Destiny's Bride

by Ginger Simpson

  “Granddaughter, my best years have passed and someday soon I will join the spirit world.” Her admission snagged Cecile’s attention. “You have a caring heart and would make a fine successor.”

  “Rain Woman, please don’t talk about death. I need you in my life. You are going to live to take care of my grandchildren. Besides, I know very little of roots and such.”

  Rain Woman chortled. “I’m not so sure this old body wants to live that long. I have had a very full life and I would like to spend my remaining years teaching you about healing our people. If you are willing, I will speak to Lone Eagle.”

  Cecile pondered the offer. How flattering to be the one person among the entire tribe picked for such an honor. She smiled at the woman she’d come to love wholeheartedly. “Yes, Un`ci. If Lone Eagle agrees, I’ll gladly accept. Whether or not I take your place, learning is still a very good thing. You can teach me all you know, but I’ll hear no more talk of dying.”

  Their steps crunched in the snow as they walked through the forest surrounding the village. Rain Woman cleared away a drift next to a tree trunk, searching for roots having medicinal value. Each time she found one, she held it up for Cecile to examine. “This is the root of calamus. When chewed, it helps ease a tooth pain. You will find most roots in the winter, but the herbs I use abound in the spring and summer. Horsemint is one that is good for many aches and pains, especially here.” She rubbed her stomach.

  Cecile absorbed Rain Woman’s words like water on dry dirt, but doubt niggled at her. “My goodness, do you think I’ll ever learn the difference between all these plants?”

  Rain Woman displayed her usual toothless grin. “Not only will you learn to tell them apart, you will know which ones to grind and which ones to boil. Just remember, it is a wise person who finds as many as possible before the winter snows completely hide them all.”

  ***

  The days sped by and Christmas was just a few weeks away. Snow was intermittent, and Cecile spent most of her day inside, enjoying the company of her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and a few other friends. They worked busily to replace all the things Spotted Doe had destroyed. The hours spent around the warmth of the fire resulted in a stack of blankets made from scraped and dried animal skins. The pliant pelts were ready to receive her child. She listened with wide eyes at stories told by the others.

  “Our people love and respect our young ones,” Singing Sparrow explained, “and for that reason, we rarely punish them. We allow them to explore and learn, even if it means they suffer a bit of pain. It is all part of growing up.”

  Cecile shuddered at the thought of her baby ever being hurt, but in reality, she knew children fell down, got sick, got better, and got sick again. She’d gone through childhood with skinned knees to prove it. At least she was learning which herbs and roots would help.

  While listening to the others chatter, she drifted away, comparing her life in Silver City to her new one. How many trips had she made to the mercantile to buy various items? Although shopping for necessities was a lot easier than scraping skins or hunting in the snow for plants, for the first time she sensed the pride associated with personal achievement. She gazed at the neatly piled baby things, many of them her own creation, and at the cradleboard, a gift from Little Dove. When given it, Cecile had no idea what the contraption was for. Singing Sparrow had to demonstrate its use. Toting a child on her back while she looked for roots and berries conjured an amusing scene, and she stifled the giggle that would reveal her daydreaming to the other women. Of all the gifts she’d received, by far the most precious was the friendship of those present today.

  Despite Spotted Doe keeping her distance, Lone Eagle’s warning hadn’t stopped the familiar icy stares. Her hatred only reflected pain, and Cecile tried to swallow the bitterness left behind by the woman’s cruel deed, especially since she had mothered a fine young son in Little Elk. Whether or not the two women were ever able to bridge the gap between them, Cecile only garnered more determination not to allow another’s hatred to interfere in her new life,

  ***

  “It is always better to have more than enough food on hand. The weather can be unpredictable and good days may be few.” Lone Eagle explained the necessity for hunting despite the fact that the storehouses were quite full.

  The hours they spent apart made homecomings special. Although the nights of lovemaking had ceased because of her advanced state of pregnancy, Cecile still enjoyed the intimacy of being held and kissed. As they cuddled, Cecile and Lone Eagle listened to the hissing, crackling fire.

  “You know, Christmas is getting closer,” she announced out of the blue.

  He turned and gazed at her with a raised brow. “This Christmas you speak of… I don’t understand the celebration. The missionaries read of it in their black books.”

  She rose on her elbow. “It mark’s the birth of the son of God, Jesus Christ, but besides being a holy day, there is also a very fun part that includes surprising each other with gifts, having great food, and decorating a beautiful tree.”

  Her words trailed off as thoughts of Christmases past flashed through her mind. She pictured the huge pine in the corner of the living room and remembered how her father always delighted in finding and cutting the biggest and best one close to Silver City. She recalled the eggnog her mother served every Christmas Eve, and the stories they told by the fireplace while waiting for dinner. The memories were so strong she almost smelled the turkey cooking.

  She blinked back tears, realizing those were things from another life. Now was the time to make new memories to cherish.

  Lone Eagle’s even breathing told her he slept. His people didn’t share her beliefs or recognize Christmas, but she was determined to keep the tradition alive, if only for her immediate family. She fell asleep trying to think of an appropriate gift for her husband.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cecile decided upon a new pouch for Lone Eagle’s Christmas. Age and use tattered the one he kept hanging on the wall. Lakota men wore them slung across their backs when they hunted, although she had no idea what was in them. This gift was one she’d create all by herself, and imagining the look on Lone Eagle’s face when she presented it to him, made her eager to get started. Gathering the needed materials, worry tensed her shoulders. Was she ready to face the challenge?

  With Lone Eagle away, she had plenty of time to work. She stitched a small animal skin to form a pouch, sewed it with finishing stitches as small as possible, then cut longer strips of buffalo hide to fashion the strap. She gritted her teeth, when for the third time, she had to cut the sinew and start over again to repair gaps in the edges. When every end was securely fastened, she held her work up and admired it. Her fingers ached from pushing the needle through the thickness of the skin, but she wasn’t done punishing herself yet.

  She studied the intricate beadwork on his old bag, and wondered what she could use for his new one. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. Beads and pearls from her necklaces would provide beautiful adornment for his special gift.

  Thank goodness Spotted Doe had overlooked the small wooden container during her destructive frenzy. Cecile searched the contents for just the right jewelry, then dismantling her necklaces and placing the beads and gems on the floor, she created the perfect design for the pouch.

  After hours of careful stitching, she sewed on the last remaining bead. She proudly surveyed her efforts, never before imagining she could create something so intricate from such crude materials. Despite a few pricked and bleeding fingers, a trip to the mercantile wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying

  She hid the gift behind a stack of blankets, hoping to wait until Christmas Day to give to her husband. With the spirit of the holidays surging through her, she decided some decorations were needed to commemorate their first holiday together.

  Bundling up to combat the cold, she pulled on a pair of woolen socks before donning the high-topped moccasins, a surprise from her husband. Their fur lining alone would keep he
r feet toasty, but she was a creature of habit. She searched through Lone Eagle’s belongings and found a knife, which she stuck in her pocket. Determination to find a small tree or branch to provide the Christmas spirit drove her onward.

  She pulled her jacket up under her chin and ventured out into the freezing air, fighting the sudden urge to duck back inside when the cold wind stung the tip of her nose. But she was on a mission. Walking in the snow in her advanced state of pregnancy was a challenge. Unable to see beyond her stomach, she took each step carefully. The frozen ground crunched beneath her feet as she walked toward the stream where she’d seen several baby pines. Surely one would be just the perfect size and shape.

  She spied found the perfect tree, small enough for the tepee and thin enough to easily cut. Groaning as she bent, Cecile severed the small sapling. Her fingers stung with cold and her cheeks were numb, but she was pleased with her find.

  As she straightened, an intensely sharp pain passed through her back. She dropped to her knees, finding it hard to breathe. Despite the coldness, she was suddenly very warm.

  The pain subsided. She took a long, deep breath, and then struggled to her feet. She paused for a moment to regain her composure, one hand pressed to her spine. “Whew! What was that about?” Her voice sounded shaky, even to her. Still feeling stunned by the intense jolt, she picked up the small pine and started home.

  Glad to be back to the security of her tepee, she leaned the tree against the wall and removed her coat and gloves, then scanned the room for something to prop up the little pine. Not wanting to venture out again, she decided on two logs. She placed them side-by-side and wedged the tree firmly between them. Using two pieces of buffalo sinew, she tied the logs firmly together.

  She sat back and inspected the tree, making sure it was straight, and realized she hadn’t given thought to decorations. What would she use? Again, her jewelry box came to mind, and she picked through the contents and carefully hung selected trinkets on the branches, all the while humming a Christmas tune. Before she finished decorating, another pain jarred her. Almost simultaneously, a flood of warm liquid gushed between her legs. Terror seized her heart and frightening thoughts spun through her mind. Was she dying? Where was Lone Eagle?

  Chapter Twenty

  Realizing she was in labor, Cecile’s panic escalated. Her heartbeat echoed in her head. She needed help, but could she make it to Rain Woman’s lodge with liquid pouring down her legs and filling her moccasins? The old grandmother would know what to do.

  A blustery wind whipped the walls of the lodge. She put on her coat and wrapped a scarf around her face, but as she stepped through the door, another spasm doubled her over. The pains grew stronger. Blowing snow made it difficult to see, and her knees wobbled beneath her. She waited a minute for the discomfort to pass, then cradling her contracting stomach, hurried across the compound.

  “Grandmother, Grandmother, please help me!” she called from outside the old woman’s lodge. “I think the baby is coming.”

  Rain Woman threw back the flap. “Come in out of the cold, little one.” She wrapped an arm around Cecile’s waist and helped her inside.

  Cecile’s feet were drenched as water still oozed down her legs. She hobbled to the fire to warm her trembling body, a lump of fear clogged her throat. “What’s happening to me? Is the baby coming or am I dying from some dread disease? Where is all this… this coming from?” She held out her soggy dress and lifted a wet moccasin.

  Rain Woman cackled in amusement. “No, you aren’t dying. The bag that surrounds your baby has burst. It is time for you to visit the birthing tent, little one. There is nothing to fear. Everything will be fine. I will go for Singing Sparrow and Little Dove. You wait here.”

  Cecile desperately wished for Lone Eagle. She wanted to feel his comforting arms around her and have him make her fears go away. The birthing tent was strictly off limits for him, so she had to do this without him. Did she have the courage?

  Singing Sparrow and Little Dove came quickly. Together, huddled against the cold, they helped Cecile to the birthing tent while Rain Woman scurried behind carrying her essential herbs. Inside, a warm fire burned brightly, providing relief from the frigid outside air. Three other women sat near the flames, but realizing the situation, they moved to the side. Singing Sparrow, sensing Cecile’s apprehension, patted her hand. “Lie down, daughter. There is lots of time before the baby comes.”

  Cecile tried to get comfortable, but her apprehension grew. She hadn’t wanted an audience other than her family, plus she recalled what‘d happened the last time she paid a visit to the women’s tent, but this time it would be happening to her. Her stomach muscles constricted again, and she braced herself for the next pain.

  Her eyes widened with fear at the intensity of the contraction. Rain Woman offered Cecile a heated cup of a special brew, and as soon as she finished, the old woman grasped her hand and began a melodic chant. Her Lakota song called upon the Great Spirit to bring forth a healthy son or daughter. Listening to grandmother’s monotone voice calmed Cecile, and she relaxed. Little Dove added another log to the fire and hypnotic shadows danced on the lodge walls.

  ***

  Lone Eagle rode into camp with evidence of the day’s hunt slung across his horse. He spied his father waiting for him and immediately stiffened. He reined his horse next to the chief. “Is something wrong? Is it Green Eyes?” His heart raced.

  “Calm down my son. The child will soon be here. Your mother and Rain Woman are with your wife. Today your son or daughter will be born.”

  He handed the reins of his horse to Broken Feather. “Thank you for the news, my father. Will you please tend to my horse and the deer?”

  Lone Eagle ran in the direction of the birthing lodge, but stopped outside, daring not to enter. If he couldn’t be with his wife, perhaps she would sense his nearness. The muffled sound of Cecile’s voice sounded through the lodge wall. He imagined the fear she must be experiencing. If only he could keep the pain from her. His teeth chattered, partially from the cold wind and partially from anxiety, but he felt compelled to stay. He danced in place, arms wrapped around himself, to keep warm.

  His father crossed the compound and approached him, laughing at his son’s antics. “My son, it is going to be a very long time…believe me, I know from experience. You will serve no purpose by freezing to death before the little one arrives.”

  “I know, but I just want to be close to her. She is not strong like our women.”

  Broken Feather put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “From what you tell me she has been through, I wouldn’t say she lacks strength.”

  Lone Eagle pondered his words. “You are right, my father. She has courage that I have overlooked. I will ask Wakan Tanka to watch over her.”

  “That is good, my son. Leave this to the Great Spirit while you and I go to your lodge and warm ourselves.”

  The fire inside provided heated escape from the stinging wind. Instead of relaxing by the fire, Lone Eagle paced back and forth like a cornered animal. He worried something would go wrong. Regardless of prayer, sometimes complications arose and mothers and babies died, so he bargained with the Great Spirit to keep his wife safe.

  Finally, he sat next to his father, hoping for some words of wisdom. Instead, the two sat and listened to the wind rushing through the village and watched the smoke from the fire spiral upwards and out of the tepee.

  Gazing across the room, Lone Eagle noticed the small, half-decorated pine. Necklaces, lying on the floor next to it, revealed what Cecile was doing when her birthing time began. At first he was puzzled, but then he remembered her story about the white man’s Christmas and the decorated tree. He crawled over, picked up the string of beads, and following Cecile’s lead, gently entwined them through the small branches.

  Broken Feather watched with raised brows. “What are you doing, my son?”

  Lone Eagle inched back to his father. “Let me see if I can explain this as well as Green Eyes. There
is a festive time the white man celebrates, called Christ Day. Their Christ is a holy spirit to whom they pray like we pray to Wakan Tanka. I’m not sure what part the tree plays in their celebration, but it is part of their custom.”

  Lone Eagle decided to end his explanation at that point before his father asked questions he couldn’t answer.

  “Oh. One should never question another’s customs,” Broken Feather said and turned his attention to watching the fire.

  For what seemed like endless hours, they sat around the fire pit waiting to hear something. Broken Feather tried to make time go faster by telling every story he could recall from his youth. “Your grandfather, Walks with Turtles, once captured a wolf…”

  Half-listening, Lone Eagle rested his head in his hands. The words “captured a wolf” prompted him to stop his father. “You’ve already told that story.”

  Broken Feather erupted into laughter. “Well, I truly hope the child is born before long. I am running out of tales to tell.”

  ***

  Cecile’s labor intensified. She pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the scream rising in her throat. Another horrid cramp wrenched through her, and she bit into her knuckles, praying that God would make the pain go away. Her body bore down, trying to expel the baby, as relentless aching wracked her body.

  Rain Woman stood ready to receive the child. “Push with all your might, my daughter. Your child is almost here.”

  Cecile wanted to scream—needed to scream. “Get it out, please, please get it out! If I push any harder I’m going to turn myself inside out.” Recollections of Raven Wing’s delivery and her bravery flashed in Cecile’s mind. She stifled her panic and kept her voice low. She refused to shame these beloved women.

  While she crouched over the earthen pit in front of the labor stake, Little Dove gently massaged Cecile’s abdomen in an attempt to move the baby. With each pain, she tightened her grip and strained with all her might. The hours seemed like an eternity and the pain never ending. “I can’t go on…I’m too tired,” she finally declared.