The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

  From Deadwood, they drove to Rapid City to visit Ed and Veronica and the boys. While there, they went to the Sioux Pioneer Museum. Hawk stared at the panoramas of Indian life, his expression wistful. He stood staring at a tribal calendar for a long while, studying the pictorial history, or “winter count” that detailed the annual highlights of a tribe beginning in 1796.

  But it was an ancient thunderbird shield that brought tears to his eyes.

  “It belonged to Heart-of-the-Wolf,” he replied in answer to Maggie’s question. “I saw it often in his lodge.”

  He was visibly depressed when they left the museum, but she could hardly blame him for that. How awful to see your own past on public display, to know that all you once held dear had been destroyed.

  She should have known better than to let him talk her into going to visit the Badlands and the Pine Ridge Reservation. He was appalled by the small communities and towns on the reservation. The houses, most built in the 1970s, were in sad repair, the paint peeling, the doors hanging, the yards filled with debris. The feelings between whites and Indians had not changed in the last hundred years. The whites were still worried and distrustful and tension was high.

  He was quiet on the ride back home, his face set in hard lines, his eyes dark with despair. She knew what he was thinking, knew without asking that he was grieving for his people, for a way of life that was gone forever.

  When they reached the ranch, Hawk kissed Maggie on the cheek, then caught the black and rode into the Hills.

  He rode for hours, his thoughts bleak as he imagined what the future held for his people, the loss of their freedom, their land, their pride. He recalled driving on the reservation, seeing the ugly little houses, sensing the hopelessness of the people. Maggie had told him that drugs and whiskey and child abuse were big problems on the reservation. He felt sick inside when he thought of his people taking out their frustrations on their children. Such a thing was unheard of in his time. Children were a gift from Wakán Tanka, to be cherished and loved, and it made no difference if that child was red or white. All were welcome in the lodges of the Lakota.

  He reined the black to a halt and stared into the distance. The setting sun was turning the sky to flame, the red making him think of blood…the blood of his people that would be shed so that the white man could lay claim to the Black Hills, to the vast grassy plains, to the mountains of the Little Big Horn. What a greedy people the whites were! They had owned all the land in the east, but it hadn’t been enough. They had wanted the land of the Lakota as well, and they had destroyed the buffalo and a people to obtain it.

  Dismounting, he sat cross-legged on the breast of Mother Earth, his head bowed as he rocked slowly back and forth, mourning the death of his people, grieving for those who would survive, for a way of life that was gone.

  He sat there for hours, sick at heart, wondering if he had made the right decision. Perhaps he should go back, if only to warn his people of what was to come so they might be prepared to fight, to die. Or perhaps he should go back and tell them that fighting was useless…

  He raised his eyes toward heaven, wondering if Wakán Tanka was angry with his red children. He stared at the moon and the stars, his heart and soul reaching toward heaven, but he heard nothing but the voice of the wind sighing through the pines.

  It was after midnight when he swung aboard the big black stallion and rode back to the ranch.

  A light burned in the front window and as he crossed the porch, he could see Maggie inside. She’d fallen asleep in her chair beside the window and he knew she’d been sitting there, waiting for him, her heart empty and afraid.

  Entering the parlor, he knelt before her, filled with guilt because he had caused her pain.

  “Spirit Woman.” He took her hands in his, pressing his lips to the palm of one hand.

  “Hawk?” she murmured sleepily, and when she saw it was really him and not a dream, she threw her arms around his neck, holding him to her breasts as she kissed the top of his head. “Oh, Hawk!”

  “Mag-gie, I am sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  He drew back to look up into her face. “Do you?”

  The tone of his voice and the look in his eye turned her blood to ice.

  “Do you?” he asked again.

  “I think so, but Hawk, there’s nothing you can do for your people. Nothing! You can’t change history.”

  “I can try.”

  “But what could you do?” Silent tears slid down her cheeks. “You’re just one man. You can’t stop a whole civilization from expanding.”

  “I have to do something, if it is only to warn my people of what’s to come.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “I do not know. I only know I must go back.”

  “Why?” she cried.

  “Because I feel so guilty,” he replied quietly. “I cannot stay here knowing what’s going to happen to my people and do nothing. They will fight and I must be there to fight with them.”

  “But it won’t do any good! Please, Hawk, we’ve been so happy these past few weeks. Doesn’t that mean anything? Don’t I mean anything?”

  “Mag-gie.”

  There was such love in his voice, such anguish, she wished she could call back her words, but it was too late.

  His dark eyes were filled with pain, a pain she could never fully comprehend. She had always been appalled at the way her people had treated the Indians, she felt sympathy for their plight, compassion for their misery. She sent money to the American Indian Relief Fund and to several other charities that were trying to make life better for Native Americans, but she could never fully understand how they felt.

  No one had ever stolen her land or forced her into a way of life that was alien and unwanted. She had never been taken away from her parents and forced to learn the language of people she considered her enemy, or whipped for speaking her own tongue.

  Sometimes she tried to console herself with the thought that it was their destiny. The Indians had fought amongst themselves for territory and the stronger tribes had driven the weaker ones out, taking the best hunting grounds for themselves. But the Lakota had not broken treaties. They had not imprisoned a whole race of people on a reservation, or tried to impose their own lifestyle on that of their enemy.

  She gazed into Hawk’s eyes and knew that he loved her beyond words. He did not want to leave her, but his pride and his inborn sense of honor demanded that he do whatever he could to help his people, even if it was only to prepare them for what was to come.

  There was nothing more to say. He would leave her and she would have to let him go.

  Wordlessly, she held out her arms.

  Wordlessly, he picked her up and carried her down the hallway toward the bedroom.

  Unable to put their feelings into words, they made love until dawn and each touch, each tearful caress, was a renewal of the love they shared.

  A renewal and a goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next two weeks were bittersweet. Sometimes Maggie wanted to spend every minute with Hawk to savor their remaining time together, to gather memories so she’d have something to look back on when he was gone. And at other times she didn’t want to see him at all. Better to get used to being without him now, she thought miserably, to wean herself away from the sight of his face, the sound of his voice.

  On those days when she couldn’t bear to be without him, they spent every moment together. He took her riding into the Hills, they swam in the pool behind the house, they went on another picnic.

  One night, as they were making love, she prayed that she was pregnant, that she might have a part of Hawk to love and cherish after he was gone. She took countless pictures of him, shooting him from every side, every angle, trying to capture the essence of the man she loved.

  She faced each sunset with growing dread, knowing that it meant she was one day closer to losing him forever. She told herself to be strong, that he was doin
g what he had to do, that he belonged back in 1872. But it was a losing battle, and it was tearing her apart inside.

  Hawk was fighting his own demons. In the short time he’d spent with Maggie, he’d come to love her deeply. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, wished for, desired. She was truly a Spirit Woman, for she’d woven a spell around him from which he had no desire to escape. He loved her with his whole heart and soul; given time, he knew he could adjust to her world. And yet he couldn’t stay. With each passing day he felt more and more compelled to return to his people even though he knew there was nothing he could do to change their ultimate fate.

  And then, too soon, the night of the full moon was upon them. They had tried to pretend that that day was like any other, but both had failed miserably and they had spent the afternoon and evening in each other’s arms. And now he was ready to go. Hawk knelt beside Maggie’s wheelchair, her hands clasped in his.

  She gazed deep into his eyes. He had changed in the last few days and she sensed that even now he was shaking off the white man’s words and ways. He was once again wrapping himself in the ancient customs and traditions of his people. She could readily imagine him riding to battle, his face streaked with war paint, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

  But when he looked at her, she saw only the man she had grown to love, his dark eyes filled with the same sadness that tore at her heart.

  “I will come back to you, Mag-gie,” he promised. “If there is a way, I will come to you.”

  “You said you’d stay, that you couldn’t live without me.”

  “It will not be living.”

  She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She had told him she understood—at the time she’d meant it. But now he was leaving and she couldn’t bear it. He’d given her a taste of love, of happiness, made her feel like the princess in a fairytale coming to life again after a long sleep.

  “I do not want to go,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “But even now I can hear the Cave calling to me and I must answer.”

  “Then go!” She screamed out the anger and the pain that were clawing at her heart. “Go on, get out of here. Go back to your stupid cave! I wish I’d never met you!”

  Her words sliced through Hawk like a knife, and even though he was certain she didn’t mean them, they left him raw and bleeding. He wanted to take her in his arms, to soothe the pain in her eyes. Instead, he stood up, his face an impassive mask. Perhaps it was better this way after all. Perhaps her anger would dull the ache.

  “Farewell my heart,” he murmured and turning on his heel he left the room without a backward glance.

  It was the hardest thing he’d done and as he walked out of her house into the night, he knew he’d left the best part of himself behind.

  He hesitated for a moment, wanting more than anything to go back to her, to see her one more time, but he knew it would only cause them both more pain. Resolutely, he swung aboard the stallion and rode out of the yard.

  It was a beautiful night, clear and cool and quiet with only the faint sigh of the wind and the sound of hoofbeats muffled by layers of pine needles to break the stillness. The Paha Sapa rose before him in the pale moonlight, beckoning him, calling him away from the woman he loved.

  How would he live without her? What if she carried his child? He knew deep within himself that she was right. The future had already been written and there was nothing he could do to change it. And yet he had to try. He might not be able to save the entire Lakota Nation but he had to know if his mother still lived, he had to try to help his people. Surely there was some small corner of the world where they could live without fear, where the old ones could die in peace, where the young could grow up unafraid.

  He’d thought he could stay here, with Maggie, that he could turn his back on who he was, what he was. But the blood of warriors ran in his veins and he could not abandon his people.

  Instead, he was deserting the woman he loved.

  The thought left the taste of ashes in his mouth. He tried to rationalize by telling himself that Maggie’s life wasn’t in danger, that she would survive without him, while he might be the only hope his people had. He had seen the future. He knew, from what Maggie had told him, when and where battles would be fought, who would win and who would lose, who would live and who would die. He could not keep that knowledge to himself, not when it might save the lives of people he loved.

  Too soon, he reached the Sacred Cave.

  Hawk sat there for a long moment, then, expelling a deep sigh, he dismounted, only to stand beside the stallion, reluctant to enter the cave, to take the first step that would take him away from Maggie, perhaps forever. He wished now that he had thought to ask her for a photograph that he could carry back with him so that he might be able to look at it when her image began to fade from his memory, as it surely would in time.

  He rubbed the stallion behind its ears, then removed the bridle and turned the horse loose so it could make its way back to the ranch.

  It was dark and cool within the bowels of the Sacred Cave. As he had done before, he made his way into the heart of the cavern, then, taking the small deerskin bag from his belt, he withdrew a handful of corn pollen and scattered a small amount to the east, the west, the north, and the south, to the Great Spirit above, to Mother Earth. And then, heavy-hearted, he faced east and sat down, staring into the darkness as he concentrated on his village. Closing his eyes, he sent a silent prayer to Wakán Tanka asking to be sent home.

  Maggie sat in the living room where Hawk had left her, staring out the front door. He was gone and she would never see him again.

  The thought was more painful than anything she’d ever known, worse than the guilt that had plagued her after Susie died, worse than the knowledge that she’d never walk again.

  There is nothing wrong with your legs, Miss St. Claire. You can walk if you want to… Hysterical paralysis…

  Once you get over the guilt of your sister’s death…

  You can walk if you want to, if you want to, if you want to…

  Oh Lord, how she wanted to walk! She had to see Hawk one last time, kiss him once more, tell him she loved him, would always love him. She had to beg his forgiveness for the horrible words she’d hurled at him, tell him that she hadn’t meant them, that she did understand why he was going.

  And like a bolt out of the blue she knew where his people could find safety. Hawk, wait!

  Biting down on her lower lip, Maggie put the foot rests aside, placed both feet squarely on the floor. Then, with her hands braced on the arms of her chair, she levered herself to a standing position.

  You can walk if you want to…

  She swayed for a moment, her heart hammering with fear—fear of failure, fear of falling, fear that she was already too late.

  Another minute went by and she was still standing, though her legs felt weak, so weak.

  Putting one hand on the doorjamb, she took a step forward, and then another one. Her steps were wobbly and uncertain, her legs felt as if they were made of JELL-O, but she was walking!

  Left, right, left, right, she was walking!

  She made her way down the hallway, her steps slow and uneven, her hands braced against the walls.

  Wait for me, Hawk. Please wait for me.

  She quickly changed her dress for a pair of Levi’s and a red Western-style shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on a pair of thick wool socks and her riding boots. Going to the hall closet, she grabbed a sheepskin jacket and left the house.

  Outside, she let her gaze sweep across the Black Hills before hurrying to the barn to saddle the little chestnut mare.

  I’m coming, Hawk, she thought, willing him to hear her voice. I’m coming.

  Hawk gazed intently toward the east wall of the cave, wondering if he’d lost the power to summon the Spirit of the Cave, if he’d waited too long to try to make his way back.

  He concentrated harder, willing the cave wall to c
ome to life, willing the Spirit of the Cave to materialize and send him back to his own people where he belonged. But nothing happened. Perhaps Maggie had been right, he mused, perhaps this was where he was meant to be.

  And even as he thought of her, he heard the sound of Maggie’s voice echoing in the back of his mind, breaking his concentration, and he opened his eyes.

  He frowned as he heard Maggie’s voice again, louder this time, calling his name, begging him to wait for her.

  Maggie! She was here at the cave.

  Hawk scrambled to his feet, his heart filling with dread as he remembered the fate of the white soldier who had dared to enter the cave during the cycle when the moon was full.

  “Mag-gie, go back!” He screamed the warning as he ran toward the entrance, but it was too late. She was already within the walls of the cave. He could see her in the darkness moving toward him like a faceless shadow as she called his name again.

  “No,” he cried, “No, Mag-gie, go back!”

  He came to an abrupt halt, his heart pounding as he waited for the Spirit of the Cave to strike her down.

  “Hawk! Oh, Hawk,” she cried, stumbling toward him. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Mag-gie.” He held her close, marveling that she was still alive, wondering why she had not been stricken when she entered the cavern.

  Abruptly, he put her away from him, his eyes straining to see her in the darkness. “Mag-gie,” he breathed in awe. “You are walking!”

  “Yes. I’ll explain later. Oh Hawk, take me with you.”

  She was walking. She wanted to go with him. Was it possible? He drew her into his arms again, wondering why she hadn’t been struck down when she entered the cave, when suddenly the Spirit of the Cave was there, moving over him, the darkness coming alive, surrounding him, surrounding them both.

  Hawk looked eastward, his mind filling with thoughts of his people, of his mother, and slowly the cave began to glow. He stared at the light intently, overcome with an aching need to go home.

  He could feel Maggie watching him through the thick darkness. She seemed to be able to read his thoughts, for he sensed her growing horror as cloudy images of death and destruction began to fill his mind. Some deep instinct prompted him to cover her mouth lest she speak and shatter the moment.