by Sadie Conall
But then he reached out and took Kimana in his arms. I felt my own throat close with emotion, for even Paddake’e hadn’t yet held the child. And strangely, this timid, vulnerable little girl didn’t make a sound as she looked up at him, as he spoke softly to her. Yet we all felt that instant connection between the man and child, as if some precious invisible thread lay between them. Deinde'-paggwe leaned towards them, as though absorbing her father’s goodness, as if afraid to move away from the two of them.
I glanced over at Ryder and saw him looking at me. He could see my hesitation, but I didn’t know how to cope with Ese-ggwe’na’a’s grief. I had never seen him like this. It was as if something deep within him was broken. But when I looked back at him, the tall Bannock was looking at me and as I held his gaze, I saw his strength and his honesty and his good heart, along with deep, wretched grief. He wore it like a shroud. And I saw in that moment what Paddake’e meant. He had changed. Like Paddake’e, he now wore deep lines of grief on his face, his long dark hair streaked with grey and he owned deep scar tissue on his right shoulder where a Hidatsa knife had struck him. And then I remembered a vision I had had of him years ago, of him standing in the Bannock village covered in blood, his right arm almost useless from some wound as he looked at some terrible thing before him. Now I knew I had seen him in the moments after the Hidatsa attack, after he had seen his son struck down and his only daughter stolen away, the knife wound barely felt in his anguish. And I realized then, that his grief was also overwhelming guilt, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.
He opened his other arm and I stepped towards him as Deinde'-paggwe moved back. I embraced him, mindful of Kimana, but she looked quite content in this big man’s arms.
“I am glad you have come home, Esa-mogo'ne’,” he said softly.
I looked up at him and smiled. “I am too, Ese-ggwe’na’a,” I said, meaning every word of it.
Six
As they walked back to their teepees, it was madness, for a crowd had now gathered to welcome the girls and Madeleine home. Poongatse and Wannge’e had remained by the teepees and were now surrounded by family and friends. Wannge’e’s father and sister were there along with other family and friends, everyone talking at once, all of them inviting Wannge’e to share their lodge.
But Wannge’e declined their offers, explaining she had her own teepee. And if any of them were shocked by this, or the girl’s swelling body or her relationship with Te’tukhe, who they knew was much older than her and of the Ugákhpa tribe, they made no comment on it. Although they raised their teepees close to Wannge’e’s own to be there to help when the babe came and she watched, delighted, helping as much as she could.
The same questions were asked of Poongatse, although she was distressed on meeting her father for Dosa’buih was now blind. He was helped along by family members for his eyes were clouded over by a milky substance, eyes that had once created such beautiful carvings like Madeleine’s exquisite pipe. As he hugged Poongatse, tears streaming down his face at being reunited with her, a child stood beside him, ready to take his hand and lead him away as she was used to doing. Her name was Qwidawo'yo.
Madeleine looked at the girl in shock, for this was the child born to Poongatse’s older brother Muha-padooa, who had been killed in the Hidatsa attack. The girl’s mother had been Oha-naguddu, a young woman not even twenty years of age who had died at the hands of a Hidatsa after attempting to flee their village and return to this child, only a few months old at the time. She was a year older than Harry.
When Poongatse asked Dosa’buih about her mother, Dabaiqo’soo, sister to Paddake’e, she learned she had fallen during the Hidatsa attack all those years ago. And although Poongatse knew this grim news, for she had seen her mother fall, she grieved anew hearing the news from her father. An older cousin stepped forward and embraced her, a woman from her father’s family and invited her to join them.
As people drifted away to raise their teepees, for it was late in the day now, Deinde'-paggwe and I helped Paddake’e raise her own before helping her unpack all her belongings. Ryder and Te’tukhe helped Ese-ggwe’na’a dig a firepit inside of it while Madeleine returned to their teepee and brought back armfuls of wood and kindling, to get the Bannock couple through the night. She also shared her stores of herbs and smoked meat, giving some to Poongatse as well, for the Bannock girls had a share in this bounty, having worked as hard as Madeleine for it.
When the drums started up just after dusk, the men left with Harry to walk to the village square, taking the dogs with them, to get them used to the village and the people. And as men and women and children crowded around to look at them, to ask where they came from, Te’tukhe asked Ese-ggwe’na’a which families would be best to take the dogs. Ese-ggwe’na’a said he would think on it.
The smell of roasting deer carcasses began to drift around the village, for several beasts had been speared on massive ironwood frames above the hot coals. Madeleine’s mouth watered as the scent came across to her, as she sat by the open fire between the teepees with Paddake’e and Deinde'-paggwe, the women relaxing for a little while with a heated clay bowl of baagwana, waiting for Kimana to wake, for the little girl was asleep inside Madeleine’s teepee. And later, as Deinde'-paggwe dressed her in clean clothes, before they joined the men in the square to enjoy the feast, Madeleine went down to the river to refill all their waterskins for the night.
An owl hooted in the woods just behind her teepee and she thought of esa. It seemed an age since she was alone with him this morning. But she knew he wasn’t here anymore. Not with all this activity. By now he would be long gone, probably up to the northern ridge where he had always made his winter den.
She moved quickly to fill the waterskins, shivering from the cold for she had forgotten to wear her fur coat. And as she walked back to Paddake’e’s teepee, she saw Poongatse crawl out of her cousin’s. The girl saw her and smiled, waving before she walked away with another cousin, making their way to the village square. Madeleine smiled. Poongatse would be alright. She would make her home with her father’s family now, but that was how it should be. Although Madeleine wondered how Harry would cope without her and she laughed suddenly, as she realized that tonight for the first time, she and Ryder and Harry would sleep in their teepee alone.
But before sleep came, she had to make a trip up into the woods. There were half a dozen muskets still up there, hidden under some ferns.
*
When full night came down, as families settled around the square enjoying the heat from the big fire, eating their fill of roasted venison with the drums beating out across the Plain, the Chiefs stood up and asked for silence. They gave thanks for the Bannock being back on their winter grounds. And then a shaman stood up and blessed the land. And later, several young men got up to dance and as Madeleine leaned into Ryder’s warmth, she saw Wannge’e move closer to Te’tukhe and Poongatse lean into her father, explaining to him what was happening. Qwidawo'yo sat with Harry and Kimana, the children curled together in furs between Madeleine and Deinde'-paggwe. Beside Deinde'-paggwe, sat Paddake’e and Ese-ggwe’na’a.
It was well after midnight when everyone walked back to their teepees, just as it began to snow. And as Ryder carried Harry in his arms, the child long ago succumbing to sleep, Ryder reached out to take Madeleine’s hand in his own, just as a wolf howled way out on a distant ridge.
*
On the morning after the Bannock’s arrival back on the Snake River Plain, Ryder and Madeleine invited Ese-ggwe’na’a and Paddake’e into their teepee to give them their gifts.
Ese-ggwe’na’a was speechless on receiving the muskets and loved the dagger within its leather scabbard. And Madeleine knew that Ryder had been right about that. Ese-ggwe’na’a would have seen no value in the duelling pistols. But the dagger he would use every day and he stood up and secured it to the rawhide belt worn about his waist, claiming it for his own. When told the story behind it, he valued it even more.
Padda
ke’e loved her thick woollen blankets, the crystal beads and coloured buttons, the bolts of fabric, the hand mirrors, the threads of silk and wool.
But as Madeleine saw the gifts spread out around them, despite the long months of travelling and care to get them here, she could see they weren’t enough. But to bring more, they would need those wagon trains that the fur trapper Thibault spoke of. Yet, a train of covered wagons full of goods would need a small army of men and horses to get them this far west. And at what risk to the Bannock? Would it open them to diseases such as the pox or cholera or typhoid? Madeleine didn’t know, but she thought the gifts weren’t enough.
Although both Ese-ggwe’na’a and Paddake’e would have disagreed had they known what she was thinking. Ese-ggwe’na’a was overwhelmed with his share, his muskets, his shot and powder, his dagger, his tools of hammers and chisels and axe. He decided to keep the best for himself and Atsa-wannge’e before passing the rest on to men he trusted who would use them well, men of his age, most of them Chiefs.
With the gifts spread out around them, they began to speak in depth about the past five years. They smoked their pipes around the fire as Ese-ggwe’na’a and Paddake’e spoke again of Huu’aidi. He had died instantly during the attack by Hidatsa, while Atsa-wannge’e had suffered a crippling wound to his forearm. The wound had healed badly, although Atsa-wannge’e was grateful to still have the arm for he came close to losing it. Ese-ggwe’na’a showed the ugly scar on his shoulder from a Hidatsa knife.
They spoke of their pride in Atsa-wannge’e but revealed the youth’s desire to see the world beyond the Bannock village was as strong as ever. They had long ago resigned themselves to the fact that one day, he would seek a life far away from these lands. Indeed, he would have left already had the men he met months ago, with the same colouring as Ryder, heading way up into the hills to where the Shoshone now had their winter village, had invited him to join them as scout.
“He would have left without a backward glance,” Ese-ggwe’na’a said, his voice still that deep baritone. “But they did not. And nor will we hold him back. He has always wanted to see what lies beyond our lands, to seek something he will never find with us and one day he will leave and never come back. But that is the way of sons. They must leave and find their own way in the world. Yet as he makes plans to leave, we regain our daughter and the gift of her own child.”
Later, lying together under their furs with Harry asleep on the other side of the teepee, Madeleine and Ryder wondered if the men Atsa-wannge’e had seen were part of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
“Do you think they would be this far west? I would have thought them further north by now?” Ryder said as Madeleine lay against him.
“I don’t know,” she answered, her voice soft and low as she drifted off to sleep. “But if they are just a few miles north of here, what if they see us?”
Ryder said nothing, yet thought of the front pages of the broadsheets if news of that meeting ever made it back to London. He doubted his Aunt, Lady Thomasina Petherington, would ever get over the shock of seeing her nephew living in the wild, dressed in buckskin with a bow and sheath of arrows on his back.
*
The days following the Bannock’s arrival on the Snake River Plain continued at a hectic pace as everyone worked to fill their own stores before the worst of winter arrived. Groups of men rode out to hunt with Ryder and Te’tukhe joining Ese-ggwe’na’a most days. Atsa-wannge’e joined one of the small scouting parties and when they rode out, no-one expected to see them again for days.
As carcasses of deer were brought in, women and girls worked tirelessly to butcher them. And those men no longer able to hunt or scout, dug more fire pits and built frames of ironwood on which to hang the meat to smoke.
Girls were taken up into the woods by old women to set snares and collect herbs and wood and kindling, while youths cut down broken branches with crude axes and chopped them up for firewood. Boys and old men went down to the river to fish, some older men taking the canoes out to set traps for beaver.
One morning a few hours after dawn, less than a week after the Bannock returned, Ryder, Te’tukhe and Ese-ggwe’na’a were hunting deer up in the northwest ridge when Ryder came upon a narrow stream. He dismounted, turning to look at the woods all around him, aware of the silence. He couldn’t hear Te’tukhe or Ese-ggwe’na’a but knew they were a quarter mile off to his left.
He threw his bow over his shoulder then reached for his waterskin, kneeling at the edge of the stream, cupping his hands to drink and gasping from the icy cold of it. The water was clear and sweet tasting. But as he moved to fill his waterskin, he became aware of a movement behind him at the same time his horse neighed in terror and backed away from him. Ryder dropped the waterskin and reached up to grab the reins, tying them to a branch as he talked softly to the horse to steady it. Then he reached for his bow and an arrow from the sheath on his back.
There was something nearby, but it wasn’t a deer. The horse didn’t act like this around deer. Ryder peered into the shadows, the early morning sun not yet risen high enough to pierce these dense woods. Yet he couldn’t hear or smell anything other than the dampness of the undergrowth, the slight breeze above him in the trees, the strong scent of pine needles. Yet something was here.
He went to step away from the solid bulk of his horse just as a low growl came from the brush behind him. Ryder swung around to see a wolf appear, standing in the shadows of the thick ferns and undergrowth.
“Oh God,” he whispered, knowing that wolves rarely hunt alone, unless it were a young male without a pack of his own. Ryder stood utterly still, his breathing shallow, knowing he didn’t have enough time to reach for his musket before the wolf lunged at him. Slowly, with hands that trembled, he put the bow and arrow to his eye, ready to release the arrow when the wolf stepped out from beneath the trees.
It was a massive beast, standing almost to his thigh, his coat pure white, his eyes a brilliant yellow.
“Esa?” Ryder whispered in astonishment, as the wolf pulled back its top lip and growled deep and low in the back of its throat. Ryder lowered his weapon but moved slowly back behind his horse even as it shied away, skittish and frightened.
But like his horse, Ryder didn’t trust esa either. He had never formed a relationship with the creature, unlike Madeleine. And although he had no wish to harm esa, he knew how vicious the wolf could be. He had only to look at the thin white scar searing his lower right leg to remember esa’s attack almost six years ago. But as Ryder watched him, seeking safety behind the body of his horse, the wolf growled once more, than turned and fled into the brush.
Ryder reached up and put both arms over his saddle and took a long shuddering breathe, watching the trees, aware of the horse trembling beneath him. But the wolf had gone. He stood there for a long moment then reached for his musket, pulling it from its sheath and made sure it was primed and loaded to fire then holding it, he moved quickly to fill his waterskin before swinging himself up into the saddle. Then he turned and kicked the horse on. Te’tukhe and Ese-ggwe’na’a were nearby. They had to be warned that esa was in these woods. And either the wolf hunted alone as he had done when he lived with Madeleine, or he was an alpha male with his own pack.
*
As the days of winter settled on the village, the small group which had travelled so far together from St Louis now found a new rhythm to their days. Madeleine spent almost all her free time with Paddake’e. And when Deinde'-paggwe wasn’t visiting with Wannge’e or Poongatse she would join them, sitting by the fire as they talked of the past few years, often smoking their pipes. Wannge’e spent her days in her teepee, keeping warm and preparing for the birth of her babe although she often joined Paddake’e and Madeleine, seeking their advice, asking what lay ahead.
Poongatse would visit every day, often taking Harry and Kimana and Qwidawo'yo up into the woods to collect kindling and wood. And one morning Deinde'-paggwe and Poongatse went to see Madeleine, carrying a buck
skin wrapped parcel. When Madeleine opened it, a bear claw necklace lay inside. It was the necklace Paddake’e had made for her some fifteen years ago to celebrate her union to Ese-ggwe’na’a. Madeleine had given the necklace to Deinde'-paggwe to look after when she left the Bannock in 1800, but had recognized it in St Louis in the spring of 1804 when she saw a girl wearing it around her neck.
“Poongatse and I have talked about this,” Deinde'-paggwe said. “And we want you to have this back. It’s yours anyway, for you gave it to me to look after, with the promise I return it when you came back to the Bannock. And I gave it to Poongatse to wear for luck when she left with the Mandan for St Louis to trade. And it did bring her luck, for if she hadn’t been wearing the necklace, you would never have seen her.”
Madeleine took the necklace gladly for it had been one of her most treasured belongings. The girls helped secure it around her neck, so it sat just below her throat. And it felt right that it was back there. And although she knew Paddake’e and Ese-ggwe’na’a would be thrilled that she was wearing it, she knew that Ryder might not. For that necklace celebrated Madeleine’s union with another man. But he never spoke of it.
But that winter, an unlikely friendship developed between Harry and Dosa’buih. Because Poongatse and Harry still spent a lot of time together, he often slept over at Poongatse’s, for he had found a friend in Qwidawo'yo. But it was Dosa’buih who enthralled the child. And even though the old man’s sight had gone, he still had his touch and with a bit of wood and a sharp knife, he began to teach Harry and a few other small boys the skill of carving.
