by Sonia Antaki
She reached in and felt for the cross, then pulled it out and gazed at the intricate silver, the green and amber beads.
“Will I travel between worlds to find you, Sister?” she whispered, thinking of the nun whose friendship she so missed.
“Courage is the other gift,” her grandfather’s voice said. “The courage to listen, the courage to speak, the courage to choose—”
I have chosen! I’m going to Paha Sapa to find my mother and brother.
Something wafted in the air.
The feather my mother gave me. Wasn’t it in the parfleche?
She reached up, closed her fingers around it, careful not to crush its delicate fibers. She pictured her mother’s well-loved face. I’m coming to find you, Mother, no matter what anyone says.
As if in answer, a shaft of moon glow lit the room and tinted it a rosy gray.
And you, Brother. She reached into the parfleche and pulled out the feather her brother had given her—and for a moment caught a glimpse of his face, hovering in the air beside her, wearing a smile before it disappeared.
“The courage to choose.”
Then, suddenly, an odd, familiar smell pricked Red Dove’s nostrils, that of musty wood, chalk dust and soap.
She closed her eyes and saw herself standing in front of a room full of dark-skinned girls, chanting a lesson. The light in the room was golden. The smiles on the faces were bright. Everyone was happy.
A little girl, sitting in front, raised her hand high, no longer afraid to show the vivid scar that coiled around her neck and throat.
“Maybe that is where I belong,” murmured Red Dove, thinking of all the girls like Windflower that she had known and might come to know. “I made a promise to Grandfather that I would help find her happiness, and he said that if I did, I would find my own. But where is that—there, at the school? And how will I find the courage to face the soldiers… and Sister Agatha?”
“Listen.”
And Red Dove did. She heard a sound from outside the window, a five-note trill.
A dove, my namesake.
She walked over to sleeping Windflower, dropped down beside her and touched her hand. “The courage to listen, the courage to speak, the courage to choose, Grandfather said. Because the power is inside us now… you see that, too; don’t you?” Red Dove whispered as the tiny fingers closed around her own. “We have to go back. So we can help the ones who need us. And find the place where we belong.”
Lakota Word List
Chankwe Opi—Wounded Knee
Han—Yes (for a woman to say)
Hau—Yes (for a man to say)
Hiya—No
Hoka—Let’s go
Hoka Hey—Let’s go (war cry)
Inahnio—Hurry
Iyeska—Person of mixed race, traveler between worlds, interpreter
Opahte—Pouch
Papa—Dried venison
Paha Sapa—Black Hills
Parfleche—Bag (from the French)
Pilamaya—Thank you
Toksa—We will meet again
Takoja—Grandchild
Tankashila—Grandfather, Great Spirit
Timpsila—Prairie turnips
Wakan Tanka—Great Spirit
Wakiyela Sha—Red Dove
Wana—Now
Wanagi—Spirit, shadow or ghost
Wanagi Wachi—Ghost Dance
Wanji, numpa, yamni—One, two, three
Wasichu—White people
Wasna—Dried meat and fruit patties
Washte—Good
Wicasa Wakan—Medicine man
Wichinchala—Girl
Wopila—We give thanks
Phrases:
Hehanni washte
Good day
Anpeta wakan washte
The day is holy and good (answer to the above)
The Seasons:
Kantasa Wi
The Moon-of-Ripe-Plums (August/September)
Chanwape Kasna Wi
The Moon-of-Falling-Leaves (October/November)
Heyunka Wi
The Frost Moon (November/December)
Wanichokan Wi
The Winter Moon (December/January)
Channaphopa Wi The Moon-of-Popping-Trees (January/February)
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks to all the midwives who helped bring this book to life: cultural advisors Mary Puthoff, Linda Six Feathers, Calvin and Michelle Spotted Elk; critique group editors Gabi Coatsworth, Gillian Foster, Maggie Hardy, E. Katherine Kerr, Peggy Knickerbocker, Lori Stewart; those who listened and offered help from the beginning: Mary Alfano, Jennifer Bowen, Jodi Schoenbrun Carter, Janet Francis, Emily Hornisch, Linda Howard, Louise Keim, Nic Latimer, Blair McKenzie, Sarah Parsons, Martha Rhodes, Krystyna Skalski, Cecily Stranahan; and, of course, fearless friend and literary guru Jeanne Forte, and the editors at One Elm Books. Thank you all!
Red Dove, Listen to the Wind is a work of fiction and is dedicated to those who inspired me: my son Chris, daughter Jessica and her partner Charlie, my stepson Tim and his wife Nathalie, and my Goddaughter, Lily Spotted Elk, descendant of the man who led his people at Wounded Knee.
