Earth and Sun, Cedar and Sage

by Margaret Mills, Tedy Ward

  The sheriff looked around pointedly, and Gideon frowned. “Problem, Sheriff?” he asked, ready to make one of his own. Jed hadn’t done anything wrong; hell, he’d barely been seen in that town without Gideon by his side and when he had been alone, he’d been stolen from.

  “Don’t reckon,” the sheriff said slowly. “Clement here had a thought for Christmas Day, is all, and I thought I’d ride out, maybe get a look at this horse he’s been going on about.”

  Gideon returned his eyes to Clement, who wasn’t quite shuffling on his feet. “Thought maybe you’d consider putting on a show, you and that fine horse of yours, tomorrow? Be good for folks, you know?”

  Gideon could see how it would be good for the townspeople, but he didn’t see the benefit to him or Jed just yet. “Most folks do like to see a show, yeah,” he hazarded.

  “Well, if you’re interested, I could pass the hat, take up a little collection for ya. Might ease your traveling. And I’m pretty sure we could rustle up Christmas dinner for you.”

  “Jed too?” Gideon asked, testing the waters here.

  “That the Injun?” the sheriff asked.

  Gideon nodded. “He’s a good rider, good roper….”

  “Damned good worker,” Clement added his support.

  The sheriff shrugged. “Reckon that’d be all right, if he minds his manners.”

  Gideon caught Clement’s frown and raised a hand to head off the protests. “Jed!” he called, and they waited for Jed to stick his head out the door. “You mind bringing Star around?”

  Jed shook his head and silently slipped off the sunny porch. A minute later, Jed led Star around the side of the house with just a hand to her cheek. She minded him real well, and Gideon was proud of both of them. “Square up, Star,” Jed said quietly, and she shuffled her feet a bit. “Square up,” he repeated, until she stood in perfect form; he scratched her cheek and whispered something to her in Sioux. Gideon smiled; his gal was learning the native tongue better than Gideon was. Jed stepped away and back to the porch, slipping back behind Gideon.

  “There she is, Sheriff,” he said. “Star. Say hello.” Star inched up slowly, but to Clement, which amused Gideon to no end, and bumped his chest with her muzzle. Clement grinned and reached to scratch behind Star’s ears. “That’s enough, Star. Take a bow.” She took two steps back then went down gracefully on her front knees, shaking her head slowly before getting back up. Gideon grinned and called, “Good girl, Star.

  “What’d I tell you, Mike?” Clement said, as proud as if she belonged to him.

  “Pretty little thing,” the sheriff agreed. He was impressed, but he didn’t want to look like a rube.

  “That she is. So yeah, boys, I’d be willing to help liven up your townfolks’ rest day. If you could help me with something.”

  “What?” Clement asked, agreeable.

  “Might be more a job for the sheriff. Jed had somebody take his gloves right off him, just off your main street. I reckon you don’t appreciate robbers any more than I do.”

  The sheriff frowned. “Gloves don’t seem like a reason to get het up,” he said, because Gideon clearly was. Behind Gideon, Jed shifted on the porch, a warning, Gideon knew, and one that did give him pause.

  “Not if they ain’t yours, I suppose,” Gideon said, curbing his temper. “But I paid good money for ’em,” even though it’d been Jed’s money he’d handed over to the shopkeep all those weeks ago, “and we’ve got weeks of winter riding in front of us. I sure would appreciate it if you collected them back for him, and maybe set those hooligans to right about stealing from decent visitors?”

  The sheriff wasn’t dumb; his lips thinned and he stared first at Gideon, then back at Jed. “Come on, Mike,” Clement said brusquely. “Don’t care who they steal from, it’s still stealing. You take care of it or I will!”

  Gideon resisted a grin; he was frankly astonished that half a day’s good labor had made such an ally of Clement.

  “I’ll see to it,” the sheriff said. “Injun, what’d—”

  “His name’s Jedediah,” Gideon cut in firmly, earning another frown from the sheriff and another grin from Clement. He could almost feel Jed’s tension behind him.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Jedediah, what’d they look like?”

  “The gloves? They were—”

  Gideon just barely resisted snapping, “The robbers.”

  “Boys,” Jed said slowly, his voice low. “Old enough to need a shave. Hair like Gideon’s, light. One wore a knit hat; the other had a black coat.”

  “Sounds like the Batson kids,” Clement offered.

  “Yeah,” the sheriff nodded slowly, “it does. I’ll look into it if I see ’em before the show.”

  “Be obliged if you’d look into it when the show starts. Make an example of ’em.”

  The sheriff frowned but nodded agreement, and Gideon called that a win. Jed stepped forward for the first time and cleared his throat. “We’d just sat down to eat. You want to join us? Warmer inside,” he said, low and even. Gideon called that even more of a win, in spite of the fact that they’d have to share their rabbit stew.

  “Much obliged,” Clement said, grinning at the sheriff, “but I’ve got work waiting for me.” He stepped up onto the porch and shook Jed’s hand again, though, clapping him on the shoulder. Next to the burly man, Jed looked almost like a china doll.

  “We’d best be getting back to town,” the sheriff said, then slowly, frowning a bit, added, “but thanks just the same. See you boys tomorrow.” He swung up and reined out, and Gideon watched until both men were back on the rutted little trail.

  Jed had already returned Star to her lead line and moved both of the horses into a different area to search out grass. He followed Gideon into the house a few minutes later, picking his plate back up. “We could stand some oats,” he said as he fumbled with the spoon, reminding Gideon of how cold his hands must be. “You think it was wise, asking them for help? It’s just a pair of gloves; no need getting the town upset about it.”

  Gideon waited until Jed was chewing and then asked, “You think it was all right for them to take those from you?”

  Jed closed his eyes and swallowed before he said, “No, but there are things far worse that can happen. Worst thing you can do is embarrass them, not just the boys but their folks and their folks’ friends.”

  Gideon smiled but not because he was amused. “You learned a whole lot at that missionary school. Learned a lot about turning the other cheek. I respect that, Jed, but I don’t like it. You deserve better.”

  Jed blinked his eyes open then turned to look at Gideon. “I got better. I got you. I’ll give up everything I got to keep you too.”

  It was the longest declaration he’d made to Gideon of his feelings, and it put out Gideon’s anger as easily as pouring water on a fire. He stared at Jed, wanting to touch him, but knowing that if he did, he’d not be able to stop himself. And right now, control, and proving that he could exercise it, was more important. So he settled for saying, “I love you too.”

  But the need to be with Jed was growing, and after lunch, he left Jed to clean up and pulled on his jacket, going out to work Star through her tricks. He needed to talk to Jed about performing tomorrow, but he wasn’t certain how his lover would react.

  Working Star was a good distraction; most of the tricks he’d do were easy enough, but he’d learned a few things from his father, and it had been a while since he’d done them with Star. The more dangerous ones required all his attention, which kept his mind off of Jed, and out of his pants.

  He was sweaty and tired toward late afternoon when he finished rubbing down Star. He cleaned himself up, washing out his shirt and using it on himself despite what he’d told Jed earlier in the day, and then pulled his coat back on to ward away the chill. It surprised him that he hadn’t seen Jed; even cold, it was too nice a day for the other man to hole up inside; Jed would more likely haunt a porch than a fireplace even when it was pouring down rain. />
  “You feeling all right?” he called as he walked into the house, closing the door behind him. “It’s a fine afternoon—”

  He stopped speaking as he turned and looked at the room. On the far wall, across from the fireplace and near the head of their makeshift bed, stood a cedar tree. It was small, and it stood in a burlap sack full of dirt, roots and all, Gideon thought, Jed wouldn’t kill a tree for no reason. Jed had decorated it in colored strands of thread and ribbon, torn-up strips from one of his bandanas and the ties he used for his hair, scraps of cloth from his woven saddle blanket, anything he had that was bright. There were also red holly berries and a couple of bright red apples.

  A Christmas tree. The idea of it, the fact of it so unexpected made him stand there, still and staring, until Jed’s voice broke his spell. “We had these in school. The sisters thought it would help us understand Christmas better, to have trees to decorate. We made our own decorations. I didn’t have much—”

  “It’s beautiful,” Gideon said, shaking free of his surprise and more touched than he could say. “You did this for me?”

  Jed shrugged, but color rose in his face and he looked away from Gideon to the tree. “I have candles.” He gestured to the floor where he was sitting, and Gideon saw that he was using his hunting knife to cut several thin candles in half then paring down the wax to free the wicks.

  It was then that Gideon recognized the smell wafting through the room from the fireplace: chicken. He looked to the fireplace where he saw the skillet set back in the far corner where the heat was steady, the top of it covered with a pot.

  “That’s where you were yesterday,” he said, closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath of the rich smell.

  “I thought about it, decided you were right,” he said calmly. “Chicken would taste good.” He was working with his knife, and Gideon dropped down beside him.

  Beside the fireplace, the washtub they’d been using as a trough sat filled with water; Gideon stuck his hand in and found it warm, saw the pail sitting right in the coals where more water boiled.

  It was no wonder Jed had been inside most of the day.

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” Gideon murmured, but he could help but feel like a kid—at Christmas.

  “It is your holiday,” Jed said, his eyes on what he was doing. “You wanted to stay here, to celebrate it.”

  Gideon watched him, smiling. “I wanted to stay here to be warm with you. This is all icing on the cake.”

  Jed frowned and glanced at Gideon long enough to say, “I didn’t make a cake.”

  Gideon grinned and walked over to cuff him gently on the back of the head. “You know what I meant.”

  “Yes,” Jed admitted, and he leaned back to smile at him.

  He didn’t want to fidget, but the smell of good cooking off the fireplace and the sharp smell of resin off the Christmas tree, and Jed’s hard work to make him happy… well, it made him want to be grateful. And since he’d sworn off his favorite way of showing gratitude just yesterday, he sighed instead and knelt down in front of Jed. “This is real nice, Jed. I thank you.”

  Jed smiled at him, soft, and nodded.

  “That chicken gonna be ready soon?” Gideon asked.

  “No,” Jed said easily. “I only put it on after I got the wash tub filled. Knew you’d want another bath, if you could. I’m surprised it’s smelling so good already.”

  “It is. I’m looking forward to it,” he said, nodding. “I got you something too,” he added lamely, because what he was about to offer wasn’t a present so much as an idea that he’d got, right when he’d seen this place and been sure they’d stay through Christmas. “Don’t know if you’ll want it now, though, to be honest.”

  Jed raised his eyebrows, curiosity driving him. “I want it.”

  Gideon went to his saddlebags and dug out the bundled herbs he carried. He couldn’t use the fry pan, and in the end, he pilfered his tin cup; it had a handle, after all. He took a breath to calm his nerves and looked over. “You about done there?”

  Jed looked at the candle stubs he’d cut apart. “As I can be.”

  Gideon glanced toward the window, where the lowering sun cast long shadows across the yard. “Need to put the coat up,” he said, then set word to deed, carefully covering the window to protect Jed from curious eyes. When he turned back, he found Jed touching the bundle of herbs in the cup, then sniffing his fingers. “Sage,” Gideon answered the question Jed hadn’t asked. “Cedar needles. Few mint leaves,” he smiled, “’cause I like the smell of the mint best.” As a kid, Gideon had been fascinated with the Indians who traveled with Bill Tourney’s show, mostly because the men could throw a tomahawk and split an apple from a moving horse, and the woman could put an arrow through either half of it.

  Gideon wasn’t that knowledgeable about all this, he just knew that the braves in the show had washed a lot of things, and burned a lot of things—herbs mostly, and tobacco, but scraps of colored fabric too—one color for each of the four directions, A’paho had told him. Gideon wasn’t sure if he was honoring his man or insulting him, using someone else’s chants. And he didn’t know, now, if Jed would tell him.

  He took a deep breath, though, and started talking. “A’paho and his sister, they’d burn sage and cedar to purify their tents, every time we put up someplace new,” he said, and he picked up the tied-up herbs to stick an end in the fire. The cedar caught and sparked, and he drew them back, watching the flame intently for a few seconds, before he blew it out and dropped the smoldering herbs back into the cup. Smoke gushed, cedar oil as pungent as the sage, and Gideon looked up through his lashes at Jed’s quiet, concentrating face. “They taught me one of their chants in English, so I’d know what I was saying. That, uh, okay with you?”

  Jed’s mouth twitched, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes.”

  “Four directions,” he said quietly. “East is the light of a new day, the place of all beginnings.” He waved the burning incense toward the east. “South is the sun at the highest point, a place of youth and innocence.” He waved the cup toward the south, watching as the chimney draft grabbed up the smoke. “Darkness comes from the west, the place of the unknown. North holds the winter, pure and white, the place of wisdom.” He followed with the incense, watching the smoke waft every which way.

  Jed said four words in his native tongue, words Gideon thought he recognized, and then translated. “Body, mind, heart, spirit,” Jed said softly. “The four aspects of our nature. Sun, Clan mothers, Spirit Keeper, and the Star Nations, help us manifest our needs, and remember who we are, what is to come, and why we walk this earth.”

  It was as much a prayer as Gideon had ever heard from the tent preachers who had sometimes traveled with Bill Tourney’s show. Gideon had always known that, but it took on special meaning now, with Jed and the Christmas tree and all. Jed stood slowly and ran his fingers down Gideon’s arm, past his wrist to ease the cup out of his hand, and nodded. “Kneel,” he said, and Gideon did, resting his weight on his boot heels.

  “I think your words are the words of the Tia-o-qui-aht,” he said, “friends to the Sioux from further north. Canada.” Jed’s tiny grimace came and went so fast, Gideon almost missed it. Then Jed moved the cup in front of him, drew it up Gideon’s body from the floor to the top of his head, and blew short breaths to make the smoke move toward him. It smelled strong and heady, and Jed whispered words in Sioux that Gideon didn’t recognize before he stood back and did the same to himself.

  “It is a blessing,” Jed said somberly, “to know the true way one should walk.”

  Jed walked over to the tree then, and used the embers off the herbs to light the candlewicks one by one. The little flames flickered as he placed them carefully, right at the ends of the tree branches. He let wax melt, making a thick, warm drift of it, then stuck the candle bottom into it while it was still hot. The biggest, he set near the top, then held his hand a couple of feet above it for a minute, checking its heat to make s
ure it wouldn’t light the cross beam above it on fire. Satisfied, Jed blessed the tree, smudging it with the herb smoke; his mouth moved, but Gideon couldn’t hear the words this time. He was just caught up in it all, in the combining of English and Sioux, of prayers and rituals. Jed’s Indian spirit practices had made white religions more real to Gideon than any traveling preacher or church prayer he’d ever known, because Jed’s practices seemed to put him right at peace with the whole of the earth.

  Gideon wanted that. He’d even gotten it, a little, first from the Indians in the show and a lot more, from Jed. “Sounds like prayers,” he said quietly into a silence broken only by the crackling fire.

  “It is prayer, Gideon. That’s what ritual is: prayer. Actions with intentions connect us to our ancestors, to the great spirits. I will wash you now.”

  It wasn’t a question, and Gideon didn’t mind anyway. He nodded, some part of him deeply content just to be here with Jed.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Gideon nodded again and stood up, hastily stripping out of his clothes and laying them out by the mattress. Jed silently took his hand and led him to the washtub, waving his arm to motion Gideon in. Jed was like that often; he didn’t use words when they weren’t needed, and much as Gideon liked a good conversation, he liked this even more. He stepped in, wriggling his toes in the warm water, and knelt down into the cramped tub. Jed set the herbs to his left, away from the fireplace, and Gideon watched the smoke waft toward and then past him, watched it mix in with the fire smoke. Then Jed dug out a bar of soap he’d wrapped in a cloth, took off his own boots, pants, and shirt, and knelt down beside the tub.

  “Gonna get me all het up,” Gideon warned, annoyed with himself.

  Jed’s frown turned suspicious, and Gideon waved a hand, embarrassed. “I thought about sharing a bath with you like that, at first, yeah,” he admitted, “but I know that ain’t the point of this. A’paho said mothers bathed their children to honor them, that husbands bathed their wives for the same reason.”