Reckless Love

by Madeline Baker

  "He will be all right, Hannah," Shadow assured me as we walked hand in hand along the river. "Maheo will watch over him. Do not be afraid."

  With a sigh, I laid my head against Shadow's chest and closed my eyes. His heart beat strong and steady beneath my ear. I trusted Shadow. He had never been wrong. He had never let me down. He was always there when I needed him, a pillar of strength to lean on when times were hard.

  He stroked my hair and I snuggled closer to him. We had known a great deal of heartache in our life together, a good share of unhappiness, and yet I did not regret a moment of the time I had spent with this man who knew me better than I knew myself.

  Hawk came home after four days, and he was no longer a boy, but a man. There was a new sense of pride in his step, a new look of confidence in his eye. I prepared his favorite meal that night, and then Shadow, Hawk and I went into our lodge behind the cabin. I sat in the back of the lodge, glad that Hawk was willing for me to be there. Had we been living in the old days, Hawk would have gone to the shaman with his vision, but there was no medicine man here.

  "I did as you said, Nehyo," Hawk began after Shadow had lit the sacred pipe and offered it to the four directions and to the earth and sky. "Each day I offered tobacco to the gods and then I prayed for a vision. I grew hungry and thirsty and cold, but I did not give up, and on the third morning a yellow hawk appeared in the sky. As I watched, the hawk landed on the ground and came toward me. And as it grew nearer, it changed from a hawk to a man with yellow hair. 'I am waiting for you,' the hawkman said, and then he turned and walked away and as he walked, he turned into a hawk again and disappeared into the sky. Do you know what it means, nehyo?"

  "Yes, naha," Shadow said quietly. "I know wht it means, but you may not want to hear it."

  "I am a warrior," Hawk said proudly. "I can accept anything."

  "Then accept this. In your heart, you are Cheyenne, but the day of the Indian is over. If you wish to survive in this land, you must do so as a white man. You may hold fast to our beliefs and to the qualities that make a man worthy to be a warrior and a Cheyenne, but you will not be able to live as an Indian. The man with the yellow hair is you, just as the hawk is you. The hawk-man is a symbol of your mixed blood."

  Hawk nodded slowly, and I could see that he was trying to understand what his father was saying. My son's eyes, so like those of his father, took on a wistful look as he accepted the fact that he would never be able to live the life he had always dreamed of. The Indians no longer roamed the vast prairies and hills, they no longer made their camp along the Powder and the Tongue, the Sioux no longer gathered in the Pa Sapa, the sacred Black Hills. There were no more coup to be counted, no more buffalo to hunt, no more war dances, or raids against the Crow and Pawnee. Hawk had dreamed of these things for years and now he had to face the fact that he could never fulfill his dream. It was a hard thing for a boy of fourteen to accept.

  "I will walk in the white man's path if that is the only way," Hawk said thoughtfully. "But before I become a white man, I want to participate in the Sun Dance. I must know for myself if I would have been able to endure it." He looked deep into Shadow's eyes. "It is a sacrifice I must make."

  "We must have a shaman," Shadow said, frowning. "There are things you must be taught, special payers that must be said. I cannot guide you through the Sun Dance alone."

  Hawk smiled faintly. "But you will find a way," he said confidently.

  "Yes," Shadow promised solemnly. "When the time comes, I will find a way."

  XXII

  It was a warm day in late August when Mary came running into the house. She was thirteen now, and as lovely a girl as any mother could hope for. Her hair was a dark rich brown, her skin the color of fresh cream, her eyes a beautiful shade of gray. Already, her figure gave promise of the woman she would become.

  But now she was a young girl, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she burst into the house. "Come quick!" she cried, grabbing my arm. "Hawk is riding the blue roan!"

  Blackie let out a whoop of excitement as he bolted out the door. Putting down the iron, I took Mary's hand and we ran out of the house, following Blackie to the south pasture where Shadow kept the horses he was breaking to ride. The blue roan was a young, high-spirited stallion that Shadow had chosen for Hawk. The horse was big-boned and wild, and yet Shadow said he would make a fine mount once he was broken to the saddle. I didn't like to think of my son astride that wild-eyed roan, yet Shadow was a good judge of horseflesh and if he said the roan would make a good mount, then it was so.

  Breathless, Mary, Blackie, and I plopped down on the grass outside the breaking pen. Hawk was already in the saddle and the roan was bucking and pitching for all it was worth. I watched with a real sense of pride as my son stuck to the saddle like a fly to flypaper, his face shining with exhilaration as he showed the horse who was going to be the boss.

  Shadow's eyes glowed with pride and affection as the blue roan gave up the fight. With a triumphant grin, Hawk slid to the ground, his hand giving the roan a couple of hardy pats that said "well done." Hawk attempted to look proud and haughty, as a warrior would, but he could not help laughing aloud with excitement. It was a happy moment for us all.

  "The Cheyenne are still the best horsemen in all the world," Shadow exclaimed, clapping Hawk on the shoulder. "No seasoned warrior could have done better."

  Hawk's sensational ride was the main topic of conversation when we went to dinner at Pa's house two nights later.

  Mary and I helped Rebecca set the table and prepare dinner while the menfolk gabbed in the parlor. Rebecca and I had become close friends over the years, and I was truly glad my father had married her. I had made many friends in the valley, but Rebecca was special, and not just because she was married to my father.

  Rebecca had done wonders with their cabin. There were ruffled curtains at every window, a rug on every floor. There was always a vase of wildflowers on the table in the summer, a sprig of colorful leaves in the fall. There was always something good to eat in the kitchen and lots of happy laughter under her roof. She was a favorite in the valley, and the women flocked around her, for she was easy to talk to and had a talent for making everyone feel welcome.

  While serving dinner, Rebecca and I discussed the upcoming harvest festival. It was always a happy occasion, a time when everyone in the valley got together for a good time. There was always an abundance of food, games for everyone, a community sing, and square dancing for those so inclined. The climax of the day was a horse race. Shadow had won the race three years running, and was favored to win this year as well.

  "I am going to enter the blue roan in the race," Hawk announced after Pa blessed the food.

  ''What blue roan?" Pa asked.

  "I have a new horse, " Hawk said proudly. "I broke him myself."

  Pa leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. If there was one thing my father loved, it was a good horse and a good race.

  "Is that Appy stud of yours the blue's sire?" Pa asked Shadow.

  "Yes," Shadow replied.

  "How old is the blue?" Rebecca wanted to know.

  "Three," Shadow replied.

  "He is fast as the wind," Heecha boasted.

  "And just three years old," Rebecca mused. She grinned at Shadow. "Sounds like you might have some real competition this year," she said.

  "Smoke and I welcome the challenge," Shadow answered solemnly, and we all laughed.

  Everybody in the valley was gathered at the church for the harvest festival. Long trestle tables were set up in the shade, heavily laden with fried chicken, roast beef, potato salad, assorted vegetables, and a wide variety of cakes, breads, and pies.

  The Reverend Christopher Thorsen blessed the food and asked for the Lord's protection on the day's activities, and then the fun began. There were sack races and foot races for children and adults alike, a wrestling match, shooting contests, a greased pig to chase, a hog-calling contest, bull and bronc riding, and a corn-shucking contest.

>   Blackie won several races against boys his age. Mary came in second in the sack race. Hawk won the bull riding contest, but refused to have anything to do with chasing the greased pig, claiming such conduct was beneath the dignity of a warrior. Shadow, that man among men, won every contest he entered. I shouted and clapped as he won the bronc riding contest, a mile-long foot race, and the wrestling contest. It was so good to see him accepted as an equal by the other men, to see the women look at him with envy and know he was mine.

  There was square dancing after lunch. I watched Mary dance with one of the Smythe boys. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining as she smiled up at her partner. The boy, Frank, said something that made her laugh merrily and I felt a peculiar catch in my throat. Mary was growing up so fast. Soon she would be married and raising a family of her own. I studied her critically, but could find no fault in her. She was lovely, polite, warm-hearted and fun-loving. No doubt she would make a good wife and a wonderful mother. She was already popular with the boys and it was a fact that gave Shadow a lot of concern. He had threatened to horsewhip any boy who dared lay a hand on her. He was very proud of his only daughter, and very protective. I glanced at him now, and saw him scowling as Frank Smythe twirled her around the floor. I almost pitied the man who would have to ask Shadow for Mary's hand.

  As the next set got under way, I was surprised to see Hawk lead Victoria Bannerman onto the floor. Somehow, I had thought Hawk would consider dancing in the same light as chasing a greased pig. My son didn't look particularly happy to be dancing, but he went through the steps and smiled frequently at Victoria. And then Rebecca called my name and I forgot about Hawk as I went to help her at the food table.

  It was late afternoon when the call went out that the race was about to begin. There were ten riders entered this year, Shadow and Hawk among them. Horace Bannerman had recently purchased a quarter-horse mare and there was heavy betting that he would win. In looks, Bannerman's new horse could not be faulted. She was a blood bay, with wide-set eyes, a sleek coat, and near-perfect conformation. Shadow's Appaloosa did not look so fine. It had the sparse mane and rat-tail typical of the breed, but it also had a deep chest, wide nostrils to drink the wind, and plenty of speed and bottom.

  The air fairly crackled with excitement as the riders lined up. I looked at Shadow, sitting easily aboard his wide-eyed Appaloosa, almost a part of the horse. I looked at Hawk, sitting proudly erect, his black eyes shining and eager for the race to begin. How did a wife and mother choose between a husband and son? I wanted Shadow to win, and I wanted Hawk to win, and that was impossible. There could only be one winner.

  George Tippitt had been selected to start the race and there was an audible gasp of anticipation as he stepped forward and lifted his arm. The crowd seemed to surge forward. A few of the horses pranced nervously, their hooves raising small clouds of dust.

  A moment later, the starting shot was fired and the horses were off. Shadow and Smoke quickly took the lead, closely followed by Hawk on his blue roan, and by Horace Bannerman astride his bay Quarter Horse mare. Frank Smythe swept by mounted on a rangy gray gelding, followed by his brother, Ethan, who was mounted on a flashy black mare.

  For a time, the riders were out of sight as they went around the schoolhouse and across the river. Then we could hear the thunder of pounding hooves as they came around the bend in the road on their way back to the churchyard.

  Shadow was still in the lead, and what a sight he made. He was riding bareback, his body moving in perfect time with the horse. They made a beautiful picture etched against the clear blue sky. Shadow's hair hung long and loose, flowing behind him like a skein of black silk. He was riding low over Smoke's neck, and I felt a thrill of excitement run through me. How handsome he was! Now, for this brief moment, he looked like a warrior again.

  Slowly, I pulled my eyes from my husband and found Hawk. My son was riding close on the heels of his father's horse. His face was set and determined, and he rode with the same natural grace as his father. As they drew near the finish line, the two horses were almost neck and neck and then, in a sudden burst of speed, Hawk put his horse across the finish line, winning by barely half a length.

  Hawk's face lit up like a Christmas tree as people cheered, and then Ruth Tippitt came forward and handed him a silver cup and a twenty dollar gold piece.

  I ran up to my son and hugged him, as pleased and proud as I had ever been. Hawk turned a little red around the ears at my show of affection, so I quickly stepped back, making room for the young men and women who crowded around him, eager to offer their congratulations.

  Smiling, I walked over to where Shadow was rubbing down his horse.

  "Nice race," I said.

  "Not bad. Bannerman's horse almost caught up with us a time or two."

  "You let Hawk win, didn't you?"

  Shadow grinned crookedly. "I never could fool you, could I?"

  "Not often."

  Shadow shrugged. "I just couldn't beat him. He wanted to win so much, not just to prove he could beat Smoke, but to show off for Victoria Bannerman."

  "Show off for Victoria Bannerman!" I exclaimed. "Whatever for?"

  Shadow nodded in Hawk's direction. "Haven't you noticed how often he looks at her?"

  "No, I guess not," I said. But I was noticing now, and remembering how they had danced together earlier. Victoria Bannerman was blossoming into a lovely young woman. A cloud of auburn hair framed a heart-shaped face that was smooth and unblemished. A smattering of freckles only added to her beauty. Just now, she was smiling up at Hawk, her blue eyes wide with admiration as she complimented him on winning the race. Hawk's face was faintly flushed with pride, and I could see he was more than pleased with Victoria's rapt attention.

  "A man likes to look good in his woman's eyes," Shadow remarked.

  "A man! Hawk is just a boy."

  "He will not be a boy much longer,"

  Shadow pointed out. "He grows taller and stronger each day. Soon he will be old enough for the Sun Dance, and then he will truly be a man."

  The Sun Dance. I had pushed my son's desire to participate in that sacred Cheyenne ritual far out of my thoughts, hoping that as time passed, Hawk would change his mind. He had not mentioned it since the time of his vision, and I secretly hoped he had forgotten all about it.

  Shadow smiled faintly as he laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a small squeeze. "He has not forgotten, Hannah," Shadow said quietly. "He does not speak of it because he knows you do not fully approve. But he has mentioned it to me, and his desire to prove himself worthy to be a warrior grows stronger every day."

  "I'm not sure I will be able to bear it."

  "We must both be strong when the time comes," Shadow said. "It is a thing he must do."

  "I know. I guess I just hate to see him growing up so fast. Before you know it, Hawk and Mary will both be getting married and having children of their own."

  Shadow nodded as he cupped my chin in the palm of his hand. "You will be as beautiful to me when you are a grandmother as you were that day I saw you swimming in the river."

  I felt my cheeks grow warm with the memory. I had turned sixteen that day. I had gone to the river crossing to swim and had been sitting on the grassy bank whed Shadow rode up. It was the first time I had seen him since he had reached manhood. I remembered every detail of how he looked that balmy afternoon. He had been clad in moccasins and the briefest of deerskin clouts; the closest thing to a naked man I had ever seen. His legs had been long and well-muscled by years of riding bareback; his belly had been hard and flat, as it was even now. Like a bird hypnotized by a snake, I had stared at him, awed by his proud carriage, mesmerized by his savage yet utterly fascinating appearance. Was this the same boy who had eaten at our table and shared our laughter only a few years ago, I had thought, the same boy who had taught me to warble like a thrush and coo like a dove. A raw animal-like power had radiated from him, causing my heart to pound with such force I had been certain he could hear it.

>   "That was a long time ago," I murmured.

  "Almost twenty years," Shadow mused. "You were wearing a blue gingham dress."

  "Yes. And you were practically naked." He had been terribly handsome then, I thought, but no more so than now.

  Shadow laughed softly. "Let us go home and get naked together now," he whispered. His hand slid down my arm, sending a shiver of delight coursing through me. My blood seemed to turn to warm honey as he kissed me, and then he was lifting me onto Smoke's back and we were riding for home.

  That afternoon, lying wrapped in Shadow's arms, I was sixteen all over again.

  XXIII

  In the fall of 1894, Hawk turned sixteen and the time I had been dreading for so long was upon us. Early in the summer of 1895, Shadow went to the Cheyenne reservation and found an aged medicine man who was willing to sneak off the reservation and make the long trek to Bear Valley to instruct a young Cheyenne in the ritual of the Sun Dance. Three other warriors, all well into their sixties, asked if they might accompany Shadow and the medicine man to the valley. With them, they brought the sacred emblems necessary, a drum, and the knowledge of what needed to be done.

  The shaman, whose name was Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky, was a wizened old man with long gray braids, skin the texture and color of old saddle leather, and black eyes that missed nothing. He wore a worn elkskin shirt, leggings, loincloth and moccasins. Though he was old and bent, he still possessed an aura of power and quiet dignity and I knew that once he must have been a proud warrior among his people.

  The four Indians settled into the lodge behind our cabin and soon after they arrived Hawk began spending many hours each day with Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky, learning from the aged shaman those things he needed to know in order to accomplish his goal.

  Shadow and Blackie went into the woods to find a tree that would be suitable for the Sun Dance pole. Not just any tree would do. It must be tall and straight and strong. When Shadow found one that pleased him, he cut it down and carried it to a small clearing deep in the midst of the pine tree forest. The Sun Dance would take place in secrecy, for our white neighbors would probably not approve, nor would they be likely to understand. One had to be an Indian, or Indian in heart and spirit, to understand and appreciate the significance of the Sun Dance.