The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

  With a curt nod, Hawk left the house and ran to the corral. The black nickered a friendly greeting as Hawk approached. Minutes later, Hawk was riding hard for the Hills.

  With a yawn Maggie closed her eyes. How long had Hawk been gone? It seemed like hours though it had probably only been twenty or thirty minutes.

  She placed her hand over her belly, a faint smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she felt the baby kick.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she murmured fervently.

  It was peaceful lying there in the shade. A faint breeze talked to the trees, a bird chirped in the distance.

  Lying there on the brink of sleep, she thought of names for the baby. Adam because she hoped he would be the first of many? John because he was beloved even before birth? Jason perhaps, because the name meant “one who heals” and she knew Hawk would be pleased if his son wanted to be a medicine man.

  She was almost asleep when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Moments later the black stallion crested the ridge. Foamy lather streaked its neck and flanks. And then Hawk was kneeling beside her, lifting her into his arms, placing her on the stallion’s back.

  Agile as a cougar, he swung up behind her. Holding her in his arms, he urged the horse down the mountain.

  Jared was waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. “Dr. Lansky’s on his way, Hawk,” Jared said. He stared at Maggie, his eyes worried, as Hawk dismounted.

  “Thanks, Jared.” Dismounting, Hawk lifted Maggie from the stallion’s back and carried her to the truck.

  Jared opened the door, then stood back while Hawk settled Maggie on the black leather seat.

  “Cool the black off for me, will you?” Hawk asked as he slammed the door.

  “Sure.”

  “See you at the house,” Hawk called, and without waiting for an answer, he climbed into the truck, turned the key and headed for home.

  Maggie tried to bite back the groan that rose in her throat as the truck hit a rut. She knew Hawk was driving as carefully as he could, but the long night in the cave and the ride down the hill had sapped her strength. And she was bleeding again. She could feel the warmth of it on her thighs.

  “Mag-gie?”

  “I’m all right,” she said.

  Hawk slid a glance in her direction and knew she was lying. Her face was pale. There were dark shadows under her eyes.

  He cursed softly, repeating a string of words he had heard on television, and found the experience strangely satisfying.

  Joshua was waiting for them on the porch. “The doc should be here in about ten minutes.”

  “Pilamaya.” Hawk spoke in his native tongue without thinking.

  He carried Maggie to her room, placed her carefully on the bed. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No.”

  Hawk nodded, then frowned. He would have to get her out of those clothes before the doctor came, he thought, and closing the bedroom door, he eased Maggie out of her blood-stained doeskin dress and moccasins.

  Going to the kitchen, he returned with a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and gently bathed her from head to foot.

  That done, he pulled a clean nightgown from the dresser and slid it over her head, easing it over her breasts and past her hips, careful not to jar her or move her too much.

  “You know this doctor who is coming?” he asked as he drew the gown over her legs.

  “Dr. Lansky? Yes, I’ve seen him a few times.”

  Hawk grunted. He had little faith in white men, but he had seen the magic of their inventions. Perhaps there was magic in their medicine as well.

  He was tucking Maggie under the covers when the doctor knocked on the door.

  Hawk stared at the man through narrowed eyes. There was nothing in this wasichu to inspire confidence. He was tall and thin, dressed in a rumpled gray suit and tie. His hair was gray, his eyes were gray.

  Ed Lansky couldn’t help staring at the man who opened Maggie St. Claire’s bedroom door. Lansky had been born and raised in South Dakota. He was no stranger to Indians, but he’d never seen one dressed quite like this—clad in nothing but a clout and a pair of moccasins.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” Lansky asked.

  “My wife is pregnant. She is bleeding.”

  Lansky grunted softly. He glanced from the Indian to Maggie St. Claire and back again. He’d heard rumors that she’d married an Indian. It seemed that, in this instance, the rumors were not rumors at all.

  Lansky cleared his throat, hoping the Indian would take the hint and move out of the doorway. The man’s very posture was intimidating, and, to his chagrin, Lansky discovered he didn’t quite have the nerve to shoulder his way into the room.

  Seeing the doctor’s hesitation, Hawk moved away from the door.

  “You’ll, ah, have to wait outside,” Lansky said.

  “No.”

  “I think I’ll have to insist.”

  “Please do as he says, Hawk. I’ll be all right.”

  Hawk sent a single warning glance in the doctor’s direction then left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Joshua looked up as Hawk walked into the kitchen. “Is everything all right?”

  “I do not know. She is with child.”

  Joshua nodded, his cheeks flushing. It was obvious that Miss St. Claire was pregnant.

  “Something is not right. I fear she may lose the baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joshua said. “I…I’m sorry.”

  Hawk nodded, too worried about Maggie to indulge in conversation. He wondered about the doctor, if he knew what he was doing and what magic he carried in his black bag.

  Worried and restless, he walked through the house, pausing in the front room to stare at the picture over the fireplace. His likeness stared back at him, haughty and proud, a flat image devoid of life. That was how he had been, he thought, before Maggie entered his life.

  “Mag-gie.” He breathed her name like a prayer.

  Leaving the parlor, he wandered into her den to stand staring at the computer where she had spent so many hours and at the framed book covers that adorned the walls.

  He glanced at the pile of clutter on her desk, at the unfinished manuscript. Curious, he picked up a page, wishing, for the first time, that he could read the white man’s language.

  He heard Jared enter the house, heard the two boys talking to each other in hushed tones. And then Lansky was calling him.

  “How is Mag-gie?” Hawk asked anxiously.

  “She’s experiencing what we call placentia praevia,” Lansky replied. “It means the placenta is separating from the wall of the uterus. That’s what’s causing the bleeding.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  Lansky nodded. Unbidden came the memory of a movie he’d seen where a white doctor had been called to treat the son of an Indian chief. The main thing he remembered was the chief’s threat to kill the doctor if anything happened to the boy. Though he was pretty sure he wasn’t in any real danger, Lansky was glad that Maggie St. Claire was going to be all right.

  “And the baby?”

  “Fine, as far as I can tell. I want you to make sure Maggie stays in bed until the bleeding stops completely. She’s not to get up for anything,” Lansky said, stressing the last word. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Once the bleeding stops, she can get up for short periods of time, but she needs a lot of rest and no physical activity of any kind.” One gray brow lifted. “Is that clear?”

  Hawk nodded. Now that he knew Maggie was out of danger, he was amused by the wary look in the doctor’s eyes. Did the doctor think he would be scalped if something went wrong?

  Lansky cleared his throat. “Well, call me if you need me. I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on her.”

  “Pilamaya,” Hawk murmured sincerely. “Thank you.”

  Maggie was asleep when he returned to her room. For a long moment, he stood beside the bed looking down at her, at the dark cloud of her
hair spread across the white pillowcase, at the soft swell of her belly.

  Then, with a weary sigh, he left the room.

  “Anything we can do, Hawk?” Jared asked.

  “No.”

  “I know Ma will be glad to do anything she can,” Joshua remarked. “Just say the word.”

  Hawk nodded his appreciation. “Why don’t you two go on home? There is nothing you can do here.”

  “Sure, Hawk. I hope Miss St. Claire gets better soon.”

  Hawk nodded. He sat in the parlor, staring into the fireplace, while Jared and Joshua gathered their things.

  “Let us know if you need anything,” Joshua said.

  The silence was very loud after the boys went home.

  Going out onto the front porch, Hawk gazed at the Black Hills, knowing, without quite knowing how, that he would never again be allowed to summon the Spirit of the Sacred Cave, that by choosing to follow Maggie back to her time the door from the past to the present had been closed to him.

  Bobby Proud Eagle had gone home where he belonged.

  But what of the Hawk?

  Chapter Forty-One

  Maggie smiled at Hawk as he brought her a glass of milk. A week had passed since they returned to the ranch and in that time Hawk had been the soul of courtesy and kindness. He looked after her every want, her every need. He brushed her hair, bathed her with all the gentleness of a mother washing a new baby. He massaged her back, her shoulders, her legs, her feet. He made sure she took the vitamins and the medication the doctor had prescribed, that she drank plenty of liquids, that she took a nap in the afternoon. He sat beside her on the bed in the evening, and they talked of their hopes for their son, or played blackjack, or watched television.

  She remembered the night they had watched Dances with Wolves. Hawk had watched without much interest until Lieutenant John Dunbar made contact with Kicking Bird, the Lakota holy man. From that moment on, Maggie knew Hawk had forgotten she was in the room.

  Maggie had watched the emotions play across Hawk’s face as the story unfolded, her heart aching as she saw the longing in his eyes, the yearning for the old days, the old ways that were forever gone. Of course, he was homesick, she thought, but he’d get over it, she’d see to that.

  In bed that night, he didn’t say anything, just drew her into his arms and held her tight against him.

  For the first time, Maggie wondered if he was thinking of going back to his own time, his own people. And if he did, what would she do? As much as she loved Hawk, as much as she had grown to love his people, she wanted her son to be raised in the here and now. She knew there were no guarantees in life, but she wanted the best for her children, food and shelter and security, a good education.

  Veronica came to visit soon after they returned home. Her husband, Ed, was back at work. Joshua had found a job in Rapid City. Jared was dating a girl from Pine Ridge.

  “And how are you?” Veronica asked, pulling the chair closer to Maggie’s bedside.

  “I’m fine,” Maggie said, smiling. “And you know what? I can walk again.”

  “You can? That’s wonderful! But…how did it happen?”

  As quickly as possible, Maggie told how the thought of losing Hawk had chased everything from her mind but the need to be with him. “It was like a miracle.”

  “Amazing.” Veronica shook her head. “Tell me, what was it like, traveling through time? Gracious, Maggie, I can’t believe you really did it!”

  “Sometimes I can’t believe it either. I don’t know how to describe it.” Maggie made a vague gesture with her hand. “It was like being sucked into a dark tunnel, and yet I was never really afraid.” She shook her head. “I guess you had to be there.”

  “Did Bobby make it?” Veronica asked.

  “Yes. And he loved it. He said it was where he was meant to be and he’d never come back. And he got married.”

  “Married! Bobby?”

  “Yes, to a lovely girl named Star-on-the-Wind.”

  “Bobby married,” Veronica mused with a shake of her head. “My, my. So, the past was everything he hoped it would be.” Veronica grinned. “And what about you? Are you ready to trade in your house and your computer for a horse and a hide lodge?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Living in the past wasn’t as romantic as I thought it would be, and yet, in some ways it was wonderful. I loved the people. They had such an appreciation for life, such reverence for the land. White people go to church on Sunday, and most of them don’t think about their religion the rest of the week, but the Lakota lived their religion every day. I’d like to have that sense of oneness with the land, with God.

  “Oh, and I got to meet Hawk’s mother. I don’t think she liked me much at first, me being a white woman and all, but after we got to be friends, she was great. And Sitting Bull, Veronica. I actually met Sitting Bull! He’s…he was an amazing man.”

  Veronica shook her head. “You know, if you wrote this down, no one would believe it.”

  “I’m going to write it down,” Maggie said with a grin. “As soon as I finish Midnight Hearts, I’m going to write it all down.”

  “I can’t wait to read it,” Veronica said dryly. “Well, I guess I’d better start back. Ed will be home soon. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will, Veronica, thanks.”

  Outside, Veronica gave Hawk a quick hug. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yes. The doctor said the baby is fine.”

  Veronica placed a motherly hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “And what about you, Hawk?” she asked quietly. “Are you fine, too?”

  But he had no answer for her.

  After three weeks in bed, Maggie felt much better. The bleeding had stopped and she was eager to be up and busy, but the doctor had advised her to get as much bed rest as possible and Hawk refused to let her stay up for more than an hour or two at a time.

  “I’m going stir-crazy,” Maggie complained. “I need something to do.”

  “Can you not work on your book?”

  Maggie smiled. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of it before! Soon, with the aid of her laptop computer and a pillow propped behind her back, she was busily engaged in writing the last few chapters of Midnight Hearts.

  Hawk wandered around the ranch while Maggie worked on her book, at a loss as to what to do. He was a warrior, a hunter. He was accustomed to providing meat and protection for his people. But there was no need for a warrior in Maggie’s time.

  He exercised the horses, riding across the meadow and up in the Hills, though he never rode near the Cave, never heard its voice calling to him.

  He fed the stock, cleaned the corrals and the barn, chopped wood even though it wouldn’t be needed for months.

  Sometimes he took Maggie’s truck and drove along the back roads, finding a nameless satisfaction in being behind the wheel of a machine that could go twice as fast as the fastest horse he’d ever owned.

  And sometimes he simply sat on the front porch staring into the distance, wondering what he would do with the rest of his life. Maggie had her books to write. Soon she would have a child to care for. And when she was on her feet again she would cook their meals and keep the house clean and do all the other tasks women had been doing since time began.

  He often caught Maggie staring at him, a puzzled look in her eyes. And finally, one night, she asked him what was wrong.

  Without meeting her gaze, he shook his head. “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Are you sure? Sometimes you seem so far away.”

  “I feel like an old woman. There is nothing for me to do here.”

  “But you do plenty!” Maggie exclaimed. “You exercise the horses and look after the stock. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You do the shopping and the laundry. You cook most of our meals. You do the dishes. You’re taking care of me better than anyone else could.”

  “Woman’s work!” he retorted disdainfully. “I am a man, a warrior, but there is nothing for me to do here.”

  Magg
ie bit down on her lower lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to surface. “Are you going back to your people?”

  “I cannot.”

  She flinched at the anguish in his voice, hurt because it was so obvious that he wanted to go back, hurt that he’d thought about it at all.

  “You don’t have to stay because of me,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Veronica will come and stay with me.”

  “Mag-gie.”

  “Go on, go back if you want to.”

  “Mag-gie…”

  The sadness she read in the depths of his eyes wrenched at her heart, obliterating her anger, reminding her of how much she loved him. Whither thou goest, she thought.

  “We can go back, Hawk, if that’s what you want. After the baby is born.”

  “I cannot. I have lost the power to travel the Spirit Path.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “I know.” He said the words with such conviction, such pain that she knew it was true, just as she knew that it had something to do with her, with his decision to bring her back to the present to have the baby.

  For the first time, she realized what he had given up when he brought her back home.

  “Hawk, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

  “It is not your fault. Spirit Woman. I knew what I was doing.”

  She could think of nothing to say to him, no words of comfort. He had given up his people, his family, his way of life so that their son might live.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Maggie shook her head as Sheila went on and on about how inconsiderate it had been of Maggie to take such a long vacation without telling her.

  “I’m sorry, Sheila,” Maggie apologized for the third time. “Truly I am. Now, do you want to go on ranting and raving at me, or do you want me to tell you that the book’s finished and in the mail? You should get it in a day or two.”

  “Finished! Bless you. Oh, and Maggie, wait until you see the cover! It’s fabulous. You look wonderful, of course, but Hawk is going to have every woman in America drooling, and every other author in America is going to be green with envy.”