“You’re thinking about a physical ailment. The eagle in my dream was wounded in the breast—his heart. Have you healed from your emotional wounds?”
Graham sat back in his chair and pondered the question. It was clear he had a much healthier relationship with his father. Had he forgiven himself for the tragedies involving his siblings’ deaths? He wasn’t sure. It was something he would have to consider more deeply after today’s conversation.
“Maybe. I’m a much different person, that’s for sure. It will take effort to completely heal, but I feel better about myself.”
“Your vision quest will not be complete unless you appeal to the spirits—or in your case, the Holy Spirit—to help you heal. You have an unfinished task to find peace with yourself. Promise you will do this.”
“I will,” he replied solemnly.
“Good. Now I gotta empty my bladder. Help yourself to a Coke in the fridge,” Redfield said as he padded to the toilet.
Graham pulled a Coke out of the small refrigerator and set it on the table, then took a turn relieving himself in the brown-stained toilet before going back to the kitchen table.
“I brought a couple of things with me from my journey. Would you like to see them?” Graham asked.
“Sure!”
He pulled the photograph of Makawee sitting on the rock ledge from his shirt and handed it to Redfield. “This is Makawee, the woman I told you about earlier. We became extremely close.”
Redfield studied the photo. He was about to return it when he stopped and drew it back. He pulled out a drawer under the kitchen counter and fished out a pair of reading glasses. After donning them, he held up the photograph again, tilting it toward the lone window to shed light on the picture.
“She’s wearing a turtle necklace,” he observed while peering over his glasses. He handed the photo back to Graham.
“Yes. In fact, she gave me some beads from her necklace on the night I asked the spirits to take me home. I put them on my eagle–bear claw necklace. By the way, I can’t tell you how many times your necklace saved me from disaster. Thanks again for lending it to me.”
Graham pulled the necklace over his head and handed it to his friend.
Redfield accepted the necklace and fondled the three beads on the elk-hide cord between his finger and thumb. His hands began to slowly tremble. He laid the necklace on the table and stood.
“I need to show you something,” he said while shuffling over to the stack of cardboard boxes on top of the dresser.
He removed one of the boxes and set it on the floor, then pulled out a leather pouch with a drawstring. Taking it over to the table, he sat down and opened the pouch. He extracted a necklace with a dark-green turtle pendant surrounded by black-and-yellow chevron beads. Redfield laid the turtle necklace beside the eagle–bear claw necklace on the table.
Graham gasped. The necklace was exactly like Makawee’s. He leaned over and compared the beads on the eagle–bear claw necklace with those on the turtle necklace. They were identical.
He counted the beads on Makawee’s necklace in the photograph. There were thirteen. He counted the beads on Redfield’s turtle necklace. There were ten. The three beads Makawee had given him would make a total of thirteen.
“Redfield, where did you get this turtle necklace?” Graham asked anxiously.
“It was my grandmother’s. Her name was Nahkash, which translates as Turtle. It was a gift from her mother, but I never knew my great-grandmother’s name.”
Graham’s eyes grew large. He fumbled to remove a piece of notebook paper from his pants pocket. He unfolded and handed it to Redfield.
“I did some research at the library using the census rolls for the Crow Indians in the late 1800s. This is the journal entry for your grandmother Nahkash, or Turtle. She was born in 1872. And her mother’s name was Makawee, or Earth Maiden.”
Graham paused and swallowed, waiting for Redfield to piece the information together. When the Crow Indian peered over his reading glasses, Graham stated the obvious conclusion.
“Makawee, the woman I met on my vision quest, is your great-grandmother. This is her necklace.”
Redfield nodded his head slowly. “The journal entry doesn’t list a father for Nahkash. That man would be my great-grandfather.”
“Unless the person recorded in the census was a widow or widower, the father was always listed first in the hundreds of family units I reviewed. But the census taker recorded this family as just mother Makawee and daughter Nahkash. The only thing we can conclude from these records is Makawee gave birth to your grandmother in 1872. Evidently she never married and had no other children.”
Redfield stood. He walked over to the louvered window at the back of the unit and stared out at the sycamore trees, their yellow leaves fluttering to the ground in the breeze. He spoke with his back to Graham.
“In traditional Crow culture, a young woman always married before conceiving. Grandmother Nahkash begged her mother, your friend Makawee, to reveal her father’s name. Her mother refused, saying it was a secret she would take to her grave. This decision caused my grandmother pain and sorrow throughout her life. Because she was conceived outside of marriage, my grandmother was treated with suspicion by those in her village. She was what white people call a bastard child.”
Redfield sighed as he turned from the window and sat down.
“How would you describe Makawee?”
Graham portrayed her as beautiful, confident, and mature for someone who was only twenty-one years old.
“It’s hard to believe a strong Crow woman like Makawee would have violated her tribe’s customs and traditions by not marrying before starting a family. You said you became very close friends with her. How close?”
Graham hesitated, then answered honestly.
“We were lovers.”
Redfield raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you..?
“Yes. Twice,” Graham replied uncomfortably.
“What month in 1871 did you share a bed with Makawee?”
“August.”
Redfield folded his arms across his chest, pushed his chair onto its back two legs, and gazed at the smoke-stained ceiling. He held his closed fists in front of him and unfurled his fingers one at a time, silently counting. Suddenly the chair came down onto all four legs, making a loud clack on the concrete floor.
“My grandmother was born in May 1872.”
It took a few seconds for Graham to grasp his friend’s meaning. Nine months after he had made love to Makawee, Nahkash was born. Was it possible he was the father of Makawee’s child? No. That couldn’t be. There had to be another explanation!
Redfield removed a tin from his shirt pocket and pulled out a thin square of paper. He placed a pinch of tobacco into a folded crease, rolled it into a tight tube, then folded his tongue into a cloverleaf before licking the edge of the paper to seal it.
Instinctively, Graham stuck out his tongue and replicated the cloverleaf—a feat that could be accomplished by an exceedingly small number of people. Scientists believed this ability was an inherited trait.
“My grandmother Nahkash gave me something in addition to the turtle necklace,” Redfield said, after lighting his hand-rolled cigarette. “She made me promise to keep it, because her mother said it was special. I didn’t understand why. But now I think I do.”
He reached into the cardboard box and extracted a dusty, chocolate-brown cowboy hat speckled with mud.
“Is this yours?”
Graham’s eyes widened as he reached for the faux leather hat. His hands trembled as he inspected it. He lifted the sweatband, revealing what he already knew: the initials GAD were handwritten with a black marker. This was the hat he lost that fateful night at the Dragon’s Mouth. Makawee had found it.
“Yes. It’s mine,” he replied, donning the perfectly fitting hat.
Graham stood and paced the floor of the tiny room. He reviewed the information one more time in his head. The turtle necklace and cowboy hat in Redfield’s posses
sion had been passed down by Makawee. He had made love to Makawee twice in August 1871. According to the census records, she was never married but gave birth to a daughter, Nahkash, nine months later. And finally, Redfield had inherited the rare ability to curl his tongue into a cloverleaf.
He sat heavily in the chair and regarded the Crow Indian sitting across from him.
“Gra’am,” Redfield said, leaning forward and touching the young man’s knee. “There’s no doubt we share the same blood.”
Tears welled in Graham’s eyes as he returned Redfield’s gaze. Years ago, a significant part of his family had been lost with the deaths of his brothers and sister. But now, implausible as it seemed, he had gained a great-grandson!
“Yes, we do,” Graham said softly. He stood and opened his arms. Redfield rose from his chair, and the two men embraced.
“My great-grandmother saw something good and noble in you,” Redfield said, after pulling away. “So did I.”
“Thanks. But I don’t feel noble. I left her pregnant and without a husband when I returned to my own time.”
“It was meant to be.”
Redfield paused before reminding Graham of the second part of his vision.
“You are on a path to emotional healing. But you still haven’t answered whether you have found a purpose or direction in your life.”
“That’s because I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I think you have. The spirits made it clear you’re one of the chosen few who can travel back in time. This is a blessing you cannot squander. If you use your opportunities for time travel wisely and make a positive impact on past lives, your petition will always be heard by the spirits.”
“Positive impact?! The only thing I did by traveling back in time was leave a woman brokenhearted and ashamed as a single mother!”
“Not true,” Redfield objected as he took another puff from his stubby cigarette. “I’m making a difference in the lives of everyone in this camp. It’s my mission to keep the peace. After what we learned today, I am only here because you were there. Think about the people you met on your journey. Did you make a small difference in their lives by what you said or did?”
Graham pondered the question. He had painful memories of Pvt. Foley’s accident at the hot spring. But was that his fault? No more than sister Susan being killed because she happened to be riding in the back of the station wagon.
He had rescued Alec Sibley from drowning. Would someone other than Graham have had the lifesaving skills to save the young hostler?
He recalled his conversation with Henry Elliott, who changed his outlook after his experience on Avalanche Peak and committed to being the best version of himself rather than blaming others for his failures.
He remembered telling Makawee to encourage young Plenty Coups to share his vision of cooperating with the government so the Crow people would be spared suffering and have a home.
“Perhaps I made a small difference,” Graham admitted.
“Then you have a purpose,” Redfield concluded.
“What’s that?”
“You can make a difference in the lives of those living here and now. But if you choose, the spirits can enable you to visit and help people in the past. You have been blessed with the ability to travel back in time. Remember, you will be welcomed by the spirits only if your actions are not selfish.”
“It’s a lot to consider. I’ll give it some thought.”
“If you decide to go back in time, let me know. You can no longer use the opening at the Dragon’s Mouth. That door is closed. But I can advise you on other sacred sites to start your journey.”
Graham nodded and glanced at his watch.
“I really should be going. But I’ll write from school and visit you over Christmas break.”
He stood and hugged Redfield, then turned toward the door.
“Wait!” Redfield said, holding out the eagle–bear claw necklace.
“That’s yours,” Graham objected.
“I’m giving it to you. It wields special powers you will need. Besides, I have the turtle necklace.”
Graham accepted the gift and hugged Redfield a second time.
“Take care of yourself. And thanks again for everything. I’m so glad you’re part of my family!”
Redfield responded by opening his mouth and forming a cloverleaf with his tongue. Graham folded his tongue into the same shape and returned the gesture.
“It’s our secret,” Redfield said with a wink.
“Our secret,” Graham agreed.
A vibrant red-and-orange sunset was painted on the western sky as he opened the car door and tossed his cowboy hat onto the passenger seat. It looked as if the horizon were on fire. Pausing to admire the handiwork of the Creator, he recalled the brilliant sunsets he had witnessed in Yellowstone and felt a tug to return to the Land of Burning Ground.
* * *
Graham sat in the Studebaker and debated whether to get out of his vehicle. After leaving Big Hill Farm, he decided to drive to the small church he attended while growing up. He couldn’t let guilt control his life, and he had promised Redfield to appeal to the Holy Spirit for healing.
It had been exactly four years since he last set foot in the cemetery adjoining the church as a disillusioned and bitter teenager. His experience in Yellowstone had changed his perspective immensely. Still, he wasn’t sure if he was emotionally prepared to visit the graves of his brothers and sister, let alone face his god. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back, and closed his eyes, wrestling with what to do.
He awoke an hour later. A full moon had climbed into the clear October sky, illuminating the white church steeple and creating oblong shadows from the rows of grave markers in the cemetery. Graham pushed open the car door and donned his mud-speckled hat. He made his way toward the family’s grave plots, buttoning his coat as he walked. He stopped and gazed upon the markers of Billy, Susan, and Frank. The three granite headstones were exactly as he remembered when he visited their graves four years ago. It was a stark reminder time has no meaning for the dead.
Graham removed his hat. He petitioned the Holy Spirit for them to rest in peace. Sighing heavily, he spoke aloud to his deceased siblings.
“I miss all of you. Billy, I hope you can forgive me for not watching you carefully when we were on the pond. Susan, I’m so sorry we argued on the day of the car accident. I never could have imagined we would never speak again. And Frank, I’m so glad you were my older brother. I’ll never forget all those wonderful moments we shared.”
He walked back toward the car but stopped in the front lawn of the church. Dropping to his knees, Graham raised his eyes toward the starry heavens. He silently asked the Holy Spirit to intervene in his life, guiding and healing him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. When he stood, he felt the guilt he carried with him for so many years had been washed away.
Wiping away his tears, he gazed at the steeple. His eyes widened in amazement, and a chill ran up his spine. The cross atop the pointed spire was framed by the moon. Graham was certain he was viewing a celestial portrait painted by the Holy Spirit that foretold his return to Yellowstone where a full moon was instrumental to his time travel.
In that moment, his plans crystallized. He had a purpose. After graduating next spring, he would venture to Yellowstone and travel back in time once again. Makawee would give birth to a daughter in May 1872, and he was determined to be there. He would marry Makawee, and Nahkash would not be a bastard child. She would know her father!
Graham walked over to the Studebaker and leaned against the hood. He pulled the eagle–bear claw necklace from beneath his jacket and admired the glass beads in the moonlight. A broad smile creased his face as he pictured Makawee on the night they separated at the Dragon’s Mouth.
His future awaited him in the past.
Preview of “Fatal Ground”
Book #2 of the Frontier Time Traveler Series
[available in Spring 2022]
* * *
* * *
May, 1872
Beads of sweat accumulated on the forehead of the Crow woman, soaking the roots of her braided black hair and trickling down her cheeks as she emitted a series of wails. She had been in active labor for ten hours. The contractions were now occurring in regular intervals, and she was fully dilated. With each new set of contractions, she rose to a squatted position and used gravity to assist her pushing, then briefly sat on a woven grass mat and took deep breaths before the next cycle. The effort was taking a toll on the physically fit young woman.
“You need to drink,” the midwife implored as she handed Makawee a cup of tea made from red raspberry leaves.
The mother-to-be gratefully accepted the strong herbal concoction from Among the Grass, feeling the liquid moisten her lips and throat which were dry from constant open-mouth breathing. The two women were alone in the small tepee, although other family members and neighbors had gathered and were talking beside a fire outside the pole lodge.
When the contractions started again, Among the Grass helped Makawee into a squatting position and urged her to push. The pregnant woman obliged, shouting in pain as the baby became more visible.
“Touch the child,” Among the Grass said, as Makawee sat back down for another brief rest. She guided the first-time mother’s hand between her legs, where Makawee felt the top of the infant’s head. It was soft and wet. “Remember this is not bad pain. It is good pain. You will soon be a mother!”
When the next urge came, Makawee squatted and pushed with renewed energy. Gradually, then suddenly, the baby’s head cleared the cervix. The infant dropped onto the mat and let out a loud cry. Makawee sat down and collapsed onto her back, exhausted.
Among the Grass retrieved the wailing newborn from the mat and laid it on Makawee’s belly, using a cloth to wipe the child’s nose and mouth.
“It’s a girl!” the midwife announced in a loud voice.
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