Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  Quickly, he was inside her, his hard hot shaft moving in quick thrusts. Both groaned with the ecstasy of being one again, sharing bodies in this beautiful act of love. This time there was no pain at all for her, only a trembling, glorious fulfillment. She was so achingly in need that just the act of being united brought on the wonderful, almost agonizing climax that made her arch up to him in naked splendor, wanting to give and take at the same time. She cried out his name, dug her nails into his powerful arms, and in the next moment his own life spilled into her in throbbing force until finally they both lay spent. He breathed deeply, kissing at her neck then and pulling a blanket over them. “Do not move,” he told her, both of them damp with the perspiration of heated lovemaking. “We have much to talk about, but first we will make love again, more slowly this time.”

  Evelyn did not argue. She only lay quietly while he moved down to gently taste her breasts, pulling teasingly at her nipples, circling each one with his tongue until the fire began to build again deep in her belly. Whatever he had to say, and whatever his surprise was, it would have to wait.

  Beverly Evans, wearing a plain but neat dark-gray dress, helped pick up hymnals. This Sunday, as they did once a month, the families of white farmers who lived just beyond the eastern border of the Standing Rock Reservation had come to church, swelling the otherwise sparse congregation to completely fill the little church. A few more Indians were beginning to filter in, but only those who understood English, their long faces showing their tired resignation to a new way of life.

  Beverly stacked the hymnals on a table at the front corner of the church, near the piano, which had been sent to Reverend Phillips by Mission Services two months earlier but had sat silent, since no one knew how to play it. That was now Beverly’s duty, and she gladly obliged the reverend and his congregation with her musical talents, feeling grateful to have a place to stay. She cherished Evelyn Gibbons’s friendship. She and Evelyn had had some long talks, and she understood how Evelyn felt about Black Hawk, although she kept it to herself, knowing Evelyn was not ready for everyone to know the extent to which her relationship with Black Hawk had gone.

  Beverly had decided she was in no position to judge. Her heart still ached over the pain Herbert True had brought her, and her only joy was knowing that in a few months she would have a baby to love and to love her in return, a baby who would be raised to be joyful and free.

  “She’s with Black Hawk, isn’t she?”

  Reverend Phillips interrupted Beverly’s thoughts as she stacked the last hymnal. She turned to face the man, trying to read his eyes. Anger? Hurt? Condemnation? She wasn’t sure. “Yes.”

  He sighed. “She could have at least come to church services first.”

  “She wouldn’t have had time to ride all the way to Black Hawk’s grandmother’s village if she had done that.”

  Phillips folded his arms. “You’re close to her already, Mrs. Evans. Can’t you warn her? After what you’ve been through, surely you understand the folly of falling in love with the wrong man.”

  Beverly felt her cheeks growing hotter. “We can’t always be wise in the ways of love, Reverend. I was forced into my marriage to Greggory. I never loved him. Now I know that loving Herbert was just a way out for me. I needed someone who would let me laugh, let me be a woman in the fullest sense. I’m sorry if I might have hurt Greggory and you and Mission Services. I never meant to hurt anyone, but I’m really not sorry I went away with Herbert, because I learned a lot about myself and about passion and freedom of expression. Perhaps what I did was wrong in the eyes of others, but not in my eyes; I truly loved Herbert, and in the eyes of God, the heart is all that matters. That is how it is with Evy and Black Hawk, except that Black Hawk is a much more sincere man than Herbert True. He is not a liar. Black Hawk is completely honest about his feelings.”

  Phillips turned away. “I thought at first I could… care for Miss Gibbons.” He snickered with a hint of sarcasm. “But we are as different as night and day. We disagree on most things, but I respect her motives as far as her method of teaching and reaching these Indians. She has done a good job of winning their confidence. In some ways she seems so wise for her age, and then again so foolish… like when she talks about seeing Black Hawk in some kind of a vision, some dream— And it just isn’t right for a white woman to care about an Indian man.”

  “Why not, Reverend? He is first a man, nothing more, nothing less. God teaches us to love everyone the same. To say she shouldn’t be with him is to say the Sioux are beneath us, not worthy. That kind of thinking is unChristian. Doesn’t God love us all the same? Isn’t that what we teach? Who are we to love someone less than God loves them?”

  He faced her, frowning, but the frown slowly changed to a soft smile. “Spoken like a true preacher’s wife.”

  She smiled. “I was the daughter of a preacher and the wife of one. Just because I had a bad experience on both counts and then ran off with a near stranger doesn’t mean I don’t have faith, Reverend, or that I don’t believe in God’s love. I simply feel God means for us to be happy in that faith, to celebrate life and love. The bad things that happen to us come from things we do to ourselves, not because God is punishing us for something. I believe God loves us the same, no matter what mistakes we make. He understands.”

  His eyebrows arched in approval. “My, my. Maybe I should let you preach next week’s sermon.”

  She laughed lightly. “No, thank you. You do a fine job all by yourself.” Her smile faded. “Thank you, Reverend Phillips, for accepting me, allowing me to live in Janine’s cabin, to play the piano for church and help Evelyn teach.”

  “Well, you might be sharing that cabin before long. Mission Services plans to send us more help as soon as they can.”

  Their eyes held a sudden, new light beginning to shine for both of them, although neither quite recognized it yet for what it was. Beverly felt suddenly Warm all over, and she looked away to absently straighten the stacks of hymnals. “You have no one to cook for you, Reverend since Janine left. I have some fresh bread at the cabin, some pie and leftover stew.” She faced him again. “Would you like to share lunch with me, Reverend Phillips?”

  Phillips could not help moving his gaze over her lovely form. Beverly Evans was a very pretty woman when she smiled and he was somewhat astounded at the impressive words of faith she had just spoken, especially after what she had been through. He could not help thinking how Greggory Evans had wasted his wife’s talents. He should have made her a partner in his ministry, not just kept her hidden at home with strict orders to be silent and no duties except to cook and clean for him. He had gone to visit with them just once at the Oahe Mission, and it was obvious to him even then that Beverly Evans was nothing more to the man than a pretty ornament on his arm on Sundays, something to show that he was a faithful, married man. He wondered sometimes at the strange turns life took for some people. Maybe there was a reason for what had happened to Beverly, for Greggory Evans’s death, but then such things were not for him to understand.

  “Yes, I would like that,” he answered. “I would like that very much.”

  Twenty-four

  Evelyn lay nestled in Black Hawk’s shoulder, moving her gaze to study the paintings inside the tipi. “You painted those horses, didn’t you?” she asked Black Hawk.

  “For my sister. She dreams of owning many horses.”

  “How did she get her name of Many Birds, if she so loves horses?”

  Black Hawk smiled softly. “At birth she was first called Rising Sun. When she was ten, she found a spot out in the hills where birds would come to her and let her feed them. Because of that, she feels she shares the spirit of the birds, and from then on she was called Many Birds.”

  Evelyn thought it quite nice to be able to change one’s name as he or she grew and changed. “Perhaps I should have an Indian name. What do you think would be a good name for me?”

  He leaned over her, tracing a finger over her
lips. “I have already thought much about this. You have brought new light to me and my people. You are like a princess, and that is what I would call you, Wenonah, Princess.”

  “Wenonah.” She smiled. “I like it.” Their eyes held in mutual love. Evelyn wondered at the power he had over her. She was so sure of herself and independent in most ways, but when Black Hawk touched her, or put her under this spell with those dark eyes of his, she was weak and totally at his command.

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. “We will make love once more, Wenonah, before you must go. This time you will be the master.”

  “What do you—”

  Black Hawk grasped her thighs and pushed her back slightly. “Raise up and make love to me, Wenonah.”

  It was only then she understood what he was asking. “Black Hawk, I can’t… I mean, proper ladies don’t do such things!”

  He only grinned. “You have not been a proper lady since you came here, but you have been a proper and most satisfying wife. What happened to your free spirit Evelyn Gibbons Hawk?”

  She felt the fire again moving under her skin at the thought of such a bold and daring way of making love. “Hawk?”

  “That will be your name when we are married the Christian way. I will take the name James Hawk. James was the name of the missionary man who taught me to speak English. He was the only good white man I ever knew.”

  The statement warmed her heart, gave her hope. He was already talking about a Christian wedding, had already decided he would take a white man’s name. What better sign that this man truly loved her than to concede to something he once would never have considered?

  “Black Hawk,” she whispered, her eyes tearing. She closed her eyes and raised up, felt him easing himself into her.

  “My Wenonah.”

  She grasped his hands for support and began moving rhythmically, shivering at the glory of it, her breath leaving her at the wonder of the way he filled her to near-maddening ecstasy. She felt wild and wicked, alive and free. She leaned down, bracing her hands on either side, of him so that his own hands were free to massage and tease her breasts. For several minutes she kept up the glorious union, until he rolled her onto her back and continued the act with exotic thrusts that made her cry out with a release of passion and high emotion. Everything swirled about her as she fell under his rapturous spell. When he finished with her, she felt wondrously ravished, blissful, so sweetly satisfied. She wondered how many women ever got to experience this kind of ecstasy.

  She felt no guilt, for she was already this man’s wife by Indian custom, and who was to say that was any different from her own custom? She loved him, and soon she would be Mrs. James Hawk. Somehow they would find a way to survive together. Their children would be taught Indian customs and skills, and also be educated and brought up in the Christian religion.

  Nothing stood in their way now… except the yet-unfulfilled vision. She forced herself not to think about it. She was too happy to worry about a silly dream, or to give thought to Night Hunter’s prediction that a white man would die and would somehow bring great troubles to Black Hawk. Maybe he was wrong. He had to be wrong. She was too happy now. She reached up and touched Black Hawk’s hair. “When will we marry the Christian way?” she asked.

  He leaned down and kissed her lightly, then moved away from her. “As soon as we know the meaning of Night Hunter’s dream we will be free to tell your people of our love. There is something else.”

  “Something else?”

  He looked over at her and grinned. “My surprise. We will wash and dress first.”

  He had a way of telling her to do something without being demanding. She moved to where he kept water hot in a kettle beside the fire. It annoyed her that so many of her own people thought these people were unclean. Black Hawk prided himself on cleanliness, his hair was always soft, his teeth scrubbed with baking soda, a habit he had learned as a boy when he lived with the missionaries. He had not agreed with many things they made him do, but he enjoyed the feel of clean teeth and took pride in an immaculate body. She wondered how insulted a lot of whites would be if they knew that the Sioux thought of them as sometimes smelling offensive. Black Hawk had often mentioned white men did not seem to care about washing, and that they were too hairy.

  As they washed and dressed, already Evelyn was feeling the heaviness of knowing she must leave him again, dreading the loneliness she felt now when they were apart.

  “I will ride most of the way back with you for your protection,” Black Hawk told her, as though to read her thoughts.

  “I’ll be fine. I came out here alone.”

  “It will be getting dark. I will go with you.”

  Another command, spoken so gently yet firmly. Black Hawk left for a moment to throw out the water they had used, then returned, setting the pan aside and walking to the left side of the tipi. He picked up a beautifully beaded parfleche and brought it over to where she sat waiting. “This is a gift to you from Little Fox. He told me he promised you a gift when you named the seven Sioux rituals.”

  Evelyn took the parfleche, studying it almost reverently. “Oh, he shouldn’t. I didn’t name the last two.”

  Black Hawk grinned. “He said you knew them, but you forgot for just a moment because he had told you that I loved you and your thoughts became confused.”

  She met his eyes, enjoying his handsome grin, the square set of his jaw, the white, even teeth, the beautiful dark eyes. “I could hardly believe my ears. I think I loved you before I even came out here and met you.”

  His smile faded as he touched the bag himself. “This bag belonged to Little Fox’s mother, so you know how special you have become to him. There is something inside that also belonged to Turtle Woman. It is a gift from me.”

  Evelyn untied the rawhide strings of the parfleche and opened it, reaching inside to pull out a bleached doeskin dress. She gently unfolded it, nearly gasping at the spectacular beadwork in a sunburst design of many colors on the breast. There was more beadwork on the skirt, she noticed with delight. The fringes on the sleeves, down the sides, and at the hem each had tiny pieces of tin tied to them so that the slightest movement made a lovely tinkling sound. She had no doubt the dress had taken weeks to make. In her own world, such an original Indian garment would be worth hundreds of dollars. The garment was so beautiful, Evelyn hardly knew what to say. “Black Hawk, I don’t deserve—”

  “It was Turtle Woman’s wedding dress,” he interrupted. “I wish for you to wear it when we are married the Christian way. She would want you to have it, and it will show your white friends that part of you is Indian. It will show my own people how fully I have accepted you. This is a sign of my love for you.”

  Evelyn’s eyes teared. “Black Hawk, it’s so beautiful.” For a moment she felt a rush of jealousy, imagining what Turtle Woman’s wedding night must have been like, wondering how lovely she must have been, yet her heart ached for how the woman had died, the hellish memories Black Hawk had to live with. She met his eyes. “Someday I will give you more sons, Black Hawk.”

  He nodded. “They will belong to both worlds. Perhaps that is the only way to keep the circle complete. Life can never be as it once was for us, and it hurts my heart to know this; but I also know that it cannot be changed. We must go on, learn to live this new way. You can help me do this, and our children will keep the circle of life turning so that the circle is never broken.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. How long would it be before they knew the meaning of Night Hunter’s predictions; before they knew the full meaning of their own dreams? How much longer could she bear to wait before she could live with this man openly? “I don’t know what to say. It’s the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me. I will treasure it always, and I will be proud to wear it when we marry.” She felt overwhelmed by the touching gift. “You said there was something else besides the vision that had to come before we marry. What did you mean?”

&nb
sp; “That is my surprise,” he said with a grin.

  Evelyn carefully laid the dress aside as he leapt up and walked over to take something from under a blanket. She had thought the dress was his surprise, but instead, he turned toward her holding a wood-framed canvas in each hand. “What do you think?”

  She stared at one picture of rolling green hills, with deeper green pine trees nestled in each depression. The pines were mixed with aspen trees, their leaves bright green, their white trunks bright from sun that shone on them. In the distance was the dark outline of mountains, with gray clouds hanging overhead, telling of a rainstorm to come. Wild horses ran across the hills.

  He looked down at that particular picture. “I can no longer ride west to the higher hills and the mountains, where you find the trees with white trunks and where you see this kind of beauty, but my memory of that country is vivid. I dream about it often, long to go wherever I please, to the cool mountains in summer.”

  He turned his attention to the other picture, of an Indian man riding a golden horse with white mane and tail. The horse was in a galloping pose, preparing to leap across a stream, a wolf running beside him. The ground was covered with snow, as were the pine trees in the background. The Indian man wore full, beaded and fringed dress, a hat made from the head and fur of a wolf. He carried a lance decorated with feathers, and a hawk sat on his outstretched arm. He was the very image of a true warrior. “This is how I see myself, if I were free to live the old way,” he told her, “riding to war against my enemies, going on the hunt to bring food to my family.”