by Karen Kay
But she didn’t need to speak at all, for Soaring Eagle was continuing.
“He captured her heart with this song, but her parents would not let her marry him, for he was too poor and could not provide for her. To them, their daughter was of a different ilk than he was, and they wanted nothing to do with him.”
“But she loved him?”
“Very much,” he replied. “Now in order to win the affection of the girl’s parents, the young lad went to war to win honors and wealth. For only in this way might her parents look upon him as a potential husband for their daughter. And so this he did, but he was gone so long that when he returned, he found that his love had fled her home and had not been seen in many, many moons. All assumed she was dead. It used to happen sometimes, although not very often. Parents arrange marriages to the best of their ability, but sometimes the girl is so saddened by these agreements that she will go out onto the prairie and kill herself.”
“Oh no, that’s so sad. Please don’t tell me this has a sad ending.”
He grinned at her. “You must wait to decide for yourself. Now, this young man, coming back to camp, felt in his heart that his love was still alive, and rather than settle down with another, he spent his life searching for her. He was called the wanderer, and wherever he went, he would sing this song, their song, so that she would know him.”
“And did he ever find her?”
Soaring Eagle nodded. “That he did, but by the time they finally did come together, they were old people in the last years of their lives. He was blind, she almost so, but one day he heard her song in the hills behind his village, and when he heard it, his heart gladdened, for he knew her at once. He went to her and gave himself to her, and she to him. For you see she, too, had never married. Some hearts are like that. They are made for each other, and no one else will do.”
Kali sighed, drawing in toward him. “That’s a lovely story.”
“Aa, so it is. It is said that they are still together in the Sand Hills, where my ancestors have all gone to live. And there, it is said, the two lovers are forever young and are forever in love.”
Kali’s heart quickened.
“And now, what do you think? Is that a happy ending?”
“Oh, very much so. It would have been tragic if they had never been able to meet in the flesh.”
“Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand. He was silent for many moments, until at last he said, “And so, too, should we marry, that we may yet know one another in the flesh.”
“I—I—I… No. I’m not convinced. Legends are beautiful things, but they’re not about real people, and they’re not the stuff out of which reality is made.”
He sighed. “Think you not?”
“That’s what I believe.”
“Then,” he said on another sigh, “we may never marry, for it’s true. Our path would be difficult and it would take us both, acting together, to conquer the bigotry that surrounds us. But there is one other thing: have you considered that our differences could make us stronger? Closer? Deeper in love?”
Kali paused, for the pull of his attraction was that strong. At last, however, she shook herself, as though to free herself from his appeal. And she said, “No, I fear it would not work out that way. You see, I don’t trust matters of the heart.”
“Ah, I understand. You are afraid of love.”
“No, I’m not. I’m simply being reasonable about it. Few couples are ever happy who start with as much against them as we would have. Don’t you see? There are some things one must think through completely before acting. It’s not good to simply presume that all will be well, without any forethought.”
“And yet,” he said, “there are few couples who ever have the promise of complete, lasting and devoted love. Kali, I would have you know what is in my heart, and I what is in yours, so that, if the time ever comes and you wish me by your side, you have merely to open your mouth.”
At these words, Kali’s heart ached. In faith, she felt close to tears. But why, she couldn’t say. She was doing the right thing. She knew she was doing the right thing.
“I should tell you what is in my heart,” he continued, “but sometimes a man can be reticent. It is not always easy for a man to put his deepest longings into words. Do you see? And so in my culture, there are times when a young man will sing a song…especially he will sing one to his sweetheart. It is the only way he can tell her the things he dare not speak.”
“He does?” she asked, feeling practically mesmerized by Soaring Eagle’s words.
He nodded. Alas, he was little more than a hairsbreadth away, but he leaned in closer still, and began softly:
“Ooooooooooooooooooooo.
When you hear the wolf howl,
He brings you my message.
I cry for you.
Ooooooooooooooooooooo.
When the wind calls your name,
Know that I search for you.
And when we find one another,
the earth will become a happy place.
Ooooooooooooooooooooo. You are my love.”
Shivers ran up and down Kali’s spine. She shut her eyes, the feeling within her so rich, so intense, she thought she might perish if she didn’t respond in kind.
But he gave her little chance to do so. When the last note trailed away, he kissed her, his lips as gentle a caress as the wind about which he sang.
And then, lifting his head, he said those few words she had been waiting all her life to hear. “I love you, Kali Wallace. I think I have always loved you.”
“Oh, Soaring Eagle,” she replied in a rush.
“Marry me, Kali. Know that it is not an easy thing for me to ask. But I have never meant anything more in my life.”
She drew back from him, her gaze trained on some spot midway between his kerchief and the top buttons of his shirt. “Please, Soaring Eagle, please understand. I—I can’t,” she said. “Though your legends are beautiful, and your songs touch my heart in a way none other has ever done, you must know that I can’t…that we can’t. For your sake as much as for mine, I have to think logically, with an eye to the future. Perhaps,” she offered, “legends can afford to indulge the desire of the heart. Real people, however, seldom can.”
“I disagree,” he said. “Real people must follow their hearts if they are to attain peace with themselves and within the circle of life.”
Kali came up onto her knees before standing up entirely. To her horror, she was shaking. “I can’t marry you, Soaring Eagle. Not with conditions as they are. It’s been a day of adventure, it’s been fun and I am in your debt. But you move too fast. In truth, I cannot forget that last night, even this morning, you acted as though I were as annoying to you as a thorn in your heel.”
“Merely a wish to remain a bachelor for a while longer, I think.”
“No. Please understand that whatever happened out there on the prairie this afternoon, and perhaps here also, should never have happened. I’m sorry for my part in it. But please accept my final word on this, and don’t ask me to marry you again. I—I don’t think I could…” …keep saying no, she finished to herself, gulping.
She knew she was being curt, being firm—perhaps a little too firm. But someone had to be.
Casting him a quick look, she was aware that he had questions, questions he might likely pose. But Kali knew she would never last through them. Even now she was close to tears.
And so, with the hope that she could hide behind the facade of disagreement, she turned away from him to make her way back down to the pony herd and to her wagon, feeling horribly, utterly alone.
She stumbled. Indeed, she had gone no more than a few paces when she heard him call after her, saying, “Do what you wish. Say what you will. I’ll do as you ask and not pose the marriage question to you again. But married or not, separated or not, you will never forget me, as I will not forget you. This I promise you.”
Chapter Twelve
Alas! Alas! why could not this simple life hav
e continued?
—James Willard Schultz, My Life as an Indian
A council was called. The spirits had been appeased, the four directions extolled. Inside the tepee, a pipe had been passed around the council circle and back again, but, as was custom, not past the tepee’s entryway. It was an old custom, one that no one saw fit to alter simply because the world around them had changed.
An old chief rose. “Warriors, chiefs, wise men,” he began, “one of us has come here to say a few words. He has been with the whites. And he has much to tell us. We should all listen to what he has to say.”
Several of the assembled chiefs voiced encouragement, and amid their praise, Soaring Eagle rose to his feet.
After a brief pause, he began, “As many of you already know, this council has been held that I might speak with you.”
The elders nodded, their eyes politely turned down.
“I have come to talk to you tonight to tell you that I have spoken with the white woman,” he said, “the one whom you all met last night, the one that the Indian agent has asked us to accommodate.”
Again more nods.
“There have been doubts about how we should deal with her. During my talk with her, I learned why she is here and what she means to do. In her wagon, she waits for me at the outskirts of our village. I have discovered that she is here with her father to record a history of our people—in words and in photographs. She would tell the white people, with these pictures and with their written words, the story of our people.
“I have brought her to our village to witness the Medicine Pipe ceremony in order that you meet her and talk to her and decide for yourself the truth of her words—of my words. Though she is white, I believe her heart is good and that it is in the right place.
“She has also offered to help us discover what we can about the thievery of our land, in exchange for granting her this privilege. I believe her, and I would ask you to open your eyes to her that you might see her as I have.”
He sat down. Though it was customary that he add that he hoped the chiefs would take her into their hearts as he had, Soaring Eagle had deliberately omitted this particular announcement, since he could not truthfully say that he wished any other to know her heart as intimately as he. Not that he might ever realize her in this way again.
She had said no, and if he were to do what pride was urging him to do, he would take her advice, walk away and be done with her.
He grimaced at the thought. It wasn’t right. In his heart, he felt it wasn’t right. They belonged together.
However, were he to think it through logically, as she had asked him to do, he could understand her reasoning; in fact, he might even agree with her. Perhaps, in keeping her wits about her, she spoke with a wisdom he had yet to grasp. Maybe…
No, that couldn’t be right. When he had kissed her, with her body pressed up closely to his, he had looked into her heart, had seen her for exactly who she was. And what he had beheld there was exquisite. Aa, he had loved her at once.
And she? He had perceived a hunger in her that was more than a match for his own. She must love him—or at least feel something…
But if these things were right, then what problem were they really facing? Yes, their cultures were diverse, but if that were the only force at work here, why wouldn’t obvious solutions cure it?
Could it be that there was something else? Something else she wasn’t admitting? And if that was true, was it simply racial prejudice?
Possibly, although that didn’t seem valid either. She couldn’t easily hold a prejudice toward his people and act as she had this afternoon.
Perhaps she was being too sensible. Possibly, too, he had moved too fast, as she had said. Should he try again?
Only to be turned down once more?
Pride and an overwhelming sense of self-preservation urged Soaring Eagle to forget her. It hadn’t been easy to speak of his heart’s desire. It had taken courage and a certain amount of gall.
Aa, yes. What was done was done. She had declined him; he should accept her answer. What he needed now was a little time to sort through his thoughts, some space away from her. Maybe then he could think clearly.
A chief arose, requiring Soaring Eagle’s complete attention. The man said, “What is Soaring Eagle, son of Comes Running Bird, asking of this council?”
Soaring Eagle came up easily to his feet and said, “I would ask the wise men of this council that you talk with her, allow her to photograph this ceremony, those parts of it that are not sacred. In this way, you may come to know her and see for yourself her true nature, for I do not believe she is here to take away our spirit.”
Another chief held up a hand, coming himself to his feet. He said, “And if she is? If she turns out to be as treacherous as the white ranchers who surround us?”
“Then we need not invite her to any other function,” said Soaring Eagle. “Neither she nor her father can make their book or their history about us if we do not agree to talk to them. I have seen her heart, and I do not think she speaks with a forked tongue.”
The old chief nodded and Soaring Eagle returned to his seat.
“Is there anyone else who would like to say something on this matter?”
Kicking Stone arose.
“Yes, Kicking Stone. Speak.”
“For many years we have trusted the whites to their words. For as many years we have thought them to be as truthful as we ourselves are. Yet in all these years, we have not seen a promise that has not been broken by these people. It seems to me that the whites make promises only to suit themselves, and when they have what they want, they quickly forget. I say we should remember this and beware of the white woman and send her away from us.”
Soaring Eagle rose up onto his feet, asking for recognition that he might speak. It was given.
“Kicking Stone is a very wise man, and I agree with him. But only today, the white woman defended me against some white bullies who might have killed me…and her. She spoke harshly to them and swore that she would have justice. I believe her.”
“Thank you, Soaring Eagle,” said the old chief. “Is there another who wishes to say a few words about this?”
When no one indicated that he might, the chief continued. “Then we will have a vote.”
“Wait,” said Comes Running Bird. “I trust my son’s judgment, but perhaps not his heart.”
Startled by these words, Soaring Eagle reined in his surprise and stared out in front of him. How could his father know what was in his heart? Not by word or by gesture had Soaring Eagle given any indication as to his feelings. Had his father mastered the art of reading his son’s mind?
But Comes Running Bird was continuing to speak, and he said, “Perhaps we might allow her some rights, but not all. Maybe we could permit her to witness the ceremony, to take pictures, but to select only those that Soaring Eagle approves.”
That only he would approve?
Soaring Eagle clamped down on the urge to spring to his feet in protest. Hadn’t he barely determined that for his own good, he should put some distance between them?
Yet if he had to approve all that she did, he would have to be with her, have to be close to her.
It was too soon. Without sorting through his own mind on the matter first, it would be nothing short of torture.
Soaring Eagle raised his hand that he might speak.
“Aa, Soaring Eagle wishes to say something else to the council?”
He did, and he stood. “In my defense, I think I should let this council know that I do not know the Medicine Pipe ceremony well enough to decide what pictures she should or should not take. I might allow her too much freedom, and we would come to regret it. Though my father has kept the Medicine Pipe bundle these past few years, I do not feel I should rightfully take on this responsibility. Perhaps there is someone else? My sister might be happy to accompany her.”
His words were met with absolute quiet.
He sat down, and the spell was broken. A
lmost at once there were murmurs around the circle.
The old chief nodded. “Thank you Comes Running Bird, Soaring Eagle. You have heard what each one of these fine men has to say. Perhaps we should remember that it is Comes Running Bird who is this night seeking another to carry on the tradition of the Medicine Pipe. We will vote now.”
“I would say one more thing.” It was Comes Running Bird speaking.
“Aa,” said the old chief. “Please speak.”
“My son, Soaring Eagle, talks well and with good intent. However, I fear he also speaks as a man who might fear the passion of his heart.”
Soaring Eagle didn’t react outwardly, though it took every bit of strength he possessed to simply stare at the ground.
“For as you all know,” Comes Running Bird continued, “Soaring Eagle’s sister would know as much about the ceremony as her brother.”
The old chief nodded. “This council thanks you, Comes Running Bird. And now I think we will vote.”
In the end, it was decided that Comes Running Bird’s suggestion would be followed. And Soaring Eagle, more than a little puzzled and anxious about what the night ahead might yet present, arose.
Filing out, he kept his place in the circle, his steps keeping pace with those of the old, wise men who had been assembled around the council fire. Bending at the entrance, he stepped through the opening flap, trying to decide in his own mind the best way to approach the coming evening.
And though he knew he would never go against the council’s decision, he did wonder at their wisdom.
Still, even that thought dimmed in comparison to the real problem at hand. How was he to be with her and keep his hands off her?
As promised, Kali waited well to the outside of the Blackfeet encampment. She sat in the wagon’s seat, nervously twiddling her fingers. Children had crowded around the wagon; some had popped into the back of it, while several others had brought treats to feed to the horses. All the youngsters stared at her as though she might be some stage performer.
