A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  Two Moons could not stop the way his heart raced, or its irregular, pounding against his ribs as his gaze beheld Blue Eyes’ loveliness. The darkness of her hair like a raven's wing, shone under the sun. Her skin of golden honey was clear and flawless. If it were not for the color of her eyes, she would right now be sharing his blanket. He knew his thoughts were twisted. Hatred for the whites burned in his gut like a raging fire, yes. But at moments like this, when his loins ached and his heart raced, when that damned little voice from the corner of his mind spoke to him, he cursed the vow he had made long ago. Only his spirit woman would share his life.

  At the sound of his nephew's voice, Two Moons focused back to the little boy who sat on his lap. "Have you listened to my words?" Two Moons asked.

  Curly looked at him with eyes that showed intelligence and spirit. "Yes and I will be a brave warrior, like you."

  A knot of guilt tightened Two Moons’ gut. How could the child think such worthy words of praise when in the past, he had shown him little if no attention? Even this day, it had been an effort to take him upon his knee, to push aside his hatred for that part of the boy which reminded him of his white enemy.

  Black Hawk’s words, ran though his head. “One must learn to see past his blindness to become an Earth man.” Curly was his blindness. He did this for her. She needed the boy; needed someone to bring her spirit back to the living.

  “Rattling Blanket…” His mother's name brought his attention back to the women. “I belong to no one,” Blue Eyes said.

  What trouble was Blue Eyes now?

  He lifted Curly from his lap, placing the boy on his feet. “Go then and practice what I have taught you.” He gave the boy a gentle pat on his backside and Curly ran off with the arrow in his hand. The child smiled with open gratefulness before he disappeared into the bushes; a smile that should have brought gladness to his heart but only served to further his guilt.

  Out of the corner of this eye, Two Moons saw his mother walking over to Blue Eyes. With haste he stood and started toward the women. The tension between his mother and Blue Eyes was strong enough without Blue Eyes' barbed words.

  “Rattling Blanket wishes you to follow, there are many buffalo hides that need to be cleaned,” he translated to Blue Eyes when he reached her side.

  She stared at him. He wondered what was going on in that pretty head of hers. Would she refuse his mother as she had said she refused him? He knew not what the word harem was; nor did he like her tone of voice when she'd said it earlier.

  He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Come. I will show you what needs to be done.” Before she had a chance to argue, he dragged her after him.

  He stopped when they reached the area where a buffalo hide had been laid out across the ground and stretched tautly between wooden stakes.

  “Here.” He released her and thrust her forward toward the circle. “This one has been dried under the sun and is ready to be worked.” He picked up a short, hoe-like tool and held it out to her. “You will use this. It is called wahintke.”

  She looked at the tool, then glanced down at the hide. An unsettling frown tipped her lips.

  “I will show you.”

  Dragging the tool back and forth across the hide, he was well aware of the stares he was getting from his friends who stood a short distance away, observing him. He couldn't hear their whispers, but knew when he heard laughter, he was the brunt of their jokes.

  “But--”

  He handed her the tool. “When you have finished, we will turn it over and remove the hair.”

  “We need to-”

  “I do not wish to talk now. You will work. I will stay and watch.” He sat beside her and pulled his knife from its sheath. He picked up a branch and began whittling. Glancing over to his friends, he noticed they were watching him closely. Before the sun set he would be hearing their heckling remarks.

  “It must have been a beautiful beast.” Blue Eyes said softly.

  Two Moons stopped carving and looked at her. She stood beside him, scraping the hide as he had showed her. She had learned quickly. This pleased him. “He was a worthy adversary.”

  “There are so few left, it's a shame.”

  “It is not my people who kill them all,” he jumped up, “but the long knives and white hunters who kill for sheer pleasure. It is like a game to them. The white men come to our land like the rains without end. Like a mighty flood they will wash away all that is good and precious to us, including the buffalo.”

  “They'll come back. You may not believe me, but one day your children will see the buffalo again. The government will protect them.” Her silky voice was low and filled with compassion.

  “More white man's promises I will never see. How do you know this?”

  “I just do. Eventually, we all learn by our mistakes. Even the white man.”

  Was it possible for the wasicun to change their ways? He glanced at her. Were her words that of the spirit world? Could it be that the great Wakan Tanka had sent her to him so he could help his people understand?

  He reached into an open parfleche hanging on a pole and handed her a picture of brains, liver and fat. “Rub this into the skin to soften it.”

  At the sight of it, she paled, covered her mouth with her hand.

  He frowned. If she were of the spirit world, would the mere sight of the buffalo’s fat make her sick?

  She reached for the parfleche.

  “It is late." He pulled the drawstring light and placed the pouch on the ground. “You have done enough for now.” He glanced at her, hearing the words Shadow Elk had said. “It will take time. She will come to know our ways.” He hoped his friend was right and she learned quickly before the others sent him to live with the winktes, those men who dressed like women and did women's work.

  Two Moons drew in a heavy breath. Perhaps he would teach her.

  ****

  Gabrielle, in a much needed moment of solitude, stared across the hazy violet dusk lit plains where hundreds of horses grazed on blades of yellowing grass. Her languid mind drifted, like the wispy white clouds, as she gazed over the rise of the bluffs, where camp lookouts patrolled the perimeter of camp.

  Even here, away from the center of the village there was no escaping the constant pounding of the rhythmic drums, the stomping of moccasin feet in ceremonies without end and the monotonous caterwauling of singing voices. Yet, even with the hordes of people, with all the commotion everywhere around her, she felt lonely, a disturbing feeling she hadn't had in a very long time.

  A tug at her skirt brought her attention to her side. Curly looked up at her, smiling.

  “Hello.” She bent down. “Let's see...” she brought her finger to her chin in contemplation. What was the word for hello? “Hau.” She smiled, pleased she could recall it.

  “Hau. Nituwe he?”

  “Nit-tu-we he?” She had no idea what that meant, but he smiled at her attempt to repeat him. She touched the tip of his nose and returned his smile. "You're my little hero, did you know that? I never did thank you."

  “He asks who you are. Your name.” Rattling Blanket walked up beside her.

  Startled by her knowledge of English, Gabrielle gave her a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. How many others in camp understood, but had chosen to ignore her? “My name is Gabrielle,” she said to Curly, before she straightened. “Would you tell him-”

  Before she had a chance to finish, Rattling Blanket, in Lakota, issued what sounded like a command and pointed to a group of cottonwood trees. Curly seemed pleased by her words. With a beaming smile, he turned, then scurried away.

  “I was only going to thank him for taking his pet wolf away. Why do you dislike me so?” Seeing that Rattling Blanket was about to leave without a word, Gabrielle hastily continued. “It's more than just because I'm Crow. Isn't it?”

  Rattling Blanket's mouth pulled into a sour grin. “Your presence in my son's lodge is not good.”

  “I didn't ask to be brought there. In fact, I
had no say in the matter at all,” Gabrielle retorted with sarcasm.

  “My son only sees what is your face, not the dangers that lie in your heart.”

  “I bring him no danger.” She could help him. She knew what the future held.

  “Kills Pretty Enemy can give him many fine sons of our own blood. She can see his lodge is strong. His wishes are fulfilled. What can you offer?”

  “Well, I can…” What was she thinking? She didn't want to give him anything. “I know that.” Nothing. She knew nothing she could at this time tell Rattling Blanket without sounding like a fool. Gabrielle shrugged. “It doesn't seem as if I have a choice in the matter. Your son, for whatever reason wishes my company.”

  Rattling Blanket shot her a look of disgust. “You do not even know the difference between a poisonous root and one that is food. It is like I said. You will bring him trouble.” With a snort, she turned and in Lakota ordered her to follow.

  They entered the tepee. The essence of cedar wafted through the air from a fire built in the center of the lodge. Gabrielle stepped to the left, only to find Two Moons' hand on her arm stopping her. Displeasure hovered in his eyes as he waited for her to move. She knew what he was thinking, that she should know by now that when you enter a tepee you should step to the right, then walk counterclockwise toward the setting sun to find her place.

  She clenched her hands at her side and watched him walk to his honored seat and settle onto a mat of loosely woven tulle.

  This blatantly macho, man-dominated era was beginning to get on her nerves. He watched her walk over to the fire and she could feel his gaze upon her back as she picked up a ladle and dropped the boiled meat into his polished horn cop. If it weren’t for the fact that his mother sat nearby, she had the good mind to feed herself first. She strolled over and handed him his meal.

  After serving Rattling Blanket, Gabrielle sat along the perimeter of the tepee where all his belongs were kept. She tried to force down her dinner, but the buffalo stew and thick fry bread formed a lump in her throat.

  “Here.” Two Moons' words startled her; she hadn't noticed him rise. “This will help it go down easier.” He handed her a cup of honey. “Some say it to be poisonous, but I can assure you I have eaten enough of it to tell you it is not.”

  She took the cup, poured the heavy golden liquid over her meat and nodded her thanks. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rattling Blanket's disapproving glare. “Your mother doesn't approve of your kindness.”

  “My mother knows it is not a man's place to serve a woman.”

  “Then why do you?”

  “You will do me no good if you do not eat.”

  “Right, just stick the feed bag on the horse's face and regardless of whether he's hungry, he'll give you a good day's work. Is that it?”

  “You talk in circles. Eat.” Two Moons strode back to his spot and sat.

  Maybe she was just tired. After all, he was only trying to be nice to her. She took a nibble of meat. It tasted somewhat better laced with honey. She swallowed.

  A vision of the hide she’d scraped and the mush of brains he had wanted her to rub into the skin, entered her mind and the meat tasted sour in her mouth. It had hurt his male pride explaining and lifting the buffalo skin for her. The fact that his friends stood around with teasing stares and snickers made his act of kindness that much more considerate. She suspected he wasn't going to live it down.

  Gabrielle glanced over to Two Moons. Watching her, she could see the concern in his eyes. He nodded, pleased she had tasted the stew. He brought his fingers to his lips indicating that she should continue to eat. She dropped her gaze, took another bite of dinner and wanted to gag.

  Hearing his laughter, she looked up. The smile on his face was enough to knock her socks off if she’d been wearing any. A wonderful smile that softened the harshness of his features, she wished he would do so more often. He was less intimidating when he smiled. A flicker of jealousy shot through her when he touched his mother's hand with tenderness. She could see that he loved her, that she adored him. How lucky they were. If only…

  Chapter Ten

  They came upon a small wood-shingled house nestled in the woods. Roy followed as the old man led him inside. In the darkness that embraced him, the only light, other than from the flashlight, came from a single log burning in a fireplace. The essence of cedar wafted through the air. A thin wisp of smoke rose from an incense burner on the mantle.

  The old man moved about with ease, leaving him to stand alone near the doorway. Then, to Roy's surprise, instead of flipping on a switch, he struck a match. Within seconds the light from a kerosene lamp brightened the area.

  “No electricity.” He blew out the match.

  Roy stared at him, astonished. “No? Well, I guess it beats paying the electric companies.”

  “No.” The old man answered. “The power line's dead. So with your accident, you must have pulled down the wires.”

  “Oh. Right”. How stupid. Just because the old man reminded him of a fictional character from some old time movie, didn't mean that he lived in a bygone era.

  “Sit,” his host suggested, pointing to a battered, old leather sofa. “I will get you some good medicine for that headache.”

  “No, really. Thanks. I already had an aspirin. Can I use your phone?” Roy glanced around the dimly lit room.

  He doubted the old man heard him as he ambled out of the room in silence. Either that, or he chose not to reply. Odd fellow. Seemed to look at him as if he wasn't there. Gave him the creeps.

  Roy glanced around. A free standing fireplace was set in the middle of the room. Open and screened in on both sides, he could see straight through to the other side of the room where a lone chair sat facing him. Odd. Except for that chair, all the furniture was arranged along the walls.

  Various Native American artifacts, a buffalo horned headdress, a tomahawk and a few odd-shaped instruments he had no knowledge of, lay scattered about.

  Roy carefully made his way over to the sofa, sat down and placed his camera on the table before him. A sharp jab of pain stitched his side. He drew in a quick breath and stretched out his arm to relieve the cramp. A cool smoothness, accosted his fingertips. He glanced to his side. His heart jolted. Hidden in the shadows a huge black ceramic bird stared back at him. Yellow eyes blazed at him through the darkness. The bird's extended wings and opened beak instantaneously brought him back moments before his crash. The hair on his arm prickled. He snatched his hand away. Was it just his imagination, or was that bird haunting him? Damn thing made his skin crawl.

  Sitting alone in the dark room with the light from a single lamp casting distorted shadows on the walls, definitely played havoc on his nerves. He sensed a presence beside him. He snapped his head to the left.

  Only the darkness filled his vision.

  “Good God,” he muttered. What the hell was wrong with him? Perhaps his accident had left him a little more shaken than he thought. Suddenly agitated, Roy stood. His feet sank into the thickness of a bear rug. Picking up the lamp, he walked to the other side of the room. Abstract-styled paintings of varying sizes hung on the wall. He raised the lamp to take a better look.

  “So. You like my work?”

  Started by the voice beside him, the lamp jostled in his hand. The old man's footsteps had been so silent.

  Roy leaned closer, examining the brush strokes. “Interesting.” He placed the lamp on the table.

  “All that is life revolves like the earth. So it is with my paintings.” Handing him a cup of what resembled tea, he continued. “This one here is particularly interesting.” His host pointed to a long rectangular portrait. Assorted geometric symbols filled the canvas. “A battle scene,” he explained. “Your father being a military man could relate to this one.”

  Roy’s jaw clenched. Even up here, isolated in the middle of the mountains, he couldn’t escape his father.

  “So. The white represents the color of snow. These two long green lines indica
te the flight of arrows. The points at the end are the wounds made by the arrows.”

  If you asked him, they resembled double-sided pitchforks. A sharp jolt pierced his heart. A muscle spasm. Roy arched his shoulders back. “And this?” He pointed to a large green diamond-shaped figure, then brought the cup to his lips. The strong, sweet smell of whiskey filled his nostrils. His hands shook as he pushed the cup away and placed it on the table beside him. “What did you put in there?”

  His host studied him with curiosity. “The water from the walnut tree, honey for sweetness and bourbon. It is good medicine for your head.”

  “Thanks. I think I'll pass. You know what they say, firewater's bad medicine.” Firewater? That was a first. He'd called his drink of choice many things over the years, but firewater?

  “You like honey, correct?”

  Roy stared. “Yes, how'd you know?”

  “Good guess.” Not explaining further, his host pointed to the painting. “That is the body of a man. So, the dark blue color means the man is dead. The small white rectangle enclosing that red spot near his heart, is the wound that brought him down. And this…” He reached to the top of the painting, to another lighter blue diamond. “So, this means he will live again in the new world.”

  Abruptly, his host turned and started walking away. “So come. Let me show you this one.”

  “A phone. I didn't see a phone I could use,” Roy quickly followed after him. “I've got

  to-”

  He stopped short and grabbed a hold of the table beside him for support. It was probably just the dimness of the room and slight pounding in his head that caused the room to blur, but he suddenly felt a little too warm.

  He glanced up. The old man stood facing the opposite wall, waiting. “This one here shows what you whites call the Sun Dance.”

  Slowly making his way past the battle picture, Roy stopped and stared at the various painted shapes that seemed to resemble bronzed men. He needed to sit down. Once again, a light-headedness overcame him. His chest hurt. And where was the phone? His gaze darted around the room. He needed to call for a tow truck.