me again and let me live up to my reputation.”

  Fawn giggled and pushed him away. “Not in the middle of the day.”

  He snared her back. “Can a man not make love to his woman when the sun shines? I know of no such rule.”

  At that moment, the baby chose to give a healthy kick. Fawn sat back on her heels and clutched her stomach. She looked up into the wide eyes of her husband. “That was a hard one.”

  “Was that my son?”

  “Could have been your daughter,” she teased.

  Little Elk placed his hand against her abdomen. “Will the child do it again?”

  “I don’t know. The baby has been moving a lot, but I sense he or she has a mind of their own.”

  Little Elk kept his hand pressed against her belly, and when the baby kicked again, Little Elk grinned at her. “With strength like that the child is sure to be a son.”

  Fawn threw up her hands. “I give up. A son is acceptable with me. But right now, the baby lays heavy against my bladder. If you will excuse me, I need to step outside.”

  * * *

  The pounding of hooves woke Fawn. She rolled over expecting to find Little Elk next to her, but he was gone. She scrambled to her feet and scurried outside to see about the commotion, still hugging her blanket around her shoulders.

  The rising sun, having just crested the horizon, tinted the sky in various hues of orange and yellow. She squinted to adjust her vision between the lodge’s dimness and the coming daylight, and cocked her ear toward the riders.

  A large band, about fifty braves she thought, gathered on horseback in the middle of the village. Their faces, like their horses, displayed paint in a rainbow of colorful designs. Little Elk had explained about such decorations, but seeing them was quite an impressive sight.

  Lone Eagle stood before two of the war-bonneted riders. Fawn couldn’t make out what he said, but his hand gestures indicated agitation. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she scanned the area for her husband.

  Green Eyes and Rain Woman came to stand with her, their curiosity as apparent as her own. “He-Ha-Ney Wash-Tay.” The old grandmother greeted Fawn.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Fawn responded in Lakota.

  “This does not look good.” She gestured to the riders, her brow furrowed.

  “What do you think they want?” Fawn asked.

  “From the coup feathers in their hair and the fact that they are from various tribes, I would say they are a gathering war party,” Rain woman explained.

  “How can you tell, Un`ci?” Fawn considered the old woman her grandmother, too.

  “They speak in sign.” She used her right index finger and chopped at her left one. “This means Cheyenne.” Drawing in midair, she imitated the movement of a snake. “This means Comanche.”

  * * *

  “He is Pawnee.” Green Eyes indicated the rider with two fingers in a V. “Probably a renegade. Those people are usually friends to the wasichu and enemies to us.” She assessed the remaining riders. “The rest are most likely Brule or other Ogalala Sioux. Many villages are represented here.”

  Fawn was in awe. “How do you know such things?”

  “Rain Woman taught me when I first came to be with the people. Like you, having others speak in sign was helpful until I fully learned Lakota because all tribes understand sign. But you cannot say everything with your hands. You can only communicate simple things.”

  “What is the sign for Lakota?” Fawn interlaced her fingers.

  Green Eyes drew her hand across her neck in a cutting motion.

  Fawn copied her then looked again at the mounted group. She hungered to learn more and pointed to the flank of a Pinto. “What do all the symbols mean? See the colorful hand print on that horse?”

  “A flat hand means the rider killed an enemy in combat,” Rain Woman responded. “And the lines on the animal next to it mean the rider has counted coup.”

  “Counted coup?” That phrase kept cropping up. Fawn had heard so many she couldn’t keep them straight. “That means the rider touched an enemy, right?”

  “Touched an enemy in the presence of others and lived to tell about it,” Rain Woman clarified. “The greater the risk, the more the warrior is honored. When he returns and reveals his encounters at tribal council, and someone who witnessed his bravery testifies to the truth of his words, he is awarded a coup feather. The colors and notches of the feathers tell all of his achievements. To capture the coup feather of an enemy is a great honor.”

  Fawn rolled her eyes. “My head is spinning. Little Elk has told me many things, but I see I have a long way to go before I know everything there is to know about the people.”

  Rain Woman patted her hand. “You will learn, my child. It takes time.”

  Her cackling laugh briefly drew the attention of some of the warriors. Unfazed by the stares, the old woman massaged the small of her back and turned her back to the men. “I have tired of standing so long. I leave you to go rest my weary bones. We will learn soon enough the reason for this visit.”

  She hobbled toward her lodge.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The war party rode out of camp, leaving behind a wake of swirling dust. As it settled, Fawn saw Little Elk speaking with Lone Eagle. From their grim looks, she knew something was terribly wrong.

  Her heart thudding, Fawn turned to her friend. “What do you suppose happened?”

  “I do not know. Being married to the chief holds no privilege for me. Lone Eagle may share what was discussed, or perhaps he will speak only with the tribal council. One never knows.”

  “I hate not knowing what is going on. It’s scary.”

  Gr
een Eyes put her arm around Fawn. “Come, let us go sit and wait. We can work more on the blankets for your child.”

  * * *

  Little Elk came inside, his lips tight and his jaw tense. Green Eyes took her cue from his demeanor and stood. “I will leave you to talk privately.”

  She hustled through the door.

  Fawn put aside the rabbit pelt and scraping knife and peered up at her husband. “What is happening?”

  He ignored her question and walked to his weapons and picked up the parfleche containing arrowheads. Taking one from inside, he gazed at her and sighed. “I fear we cannot hide from war any longer. I must make more arrows. Lone Eagle called the tribal council together to talk of joining with others to fight the blue coats.”

  Her heart hitched. “Oh, Little Elk, I’m afraid. I have already lost one family, and I can’t lose you, too.”

  “Do not mourn me yet. The Lakota are strong, and when we join with others, we can build a mighty army of our own. We will take back the Paha Sapa, the Black Hills.”

  “Has something else happened?” Anxiety bubbled in her voice.

  “The war party brought news of the bluecoat leader called Long Hair. A great many whites have gone with him into our sacred hills and set up camp. There they search for the yellow stones they call gold.”

  “But looking for gold is nothing new.” She struggled for something positive to say. “Surely, mining can do no harm as long as the miners do not bother us. My papa—”

  Little Elk’s eyes beaded. “A few at first caused no problem, but now they cover the land like the buffalo did… and more come every day. The white leaders lied to us! They do not honor the treaty and want to take our land. We must protect what is ours! The wasichu will not be happy until all Indians live only on reservations where there are no buffalo or deer. We will surely starve.” He touched her arm. “Do you not see we must fight for what belongs to us?”

  Fawn hung her head. “I suppose. But I don’t have to welcome it.”

  * * *

  “The council has decided that our attempt to keep peace is futile. We will join with warriors from the other tribes and make war against the blue coats.” Little Elk stood in the doorway and shared the news that had already spread through camp. Fear’s fist closed around her heart again.

  He walked past the fire pit and sat across from her, next to the stack of arrows already finished. Laying his bow across his lap, he strung new sinew from end to end and then struggled to tighten the thin line. Intent on the task, he paid her no mind.

  “How many others will go?” She broke the silence.

  “Only the elders will stay behind with the women and children.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Tears stung her eyes and blurred his image. “When will you leave?”

  His head lowered, he continued to work. “Within four risings of the sun. We must prepare for a long battle.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  * * *

  He jerked upright. “I fear living under the white man’s law more than I fear death.”

  A healthy kick rippled her belly, and she moved her hand to cover the spot. “I fear for your child. What will happen to this baby if you die?”

  “Do not think of death. Think victory. We will drive all the pale skins from our lands and once again be free.”

  She bit her lip and fought not to cry. “I-I’ll try to be positive.” But please, please come back to us. Don’t leave me alone.”

  He put down his bow and crawled to where she sat. Kneeling next to her, he pulled her into an embrace. “My heart is filled with love for you, my Dancing Fawn. Do not worry. As I have already told you, I am not yet ready to walk the spirit trail.”

  * * *

  In preparation for battle, the men sought purification of mind and body in the sweat lodge. Little Elk had gone to join the others. A warrior needed to be free of all negative thoughts and visions, and the purer the mind, the closer one walked with Wakan Takan. As a woman, Fawn hadn’t witnessed the rite of Inipi but had heard about it from Rain Woman. The village Shaman handled all rituals to which only the braves were privy.

  The lodge, low and domed, had been constructed of twelve to sixteen young willows covered with buffalo hides. One-by-one, the Shaman carried in rocks heated in an outside fire pit. With the hot stones, inside, he sealed the flap, and while the occupants prayed and sang, he drizzled water over the glowing stones to create a hot, misty fog through which the warriors communed with the spirits while the steam purified their bodies and souls.

  Fawn didn’t understand any of the ritual but agreed with anything that would bring Little Elk back safely.

  After coming out of the sweat lodge, Little Elk joined the others and painted his face and body then decorated his horse to record his personal successes in previous battles. He presented quite a vision with the blue and yellow lightning bolts on his cheeks. The red handprints on the flank of his mount sent a shiver through her. Counting coup increased the likelihood of death or injury. Silently she prayed he didn’t get that close to an enemy.

  * * *

  A veil of orange sunlight crept over the horizon as the warriors and their horses gathered in the center of the village. Fawn, shivering in the morning chill, stood next to Little Elk and held the war lance he had so carefully decorated with feathers and horsehair. She hugged herself to keep warm, while she wrestled with the terror filling her heart.

  She wanted to embrace him but restrained herself and watched him heave his muscular leg over the back of his horse and pull himself astride. He reached to take his weapon from her then sat tall and proud atop his painted mount. With his face and chest adorned with bright yellow lightning bolts, he looked intimidating.

  She inched closer, rested a hand on his buckskin legging and gazed up at him. Tears stung her eyes. “Please, Little Elk, be safe.”

  He peered down at her and smiled. “Do not fear. Remember, there is strength in numbers, and we will be many.”

  Her heart thudded beneath her dress. She wanted to cling to his leg and beg him to stay but backed away. “Just come back to me…us.”

  He nodded and turned his mount to join the rest of the war party.

  Green Eyes crossed to where Fawn stood and put an arm around her. “You must keep positive thoughts, Fawn. They will return to us unharmed.”

  She pulled her gaze from her husband. “Just as I told Little Elk, I’ll try.” A lump choked off anything else she thought to say. She turned her head and watched until the mounted group was only a speck against the prairie background.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In Green Eyes’ lodge, Fawn stood over the fire ring and rubbed her chilled hands over the crackling flames. Her mind wandered to fearful thoughts, but she squared her shoulders and found strength in her husband’s courageous parting words.

  “You look so frightened.” Green Eyes remarked. “Almost like the day you were dragged into camp behind Black Crow’s horse. I wish I could say something to ease your mind.”

  Fawn shook her head. “There’s nothing you can say. I’m a worrier by nature. Mama always told me, ‘Grace, worrying is like sitting in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but you don’t get anywhere.’ Golly, it seems strange to say my name. I haven’t been called anything but Fawn in quite a while.”

  “Well, Grace, you should have listened. She was right. Fretting won’t change anything. The Lakota believe that power comes from positive and pure thoughts. That is why the sweat ceremony is so important to our braves.”

  Fawn forced a chuckle. “Well maybe I should pay a visit to one. All the images in my mind are negative.”

  * * *

  Fawn yawned and reached around to massage her aching back. “Green Eyes, we have worked on these baby clothes and blankets for hours. I’m tired.”

  “Yes, we have, but did you notice? You haven’t said anything negative because your mind has been busy.”

  “I get it. Keep busy, don’t worry... But I’m s
o tired I don’t know if I can make it across the village.”

  “Then stay here,” Green Eyes offered.

  “Are you sure? I would like that. I don’t welcome the idea of going home to an empty lodge. I’m sure I couldn’t sleep for worrying about Little Elk and the others no matter how tired I am.”

  Green Eyes spread a new bed of buffalo robes adjacent to her own. “It is settled then. Your bed is ready when you are. Little Cloud is sleeping at his grandmother’s tonight.”

  Fawn folded the blanket on which she worked, laid it aside, and stood. She arched into a stretch. “Believe me, I’m ready right now. My back is killing me.” She touched her stomach. “And this little one is probably tired of me squashing him.”

  “What happened to the daughter you were so sure you would have?” Green Eyes asked with a chuckle.

  “I gave up. Little Elk is so certain the baby will be a son.”

  Covering a yawn, Green Eyes put her hand over her mouth. “Ohhh, a good night’s sleep sounds good to me, too.”

  Both women stretched out on their sleeping mats. Shadows from the fire danced on the tepee walls, and Fawn’s eyes grew heavy watching them grow smaller as the flames diminished. A child crying somewhere in the distance shattered the stillness and triggered Fawn’s maternal instincts. She caressed her growing child and tried to imagine what motherhood would be like. What type of personality would the little one have? Would her baby truly be a son, and would he look like his father, or would she give birth to a girl—a little version of herself? Again a negative thought crept in to spoil the good ones. What if her child never got to know his or her father?