Wild Desire

by Cassie Edwards

  Leonida stepped out of her hogan. Stretching about her in all directions was shadowy grassland. Above her, the sky was filled with fading, glimmering stars.

  She walked a few steps toward the pole corral at the back of her house and sprinkled an arc of cornmeal in the air. This was an offering to the gods, who she believed would rise with the sun and pass over her hogan and her family.

  She silently prayed for a blessing, then went back inside and joined her family.

  “Now I walk with Talking God,” Sage said, beginning the Navaho prayer that he sometimes used before the morning meal.

  He shoved another piece of wood in the fireplace of his hogan. He then settled down again beside the fire on a white sheepskin, along with his loved ones, his precious family. There was only one of them missing—his daughter, Pure Blossom.

  Sage understood that she enjoyed weaving in the earlier hours of the day. And most mornings she awakened with inspirations for new designs for her blankets. She had recently moved into her own hogan so that she could have more room for her looms and other various instruments used for making her breathtaking woven, woolen coverings.

  Leonida gave Sage a soft smile as she poured coffee in an earthenware mug. She inhaled deeply as the aroma of the coffee wafted upward, smelling as good as it tasted. She was glad that the Navaho, as a whole, had adopted this drink as their preferred nonalcoholic beverage. She had always loved it and had missed it when she had first joined the Navaho to become as one with them, as Sage’s wife.

  “That prayer is always such a lovely way to start the day,” she murmured, handing Sage the steaming cup. She gazed lovingly at her husband. He was still a powerful leader, revered by the Dine, the Navaho people. He was as handsome as the day she had met him. His eyes were intense and dark, his shoulders broad, his hips lean, handsome with his bronzed, sculpted features.

  She looked past him at Runner. It was hard to tell by looking at him that he was not Navaho by birth. He dressed in the Navaho tradition, sometimes in fringed buckskin, other times in bright velveteen breeches and shirts, his moccasins fancied up with shining, silver buttons.

  He had spent so much time in the sun that his skin was bronzed almost as dark as his adopted Navaho father and brother. His black hair had been allowed to grow to waist length. He took much care in grooming it, brushing it until it glistened like a raven’s wing.

  Handsome was the only word that anyone could use to describe Runner.

  And his eyes.

  Leonida did not know how it was possible, but Runner’s eyes were even more intense and dark than his adopted father’s.

  She looked over at Thunder Hawk. He was her youngest son, and her most defiant. He was the image of his father in all ways, but he had weaknesses that troubled Leonida. He disobeyed his parents far too often.

  She poured another cup of coffee, shifting her gaze to Runner. “Son, it’s wonderful that you’ve joined us this morning for breakfast,” she said, handing him the cup. “Since you’ve built your own hogan and live away from us, I’ve missed you.”

  “Runner has more on his mind than eating with family,” Thunder Hawk interjected, giving Runner a teasing smile. “What girl are your eyes following now, my brother? There are many who have made special blankets for you. Do you not know that they do this to give you a hint that they wish to share their gift with you? Of all the blankets that you have been given, which do you like the most? That will tell this brother which girl you prefer.”

  When Runner didn’t answer and only responded to his brother by glaring at him, Leonida shoved a cup of coffee into Thunder Hawk’s hand. “Hush now, Thunder Hawk,” she said firmly. “Quit teasing your brother. You should be concerning yourself about things other than women. Your brother and father are escorting you to school today. Now do I have your promise that you will stay? It gets so tiring to discover that you’ve skipped another full day of schooling. When will it end?”

  “Sitting at desks is hogay-gahn, bad. It is always strange to me,” he complained. “It is too confining. It has few windows from which to see the loveliness of the land.”

  He paused, then said, “This Navaho wants to ride horses alongside his father and brother. It was not meant for a Navaho to sit on a bench in a white man’s school every single day, when his hands might be used to help his parents in hard work.”

  Thunder Hawk paused, then glowered from his mother to his father. “And this Navaho is too old to be in school,” he said, curving his lower lip into a pout.

  “My son, had you not slipped away from school so often, you would have been finished with the teachings long ago,” Sage said firmly. “With the white men pushing against the boundaries of Navaho land, some even already living inside the reservation, it is necessary that the Navaho children learn as much as the whites who, themselves, attend schools.”

  Sage paused for a moment. Everything in the hogan was silent except for the sounds of grease spattering and popping as white flour dough fried in deep fat in a skillet over the fire.

  “When treaties were signed long ago, the Navaho promised the United States Government that their children would ‘learn paper,’” Sage finally said. “And, Thunder Hawk, so shall it be for this family. Your sister went to school until she learned enough to return to her weaving skills. Your brother has much knowledge learned at the schools on our reservation.”

  He nodded over at Runner. “He went,” he said proudly. “He learned. And now he is finished. He has his father’s permission now to even live alone, in his own hogan. You go. You learn. One day you will also build your own hogan and run free on your horses whenever you like.”

  “But, Father, I am now seventeen winters of age,” Thunder Hawk dared to argue.

  “And so we might still be discussing this same issue when you are thirty winters of age if you do not busy yourself and get the book learning behind you,” Sage said, setting his empty cup aside. He folded his arms over his bare chest. “Thunder Hawk, this discussion is closed. Your father and brother will escort you to school today. I would not hope to think that we would have to go into the schoolroom with you and stand over you to make sure you stay.”

  Thunder Hawk lowered his eyes. “E-do-tano, no,” he said, barely audible. “That is not required of you.”

  Sage heaved a deep sigh. “Han-e-ga, good,” he said, smiling at Leonida as she handed him a platter of fried bread. “Now we can talk of other things. Runner? Have you recently gone and watched the tracks being laid closer and closer to Fort Defiance?”

  Runner nodded a silent thank you to his mother as she handed him his breakfast. “Yesterday and the day before I watched,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing at the thought of the railroad inching farther and farther into Navaho land. “I questioned some of the laborers. They said this portion of the railroad is called a private spur. It is not planned to go far, yet it will pass Fort Defiance by several miles.”

  “They plan even further expansion for that black iron fiend they call a train?” Sage said, enraged at the thought. “It was enough to know that it was being brought to Fort Defiance. I was anxious to see the last tie laid. And now you tell me that it comes closer now to our village?” His eyes flashed angrily. “That would mean more saloons and firewater ruining our young Navaho braves.”

  “That is so, Father,” Runner said somberly.

  “Is it not enough that the Navaho have already suffered at the hands of white people?” Sage said, glumly shaking his head slowly. “We have been cut off, lost, as many of our people were, years ago, during the ‘Long Walk’ to Fort Sumner.”

  “Father, I am sorry that people of my past continue to cause the Dine so much heartache,” Runner said, sighing. “I have been a part of both worlds, but never torn about where I belong. It is with a proud heart that I live as Navaho, shamed often by those of my own kind.”

  Leonida smiled weakly at Sage, her own feelings mirroring those of Runner. Like Runner, she was glad to be a part of this culture, where the only gre
ed within the People’s hearts was for the constant struggle and desire for peace.

  “And what is the purpose of this added private spur?” Sage asked. He took a bite of his bread, smiling his approval over at Leonida, then focused his attention on Runner again, frowning.

  “I did not get such answers from the men laying the tracks,” Runner said. “I did find out that a train arrives today as far as the tracks are already laid. Let us go and meet this train. Perhaps then we can find answers from those who are troubling us.”

  “We know already why this is being done,” Sage said, his eyes narrowing. “The Navaho will be further exploited by the white people.” He slumped his shoulders and laid his plate aside. “How can the spirit of the earth tolerate the white man? Everywhere the white man has touched it, it is sore. As our people increase in number and flocks of sheep expand and press outward in every direction from our treaty reservation, will this black demon train cut our people in half?”

  “Father, long ago, when Kit Carson came with the white pony soldiers and took a good portion of our people away on the ‘Long Walk,’ did you not despair as much then as now? Did not the Navaho return to their land even stronger? Nothing will ever stand in the way of our progress. Nothing. In fact, Father, if you will allow it, the coming of the train might benefit us.”

  “How can you say that?” Sage said, giving Runner a disappointed look. “Do not speak so only because you were once a part of their lives. Always think Navaho. Never white.”

  “I will never walk in the path of the white people again,” Runner quickly defended. “My very heart and soul are Navaho. My thoughts are only on the welfare of the Dine. That is why I am thinking about who might be exploiting whom if the white man bring their black demon engines farther into our land. With the engine comes people. What is wrong with having more people for our people to sell our wares to?”

  He paused, as though measuring his thoughts before putting them into words, then said, “Think of the blankets that Pure Blossom could sell. Selling only to those who come to Fort Defiance and the trading posts nearby is only a small portion compared to how many will come with the railroads. It will give Pure Blossom great joy, and perhaps ease some of the pain from her illness.”

  “What he says sounds reasonable,” Leonida said, sitting down beside Sage. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Darling, you have seen Pure Blossom lately. Have you not noticed how her back is becoming more hunched?” She cringed at the thought of her daughter’s obvious pain. “I have seen her kneading her fingers, as though they are paining her,” she murmured. “She has to realize now, as we do, that she has the same affliction as her namesake, your dear sister, Pure Blossom, who is at peace now in the Hereafter. How it would thrill our daughter to be able to sell her beautiful blankets to many people, instead of only just a few. Perhaps we could look to the arrival of the train as a blessing. Could we, darling? It would make it much easier to accept what is going to happen. It will, anyhow, no matter what we say or do.”

  Sage gave Leonida a lingering look, seeing her as no less lovely than the day they had met. It had been during one of the times, those many years ago, when he had accompanied his sister, Pure Blossom, to Fort Defiance. He had stood watch as his sister had sold her fancy blankets and jewelry in a tent alongside many other Navaho who were there for the same purpose. When Leonida had come along, so sweet and gentle in manner, and so beautiful with her long, golden hair, she had stolen his heart.

  With her hair swept back from her face in a bun today, her cheeks flushed from having prepared the morning meal, anything she said would not be easily ignored. She was a woman of much intelligence. He always listened to her suggestions, usually agreeing with her.

  But today he was not sure if he should see the worth in his son’s suggestion and his wife’s agreement. He had to think it over. He had to weigh the good and bad inside his heart before he came to any decisions.

  “We shall see. I will give it much serious thought,” he said, cupping Leonida’s chin in his hand. He drew her lips to his and brushed them with his. Then he rose to his feet. “Runner, if we are to get your brother to school on time, we’d best be on our way.”

  Thunder Hawk rose to his feet only halfheartedly. Runner reached for his arm and teasingly yanked him to his side. “Come now, brother,” he said, fondly placing an arm around Thunder Hawk’s broad shoulders. “Let’s look at it this way. This time next year, if you behave, schooling will be behind you. Then what will you find to grumble about?”

  “If I never have to step inside a schoolroom again, I will never again have cause to be unhappy,” Thunder Hawk said determinedly. “I wish only to be a sheepherder. More respect is given to families who have large herds of sheep that are well cared for.”

  “That is so, son,” Sage said dryly. “But much respect is given a man who has a school education.”

  All was quiet for a moment, then Leonida went to Thunder Hawk and Runner and gave them each a quick kiss on their cheeks, giggling when Sage whipped an arm around her waist and drew her around, against his hard body.

  “My woman,” he whispered, giving her a lingering kiss now that he knew that his sons had left the hogan.

  Then he eased her from his arms and walked on away from her. “Ready the blankets for us while I am gone,” he tossed absently over his shoulder. “Tonight we will warm them again with our bodies.”

  Leonida wanted to allow herself to be lost in thoughts of passion, but knowing how Sage was so troubled by the Santa Fe train closing in on the Navaho land, she could only worry as he walked away from the hogan.

  She hurried outside just as her three men rode off on their horses, silver ornaments on their stamped leather saddles flashing in the sun.

  “Be careful,” she shouted, waving as one by one her three loved ones turned and gave her a smile over their shoulders.

  Then she looked at Pure Blossom’s hogan. She sighed with relief when she saw smoke spiraling from the chimney. Her daughter was surely busy at work, eating her own breakfast.

  “I shan’t bother her,” Leonida whispered to herself. “When she’s ready to take a break from her beloved weaving, she’ll come to me.”

  She tried to shake the remembrance of another Pure Blossom of so many years ago from her mind, and how she had slowly faded away. Perhaps if it had not been for the prairie fever that had taken its final toll on her, Pure Blossom would have lived many more years, happy and content with her own special skills at weaving.

  Turning, gathering the hem of her skirt into her arms, Leonida went back inside her own hogan. She glanced around, seeing the changes that had been brought to the far reaches of Navaho land by the white settlers. For days Sage and Runner had gone and watched ox teams draw up to various spots near springs and unload axes, saws, and nails. They had seen straight-walled houses being built of logs, with glass windows and iron hardware.

  Sage and Runner had returned to the reservation and encouraged their people to begin making houses of thick, sawed logs, instead of poles covered with bark and earth. When they did, they had not kept to the four-sided style. They had laid their logs in six- or eight-sided shapes, so that the inside of the houses would still be circular and fit for Navaho ceremonies.

  Leonida’s house was filled with many more comforts of the white settlers, making life easier for her. She was proudest of her huge iron stove that she now used for cooking.

  “Oh, Lord, please let Sage make the right decision,” she whispered. “What Runner said made so much sense. He’s such a brilliant young man.”

  Every day she thanked the Lord for having been blessed with the opportunity to have seen Runner grow from a young boy of five into a young man of twenty-three. She had to believe that his mother, Carole, was up there in the heavens somewhere, looking down at her son and smiling.

  Runner rode his feisty black stallion beside his father’s strawberry roan and gave Sage a quick glance. “I have to think that Damon Stout has some involvement in th
is railroad spur going on past Fort Defiance,” he said, his long, black hair fluttering in the breeze. “That rancher has been nothing but trouble since he settled on land that is part of the reservation. What are treaties for if the government hands out land as though it is candy to ranchers like Damon Stout?”

  “The government has watched us cross the treaty boundaries as our sheep need more grazing land, so they see no harm in allowing white men to come onto land that by treaty is ours,” Sage said, frowning at Runner. “Yet what does the government do when our horses are stolen by the likes of this man called Damon? They look past the truth, ignoring it.”

  “What are you going to do if our horses continue to be stolen?” Runner asked, his eyes filled with fire at the thought of someone coming under the cover of darkness to steal from the Navaho.

  “In time, my son, the one responsible for the stealing will make a wrong move,” Sage said, nodding. “Then he will never steal from anyone again.” He tightened his hold on his reins. “Damon. Damon Stout. He will be caught redhanded one day. Pity him then.”

  The small adobe schoolhouse came into view, the sun beating down upon its flat roof. Thunder Hawk emitted a groan, then broke away from Runner and Sage and rode in a hard gallop away from them, toward the school.

  They drew a tight rein and stopped their horses. They watched Thunder Hawk tie his horse with the others at the hitching rail, then walk with slumped shoulders into the schoolhouse.

  “He does not walk like a man,” Sage complained.

  “That will come to him when his education is completed,” Runner said, reaching to clasp his father’s shoulder. “Learning is best for him.”

  Sage nodded, covered Runner’s hand with his own, then drew his hand away and gripped the reins again. “Ei-yei! Let us ride, my son,” he shouted, sinking his moccasined heels into the flanks of his horse.

  Before they had ridden far, they heard the shriek of a train whistle in the far distance. Great billows of black smoke rising into the sky drew their attention.