by Eva Pohler
Jack turned to the petite woman beside him. “Marjorie, these are the ladies from Texas I was telling you about.”
“Hello,” Marjorie said. “I’m Jack’s wife. It’s nice to meet you.”
Although she appeared to be in her early sixties, the lines in her face were deep, perhaps from smoking or from overexposure to the sun.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ellen said.
A younger woman as petite as Marjorie walked up and said, “There you are.”
She held out her arms to the sleepy little girl.
Jack passed the girl to the young woman and said, “And this is my daughter, Jan, and my granddaughter, Joy.”
“How nice to meet you,” Sue said. “Jan was my mother’s name.”
“What a pretty little girl,” Tanya added.
“Thank you,” Jan said.
“My family and I are going back to our lodge for some breakfast,” Jack said to Ellen and her friends. “Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, but we’ve already eaten,” Ellen said.
Sue lifted a hand in the air. “But we’d love to join you anyway. Thanks so much for the invitation.”
Tanya gave Ellen a look that said, get us out of this, but Ellen wanted to go with Jack, because she wanted to find out why Terry Murray was hurting himself.
They followed Jack and his family to a large teepee, where an older woman was already sitting, cross-legged on a blanket.
“Niksista, Anistawa Naapiianamayia’ki Sue Graham, Ellen Mohr, and Tanya, er…”
“Sanchez,” Tanya said.
“This is my mother,” Jack said. “Sinopa.”
“That was the name of our boat,” Ellen said. “What does it mean?”
“Fox,” Jack said.
“Nitsikinonootsi,” the older woman said.
“Please sit down.” Jack pointed to a blanket on the ground. “I’ll bring in the food.”
Ellen and her friends sat together on one side of the teepee. Across from them, Marjorie sat beside Sinopa, and Jan sat beside her mother with her daughter in her lap. Joy’s eyes were now closed, and she appeared to be asleep.
“Was she up all night?” Ellen asked of the little girl.
“Most of it,” Jan replied. “Are you enjoying your trip?”
Although Ellen didn’t think enjoy was quite the right word, considering she’d almost died twice, she said, “Oh, yes.”
Jack returned with eight foil packets and gave one to each person. “Be careful. They’re hot.”
Ellen wasn’t hungry, but not wishing to be rude, she accepted the warm packet, which she, like the others, set on the blanket near her crossed legs. Opening it up, she found a big, toasted bun with egg and bacon inside.”
“This looks delicious,” Sue said. “Thank you.”
Marjorie then passed them each a juice box.
“Thank you,” Tanya said.
Jack settled in on the other side of his mother. “Karen said she was going to invite you. Are you enjoying the Sun Dance so far?”
“It’s very interesting,” Sue said.
Jack and Marjorie laughed.
“You’re wondering about the blood ritual,” Jan said. “White people are always quick to judge us, aren’t they, Dad?”
“I meant no offense,” Sue said before taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich.
“But we are curious as to why Terry, or anyone, would want to put himself through that,” Ellen added.
Jack nodded. “I understand. Well, you’ll recall from our purification ceremony that Terry has a drinking problem.”
Ellen and her friends nodded.
“He’s been dry for over a week. In participating in this ritual, he makes an oath before the entire community, and he makes this sacrifice to Creator on behalf of the community. He and the other two men pay homage to Sun and Mother Earth and ask Sun to help them to be brave and strong and worthy of a new life.”
“That’s what the Sun Dance is for,” Marjorie added. “It’s about renewal. We do it at this time every year to invoke the sun and the earth to continue to rejuvenate the land’s resources and the creativity of the people who live on it.”
Just then, Ellen’s cell phone rang. Worried that she’d offended them, she quickly fished the phone from her purse and silenced the ringer. But, seeing that the call was from Father Gonzales, she said, “Please excuse me. I have to take this call.”
She climbed from the teepee and out into the bright day, where others were dancing or visiting. One older man dragged the skulls of two large beasts—perhaps steers or buffalos—behind him as he danced among the others.
“Hello, Father?” Ellen said into the phone.
“Ellen! I’m glad I caught you. I have news—good and not so good.”
“Tell me!”
“Could you and your friends come to the rectory? I’d love to discuss it in person.”
“I’m afraid we’re at the Blackfeet Sun Dance for most of the day. Can’t you tell me over the phone? I’m dying to know.”
A few minutes later, Ellen returned to the teepee where Jack Stone, his family, and Ellen’s friends were finishing up their breakfast. Ellen sat beside Tanya and said, “That was Father Gonzales. He had news about the remains.”
“I was just telling Jack and his family the story of Rabbit and Sister Alma,” Sue said. “What’s the news? Were the authorities able to identify the bodies?”
“They were able to identify Sister Alma,” Ellen said. “They found a rosary wrapped around one of her hands, and her name was engraved on the back of the cross, along with the year 1907. It’s not conclusive evidence, but, together with the letters of Father Galdas, it seems to be enough.”
“That’s fantastic!” Sue cried.
“But what about Rabbit?” Tanya asked.
“Unfortunately, the authorities are having a harder time with the second body,” Ellen said. “Apparently, there aren’t any dental or medical records. Father Gonzales is reading through every journal, letter, and document he can find, hoping to discover the mention of a characteristic that might prove the body is Rabbit.”
“Why not ask his mother, Maisto Aakii?” Jack’s mother said.
“Maisto Aakii means Crow Woman,” Jack explained.
Ellen and her friends told them what had happened the last time they’d visited Talks to Buffalo Lodge.
“The spirits are open during the time of the Sun Dance,” Sinopa said. “Take a medicine man or woman with you, do the Sun Dance, and Maisto Aakii will want to answer.”
Ellen glanced at her friends and back at Jack. “Where do we find a medicine man or woman?”
“My mother is a medicine woman,” Jack said, “but she needs to stay here to pray for Joy’s healing.”
“Karen is a medicine woman,” Sinopa said.
“But doesn’t she need to stay to pray for her husband?” Sue asked.
“She needs to get away from here,” Sinopa said. “Terry must fight his own battle.”
Once they’d finished their breakfast, Jack climbed to his feet. “Come on. I’ll take you to Karen, and we can see if she’s willing to help you.”
It was almost noon when Ellen and her friends arrived with Karen Murray in her black Honda Accord at Talks to Buffalo Lodge. At first, Tanya insisted that she would wait in the car, but when Ellen reminded her of the rock that nearly hit her in the head while she was sitting in the rental, Tanya came to the conclusion that no place was safe, so she may as well go inside.
“We have a medicine woman with us this time,” Sue reminded her as they made their way to the front door. “And we’ll make our circle of protection. It kept me safe last time.”
They carried pipes made of the bones of eagles. The pipes had soft eagle feathers fastened to them with string. Karen had a buckskin drum, and Ellen brought the duffle bag containing some of their smaller equipment, including the Ouija Board.
Although she was determined to speak with Crow Woman, Ellen was also frightened. She hoped Sino
pa had been right in saying that Crow Woman would be open because of the Sun Dance.
Just to be safe, they made their circle of protection with salt and four candles. They put some snacks and water bottles in the center of it.
“We usually do this at night,” Sue said. “That’s when the ghosts tend to be more active.”
Karen moved to the center of their circle. “Why don’t you stand there with the pipes, and I’ll show you the dance? It’s very simple.”
Ellen and her friends moved to one side as Karen pounded a quick, even beat on her drum.
“Bend your knees like this,” Karen said. “And then blow through the pipes with the beat. The sound of the pipes is meant to emulate the call of the eagle, a sacred bird to Sun.”
Ellen and her friends did as Karen said.
“Now we face the east,” Karen said, turning toward the kitchen. A few beats later, she said, “And now we face the west.” They turned toward the master bedroom.
After a few more minutes of dancing, Karen set down her drum. Ellen and her friends stopped blowing through the pipes.
Karen lifted her palms and said something in her native tongue.
All four candles went out. The fluorescent tube in the kitchen flickered. An old book that had been lying on the floor lifted into the air and struck the wall. Ellen wondered if it was the same book that had smacked her in the head the last time she was here.
“I think we got her attention,” Sue whispered.
Ellen took the Ouija Board and planchette from her duffle bag. She and Sue sat on the two metal chairs with the board balanced on their knees. Tanya and Karen knelt between them and placed their fingertips beside theirs on the plastic indicator.
Sue said, “Karen, could you ask Crow Woman if she’s there?”
“Aoki tsakinohkanista’ paispa, Maisto Aakii?” Karen said.
The planchette spelled N-A-T-S-I-I-K-S-N-I-I-K-I-S-K-A-A-A-T-S-I-S-T-A.”
When the indicator stopped moving, Tanya whispered, “Does that mean something, Karen?”
“She’s asking where her son is,” Karen said.
Ellen frowned. “Can you tell her that we think we found him in Two-Medicine River? Tell her that we need her help identifying the body. Ask her if he ever broke a bone.”
No sooner had Karen translated than the planchette flew across the board and spelled S-I-N-A-A-K-S-S-I-N-I.
The planchette paused.
“Book,” Karen said. “But what does she mean?” She asked a question in her native tongue.
The old book flew up and struck a wall on the opposite side of the room.
“Does she want us to look at that book?” Sue asked.
“Where did it come from, anyway?” Ellen wondered.
Karen climbed to her feet and left the circle of protection to fetch the old book. “I’ve been in this house dozens of times and have never seen it.”
“It came out of the floor the last time we were here,” Sue said. “From over there, from in front of the hearth. You see where that floorboard has come loose?”
The old wooden floor in front of the fireplace was torn up. Had the book been hiding there?
Karen flipped through the yellowed pages as she returned to the circle. “It appears to be the memoir of Maisto Aakii.”
Sue arched a brow. “It was written by Crow Woman? I didn’t think Indian women could read or write back then.”
“It’s common for white women to underestimate the abilities of Indian women,” Karen said.
Sue’s face turned red. “I just meant it was so long ago. Most white women couldn’t read or write back then, either.”
“I think you’re mistaken on both counts,” Karen said. “Besides, this is dated 1935.”
“That means she wrote it after the death of Talks to Buffalo,” Ellen pointed out.
“It’s a short memoir—more of a letter, really,” Karen said. “Shall I read it?”
“Please do!” Sue said.
Chapter Twelve: Crow Woman
Karen sat cross-legged on the floor beside Tanya. Sue and Ellen took their seats in the metal chairs. By the light of the candles, which Tanya had relit, and the little bit of sun coming in through the front windows, Karen read the memoir of Crow Woman aloud:
My people called me Maisto Aakii (Crow Woman), because when I was a young girl of twelve summers, before I had begun to bleed, I was taken by a Crow to be his wife.
I did not like my Crow husband. His name was Tsikatsi (Grasshopper). He was handsome but unkind. His other wives were cruel to me. They called me lazy and unskilled, even though I worked harder than any of them. They stole the berries I picked and claimed them as their own. They stole the rabbits that I shot and the fish that I caught. If there was ever trouble, they blamed me. My Crow husband believed them and punished me. He whipped me with thorny branches.
I tried to run away three times. The third time, my husband punished me so severely, that I gave up the idea of ever returning to my people.
When Grasshopper died in a battle three summers after he took me, I asked the chief to let me return to my camp, since I had no children and since the other widows hated me. The chief said I could go if, and only if, I killed the fox that pestered and ate his turkeys.
That night, I lay in wait at the bottom of a hill where the turkeys liked to roam. The favorite male with the longest snood was busy with one of the hens while the others slept in the tall grass.
I had a bow and quiver of arrows that Grasshopper had made for me when he first took me to his camp. They had served me well. I shot many rabbits with them. This night, I would shoot a fox.
The half-moon was bright, and I saw the fox as it crept toward the turkeys. I was fascinated by his stealth. I admired his skill. I also thought he was the cutest animal I had ever seen.
Something made me love the fox. I did not wish to bring him harm. I drew my arrow and pointed, but I did not aim for the fox. Instead, I shot one of the sleeping male turkeys and killed him.
The fox froze when my arrow struck. He looked up and spotted me as I slowly made my way toward the dead turkey. The other turkeys awoke and gobbled at me, distressed by my presence. All but one went away. One looked on as I pulled my arrow free of the dead turkey, picked it up by the legs, and threw it toward the fox.
The fox took my offering and ran away. I followed him and never looked back. When I came to the river, I followed it until I found the camp of my people. I slept in the grass until sunrise. When I awoke, the fox was lying a few feet away. I got up to look for my family, and the fox followed me until others came out of their lodges. Then the fox went away. I wanted to go after him, but I wanted to find my family more.
My people did not recognize me. They saw me dressed like the Crow and called me Maisto Aakii (Crow Woman). That is what I was called from that day on.
I was devastated to learn that my father and mother and brother were no longer among our people. No one knew where my family members were or if they were alive. I suspect my family went looking for me after my Crow husband abducted me. To this day, I do not know what became of them. If it had not been for my friend the fox, who returned to me that night, I would have flung myself into the river.
I built a lodge from willow saplings on the outskirts of the Gros Venture camp. I wove thatches of long grass to cover it until I could get hides. The fox slept with me and kept me company. I caught fish and rabbits and shared my food with him. I called him Sinopa Iikanata’psiiwa (Cute Fox).
Not long after I had returned to the Gros Ventures, some men rode into the camp on horses. One was very tall and handsome. He had a white buffalo on the back of his horse.
I said, “Let me tan that hide for you.”
“Who is this?” he asked some of the others.
“Crow Woman,” they said. “She says she is Gros Venture, but no one knows her.”
I said, “My father was Piegan (Blackfoot). He was called Aawakaasi (Antelope Hunter). My mother was Gros Venture. She was calle
d Sohksiisiimstaan (Meadow Lark). My brother was called Miikaysi (Squirrel).”
“I am Piegan,” the tall man said. “I knew your father. I am called Aisaistowa Iini (Talks to Buffalo).”
He invited me to join him and his friends at their lodge, where he watched me prepare the white buffalo hide while his friends cooked the meat. He spoke with me as I worked, and I told him about my life before and after I was taken by my Crow husband. When the meat was ready to eat, he gave me the tastiest part. That night, he took me as his wife.
At first, Cute Fox was too apprehensive to join me at the lodge of Talks to Buffalo and his friends. He stayed in my small lodge, where I took him food each day. Then one day, I lured him to the bigger lodge with pieces of meat. Talks to Buffalo was kind to Cute Fox, and they became friends.
After two new moons, Cute Fox and I went with Talks to Buffalo and his friends to his people, to my father’s people, the Piegan. I was happy to talk to those who remembered my father. I wept with joy at the stories told by the Piegan of my father when he was a boy.
When I learned I was with-child, Talks to Buffalo, who had much wealth compared to other people, had a big lodge built in the style of the whites for us a few miles from the main village. Not long after, we had a son.
First, we called him Iinaksipoka, or Baby. After two summers had come and gone, we called him A’atsita (Rabbit) because of how he walks. One leg is shorter than the other.
This was the happiest time of my life.
“Wait a minute!” Ellen said, interrupting Karen’s translation of Crow Woman’s memoir. “That’s the identifying characteristic we need to prove that the other body belongs to Rabbit! If one leg is shorter than the other, then it’s him!”
Ellen suddenly recalled the dream she had in which the white buffalo had told her why he was named Rabbit. She’d forgotten until now.
“Call Father Gonzales!” Sue said.
Ellen plucked her phone from her purse and called the rectory.
“Hello?” Father Gonzales said over the phone.
“Father, it’s Ellen.”
