Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  Liza stifled her tears. She had never seen such determi­nation in her father’s eyes. “So once more you are choosing to go out on a mission which could, in the end, achieve nothing. What if you die?”

  “We all die,” said her father carefully.

  She moved away from him then and turned her face to the fire. The crackling flames curled around a green stick of kin­dling, trying to devour it. She wondered if it was an omen: would she, too, be consumed by the flames of hate burning around them?

  Her father spoke, his words hanging between them. “I must do what I can, Elizabeth. Forgive me, for whatever I am or am not, for whatever you wish I was—”

  “Don’t, Father,” she whispered, holding up her hand.

  CHAPTER 21

  Two days later, on the eve of their departure, Liza learned that Red Eagle would also be a member of the peace party, which now consisted of nine men, including Crying Wind, Many Words, Running Antelope, Little Otter, Long Tooth, and four other warriors from Heavy Runner’s band.

  When she heard the news, Liza ran to his lodge. Too shy to make her presence known, she hesitated, her left hand rest­ing on the brush fence encircling his tipi.

  Suddenly the door flap snapped open and Red Eagle emerged, his dark eyes round with surprise. He was dressed in buckskins and leggings and wore a cape made of rough buffalo fur.

  He waited for her to speak, a puzzled expression on his face. They had not spoken since their dance on the ice, and now, frustrated by all that she wanted to say but couldn’t, Liza blushed.

  She slid her hands under her buffalo cape as Red Eagle’s glance swept over her boldly. She shivered, but not from the cold. “I see you’re in a hurry. I just—I came—uh, to say—good­bye,” she stammered. She felt like a schoolgirl as she fidgeted.

  Red Eagle pulled his long gloves off and held them in one hand. “I will come back,” he said.

  She nodded, the tears she had been holding back tickling the corners of her eyes. “It could be a dangerous journey,” she said. She glanced around the village, aware of how quiet it seemed. “At first, of course, I was angry with Father for wanting to go but I don’t suppose I’m angry any more.”

  “Crying Wind is a wise leader,” returned Red Eagle, “but I fear the army will still not listen to him or anyone.”

  “Perhaps they will listen to Father. He’s a very forceful man. People used to come from miles around just to hear him preach. The army will have to hear him out.”

  Red Eagle pushed the hood off his head. His face com­municated nothing; he seemed to be deep in thought.

  “I know you’re in a hurry—” she began.

  “Crying Wind has sent for me.”

  “I don’t want to keep you.”

  Red Eagle smiled slowly and deliberately. “Come, sit. Crying Wind will wait.” He pulled open the heavy flap of his lodge.

  “I don’t know—” she returned awkwardly.

  “Are you afraid, Liza?”

  She shook her head, eyes clear, voice calm. “Not of you. Never of you,” she whispered.

  Inside the tipi was dim, the fire but a few embers. Red Eagle squatted, dropping his gloves to the ground. He picked up a long stick and stirred the coals, glancing up at her as he did so.

  Her heart skipped a beat. What did she want to say?

  She stood awkwardly, looking down at him. Bright orange sparks danced between them, floating toward the chim­ney opening. Finally, her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. “It’s just that—” she murmured, then closed her mouth.

  Red Eagle stood up.

  Playing with the fur on her cape, she twisted it into tiny ringlets. What had she hoped would happen? That he would take her in his arms and kiss away her fear? She shook herself; she was the one who had pushed him away. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the other afternoon.”

  He shook his head. “You do not need to apologize. I am impatient. I did not want to wait.”

  “But I wanted what you wanted,” she whispered.

  Red Eagle shook his head. “No, I do not think you know your heart, Liza Five Shots. It is not enough to want me for what stirs you, here.” He pointed to her belly, and she blushed. “I do not want you for just a day—”

  Silence enveloped them. Liza felt herself breathing in and out, but it was as if she were outside of herself, watching. To hold her own fear in check, she turned away.

  “I have said too much,” he mumbled.

  “No. Not too much. I am just confused. I suppose you are right when you say I must learn to know my heart.”

  “When I return,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders, “we will talk again. Perhaps then, you will know what it is you seek.”

  She held her tears back but the pain in her middle caused her to sigh. Reaching around, Red Eagle drew her into the circle of his arms. His face was illuminated by the amber glow of the fire.

  Slowly, with his forefinger, he traced the line of her nose down to her chin, then up to her ear. He wrapped his cape around her shoulders and she relaxed against him, closing her eyes. “I will come back to you, Liza Five Shots. I can only pray to The God Who Knows All that you will be waiting for me.”

  “Yes,” she said, so softly she wondered if she had spoken at all. “Yes.”

  But he was gone, and his words were only an echo in her ears, his breath still hot on her skin.

  Liza opened her eyes slowly and turned to the fire, which flickered, even as the blast of cold air from Red Eagle’s leaving moved eerily through the lodge. Strangely enough, for the first time in her life, she felt a sense of belonging that had nothing to do with where she was.

  She was in love and Red Eagle wanted her, not just for today, but for a lifetime.

  Dear God, but what if—what if?

  ****

  As the sun sent the morning’s first light across the snow, Liza said a strained good-bye to her father. Red Eagle watched from a distance.

  A smile tickled the corners of his mouth as he approached her. “Good-bye,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

  “Good-bye,” she said. “Be careful.”

  He nodded. “We will return in two or three weeks.”

  She inhaled deeply. It sounded like a lifetime. “I will be here.”

  Red Eagle opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Instead, he put his fingertips lightly against her lips and smiled. He turned and rejoined the party of warriors waiting on horseback.

  Liza looked from her father to Red Eagle, memorizing every detail of their faces, their bodies, the way each looked sit­ting on their horses, poised against the blue-gray skyline. Tears would embarrass both of them, so she bit her lip and straight­ened her shoulders.

  The small troop moved out slowly and those watching stood and waited until the last man’s shadow had disappeared into the low clouds. Liza shivered as she turned away; it felt as if the men had been swallowed up by the blue-gray world.

  That night, she did not sleep. Wind swept through the vil­lage, howling and tearing at the stretched fabric of the buffalo lodges. Gusts whistled through her own tipi, and Liza covered her head with robes to block out the hideous whine. If this were the cries of a wild animal, she decided, it must be a monstrous beast.

  Well into morning, the wind whipped and whirled. Liza prayed fervently for her father and Red Eagle, as well as for Running Antelope and the other men.

  But as the storm raged outside, a storm of protest reeled through her mind. If only this meeting could have waited until spring. Certainly the army would not attack in the middle of winter. Lieutenant Cole had assured Father on their first day in the Territory that the army would never send troops without first trying other means to achieve peace.

  But, as her father had pointed out, men like Lieutenant Cole and General DeTrobriand had little power in the face of terrible unrest.

  The storm continued. Snow followed wind, and lasted all day and through a second night.

  As the dawn of t
he third day broke, Liza awoke to a world drenched in white. Icicles hung from everything, even the long hairs of the horses’ heavy coats. The sky was painted cornflower blue against the pearl white snow, but the people stayed close to the village most of the day. Inside her own tipi, she read from the volume of poetry and began work on a doeskin shirt. Crow Woman had showed her how to design and cut the pattern.

  As she worked, she dreamed of Red Eagle. She relived the delicious shudders she had felt when he touched her.

  Red Eagle.

  Did it matter that they came from different worlds?

  ****

  Time passed painfully. Each morning and afternoon, Liza tramped through the village, her eyes on the distant hori­zon.

  One morning, Crow Woman stopped her. “They will come back,” the older woman said in Blackfeet.

  She nodded. Red Eagle had promised her the same thing. Still, she worried.

  The next day was warmer, so Liza wandered out to her place beside the river among the willows. There she sat flipping through the pages of her book, the melancholy tone of Dyer’s poem haunting her.

  But it was only a poem.

  ****

  One week turned into two. Resigned to life without Red Eagle, Liza tried to relax into the rhythm of village life. She enjoyed the familiarity she had developed with Crow Woman. They laughed together frequently, though Crow Woman sensed the state of her troubled heart.

  Thankfully, she was also learning more of the Pikuni lan­guage and this made the days and evenings less lonely. She bet­ter understood the women’s conversations and learned of the increasing tension between the whites and the Blackfeet, and the strained relations between the army and the tribes.

  The Pikuni people themselves were divided in their loy­alties. Most of Crying Wind’s people did not approve of Owl Child and Mountain Chief, but others talked of following them into the mountains. Crow Woman confided to Liza that Mountain Chief may have even taken refuge in Heavy Runner’s camp. If the army found him, there would be problems for everyone.

  “But Heavy Runner doesn’t want trouble,” she said.

  Crow Woman agreed. “It is a difficult thing to keep peace amongst the Pikuni as well as with the white soldiers.”

  That night Liza returned to her lodge, a new fear settling over her. It had been hard enough worrying about her father and Red Eagle’s absence, but now she worried about the pres­ence of this renegade leader and what might happen.

  All the next day, Liza thought about the situation facing the Pikuni people. Their problems had now melded with her own, and she found herself frightened for Crow Woman, Come Running, Crying Wind, even Black Quail: what would come their way and how would it all end?

  As she walked back from the river that evening, her arms full of driftwood, she noticed several young men grouped together around another man, a stranger. It had been a calm day, though a thin line of gray clouds now covered the highest peaks. The snow was dry and the frost had finally melted off the boughs of nearby trees. But there was something disturbing about the scene that sent a chill through Liza. She looked up to see if the wind had begun to blow.

  All was quiet.

  Then her attention was diverted by the stranger. He was dressed in furs and from his black hair tassels of animal or human hair woven with beads and brightly colored trim were draped. He wore earrings of feathers and quills and about his neck hung a quilled and beaded necklace.

  His face was unusual, lined and deeply etched by weath­er and experience. But it was his glance that caught Liza by sur­prise. Like two shiny buttons, his black eyes narrowed as they scanned her face and a scowl creased his leathery features. She felt the heat of his disdain even after she was out of his sight.

  The next day, Crow Woman reported that a warrior from one of the Blood tribes, a man called Too Fat Belly, had accom­panied Mountain Chief to the Pikuni settlements. Both hoped to gather more followers and were encouraging as many young men as would listen to join their band. Had the stranger been Mountain Chief or Too Fat Belly? Liza shivered.

  A few days later, she overheard Come Running whisper that Heavy Runner himself was growing more troubled, espe­cially since no word of Crying Wind’s arrival at Fort Benton had been received.

  Crow Woman hushed her sister.

  But Liza’s dark fears were once more rekindled. What if the men had never reached the fort? Perhaps they had gotten stranded or lost. Perhaps her father had fallen ill or, worst of all, perhaps the men had been captured by another tribe. The Blackfeet had many enemies.

  Liza went to bed that night sick at heart. Aware of every sound and smell, she shivered, listening to the winds blow through the camp. She jumped when an owl hooted and distant coyotes cried out in the darkness. The smoke of her cold fire burned her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes.

  If only she weren’t alone. If only Father had not gone. If only Red Eagle were here. Dear God, what would she do if nei­ther returned?

  Liza pressed her hands to her breasts as the tears contin­ued down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER 22

  Three days later, as a new storm brought great flat flakes of snow, Crow Woman came to Liza. Her face was wrinkled with worry and grief.

  Not understanding her rapid string of words, Liza could only repeat, “Tsanistapiwats?”

  Crow Woman took her by the hand and led her to the painted lodge of Running Antelope; there she hesitated, a ques­tion rising in her throat. But throwing open the heavy flap, Crow Woman entered the dark space and she followed.

  It was filled with smoke and the odor of herbs and other burnt offerings. As Liza’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she dis­covered Black Quail stretched across a buffalo robe, naked. Her skin was ashen even in the dim light. Next to her sat Little Otter’s sister, Big Horse. Her face held a look of horror and unabashed fear.

  Big Horse glanced up at Liza, brows knitted together. Meanwhile, Crow Woman turned to Liza and whispered anoth­er long string of words. Liza immediately understood one word: dying.

  She knelt beside Black Quail. Touching her shoulder, she realized the frail woman was sweating furiously and her body burned with fever. “She is very ill. She needs a doctor.”

  Both Crow Woman and Big Horse nodded, tears running down their faces. Frustrated, Liza ran to the water pouch hang­ing from a horn near the lodge’s entrance. She poured a hand­ful of water into her hand, then dripped it over Black Quail’s belly. The semi-conscious girl shivered in response to the cool water.

  “This is no good,” sighed Liza. “She needs medicine. She needs a doctor.” She looked around again, noting that the women had prepared some kind of tea. When she pointed to it, Crying Woman frowned and explained that Black Quail had not been able to drink it.

  Liza moved closer. If only she had some of her mother’s laudanum; her mother had often used it to quiet a fever or headache.

  Just then Black Quail rolled over and vomited. Liza jumped back, the putrid odor causing her own stomach to roll. The poor girl vomited a second time and then began to moan. Big Horse cried out, her words lost in Black Quail’s growing agony.

  Crow Woman slipped out of the tipi as Liza mopped up the pool of bile and spit. Big Horse continued to fan Black Quail, though Liza feared it futile. Without medicine, the girl might not recover.

  Almost immediately, Crow Woman returned with the sun priest, Red Quiver. He entered the lodge, rattling with each step. Liza noticed the tiny bones and odd bangles tied to his wrists and ankles and quickly moved out of the old man’s way. She knew very little about the sun priest, but his severe expression, ancient sunken eyes, and strange appearance frightened her.

  From an animal skin bundle, he removed an assortment of items. He began to sing and chant, moving up and down the body of Black Quail. He then shook a large rattle made of bones and teeth and he sprinkled a fine powder in a circle around the lodge. The dust gave off a musty smell that made Liza wrinkle her nose.

  Feeling the outsider, she left the lod
ge. The fresh air was like a slap on the face and it was still snowing, but the flakes were smaller and wetter. She inhaled deeply and returned to her own lodge.

  Within a few days, it was clear that the tribes along the Bear River were battling smallpox. Black Quail was the first vic­tim in Crying Wind’s band and she died a slow, agonizing death. By the second morning, another woman was violently ill.

  Liza was stunned. The Pikuni people were powerless against such a disease. They had no proper medicines, no doc­tors. They didn’t understand how the sickness, what the Pikuni called the white scabs disease, could spread and she was at a loss to explain it to Crow Woman. Red Quiver, of course, would not listen to her; after all, she was not one of them.

  Most of the deaths were occurring in Heavy Runner and Standing Wolf’s bands, where larger numbers of people were struck. Unfortunately, the disease was still in its early stages.

  Night and day, Red Quiver traveled from lodge to lodge. By the end of the first week, in spite of his efforts, a half dozen people were dead. In the meantime, Liza and Crow Woman made broth from the meat the hunters brought in. Seasoned with herbs Crow Woman kept stored in parfleches, she and Liza carried the soup to those too ill to eat anything else. Come Running was not allowed to accompany them for fear she would endanger her unborn child. Each evening, Liza dropped exhausted onto her buffalo hides, sometimes not even remov­ing her moccasins.

  Then, as if the people had not suffered enough, on the ninth day of dying, Crow Woman told her that a group of young warriors had finally deserted. Afraid of disease and anxious to seek revenge, they had followed Mountain Chief and Owl Child into the mountains. Three were from Crying Wind’s band, including Fast Walker, a happy, smiling young man.