Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  Next, the hides were dried in the sun and rolled up into large bundles. After a time, they shrank and it took great strength to re-stretch them. Liza spent many hours rubbing a rough-edged stone over the entire surface of one skin before Come Running showed her how to pass it back and forth through a loop of sinew that was tied to a pole.

  At the end of each day, Liza’s muscles burned and her neck and shoulders ached. Each night she slept soundly.

  One morning during the fourth week, Crow Woman woke Liza up early. “Come!” she commanded.

  Frowning, she rolled out of bed. But she had learned that it was useless to argue with Crow Woman. Together they went to the river to bathe. Liza hated the early morning ritual, espe­cially now that the air and water were biting and cold.

  Today, as she stepped out of the water and up the bank, Crow Woman rushed ahead of her, stealing her shabby dress from the bush where it hung. Surprised, she laughed and hollered, “Bring me my dress!”

  But Crow Woman disappeared into the brush, emerging with a bundle in her hands.

  Liza, trembling all over, begged, “Please, Crow Woman, give me my dress.”

  Crow Woman shook her head. A smile lit her moon face as she opened the bundle. From her dark, knotted fingers hung a buckskin dress.

  Liza peered up at the older woman, startled. “For me?” she asked. She glanced around, noting that several women had gathered in small clusters, fingers splayed across their mouths, trying to hold back their delight. One old crone, naked to the waist, stood near the shore nodding her gray-black head up and down. She clapped as Liza blushed.

  “Come!” cried Crow Woman. “Come!” She shook the tunic out as if shaking out a blanket. Her eyes twinkled and her broad smile revealed several broken teeth.

  Liza stepped up to the dress as though she were approach­ing an altar and reached out slowly, overwhelmed by the gift. Pulling it over her head, she felt its softness as it fell against her wet, steaming body. She looked down and was amazed.

  The dress hung to her shins. The side seams had been turned out and the edges cut into fringe. Slightly yellowed from smoking, the two sides of the dress were joined by a yoke care­fully stitched and detailed with shells, beads, and colored por­cupine quills. The beads, sky blue and white, had been sewn with two threads simultaneously. This, she knew, required more skill and time than the simpler, looser stitches of a single thread. The porcupine quills were long and thin and had been dyed yellow. They lay in two diagonal rows that came together near the front of the yoke.

  Liza stared at the quills. She had only recently learned that quillwork was a special craft, practiced only by those initi­ated. The Pikuni believed that the gift had been given them by Thunder and the women who worked with quills could suffer blindness or sickness due to their innate power. It was a ritual entered into at great risk.

  She bit her lip as she continued to study the intricate designs. Rubbing one hand over the soft buckskin, she was amazed again by its velvety texture. The dress was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever owned back in St. Louis.

  The thought so startled her that she looked up, trying hard not to cry. “Thank you, Crow Woman,” she murmured.

  Crow Woman beamed, her smile dimpling her round flat cheeks. Her black eyes glistened and Liza realized the older woman was crying.

  Slipping on her moccasins one at a time, Liza felt as if she had stepped into another place, another time. Suddenly, she was removed from her old, familiar world. She glanced back at the river and the faces still turned toward her, wonder­ing if they could see the change.

  Had she been caught up in a dream? Her very footsteps were restrained and deliberate, and her body moved as if in slow motion. Was it more than the new dress? Had she emerged from the water a different person? Had she gone through a prim­itive baptism, where one life replaced another?

  Crow Woman tittered and waved her hands. “Come!” she clucked. “Come.” She pointed to the village, half-bathed in the robin’s blue light of early morning, where narrow ribbons of gray smoke curled up the sky. Only the sound of dogs, yapping and snarling, and occasional whinnies of the horses broke the enchanted silence.

  Liza followed Crow Woman, her gaze fixed on the long fringe hanging from the edge of her new dress. It brushed her calves like fingertips while tiny cowrie shells tinkled with each step. The rhythms were soft and pleasant, reminding her of a baby’s rattle.

  Standing outside the lodge, Crying Wind and her father were waiting. Crying Wind nodded as Liza approached, his smile warm and approving. He turned to passersby, pointing and laughing.

  But her father spoke in a subdued tone. “You look beau­tiful, Elizabeth. Incredibly beautiful.”

  Liza glanced up at him, then turned to Crying Wind. “Please tell Crow Woman how deeply touched I am by her gift. The dress is lovely.”

  He translated and Crow Woman nodded. Then, for the first time, Liza noticed a broad smile on Come Running’s face.

  Feeling awkward and shy, she mumbled, “Thank you,” to her, too. And, hoping to hide her tears, she slipped into the tipi.

  ****

  Red Eagle also watched Liza return from the river. As she moved, her body swayed as if a gentle breeze propelled her. He smiled. Crow Woman had told him of her intended gift earlier, and in preparation of that moment, he also had a gift. He hoped it would speak to Liza’s heart.

  He raised his pouch, flipping open the leather flap. Sliding his hand inside, he gently removed a necklace. It filled the palm of his hand. He studied it, feeling proud. It was beau­tiful, a much-prized ornament in the Pikuni world, for the bear was an animal of powerful medicine. Normally, only warriors wore necklaces made from bear claws but Red Eagle knew Liza had earned the right to wear it. The claws were not those of the animal she had killed, but they represented the courage she showed the night the bear entered her camp. Many Words had shared the tale with him and since that time he wanted very much to honor her bravery.

  He had carried these claws in his medicine bag for many years, a gift from his father. Attacked by a bear while trapping, his father had wrestled it to the ground and killed it. It took many weeks to heal from the deep cuts the bear had given him. One, across his belly, turned into a long, jagged scar. Just a boy, Red Eagle had gone back to the spot described by his father and cut off the animal’s claws. His father gave them to him as a reminder of the unexpected dangers hiding in the world.

  Now, he wanted Liza to have them.

  It would be an important moment for him. And in the eyes of the tribe, it would be an important moment for her. But first he would relate the story of her boldness and courage.

  Running Antelope had also seen Liza emerge from the brush, dressed in her new buckskin dress. His gaze traveled up and down her slender form greedily. Still angry by her refusal of marriage, he watched her now. If only Crying Wind had spoken for him. After all, the girl should have been his. He had brought her to the village. Running Antelope had saved her life and her father’s, and surely, they would not have survived alone.

  He considered again the benefits of such a marriage: she was strong, learned quickly, and worked hard. Most of all, she could give him what Black Quail could not seem to—a child.

  Adjusting the decorated vest he wore, Running Antelope turned away. Someday he would have her. If only the Above Ones would bless him.

  ****

  Liza rolled over. Her eyes burned from the tears. She wiped the last ones away and looked up through the smoke hole opening to the bright morning sky.

  Liza did not understand why she wept or why her heart ached. The dress was beautiful. Crow Woman had been as kind as any mother or grandmother, and she knew how many hours had been spent on the garment; the old woman’s love had been carefully stitched into the dress.

  Was it Crow Woman’s fondness that had touched her so deeply? She had certainly never expected to experience a bond with these people. They were, after all, from a different world.

  Lett
ing go of the old dress, as ragged as it was, was like throwing away the last piece of her old self; surely now, not a thread of her other life remained—nothing except her mother’s ivory comb, a lap quilt, and memories.

  Perhaps she was afraid she would never go home, now that she had joined in her father’s decision to stay with the Pikuni.

  But, no! Of course not. She shrugged aside her tears. She was free to choose her own life, and she would. So, what was it that bothered her?

  CHAPTER 18

  There was laughter and feasting that night. The men had returned with more fresh meat and the women had been busy all day. The children were excited and long after the stars came out the fires burned and drums sounded while stories were told and food was shared.

  Crying Wind began by telling a favorite story, the tale of how the deer lost his gall. Liza, as curious as the children, lis­tened as the old man related the story in Blackfeet and English, just for her.

  “A long time ago,” he began, eyes bright, voice melodic, “a deer and antelope met on the prairie. At that time, they both had dewclaws and galls. They were both braggarts and each boasted how fast he could run. So, they challenged one anoth­er to a race, even staking their galls on the race.

  “Now the race was run across the prairie. The antelope was faster and won easily, so he took the deer’s gall. But the deer complained, ‘You may have won, but the race was not fair. We only ran on the prairie. A second race must be run through the forest. Then we will see who is really faster.’ On this race, the two animals bet their dewclaws.

  “The deer easily won the second race, so he took the antelope’s dew-claws. That is why, to this day, the antelope has no dew-claws and the deer has no gall.”

  When Crying Wind finished the story, the children wait­ed in silence, their eyes wide. They clearly loved the fable. It reminded Liza of stories her grandfather had told when she was small. Sitting on his wide, soft lap, she would listen as he spun tale after tale. His ivory-tipped pipe would click against his teeth, tap, tap, tap. Even now she remembered being as fasci­nated by Grandfather’s pipe as by his stories.

  Red Eagle, who had been standing behind Crying Wind, stepped through the crowd. Clearing his throat, he cast Liza a long look.

  “The story I tell is one that happened not long ago,” he said in Blackfeet.

  Crying Wind smiled. “Let’s hear it.”

  Liza wriggled uncomfortably but the children clamored for the story. Brown Dog, a small girl with a harelip, nestled into her father’s lap. His chin rested on her head.

  Red Eagle continued. His eyes were bright, his words soft as they rolled off his tongue. “It is about Liza.”

  Crow Woman raised her eyebrows and smiled at Liza from across the large circle. Running Antelope, who stood on the other side of the fire, moved closer while Black Quail, watching him, frowned.

  “What is he saying?” she whispered to her father. He had been learning the Pikuni language and leaned forward to listen.

  “Not much,” he replied, “yet.”

  “It was late at night,” began Red Eagle quietly. “She was alone, except for her father who was badly wounded and not moving. He slept like those who are not part of this world or the next; she did not know if he would live or die. And then, in the darkness, she heard a sound. She had only a pistol.”

  At that, many of the children frowned and several war­riors nodded to one another. Liza leaned forward, wanting to interrupt, but Red Eagle smiled and rushed on. “She heard a growl and knew it was a bear.”

  The children’s eyes widened and the men grunted.

  “It came closer.” Red Eagle paused and took a long, slow breath. Brown Dog eased deeper into her father’s lap, drawing his arms about her. She looked over at Liza in awe.

  “Liza fired once but the bear kept growling.” He imitated the face of a frightened woman and the children clapped their hands to their faces. His voice rose. “She shot again, then again, and again. She fired five times, and the gun was finally empty. She was too frightened to reload, but did not hear the bear anymore.”

  The children were silent, waiting to hear the end of Red Eagle’s tale. He pointed to a tipi that stood fifty yards away. “In the morning when she awoke, she found the bear just that far away with four shots in his chest. Here, here, here, and here!”

  All eyes turned on Liza then and she frowned, casting Red Eagle a hard look. She did not enjoy being the center of so much attention, especially when she had no idea why.

  “What were you saying?” she demanded.

  Crying Wind put his hand out. “He told of how you killed a bear. The killing of kaiyo has strong medicine.”

  “Oh, that?” she said. She waved a hand through the air, embarrassed by the attention. “What else could I do? But he wasn’t a very big bear.”

  Crying Wind laughed and her father, who had been sit­ting quietly, spoke up. “Elizabeth saved my life by killing that bear. She did not hesitate. She was very brave.”

  “Father,” she hushed him. “It was fear, not courage, that caused me to shoot the bear. I didn’t want to be its dinner.”

  Crying Wind chuckled again and shared the joke with the people. Everyone laughed and nodded their heads.

  The Pikuni loved a good joke.

  Red Eagle cleared his throat. “Liza,” he said in English. “Ever since I heard of your bravery, I have wanted to give you something.”

  This time Liza did not squirm. Holding her breath, she looked into Red Eagle’s dark eyes, thankful that the moonlight could hide her emotions.

  He walked toward her quietly and an eerie silence fell over the gathering. Taking his time, he approached her and dropped to one knee. Then, reaching into his buckskin pouch, he lifted out an unusual necklace.

  Five large claws were mounted between beautiful oblong beads that were blue, white, and yellow.

  Liza’s hand shook as she took the necklace. Her face flushed crimson and, if she could have, she would have run away.

  Instead, she held the necklace for a long time, examining it carefully.

  “You do not like it,” Red Eagle whispered to her.

  She raised her tear-studded eyes. “No, I like it very much. It’s—it’s lovely. Truly, I had forgotten all about the bear. But where did you get these claws?”

  “They were a gift from my father. I was only so big. He wanted me to remember how dangerous the world can be—”

  Liza swallowed the lump in her throat. “But I can’t take—”

  “Do not refuse my gift,” he said, putting his hand out. “Please, put it on.”

  She nodded, afraid to look too deeply into his eyes. Crow Woman came forward, took the necklace from her fingers, but rather than placing the necklace around Liza’s neck herself, handed it back to Red Eagle.

  Red Eagle, smiling broadly, raised it carefully over Liza’s head. Instantly, the children cheered and the women laughed.

  Crying Wind laughed loudest. “From now on, we will call her Five Shots!” He repeated his words in Blackfeet and every­one clamored their agreement.

  Liza shook her head. “Excuse me,” she stammered, fight­ing her way through the crowd. “Please, I’m—I’m tired.”

  Several children reached out to touch her as she weaved past the fire and fled toward the lodges.

  Before she could reach Crying Wind’s lodge, however, Running Antelope stepped out of the darkness and stopped her. His voice was sharp as he stood squarely in her path, hands clenched at his sides. “You—Mekotsepetan?”

  Liza shook her head, confused by his question. He repeated it, his angry eyes flashing, his lips curled in disgust.

  “I—I don’t know!” she blurted. “I don’t know. Get out of my way!” She tried to push past him but he grabbed her, pulling her closer. “Get away from me,” she snarled, yanking at her wrists.

  Immediately he dropped her hands and, saying some­thing under his breath, turned and stormed away.

  She watched him, afraid of the l
ook in his eyes, wonder­ing whether she had been a fool to stay here after all. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she relaxed; Crying Wind stood less than six feet away. And he was holding a knife in his hand.

  ****

  “May I sit down, Elizabeth?”

  Liza did not respond. She didn’t want her father to see her swollen eyes and tear-stained face. She sat very still and refused to turn around.

  “Elizabeth, we need to talk. Are you so unhappy here? I had hoped everything might change once you got to know the people and especially after Red Eagle came. But I was wrong. It’s clear now you can’t go on like this. Crying Wind has agreed to send you back tomorrow. His braves can take you at least as far as Fort Shaw. They will protect you.”

  I don’t need an armed escort for protection, she thought miserably, her hand still wrapped around the smooth, cool beads of the bear claw necklace.

  “Please, Daughter, speak to me. I know I’ve made some terrible mistakes. God knows I have apologized over and over, have begged Him for forgiveness. But it seems I haven’t suc­ceeded in receiving yours.” His voice was barely audible. “I will do this the right way, if you will let me. Crying Wind says that if you leave tomorrow, you can be at Fort Shaw within a few days. From there, I’m sure Lieutenant Cole or one of his men can get you back to Fort Benton. I’ll send a letter explaining everything.”

  His voice faded away then and she was left wondering: was this truly what she wanted? To leave her father? To leave Red Eagle?

  “Elizabeth! Are you so angry you won’t speak to me?”

  She sat up, wiping away her tears. “Father, don’t. It’s not what you think. Truly. Two or three weeks ago, I didn’t know if I could ever have forgiven you. Even a week ago, I was angry. Sometimes I thought I would never be happy again. But I’m confused, terribly confused.” Liza’s lips quivered as she tried to put her tumbling feelings in perspective. “Tonight, I discovered I wasn’t angry any more. Not at you. Not at the Pikuni. Not even at Running Antelope. Perhaps only at myself.”