Forbidden Spirits

by Patricia Watters

  "Well, how did it go?" Rose asked, as he climbed into his truck.

  "They'll think about it," Tyler responded, and offered nothing more.

  "Did they see your video?" Rose asked.

  "Yes," Tyler replied. "Where to from here?" He knew he didn't want to get into the suggested requirements for getting the contract because Rose would turn it into some kind of animal totem guiding him in a direction he wasn't ready to go. It was like he was balanced between two worlds, and he was beginning to feel like a wolfdog.

  Rose pointed, while saying, "Go this way, and when you leave the parking lot, head back the way we came and I'll show you where to turn."

  As Tyler followed Rose's directions, while turning automatically where she pointed, his driving was on rote, while his mind was occupied with the logistics of reinventing his act from a Roman soldier to, he wasn't sure what—maybe an Indian warrior, or more appropriately an Indian cowboy. He could do that, but the western boots wouldn't work on his mares' backs, and moccasins with western garb would look pretty ludicrous, which brought him back to wearing suede pants with fringes, face paint, a huge feathered war bonnet, and looking like something out of an old Hollywood movie, except that Indians didn't ride standing up…

  "Turn here," Rose said, cutting into his thoughts.

  Tyler automatically turned into a long gravel driveway that cut between two fenced pastures, with a ranch house and large barn at the far end of the driveway. Several other outbuildings were off to the side of the barn, as well as a corral.

  Cutting the engine, he said, "Whose place is this?"

  "My folks," Rose replied.

  "Did you call ahead?" Tyler asked. When he suggested she show him around the reservation he'd meant just that, so he wasn't prepared to meet the rest of her family. He already knew what her mother thought of him. Her message to stay clear of Rose had not been subtle.

  Rose looked askance at him, and replied, "I told my mother I'd be coming this afternoon, but that was before you suggested I go with you."

  "Then seeing me should make her day," Tyler said, wryly.

  "Actually, she'll be gracious and make you feel welcome," Rose said, "but if my brother, Preston, makes any kind of veiled comments about you being a squaw man, just ignore him. He shares my mother and grandmother's views that I should not be in a relationship that could lead to marriage outside of our culture, and he's not shy about voicing his opinion."

  "Then you've been in relationships with other guys?" Tyler asked. For some reason he'd assumed he was her first, though it was not logical thinking.

  "I've been in relationships before," Rose said, "but they were with guys I went to high school with and none were serious. I also did some casual dating in college that I never mentioned to my parents. The reservation is a pretty close community in that the elders are trying to hold onto old traditions, and when young people go off to college or find jobs away from here and marry outside of the culture, traditions no longer matter, which is why our culture was slowly dying and still will, if no one cares."

  Tyler knew she was right. Until meeting her he'd had no interest in his Indian background, and without her in the picture he'd go back to things the way they'd always been. "And your father?" he asked. "What would his position be if what we have now becomes more serious?"

  "I don't know because it's never been an issue," Rose said, "but I guess we'll soon find out, unless you want to pretend I'm just taking you around to see the wigwams and tipis."

  "You have those here?" Tyler asked.

  "Rose laughed in irony. "Have you seen any so far?"

  "No, but we haven't driven around much either," Tyler replied.

  "That's because there aren't any," Rose said. "What you'll see after we leave here will be some pretty impressive buildings, complements of earnings from the casino the Confederated Tribes own, like a brand new health center, a new school, a governance building, and an elder center. Our tribal members are actually quite civilized now."

  "Talk about your brother making veiled comments," Tyler said. "I've never once implied that Indians aren't civilized."

  "Not directly, but you think we're backwards because we believe in spirits," Rose replied.

  "I think a lot of beliefs are based on legends and mythology that's later disproved by science," Tyler said, "but I don't have a problem with people having their own beliefs."

  "Except when those beliefs interfere with something you're doing," Rose pointed out.

  When Tyler didn't respond, because he was getting pretty pissed the way Rose was blowing things all out of proportion when it came to the spring and his opening up a few fissures, Rose took his silence for what it was, and said, "Okay, forget I made that comment and let's go see what my family has to say. At least with Preston you should throw him a curve. He won't be expecting a Hansen with long hair and looking more like an Indian than half his friends, and that's a compliment because you're a very good-looking Indian." She smiled.

  "Then can I have a kiss before we head up this driveway?" Tyler asked, wondering where that came from. Moments before he was irritated with Rose and her constant nagging about the spring. But then she gave him one of her smiles, and his mind got jumbled, and all he wanted now was to haul her back to his place and continue what they'd had going there.

  It was different then. She responded differently. There was no talk of angering spirits or drilling into rock. It was just the two of them in his world with his mares, and when he kissed her there, it was like she couldn't get enough of him. But here with her family, in her world, he could feel a big divide, and it started at the rodeo office.

  About the time he figured Rose had no intention of kissing him, she unhooked her seatbelt, slid over beside him and kissed him solidly on the mouth. It was a long, extended kiss, but when it was over, Tyler said, "Thank you. I needed that before heading into Custer's Last Stand."

  Rose gave him another quick kiss, then yanked on his horsetail, and said, "You'll have a hard time convincing them you're Custer. His hair was blond and curly, he had a big drooping mustache, and he didn't look like an Indian. If he had, he might have confused the enemy and won the battle of the Little Bighorn."

  "Maybe I'll get lucky and confuse the enemy," Tyler replied.

  "My folks aren't the enemy," Rose said. "They're just looking out for my best interest."

  "I think I get the picture," Tyler replied.

  They headed up the long driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the modest ranch house. On entering, the only person home appeared to be Rose's mother, who came from the direction of the kitchen. On seeing Tyler, her expression was clearly one of surprise, but not pleasure.

  "You remember Tyler, don't you, Mom?" Rose asked.

  "Yes," Helen Starbright replied. Although she was smiling, Tyler knew her smile was insincere because her eyes were dull, and there was a slight flare to her nostrils, like she sensed something disagreeable. Him. "We weren't expecting anyone but Rose this afternoon," she said to him, "but you're welcome to stay for dinner."

  "Thanks, but I have to get back to tend my horses," Tyler replied.

  Rose touched his arm lightly, and said to her mother, "Tyler came to see about including his Roman riding act in the rodeo. Where is everyone?"

  "Granna's taking her afternoon nap, Dad will be home soon, and Preston is out trying, not too successfully, to subdue a mustang he just bought from the BLM," Helen replied.

  Tyler glanced out the dining room window, which was facing behind the house, and saw a corral with a man on a horse that was doing its best to get rid of him, and the horse was being met with the slash of a crop each time it bucked. "Maybe I'll go out and see if I can give him a hand," he said, while wondering where Preston Starbright learned his heavy-handed methods of horse handling. Obviously not from his forebears, if there was anything to what his grandmother told him about the way Indians handled horses.

  "Good luck," Rose called after him, as he was leaving.

  By th
e time Tyler got to the corral, Preston was off the horse and giving it a treat, which Tyler presumed was because the horse hadn't actually bucked him off, and Preston managed to slip off his back without being thrown. But Tyler could tell, from the way the horse eyed the treat with distrust, and his nostrils flared, and his stance was stiff, that he was leery of the treat and feared the man, which was understandable.

  "He's a nice horse," Tyler said. "I take it you just got him."

  "Yeah," Preston replied. "We're having a disagreement about who's boss, and I intend to win."

  "Your first mustang?" Tyler asked.

  "Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try. Once he's broken he should be a good cattle horse. He looks to be mostly quarter horse."

  "Do you mind if I try something with him?" Tyler asked.

  "Sure. Have at it if you think you can get the ornery thing to follow instructions," Preston said. "You want the crop?"

  "No," Tyler replied. "I'll just talk to him some."

  Preston looked at Tyler with skepticism then moved back to lean against the wooden railing surrounding the corral and watched as Tyler slowly approached the mustang from the side, pausing when the mustang's nostrils flared and his mouth became tense and his eyes held an expression of fear.

  From where he stood, Tyler said to the mustang in a low, quiet voice, "I'm going to move closer to you now and you'll tell me when it's close enough. If you feel like you need to get away, there's an escape route behind you." He took a couple of steps closer, but before the mustang gave a sign that he was too close, Tyler eased back. After a couple of minutes he started forward again, while saying to the mustang in the same quiet voice, "Good boy, you're not running from me. You'll be okay. You have a good spirit and I won't break it. You can trust me."

  As he said the words, Tyler edged gradually closer, until the mustang flicked his ears forward, and his eyes became wide with the whites showing. "I'm going to touch you now, just a little brush of my finger, and if that's okay I'll scratch your neck," Tyler explained in the same soft, soothing voice. "Let me know if it's okay, but if it isn't, I'll stop." He took another step closer. "I know this is scary, but stay with me. I'm your friend."

  As Tyler spoke, the mustang's eyes took on more of a questioning expression than one of fear, and he bent his head slightly, as if in curiosity—a man he wanted to befriend, but feared because other men had hurt him.

  Over the next few minutes Tyler talked to the mustang while touching his muzzle, then his face, and cheek, and neck, and finally his chest. When the mustang was comfortable with that, Tyler scratched both sides of his neck at the same time, all the while looking directly into the mustang's eyes and talking to him, and soon he was able to move his hand down one front leg and then the other, while the mustang stood still.

  "This is all new to you, isn't it boy? You're not used to people touching you, or to the sights and sounds of a ranch, and everything scares you. It will take time, but when you know you're safe here you'll be okay." As Tyler talked to the mustang, he hoped Preston got the message that breaking a horse didn't mean breaking his spirit.

  On seeing that the mustang was standing with most of his weight on three legs, with the forth leg at rest, and his teeth were hidden behind his lips, and no white was evident in his eyes, Tyler curved his arms around the mustang's neck and carried on a monolog. When the mustang stood listening, yet not bolting, Tyler removed the saddle and hefted it onto the railing, then removed the bridle and hung it on the saddle horn, and lastly, tossed over the railing an orange plastic traffic cone that he'd seen the mustang shy away from earlier.

  After giving the mustang a few minutes to adjust to this new feeling of being in contact with a human, but free to run off, Tyler said to him, "I'm going to get on your back now." When the mustang flicked his ears in curiosity, not fear, Tyler launched himself onto the his back and immediately leaned forward while encircling his arms around mustang's neck, and saying to him, "Good boy, you're a very good boy. We'll go for a ride now." He felt the mustang tense and step around, but he didn't buck, so moving to a sitting position, Tyler clicked his tongue and the mustang took a couple of steps forward.

  "You've got the idea," Tyler said, while patting his neck. "That's all there is to it. We're a team now. You'll take me around the arena a few times, and I'll make sure you're safe from harm when you do." After the mustang made several passes around the arena without bucking or balking, but simply walking at a calm pace, Tyler slipped to the ground, patted him on the neck and walked away from him.

  "He'll be a good horse if you handle him right," he said to Preston, "but he's afraid of his new surroundings and he's afraid you, so you'll have to go back to the beginning and win his trust, but when you do, you'll have a horse that will do what you want because he wants to please you. Otherwise he'll never connect with you and you'll end up with a sour horse."

  From the look on Preston's face, Tyler sensed that he had a new respect for the stranger who took on a challenging mustang, while also demonstrating a better way to break a horse.

  "I take it you work with horses a lot," Preston said.

  "Daily," Tyler replied. "I haven't worked with mustangs though, but gentling any horse is more about using the horse's natural way of thinking and behaving than maintaining control of him through fear. That's what breaks a horse's spirit. Basically I talk to them a lot. Initially it doesn't matter what you say, but they'll soon understand good boy and that's right, then as the training progresses, the words alone become rewards. Before you're done, you end up teaching each other. I've learned a lot from my horses. You have an advantage with a mustang though. He has no bad habits from years of inept riders, poor handling, or harsh, impatient trainers, so you have a blank slate to work with."

  "That may be so," Preston said, "but a mustang's brought up in different surroundings and under different circumstances than a domesticated horse, which makes them more dangerous and less responsive."

  "Not really," Tyler replied. "A horse growing up in the wild learns to problem solve from an early age, and once gentled, they're safer than most domestic breeds because they've learned in the wild that it's not useful to spook at rocks when there are mountain lions to worry about."

  "I see your point," Preston said. "You live around here? I know you don't live on the reservation."

  "I have a place about fifteen miles from here," Tyler replied.

  "Then you're visiting friends or relatives?" Preston asked.

  "No," Tyler replied. "I'm here with Rose."

  Preston looked at him with uncertainty. "She's never mentioned anything about you. Do you have something going with her?" he asked.

  "Yeah," Tyler replied. "I like her. More than like her. If I marry her, I'll be a squaw man."

  "You can't be a squaw man," Preston said. "You're an Indian."

  "No, I'm a genetic throwback."

  "Are you talking to me in circles?" Preston asked.

  "No, I'm telling it straight," Tyler replied. "You know that guy Rose works for?"

  "The archaeologist at the Dancing Moon Ranch?" Preston asked.

  Tyler nodded. "He's my brother."

  "Then you're adopted?"

  "No, like I said, I'm a genetic throwback."

  "A throwback to what?"

  "My great-grandmother," Tyler replied. "She was Nez Perce. I got the gene."

  "Is that why you know so much about gentling horses?" Preston asked.

  "No, I figured that out on my own," Tyler replied. "My animal guide's a horse." He said the words in jest, but oddly, they resonated. He'd had an affinity for horses from as far back as he could remember, but he never understood why, other than he found them easy to understand, when humans made no sense.

  Preston eyed him with skepticism, like he didn't know what to make of him, which Tyler found amusing, though what he was doing by messing with the guy's head could definitely come back to bite him. But he could tell, from the subtle changes in the man's expression, that he held a certai
n amount of respect for the stranger who gentled the mustang in less than ten minutes.

  "So then, what's the real deal with you and my sister?" Preston asked. "You think you're going to marry her?"

  "I will if she'll have me," Tyler replied, "but we have some issues to work out first."

  Preston's brows drew together as an awareness of exactly who Tyler was began to dawn. "Wait a minute," he said. "If you're the archaeologist's brother, you must be the guy who's chiseling away at Whispering Springs."

  "Not for much longer," Tyler replied. "I'm trying to prove a theory."

  Preston's face hardened. "You're right. If you marry my sister you will be a squaw man," he said, then turned abruptly and walked into the barn, leaving Tyler standing and staring after him.

  When Tyler started for the house, he saw a middle-aged man, who he assumed was Rose's father, standing outside the back door, watching him. He knew the man had been far enough away that he hadn't heard the exchange between him and Preston, but he would have seen the body language when Preston left abruptly. He hoped he wouldn't be obligated to explain.

  CHAPTER 10

  As Tyler walked toward Rose's father, having no choice because the man was standing between him and the house, Rose's father met him halfway, and offering his hand, said to Tyler, "Edison Starbright."

  "Tyler Hansen," Tyler replied, clasping the man's hand.

  Edison Starbright looked in the direction of the barn, and said, "I don't know what prompted that, but Preston can be hotheaded at times. He doesn't like it when someone disagrees with the way he handles things."

  Tyler nodded vaguely, allowing Edison to believe that Preston's abrupt departure had to do with horse handling. "The mustang has the potential of becoming a good horse, but Preston's handling him wrong," Tyler said. "All the mustang sees is a human out to kill him, and everything around here is the enemy, even that plastic cone that was in the corner of the corral. The mustang needs to be introduced to everything around here systematically, and on the mustang's terms, which means with patience, because in a horse's mind everything new is potentially lethal. All I did was let the mustang know through my voice and body language that I understood what he was going through, and that he could trust me."