A loud roar erupted outside the tepee, followed by shouts. Men fired rifles and women shrieked with happiness.
Tears of joy streamed down the mother’s face as she gazed at the swollen pink face and wet hair of the infant, who was crying and vigorously waving her tiny arms. Instinctively she soothed her daughter by humming in soft tones. Indeed, Makawee thought, birthing was a good pain.
Among the Grass returned to her work. She used thin strands of elk hide cord to tie two knots on the umbilical cord before cutting it with a knife. Then she wrapped the baby in a blanket and handed her back to Makawee.
A short time later Makawee felt the contractions start again. The midwife urged her to push one more time. Soon the placenta was delivered onto the woven mat. Makawee watched as the midwife carefully cleaned the afterbirth in a pail of water before bringing it over for the new mother to admire. She turned it over to reveal the fetal underside of the organ, where the remains of the translucent amniotic sac clung to the placenta. A dense network of blue-black veins and scarlet arteries radiated from the twisted white umbilical cord.
“This baby was born with a healthy tree of life,” Among the Grass commented as she pointed to the beautiful and intricate network of vessels on the wet placenta resembling branches of a tree.
Makawee nodded as she sat up and encouraged the newborn to suckle at her breast.
“But this is strange,” the midwife said, as a frown creased her forehead. She used her index finger to trace several arteries from the outside edge of the organ to the umbilical cord.
“What do you see?” Makawee asked, with a hint of anxiety.
“This vessel pattern says your baby is not from here. She is from a distant place. Is this true?”
Makawee’s eyes widened. She was alarmed the identity of the child’s father might be discovered.
“The baby’s father is not from our village. Perhaps that is what you see in the vessels,” she replied evasively.
“And where is the father’s home?”
Everyone in the village had wanted to know the answer to this question for the past nine months. She was not going to divulge this information to anyone, especially not a midwife who had a reputation for gossiping and spreading rumors.
Makawee quickly changed the subject. “I know the mothers in our tribe bury their placentas. Where should I take mine?”
“This is a decision for every mother. Choose a sacred site or a place that has special meaning for you and the child.”
Makawee immediately knew where she would return the placenta to the earth.
The child’s father, Graham Davidson, had connected with the spirits at a sacred spring her Kiowa ancestors called Tó-sál-dàu last year. The Dragon’s Mouth, as it was referred to in the future, was situated on the banks of the Yellowstone River upstream from the canyon. Graham had traveled to her ancestral land from one hundred years in the future. The couple had fallen in love while members of the Hayden Expedition of 1871, which was charged with exploring and mapping the wilderness area.
The baby daughter she now cradled was conceived on the shores of Yellowstone Lake. At the conclusion of his Hayden duties, Graham had reluctantly decided to return to his own time. She missed him terribly. Perhaps if the placenta of his child was returned to Tó-sál-dàu, her former lover would sense his connection to the earth at this sacred place and return to her time.
“I know where I must go,” Makawee said with tears welling in her eyes. “Please leave the afterbirth here. And thank you for helping me.”
“The child does not have grandparents. But would you like Long Horse to visit?”
“Yes, of course.”
Long Horse was Makawee’s adoptive father. He was the chief of this clan of Mountain Crow she called her family.
Makawee had a difficult childhood. Her parents and siblings had died of smallpox when she was an infant. She had been raised by a white man who had married a Crow woman, then kidnapped by Blackfeet when she was ten. After four years in captivity, she was traded by the enemy tribe to another white man, who treated her well and taught her to read and write. When she turned sixteen, she was granted her freedom and taken in by Long Horse.
Although she lived among her people, most considered her an outsider because she was not from their clan. More importantly, she was an unwed twenty-two-year-old mother who refused to identify the father of her child. And for good reasons. Not only was Graham a baashchiile—a white man, but he was not from the present time. He was from the future! No one would believe her even if she spoke the truth.
The midwife gently laid the wet placenta on the mat, picked up the pail of bloody water she used to wash the organ, and ducked outside the tepee. Makawee carefully covered the afterbirth with a blanket, as men were forbidden to be near a woman while she was menstruating or giving birth. She did not want to offend her step-father.
A minute later Long Horse lifted the flap and entered. He crossed to Makawee and sat cross-legged beside the new mother.
“Among the Grass says you have a strong baby girl,” he said, stroking the newborn’s black hair while the infant nursed. He paused before saying, “She looks healthy but seems a little pale. What will you name her?”
“This honor is given to the grandfather.”
“I am not that person.”
“I know. But I would like you to give her a name.”
The chief was touched by the request. He noticed the necklace with an obsidian pendant shaped like a tortoise hanging from Makawee’s neck. Long Horse looked thoughtfully at the baby suckling at her mother’s breast.
“She will be known as Nahkash,” he pronounced, taking inspiration from the necklace. The chief rose and lifted his hands skyward, chanting a quick prayer to the spirits and thanking them for the gift of a new life. He flashed a thin smile to his adopted daughter and her newborn before departing.
Makawee was pleased. Nahkash translated as “Turtle” in English. The name linked the child to her mother. It had a connection to her own name, which meant Earth Maiden. Both mother and infant were given names strongly associated with Mother Earth. She was glad Long Horse did not know the seed planted in Makawee nine months ago came from a young man who was from another time on this earth.
“Nahkash,” the mother said softly to the suckling infant. “We will travel to the Land of Burning Ground and leave a piece of us where your life began.”
↔
Patches of snow remained on the north-facing slopes of the hills surrounding the Yellowstone River Valley in late May. After a four-day ride from the Crow Reservation in Montana, the group arrived at Tó-sál-dàu just before sunset. Makawee handed baby Nahkash to Rides Alone before dismounting.
Rides Alone was the eldest son of Long Horse. He became a step-brother to Makawee when his father adopted the young Crow woman. The two were very close and became even more so when they rode together with the Hayden Expedition for nearly forty days last year. While Makawee served as a guide, her step-brother hunted to keep the large survey team supplied with wild game during the journey.
The young warrior was initially resentful of Graham’s affections toward Makawee. But the baashchiile saved him from a grizzly bear attack. He had come to respect the man from Pennsylvania and allowed him to spend time with his step-sister. When Graham never returned from a walk to the sacred spring on a moonlit evening last August, she sobbed for hours. It was obvious she loved him. The Crow warrior’s heart ached for her loss.
Now he was holding an infant he strongly believed was fathered by Graham Davidson. Out of respect for his step-sister’s privacy, he never directly asked her to confirm this. But he had no doubts. He hoped Makawee’s sorrow would be lessened if she could return the placenta of Graham’s child to the earth and move on from her past.
Makawee removed a parfleche from her horse and carefully opened the supple elk skin folds to reveal a flattened, dried placenta. The organ had lost most of its coloring over the last two weeks. The collection of coll
apsed gray vessels emanating from the shrunken umbilical cord created an ethereal pattern resembling a leafless tree in winter.
The siblings walked up the hillside to the Mud Volcano, a thermal feature situated a short distance from the Dragon’s Mouth. Last year the hyperactive mud spring would periodically blast clay a hundred feet or more from a tall cone, plastering trees with the brown sticky substance. Since their previous visit, an enormous eruption had destroyed the conical structure. Now it was reduced to a large crater of bubbling mud.
Makawee carried the placenta while Rides Alone cradled Nahkash in his arms as they approached Tó-sál-dàu. Hidden forces were heating the water inside a darkened grotto. Steam spewed from the entrance, and boiling water was violently splashing against the internal walls of the cave. The hot water collected and sloshed in a small pool at the entrance. A roaring noise accompanied each burst of steam and surge of water against the rock walls. The distinctive odor of sulfur permeated the hillside. This small hot spring was only one of the myriads of thermal features in the area that had earned Yellowstone the moniker Land of Burning Ground by the Crow people.
Holding the placenta in both hands and lifting it above her head, Makawee intoned the spirits to bless this symbol of life and the child who was nurtured by it in her womb. She lowered her arms and tossed it into the dark recesses of the cacophonous cave.
When Nahkash started crying, Makawee unlaced the top of her elk-hide dress. She took the infant from Rides Alone and turned her back to him before dropping the dress over one shoulder and exposing her breast. The baby girl latched on and immediately became quiet. As the young Crow woman walked alone down the hillside toward the river, she sang to her child. It was an ancient song about the tree of life and how all people and animals are joined together.
She sat on the riverbank in the gray dusk, basking in the wondrous miracle of becoming a mother to a beautiful child. Low on the horizon, a full moon was beginning to make an appearance in the early evening sky. Earth Maiden closed her eyes and silently asked the spirits to grant the request of a certain young man from the future who may petition them to reunite with his family from the past.
When Makawee opened her eyes, she gazed at the rising moon. “We are waiting for you, Graham,” she whispered as Nahkash drifted to sleep in her arms. “Please come.”
Acknowledgments
This novel was inspired by two memorable summers of my youth.
As a teenager, I worked on a fruit farm in Pennsylvania. It is here I met Redfield, a Crow Indian who lived a simple life but had a profound effect on the way I saw the world and people around me. This book is dedicated to his memory.
As a young man, I spent a summer in Yellowstone National Park giving guided tours on Yellowstone Lake. When I was not working, my days were spent exploring all corners of that magnificent land, often in the backcountry. My love for our nation’s first national park is rooted in that wonderful experience.
Hundreds of books have been written about Yellowstone – its history, geology, and the people who once called it home. However, three references were indispensable as I augmented my personal knowledge of the park with additional research.
Yellowstone and the Great West, edited by Marlene Deahl Merrill, formed the backbone of my tale as the protagonist Graham travels through the wilderness with the 1871 Hayden Expedition. The journal entries of survey members were beautifully presented in her book.
Yellowstone Denied. The Life of Gustavus Cheyney Doane, by Kim Allen Scott provided valuable insight into an important character in my story – the irascible cavalry lieutenant who served as guide to the expedition.
Blood on the Marias. The Baker Massacre, by Paul R. Wylie documents a horrific event in Montana’s history – one where Lieutenant Doane was a willing accomplice to Baker’s murderous actions.
I highly recommend all three books for those who would like to learn more about the Yellowstone region’s history in the pivotal years before its birth as a national park.
Ferdinand Hayden’s original report of the 1871 survey, published in 1872, contained a wealth of information on his group’s geological observations. I chose to include a figure from this report. I also inserted selected photos, sketches, or paintings archived by The National Park Service and The Smithsonian American Art Museum. My hope was to enhance the reader’s experience by imagining what it must have been like in the future park the year before it was established.
Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback on the story: Russ Balzer, Brian Boland, David Bonistall, Dan Clark, Kathy Collins, William Martin, William Platt, Bryan Riddiford, Hans Schmellencamp, Tim Schneider, Kim Allen Scott, Brian Smith, Betsy Steele, James Tyrone, and Melanie Wallace.
Special thanks to Leighton Wingate, who did a superb editing job. He was uniquely suited for this assignment. Not only is Leighton an outstanding copy editor, but he also spent a summer working in the park during his youth. He embraced the opportunity to refine my descriptions to accurately reflect the unique landscape we call Yellowstone.
An enormous thank-you to my bride of forty-two years, Leesa. She made invaluable edits and suggestions for each chapter. Her love and encouragement kept me going.
* * *
Map, Figures, and Photo Attributions:
Title page photo of Mammoth Hot Springs by kamchatka/depositphotos.com
Map of Yellowstone National Park. National Park Service. 1974.
The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone by Thomas Moran. Smithsonian American Art Museum.
Yellowstone’s Photo Collection. National Park Service.
Dragon’s Mouth Spring. Hot Springs, Mud Volcano area. Jim Peaco. April 2003.
Annie, first boat on Yellowstone Lake. William H Jackson. 1871.
Crater of Castle Geyser. k# 64,211. William H Jackson. 1872.
Waves at Park Point on Yellowstone Lake. J Schmidt. 1977.
Baronett’s bridge across Yellowstone River. k# 64,332. William H Jackson. 1871.
Obsidian Cliff. William S Keller. 1976.
Fountain Geyser by H.W. Elliott. Preliminary Report of USGS of Montana and Adjacent Territories. Fifth Annual Report by F.V. Hayden. 1872.
Great Springs of the Firehole River by Thomas Moran. 1871. NPS/YELL 8536.
Yellowstone panorama painted by Heinrich C. Berann. 1991. Digitally revised by Harpers Ferry Center, U.S. National Park Service. 2017.
Author photo: Kelly Ann Photography. Springboro, OH. https://kellyannphotos.com/
Song Lyrics Attributions:
How Can You Mend A Broken Heart
Words and Music by Barry Gibb and Robin Gibb
Copyright (c) 1971 SONGS OF UNIVERSAL, INC., CROMPTON SONGS, UNIVERSAL MUSIC - CAREERS and REDBREAST PUBLISHING LTD.
Copyright Renewed
All Rights for CROMPTON SONGS Administered by SONGS OF UNIVERSAL, INC.
All Rights for REDBREAST PUBLISHING LTD. Administered by UNIVERSAL MUSIC - CAREERS
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC
Question
Words and Music by Justin Hayward
© Copyright 1970 (Renewed) Tyler Music Ltd., London, England TRO – Essex Music International, Inc., New York, controls all publication rights for the U.S.A. and Canada
International Copyright Secured
Made In U.S.A.
All Rights Reserved Including Public Performance For Profit
Used by Permission
About the Author
David Allan Galloway grew up in rural Pennsylvania near Gettysburg. After a long career in the paper industry and writing the bestselling business non-fiction book Safety WALK Safety TALK, he decided to follow a once dormant dream of writing a novel. He enjoys reading about adventurers and explorers, traveling internationally, riding a recumbent tandem bike, and spending time with his grandsons.
David is currently working on the sequel to Burning Ground, tentatively titled Fatal Ground. He lives in Springboro, Ohio with his
wife Leesa.
If you enjoyed Burning Ground, please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased this novel.
You can write me at: [email protected]
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