Kathleen sighed again and closed her eyes. The thought of climbing back into the warm bed and returning to sleep herself was very tempting. She could hear her mother puttering around downstairs, however, and she forced her eyes open. Now's not the time, lass.
The young woman pushed herself up and grabbed her robe, pulling it about her. She eyed the bed with regret as she walked to the ladder and eased her way down.
"Good luck, sis," Stewart whispered just before her head dropped below the loft floor.
A quick glance to the right and she could see her brother wink and smile encouragingly. The blonde smiled thanks as she continued on.
The coals had been stirred back into flame, the only light in the cabin. In the murky shadows, Kathleen could see her father facing the wall in his own bed, pillow held firmly over his head. Sorry again, da....
Her mother finished putting the tea into two cups on the table. She waved her daughter to a bench and retrieved the kettle before it could boil over and douse the flames. Rachel poured the hot liquid into the cups, tea leaves swirling about with the steam.
Kathleen sat, her profile to the fire. She idly peered into the cup pushed in her direction. Gypsies can see my fortune in tea leaves, she mused. I wonder what kind of bad luck they'd see tonight....
"Don't let it worry ye none, lass," Rachel spoke in a low voice. "'Tis the curse of the O'Neill's and that's a fact. The lad'll get over it in time."
"Curse?" The blonde looked up from her cup, dark blue eyes concerned. "I've not heard of a curse before, mum."
The older woman shrugged. "Yer the first born, Kath. Ye had the night terrors as a child, too, though ye don't remember. As did I and your granny's brother, Malcolm." Rachel lifted her cup to blow on the tea. "The boy'll outgrow it in a year or so."
Irritable, Kathleen shook her head. "He has a name, mum."
"A heathen name," her mother murmured before taking a sip.
Kathleen rolled her eyes and looked back at the fire, pushing her own cup away. Silence filled the room, tension ringing in the air as the tired argument was met once again.
Rachel set the cup down, her face one of concern. "Why don't ye give the boy a Christian name?" she asked for the hundredth time. "And stop lettin' him speak that gibberish?"
"That 'gibberish' is Lakota and it's Teca's language," Kathleen responded, her voice low and hard. Before her mother could speak, she held up her hand. "I know, I know! He's Irish, too. But that's neither here nor there. He knows English, as well."
The older woman sighed explosively, her mouth pursed in disapproval. "Aye, but there's no one here that speaks Lakota, lass. In case ye haven't noticed," she said, her tone sarcastic.
Kathleen's heart ached at the dig, but she refused to allow her mother to see the damage. "I speak Lakota, mum. And someday, Teca'll want to know about his people. I will keep that alive for him."
Another silence drifted over the table. Finally, Rachel reached out and took her daughter's hand. "Kathleen," she said, her voice soft with caring. "I love ye. And I love the boy. But he'll not fit in at this rate." She waved her hand vaguely. "At weddings and barn raisings and such, he'll be a stranger to the rest of his own people."
It was the blonde's turn to sigh. "I understand your concern, mum. But, I will not change my mind on the matter." She squeezed her mother's hand. "I don't know how to explain it to ye. I don't feel that Teca's meant to be here."
"That woman won't be back to get him, if that's what ye mean," Rachel snapped, pulling her hand away and turned to the fire. She missed the look of pain that flashed across her daughter's face.
"Aye," Kathleen whispered. Her voice firmed as she continued. "But I expect Teca will want to know of his people, of his inanup. I'll not keep that from him. They are good people."
Shaking her head in disapproval, Rachel looked sidelong at her eldest child. "Do ye know what the Widow Smythe has to say about it?"
Burning with anger, the blonde's eyes flashed. "No, mum. And I don't care to know. I've told ye before, I'll not marry again. Least of all, the Widow Smythe." Kathleen pushed away from the table, her cup still sitting full. "I'm to bed. It's late."
She was halfway up the ladder when she heard her name called. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her mother. Sweet Jesus, she's gettin' old!
"I love ye, Kath. Ye know that...?"
Kathleen ducked her head a moment before peering down at her mother once again. "Aye, mum. I know. Ye want what's best for me and mine, just as I want what's best for Teca."
Rachel awkwardly nodded, not liking the comparison but accepting it nonetheless.
"Good night, mum."
"Good night, Kath."
The Commanche horse thieves had been put down, the stolen ponies returned and the warriors victorious against a vicious foe. Anpo had put down two of the enemy herself, shining through the battle with furious skill. The celebratory feast was in full swing as night fell. The council fire burned high and the wicasa danced about it, dressed in their finest clothing and reenacting their deeds of the day.
Despite the noise of drums, flutes, singing and whooping, a bubble of stillness surrounded Anpo. She sat with her family and friends, smiling pleasantly and responding to their comments. But, the warrior did not participate in the celebration, preferring to float along as a spectator.
It had been many moons since her return home. Now, the air was heavy with late summer, hot and dry in defiance of the evening breeze. Summer camp and the Sun Dance ceremony had come and gone. In that time, Anpo had basked in the love of her family, regaining her emotional equilibrium. But she never laughed and rarely spoke first.
And she never danced.
A koskalaka
wore a mask over his face as he entered the cleared area around the fire. The lower half of it was painted white, two red and yellow thunder bolts drawn beneath. He danced about the fire, his hair free flowing and wearing a yellow shirt, chasing the 'enemy.' Two 'died' under his knife and the surrounding spectators cheered, their eyes drawn to who the dance was representing.
Anpo accepted their praise with grace, a slight smile on her face. Not many noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes. And no one knew how heavy her heart was. I still live.
Eventually, it became late and the elders drifted away into the darkness. Young mothers brought their children away to sleep. And, as soon as it was polite to do so, Anpo left as well.
The warrior didn't know where she was going. Her only goal was to remain away from the ti ikceya for as long as possible. She let her moccasins guide her, following a game trail once she was away from the encampment. Anpo found herself on a small hill near a tree. Here, she settled down to watch the camp, long fingers idly shredding twigs.
The memory of another tree, another vigil came to mind and the warrior couldn't help but allow a sad smile cross her face. My maiden vision quest. And, after sitting there all day, she had had nothing to show for it. I was so determined to have a vision. Nothing else would do. The smile faded and her face relaxed into its now normal distracted frown. My vision was my curse. I should never have demanded it.
Anpo sighed heavily and watched as the merriment at the council fire continued, a slightly wistful look to her eyes. As usual, her thoughts rambled over the same well-worn path. The one that took her to where she didn't want to go.
Would it have been different if I did not have the vision? If I did not kill tatanka
ska
? Her ate's voice filled her head. "Be still in your heart, cunksi
. Do not worry the vision so. It will not change and will only make you crazy with grief and fear."
"Ohan
. I am crazy with grief and fear," she whispered aloud, her voice harsh in the quiet.
Her father had been wrong. The vision had changed, her cinksi becoming entangled in her dreams as he held his mother's hand. And now it had changed again, never giving her peace.
The woman wore the dress of her people, green gingham, her hair long and
hanging free. A man had his arm about her waist, grinning at Anpo as she knelt in the dirt. It was a stranger, leering and possessive of the blonde, his meaty hands holding her close.
"Mahasanni ki," the warrior croaked out, her voice ragged. She raised a bloody hand in supplication, a sharp pain in her side from where she'd speared tatanka ska.
The woman either did not hear or ignored the cry. She turned away, walking into the brilliant light on the arm of the man with her, a sweet smile on her face.
And Teca was nowhere to be seen.
Anpo shook her head to clear the vision. With weary eyes, she looked up at the moon. "Take this vision from me." Silence was her only answer and she sighed heavily, bowing her neck and staring into her hands as another twig was shredded. "Please...."
It was dark, the breeze coming off the nearby creek cooling the oppressive heat of summer. Kathleen lay on her back, staring up at the moon as she finished her tale. Nearby, Stewart sat with his long legs crossed at the ankles, leaning back on his hands. The boy had his head pillowed on the blonde's stomach, his eyes closed and his breathing even. The three had fled the cabin after a fine Sunday supper, preferring to be away from their elders and the heated interior.
Kathleen gently brushed long dark hair from her son's forehead, her other hand supporting her head. He's grown so big! she marveled. A melancholy washed over her. I wish Anpo could see him. She would be so proud!
"What does that word mean?" Stewart asked. "Inyan?"
Distracted from her thoughts, the blonde craned her neck to peer over at her brother. She could barely see him in the dark. "It means 'stone'."
Puzzlement crossed the young man's handsome face. "Isn't that the same word you use when you tell about the creation of the world?"
The woman nodded, pleased her sibling had made the connection. "Yes, it is." She relaxed her neck to look back up at the lunar orb hanging far away. "Inyan didn't used to be like it is, brittle and hard. It was the first and began creation by draining its blood to create Maka."
"Earth," Stewart supplied.
"Aye, the Earth. And, as more things were needed for Maka, Inyan continued to drain its blood, losing its energy along the way." Kathleen inhaled deeply of the cool air. "When everything had been made, Inyan was scattered all over the world."
A comfortable silence fell between them. Teca mumbled and rolled over, tucking a hand beneath his chin. His breathing deepened as he slipped into the land of dreams. Kathleen continued to gently caress his temple, brushing the soft hair away from his face. Her brother sat forward and pulled out a pipe and tobacco.
The months had been long, longer than Kathleen could ever remember them being. Never a day went by that she didn't think of her warrior. Her initial thoughts of abandonment and anger had given way to a deep sorrow that wouldn't let go. The blonde felt so hollow some days that it hardly seemed worth getting out of bed. Only Teca kept her going. His welfare and well being was above all other considerations.
I'd have been dead long ago without him.
To pass the time, Kathleen resumed old chores within the household, helping her mother with the work. She'd also spent quite a deal of time trying to change Stewart's mind about the 'heathens'. The blonde had even gotten him to begin speaking Lakota - but only when he wasn't around their parents. There was plenty enough stress regarding that little foible already.
There had been three suitors that her parents had paraded before her. Kathleen had scorned them all, much to her mother's distress and fury. "Ye've got to have a husband, Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!" the older woman would exclaim.
"Why won't ye remarry, Kath?" came the soft question from the dark.
Kathleen closed her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat. "I've told ye before, Stew. I belong to another."
The man puffed his pipe in thought. "Aye. That ye've said. But ye haven't told me who. Or why yer here instead of with him." More silence broken only the crickets in the coolness. "It's eatin' ye up inside, lass! Ye've got to know that ye can talk to me about anything!"
Inhaling deeply, her breath hitching in her chest as she fought off tears, the blonde nodded. "I know, Stew," she whispered, barely audible. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, her heart heavy with emotion.
Stewart scooted closer, peering down at his sister, his pipe forgotten in one hand. "And don't think ye can distract me from the subject again," he informed her in all seriousness. "I'll not be chased away this night."
Kathleen didn't know if she should laugh at his tenacity or cry. She opted for neither, preferring to worry her lower lip. Ye've got to tell someone, lass. Question is, what will the brat think of ye now? Fallin' in love with a woman, for pity's sake. Marryin' her.... She closed her eyes, smelling Anpo in the night breeze, feeling warm skin against hers, holding her, protecting her. God, I miss her so much!
"Kath...?"
Opening her eyes, the blonde looked up at her brother silhouetted against the moon. She studied him closely, not knowing what she was looking for, nor if she found it.
Stewart's voice lowered. "Sis...? It'll be okay, I swear it." The pain and concern for her was evident as he reached out a hand to brush his knuckles against her temple.
Despite herself, a sob welled up from Kathleen's throat at the touch. She sat up, gently easing Teca's head into her lap as she fought with the tears. Her back was now to Stewart and she felt his hand on her shoulder.
"I love ye, ye know," the young man murmured. "I want to see ye happy, Kathleen. And yer not happy here. Tell me...?"
"Ye've already met who has my heart."
Stewart's hand continued to rub his sister's shoulder as he turned that around in his head. He searched his memory, trying to figure out the cryptic statement. There's only one other Indian I've met, he thought with puzzlement. A picture developed of a native woman wearing men's clothing, a yellow shirt and angry dark eyes glaring at him. But that would mean...
The hand on her shoulder froze as did Kathleen's heart. He knows. He understands now.
"That Indian you came with...? Anpo?" Stewart asked, confusion in his tone.
The blonde could only nod, the struggle with her tears capturing her voice.
"B... but... Anpo's a woman, Kath. Ye can't belong to her." He felt the woman pull away from his hand. Can she?
Damp blue eyes glared over her shoulder at him. "I do belong to her!" Kathleen insisted. "She might have thrown me away, but she owns my heart and soul." She threw me away! The thought echoed in her head and she turned back around as tears began to course down her face. I was so stupid!
Stewart discarded his pipe and scooted closer, pulling the crying woman into his arms. "Shhh," he murmured as she relaxed into his embrace, babbling.
"I was so stupid that night, Stew. I should never have left her alone, left her to sleep in the barn. I should have told ye and mum and da about what she meant to me from the beginning. Anpo tried, I know, but I kept interruptin' and changin' the subject. I didn't know what to say, what to do." Kathleen finally buried her face in his chest as she wept. "She thinks I don't love her. I can never forgive myself."
The crying went on for some time, though Kathleen's sobs were quiet. Stewart had heard them before, late at night when his sister had thought all were asleep. His mind was awhirl with thoughts, connections being made, sorrow that his sibling had so much pain in her heart. There was movement and he looked down to see his nephew watching, dark eyes concerned.
"Ina?" Teca whispered, his little hand reaching up to touch his mother's cheek. "Do not cry. Inanup loves you. And she loves me, too."
This only served to strengthen Kathleen's tears. She gathered her son into her arms and the three of them cuddled together to support her maelstrom of emotion.
1783
She approached the figure huddled on the hillside, pulling her shawl closer with aching fingers. It was inadequate protection against the icy tendrils of wind that whipped about her, freezing her very soul as it howled. Coldness also gripped her he
art as she neared the familiar figure. The warrior's back was to her, a thin robe ruffling loosely as the wind teased its edges.
"Mahasanni ki?" she breathed.
There was no answer. With hesitant hand, she reached out to touch the warrior's shoulder, to urge her awake, to make some sort of contact.
The warrior was ice.
Unable to pull away, to flee what she knew she would find, she shook the warrior. With absurd slowness, the warrior toppled backwards into the snow. The naturally dark skin was pale and gray, the eyes open and unseeing with a thin layer of frost covering the lenses.
Feeling as if she'd been punched in the stomach, she stumbled back a step, gasping for air. Her lungs ached from the winter cold and she whirled around to run away.
Below her was a small hollow full of Lakota lodges, many of them familiar. There were no warm fires, no sign of movement, not even the whiffle of ponies. Frozen bodies lay everywhere in the camp.
"Anpo!" Kathleen gasped as she sat up, blue eyes wildly searching the loft for the scene she'd just left. Darkness met her gaze, a claustrophobic sensation washing over her. Heart thumping madly, the blonde tossed off her blankets and fled down the ladder.
Standing outside on the porch, she gulped the cold air of early spring. The blonde shivered with fear and cold, her breath drifting away in clouds of steam, her feet bare upon the rough wooden planks. Teeth chattering, Kathleen wrapped her arms about herself as she stared out over the yard.
The nightmare rolled around in her head, not letting her go as it worried her soul with sharp teeth. She could still feel the snow on her face, feel the wind whipping at her clothing, smell the faint odor of musty decay. Never had a nightmare been so real. Questions whisked in and out between the scenes and emotions that played out, adding to her mental maelstrom.
Was that a vision? And if it was, what does it mean?
Kathleen took a shaky breath and stepped from the porch. Her feet hardly flinched from the icy ground as she made her way to the barn. Soon, she was inside, the warmth of the animals causing her to shiver even more. She neared the stall her pony was in, hearing the soft nicker of welcome and feeling a nose nuzzle her hair. With relief, she hugged the spotted mare's neck and buried her face in the long mane.
Tiopa Ki Lakota Page 28
