With eager hands, I opened the box. Inside, nestled against a bed of tissue paper, was a lovely enameled music box.
"Oh, Shadow," I murmured, "it's beautiful."
"What is it, mama?" Mary asked.
"A music box," I said, winding it up. "Listen."
Mary's eyes grew wide as a lovely waltz tune filed the air. Heecha laughed aloud as Pa swept Rebecca into his arms and twirled her around the room.
All in all, it was a lovely evening and the trip was deemed a success.
Shadow and I went for a walk along the river that night after the children were in bed. We stopped now and then to kiss in the moonlight until kissing wasn't enough, and we found a secluded spot screened by flowering shrubs and vines. The grass was soft as velvet as Shadow lowered me to the ground. His eyes moved over my flesh like fire, warming me through and through. We had not made love since Blackie was born and I was eager for Shadow's touch. Only in his arms did I feel complete.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him toward me, wanting him to be closer, closer, until we were one flesh, one heart. I reveled in his touch. He was such a magnificent man, so strong, so virile. I loved the way his skin felt beneath my fingertips, the touch of his legs on mine, the solid wall of his chest crushing my breasts.
"Ne-mehotatse, Hannah," he whispered huskily. "I love you."
"And I love you." I breathed the words as wave after wave of rapture washed through me, lifting me up, up, to that wondrous peak of pleasure where only Shadow could take me.
That night, we slept under the starry sky. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we were the only two people in our world and we slept peacefully in each other's arms, blissfully unaware that the serpent waited in the future.
I looked at Shadow in astonishment. "A house? You want to build a house?"
He shrugged a trifle sheepishly. "Don't you want one?"
"Well, yes, I guess so, but I thought you liked living in our lodge."
"I do," he said with a wry smile. "But it makes us different from our neighbors, and we are different enough. I think we should build a house and live like everyone else. I do not want the other children in the valley sneering at Heecha and Mary, or making jokes about them because they live in a Cheyenne lodge. It is time to change."
"Do the thefts in the valley have anything to do with your decision?"
"No. I have been thinking about it for a long time. If we start building now, we can have the house completed before the first snowfall."
It would seem strange, living in a house again, with wood for walls instead of hide and a roof overhead. Though we spent a good deal of time in Pa's cabin, we did the major portion of our living in our own lodge. Now, seemingly out of the blue, Shadow had decided to build a house.
Once I got used to the idea, I began to get excited. Pa drew the plans, and I selected the site. Shadow's only requirement was that the front door face the east. Pa argued that the view facing west was a better one and would offer shade in the morning, but I told him the door would have to face east. It was a custom among the Cheyenne that the door of their dwelling always face the rising sun.
Our cabin would be quite large. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, a parlor, and a small porch in the back. Our neighbors came as often as possible to help. The men brought their tools and put up the framework while the women brought baskets of food and cider and lemonade. While the men toiled on the house, the women quilted or tore rags into strips to be made into rugs.
It was exciting to watch our house take shape. It had been a long time since I had lived within four walls, and I was suddenly eager to begin decorating.
The only bit of unhappiness in our life was the continued thefts in the valley. A week never went by that someone complained they were missing something. Often the items stolen were of little value: a pie cooling in the window, a man's shirt taken from a washline, a rag doll. Our homestead continued to be the only one untouched by the thief.
I knew our neighbors suspected Shadow of being the thief, but no one dared openly accuse him. He was well-liked by most of the valley people and no one wanted to believe he would steal from his friends.
Shadow knew he was innocent and he managed to keep his temper under control whenever Porter or Helen Sprague made some vague reference to Indians being sneaky and untrustworthy. Shadow was no thief. Let the others think what they liked.
In late August, there was a sudden increase in the amount of goods that turned up missing. The Smythes lost a milk cow, the Thorsens lost a horse, the Turners lost a pig and six chickens.
Who the thief might be was the main topic of conversation at every gathering in the valley, as well as after church on Sunday. On this particular Sunday, the adults stood around in small groups, pondering how to catch the elusive thief, while the children played tag or cooled themselves in the shade.
Shadow did not attend church with the rest of the family. It was the one aspect of the white man's life that he could not accept. He usually spent the time down by the river, worshipping Heammawihio in his own way. This day was no different.
Shadow was sitting in the shade on the riverbank when a cry for help reached his ears. Gaining his feet, he searched the area for some sign of the person in distress and it was then that he saw Nelda Sprague race by on the back of her father's horse. The animal, obviously spooked, had the bit between its teeth and was running flat out, heading for the open prairie across the river.
Instinctively, Shadow vaulted onto the back of his stallion and took off after the runaway horse.
"Help me! Help me!" Nelda's frightened cries grew louder as her horse plunged into the river and scrambled up the opposite bank.
I wasn't there when Shadow drew his horse alongside Nelda's and leaped from the back of his horse to hers, but I pictured it in my mind many times after that day. With ease, he reined the frightened animal to a trot and then a walk, his quiet voice soothing the nervous horse until it stood with its head down, its lathered sides heaving mightily.
Dismounting, Shadow lifted Nelda from the saddle and placed her gently on her feet. She was sobbing with fear and didn't resist when Shadow took her in his arms.
"It is all right, little one," he said, patting her back. "You are safe now."
"A snake spooked my horse," Nelda said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Pa will whip me sure when he finds out I took old Duke."
"I think he will be too happy to see you are safe to whip you," Shadow told her. "Come, I will take you to your father."
I was the first one to see Shadow riding up. Nelda was sitting in front of him, her eyes still red, her hair blown by the wind.
"My baby!" Helen Sprague ran toward her errant daughter. Pulling Nelda from Shadow's horse, she glared up at him. "You savage!" she shrieked. "What have you done to my baby?"
All eyes turned in Shadow's direction. Angry murmurs could be heard as people gathered around Shadow and Helen Sprague.
"Shadow didn't do anything to me," Nelda said, wriggling out of her mother's arms. "I snuck out of church to ride Duke and he ran away with me. Mr. Shadow rescued me." There was a new gleam of admiration in Nelda's eyes when she looked at Shadow. "You should have seen him, mama. He jumped from his horse to the back of old Duke, just like the man in my circus book!"
Helen Sprague blushed to the roots of her hair. "I'm. . . . I'm sorry." She mumbled her apology, her eyes not meeting Shadow's. ''Forgive me. I thought . . ." Her cheeks turned scarlet. "Forgive me," she said again.
Shadow nodded, his face void of expression.
When Helen explained what had happened to Porter, there were more thank you-s and then the Spragues went home.
There were no more thefts in the valley after that day and the sudden cessation caused even more speculation than the thefts had. I don't know what anyone else thought, but I knew deep in my heart that the Spragues had been responsible for the thefts in Bear Valley. They hadn't wanted Shadow around because he was an Indian, and they had tried to convince ever
ybody that he was a thief in the hopes that Shadow would be driven from the valley. But then he saved Nelda's life, and suddenly the fact that he was an Indian was no longer important. At any rate, the Spragues were suddenly as friendly as could be. Helen brought a gift over for Blackie, apologizing for taking so long to be neighborly. Porter was the first one to show up to work on our cabin in the morning and the last to leave at night.
By summer's end, our valley had all the makings of a town. Other families had taken up residence in the southern end of the valley, and who could blame them? The land was beautiful, the soil fertile, the water cold and clear, the sky a deep azure blue.
It was about this time that Sarah Thorsen decided to start holding classes for the valley children. Surprisingly, most of the children were eager to go to school, eager to learn to read and write, or to further the knowledge they already had.
Mary was especially excited about school. She was very fond of Sarah Thorsen, and the thought of spending a part of each weekday in her presence made school even more attractive. Our Mary was turning into quite a little lady. She took great pains with her appearance, refusing to wear anything that was dirty, stained, torn, or too small. Quite a change from the little tomboy who had loved to climb trees and play in the mud. Rebecca and I sewed three new dresses and a pinafore for Mary so she would have some nice clothes to wear to school.
Heecha was another matter entirely. At the mature age of almost nine, he was tall and slender and stubborn. He already knew how to read and write, he stated emphatically, and he did not wish to learn any more. He wanted to go hunting and fishing with Shadow. He wanted to become a warrior like his father and nothing I could say would change his mind.
I turned to Shadow for help. "You've got to make him go to school," I urged. "He needs to associate with the other children, and he needs to learn more of the world."
"I do not think you will make a white man out of Heecha," Shadow said with a wry grin. "The blood of the Cheyenne is too strong in his veins. Already he is looking forward to the day when he can go out and seek his vision."
"How is he going to seek a vision with no medicine man to guide him?"
"I will instruct him when the time comes," Shadow replied, no longer smiling.
"What good will a vision do him?" I asked, becoming exasperated with the whole conversation. "The time of the warrior is past."
"I am still a warrior," Shadow said, his voice strong with pride. "And if Heecha desires it, he, too, will be a warrior."
There was no arguing with the man or the boy and from that day forward Heecha spent a good part of every day in his father's company. He learned the ways of the Cheyenne, the songs and the chants and the stories. He learned to hunt and fight, to use the bow and the knife and the rifle. He learned to track anything that moved, to lie quiet for hours without food or water, to disappear into the countryside. Some nights Heecha returned home bone weary, too tired to do more than swallow a drink of water and fall into bed.
As the days passed, I watched my son grow strong physically and spiritually and my doubts about what he was doing began to dwindle. He began to develop the same strong sense of self-assurance and confidence that I so admired in his father, the same inner strength that set Shadow apart from other men.
As the days and weeks and months went by, I realized Shadow had been right. Heecha would never be a white man. He was not ashamed of his white blood, but it was his Cheyenne blood that would always prevail. Heecha would never wear a suit and tie, nor would he ever be content to live in some crowded city, prisoner to clocks and conventions and the limits of civilization. A part of Heecha would always yearn for the open prairie, for new adventures and new horizons. Heecha was truly his father's son and I knew deep in my heart that if Heecha proved to be half the man his father was, the woman who married him would never be sorry.
XXI
1889-1892
A year passed. Two. Three, and it was the spring of 1889. Our valley had grown from a sprinkling of crude cabins into a small town occupied by more than thirty families. We had a schoolhouse now, a bank, a doctor, even a small saloon where the farmers could go for a cold beer on Saturday night.
My children were growing faster than I cared to admit. Heecha was going on eleven, Mary was almost ten, and my baby was already three. Shadow was raising horses now, using his spotted stallion as stud, and the people in the valley bought his horses eagerly, for they were choice animals with flashy coats, good conformation, and staying power. Pa's herd was thriving and his cattle provided meat and milk for many of our neighbors. I had never been happier. Our cabin was large and comfortable, the furniture well-made and pleasing to the eye. Shadow did not seem to mind living within four walls, but he refused to sleep on a mattress, declaring they were too soft, so we made our bed on a pile of warm furs instead.
Our lodge was still standing and whenever Shadow felt the need to get out of the house for a little while, he went there to be alone and meditate. The rest of the family respected his need to be alone, and we never disturbed him. In the summer, Heecha and Blackie often slept in the lodge, but Mary preferred a soft bed and clean sheets.
It was early in the spring of 1890 that we began to hear rumors that something big was in the wind, something that was stirring fresh hope in the hearts of the reservation Indians. The news flew from tribe to tribe, from the Utes and the Bannocks to the Arapahoe and the Cheyenne and the Sioux.
Overcome with curiosity, Shadow left Bear Valley to see what he could find out. He returned two weeks later with startling news.
"There is a new Messiah," Shadow told us at dinner that night. "His name is Wovoka, and he lives in Nevada. He has a sacred dance the people must learn, and songs they must sing. He has promised that the Indian dead will live again if the people sing and dance as he directs, and that the white men will be destroyed."
Pa snorted derisively. "You don't believe that nonsense?"
"I would like to believe it," Shadow said. "For the sake of my people, I would like to see it happen."
Mary was unusually quiet when I tucked her into bed that night. She didn't ask to stay up just a little longer. She didn't ask for a story. When I asked her what was wrong, she began to cry.
"I don't want Rebecca and Namshim to be destroyed," she said between heart-rendering sobs. "And what will happen to Heecha and Blackie and me? We are part white. Will we be destroyed, too?"
"Of course not," I said, taking Mary into my arms and holding her close. "You must not believe what this man, Wovoka, says. He is not the Messiah. Singing and dancing will not bring the dead back to life, or destroy the people who are now alive. The Indians are bitter and unhappy living on the reservation, and they are hoping for a miracle to bring back their old way of life. But the old way is gone forever."
I sat with Mary until she fell asleep. My heart was heavy for Shadow's people. It was tragic that a once proud and free people had been reduced to living in misery on reservations where, as wards of the United States, they were supposed to learn to farm and raise cattle. The Indians were even losing a part of the land that was reservation property as government agencies urged the Indians to sell off so-called excess acreage to land-hungry whites for as little as fifty cents an acre. It was no wonder they clung to the memories of the old days; no wonder that they would grab at any straw that promised hope and a return to the old ways.
Little more of the new religion was heard about until late in October. And then we learned that Sitting Bull had become a believer. He had been made a priest in the new religion, which was called the Ghost Dance because some of the dancers had seen visions of their dead. Sitting Bull painted the faces of his people in the sacred patterns set forth by Kicking Bear, one of Wovoka's apostles. And the people danced.
Shadow left Bear Valley again, drawn to the reservation to see for himself what was going on. He was gone for a month this time, and when he returned, he was deeply troubled.
We did not discuss what he had learned in front o
f the children this time.
"The Indians are eager to believe in the Ghost Dance," Shadow told me when we were in bed that night. "A Cheyenne called Porcupine said he had spoken to some Paiutes who claimed that Christ had appeared on the earth again. Porcupine saw the man identified as Christ, and the man was Indian."
"That's impossible. Surely you don't believe it?"
"No. But there is a Sioux, Kicking Bear, who claims to have met a man dressed like an Indian, but who had long golden hair. Kicking Bear claims the Messiah took him up a ladder of clouds into heaven. There Kicking Bear met the Great Spirit and his wife. In heaven, Kicking Bear saw the devil, who claimed half the people on earth belonged to him. At first the Great Spirit would not let the devil have the people because he loved them so much, but then he decided to let the devil have the whites because the Indians were his chosen people. The Great Spirit promised to renew the earth. According to Kicking Bear, a great wave of new earth is going to crush the whites, but the Indians will be suspended in the air if they learn the spirit dance and sing the sacred songs."
I stared at Shadow, my emotions in turmoil. Surely he did not believe such a story? It was so preposterous it was almost comical. But I did not laugh. What if Shadow became a believer? What would happen to our life, our children, our marriage? I knew Shadow missed his old way of life. Did he miss it badly enough to become one of Wovoka's followers?
"The Sioux are desperate," Shadow mused aloud. "They have been living in misery for so long, they need something to believe in, something to hope for. There are stories of Indians who have gone to see Wovoka who have seen friends long dead in his camp. There is a story that someone killed a buffalo, but it came to life again, as Wovoka had promised it would.
"Some of the dancers are wearing ghost shirts which the Indians believe will turn away bullets. The Sioux have given up wearing anything made of metal because it comes from the white man."
Reckless Love Page 20
