“I’m sorry,” she said to her father. “You should not see me like this.”
He reached out, held her shoulders between his hands. “Are you badly burned?”
“It’s nothing. I was careless.”
“Come, then. Ride with me.”
She glanced at White Feather and Winter Walking, wondered if they knew why her father had come. But they had only concern in their eyes. “Go,” White Feather said. “We will soak your hide.”
She walked to the longhouse and ducked inside. Her hands still greased, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, tried to calm herself. She found her saddle and robes and carried them out into the meadow, where she had hobbled her favorite horse. The mare whickered softly at Swan’s approach, stepped away as she felt the robe land on her back.
Her father led her up the hills, toward the late afternoon sun. It had been a warm spring day; wildflowers filled the hillside, and winged hoppers leapt before their horses. Swan waited, knowing her father would talk only when he was ready. She gazed over at his thickset body, almost wider than his horse’s, noticed for the first time the necklace with more than 20 bear claws on his chest.
“Another grizzly bear, Father?”
“A Soyappo gift. Two in one day they killed.” He glanced over at her. “With one shot their firerock guns kill a grizzly.”
“They have honored you.”
“Yes.”
She could hear the disappointment in his voice. She had been there during the first gift exchange, when the Soyappo chiefs presented him with powder and 50 balls. They had given Twisted Hair two firerock guns as payment for keeping their horses, he had told her, and she had seen the frustration in his eyes.
“What did you give them?” she asked.
“My gray gelding.”
It was a fine horse, bred for buffalo running. “And what did your council decide about these strangers’ wishes?”
“Only Cut Nose opposed me,” he said. “Other chiefs have agreed to make peace with our enemies.”
“Even Snakes?”
“Yes.”
They reached the top of the hill, and he turned and gazed back over the narrow valley, along the west side of the Tukupa. “Our young men will lead our guests across our Buffalo Road and on to Troubled Waters. But they will not visit Blackfeet and Big Bellies—that is too great a risk.”
“And what of their wish that you send men to meet their great chief?”
“A journey of eight moons, with many enemies between here and there, is no small thing. We will discuss it further before we give them an answer.”
He gazed at her, a small frown wrinkling his forehead, his eyes uncertain. “Daughter, I would speak with you about another question.”
She waited, loosened her mare’s reins so she could graze, and the horse reached down and pulled up a mouthful of grass.
“For a full cycle of seasons your husband has been gone. His death has been avenged. Past your shoulders your hair has grown. It is time to end your mourning and begin a new life.”
She stared out across the river, at the brown, rocky bluffs on the far side, felt the tears fill her eyes.
“You are still young, a beautiful woman. Many men would be proud to take you for a wife. Many years you have to bear children.”
Anger rose in her throat: he wanted grandchildren, while she was struggling for a reason to live? “Is it not for me to decide when I have completed my mourning?”
“Of course, Daughter, the decision is yours.” He hesitated, as if unsure whether to continue. “But there is something more. Chief Red Hair asked me when it would end.”
She looked up, shocked.
Her father peered at her for a long moment. When he spoke again she could tell he chose his words carefully. “Daughter, an alliance with these Soyappos would strengthen our people. Our enemies trade with King George men for firerock guns. When we hunt in Buffalo Country, we cannot defend ourselves against their weapons. They spill too much of our blood. These Soyappos will bring guns to trade with us.”
Aieee, he had become obsessed with firerock guns. But she was not going to sacrifice her life for this.
“Daughter, consider what happened this winter when Cold Man came early and stayed late. Some of our people died because they had not enough to eat. We must be able to hunt buffalo, to feed our people.”
“But these Soyappos say they will only come to trade with us when there is peace with our enemies.”
“Yes, but you know Blackfeet and Big Bellies will never make peace as long as they have firerock guns and we do not. They will attack us without mercy, until we are as strong as they are. Our road to peace lies in trading for weapons they already have.”
Her ears were open; she understood his point.
“What I ask is of great consequence, I know.” He spoke carefully. “I will not tell you what to do—what is right in your heart only you can decide. I only ask that you consider my words. I am a leader of your people; I am responsible for their safety. A marriage between our people and this Soyappo would create an alliance that would help our children, and our grandchildren, and their children.”
Behind him, the sky was growing pink. The breeze had died, and the birds were quiet. She shivered in the suddenly cool air. “Father, three times he has shamed me.”
He stared at her. “Shamed you?”
“Touched me, during my mourning.”
His eyes filled with sadness. “He does not know our customs, Daughter.”
She dropped her gaze. She could not bring herself to tell him the Soyappo had shown himself to her unclothed. “I felt unclean.”
“If you traveled to Soyappo lands, would you know their ways?”
Enough not to show myself naked to a strange man, she thought.
“You have no children, my daughter. What it is to see your child in mourning, unhappy, you cannot know.”
She looked away as tears filled her eyes again. He talked as if her loss was harder on him than on her.
She yanked on her reins, pulled the mare up from her grazing, and turned her down the hill. A flock of geese came in low over the river, heading north in the dimming light.
ELEVEN
May 1806
It had rained for the better part of five days, but on the fifth the sun broke through at noon. The scent of damp, rich earth filled the air, and every bush was covered with clothing or a blanket.
The corps had traveled downstream to the Kooskooskee and crossed it, camping in a lush meadow the chiefs had recommended, between the river and the eastern hills. It must have been a village once, for there was a 30-foot-wide circular pit, about four feet deep, with an earthen wall three feet high around the edge. Clark had ordered the baggage placed within the pit and had the men construct a roof of pine boughs and meadow grass to keep the rain off.
Today Clark had asked Sergeant Gass to construct a lean-to for sleeping, and the men had been at it all afternoon. Clark was watching Willard and Potts tie grass into bundles for the roof when he spotted a canoe in the river. He recognized Lone Elk in the front, paddling, and behind him, reclining, Lone Elk’s son, Black Horn. Behind the paralyzed chief, cradling his head, sat Swan Lighting on Water.
Clark bolted for the river, through the long grass. When the Indians beached the canoe, he stepped into the water, picked up the old man and the buffalo robe on which he lay, and carried him onto dry land. Then he turned back to Swan Lighting, reaching out for her hand as she stepped out of the canoe. But she refused his offer, and he remembered, silently cursing himself.
Welcome, he signed.
You build a lodge, she replied.
Yes. We lie in rainwater at night. The child is sick.
She gestured to the two other Chopunnish, who were unloading lodge poles and tule reed mats. The boy and his mother can stay in our lodge. Black Horn has requested more of your medicine.
How is he?
He still cannot move.
“Potts, Willard,” he called, “y
ou see the old man lying on the robe? Help bring him to the fire. Gently.”
Clark hurried to the covered pit where they kept their bags and retrieved a bottle of laudanum. He knelt by Black Horn, while Lone Elk propped him up, and gave him a spoonful. This will not bring his arms and legs back to life, he signed.
The Indians absorbed his words in silence. Clark knew they wanted more, wanted to hear that he would cure the man. He stared over at the enlisted men’s fire, where Bratton sat with Shields, smoking. For months, Bratton’s back had been so bad he could barely sit a horse. Shields had once seen a man cured of back pain with violent sweats and a tea made from seneca snakeroot, so he’d dug a sweat lodge and put Bratton in it, buck naked. Lacking seneca snakeroot, he’d given him a strong tea made from horsemint. Damned if it hadn’t worked.
Clark knew the Indians used sweat lodges, so perhaps they had tried this already. But if not, it might at least keep the woman here in camp. He explained the idea in sign language.
They were interrupted by shouts. Clark turned, saw several of the men pointing up into the hills, across the river. Four mounted Indians had come over a crest and were barreling down the steep slope. Before them bounded a deer. It made straight for the river, plunged in, and began to swim across.
“Get your guns!” Clark yelled. He retrieved his, then sprinted toward the river, with Lewis, Drouillard, and Colter. At the water’s edge they kneeled, took aim, and fired. At least one of them found his mark, and the deer began to float downstream. Clark watched as the hunters pushed a raft into the river and pursued it.
Clark smiled at Swan Lighting, who had followed them. Your men are good riders, he signed.
We breed horses for size and speed.
I would fear that hill at full speed.
She gazed at him oddly, as if surprised by how little he understood. We have no meat, she signed. Salmon have not yet arrived.
After a dinner of venison and roots, Clark ordered York to build a fire in the sweat hole, then rounded up the translators. Always interested in a medical experiment, Lewis accompanied him. When the fire had burned down, Clark placed several green logs over the red coals in the bottom of the hole. Then he and Lewis carefully lowered Black Horn in. When they let go, the Indian’s head and feet immediately flopped against the side of the hole, and his skin burned. The captains yanked him out.
“This won’t work,” Clark muttered, angry at his own stupidity.
Lewis spoke to the Indians: “Take him home and sweat him in one of your own sweathouses. Give him large amounts of horsemint tea”—he showed them the horsemint—“and move him from the sweathouse to the river, then back to the sweathouse.”
When the translation reached them, Swan Lighting conferred with the other two, and they argued.
“They don’t seem to want to leave,” Clark said.
“Nonsense,” Lewis snapped. “They can’t stay here. We’re out of food.”
“We’re eating what they brought us,” Clark reminded him.
“And it’s gone. York, help them pack their bags.” Lewis stared at Clark for a moment, as if daring him to contradict the order. Then he turned and walked away.
Clark glanced at Swan, who was watching them. He signed: You are welcome as long as you want to stay.
* * *
Swan Lighting heard the child cry, then heard the Snake woman pick him up and begin to nurse him. She opened her eyes, rolled onto her back, and gazed up at the tipi poles where they came together far overhead, their tips illuminated by the moon. The boy was ill, his head feverish and his jaw and neck swollen. He had cried much of the night. Red Hair was giving him medicines, without success. How much more proof did they need that he was not a real healer?
The Soyappos were even stranger than she had thought. They lived by a river but rarely bathed. They built a roof over the round pit from the ancient alwetas to store their goods but slept out in the rain. And when one of them made the high-pitched music, the rest pranced up and down in the most ridiculous dances she had ever witnessed.
She had not wanted to come here, but Black Horn had almost begged her—and for an elder to beg would have been humiliating. She had asked Lone Elk and Five Lightnings to take him, but Black Horn had insisted that she come. She suspected her father had spoken to him.
She sat up, threw signs to the Snake woman: How is he?
Sacagawea felt his forehead. Hot.
Red Hair seems worried about him, Swan signed. The night before he had used a tool she had never before seen to force water into the child’s anus. She had found this disturbing but said nothing. The Snake woman believed in his powers, even when he did these barbaric things.
He cares more for Baptiste than the boy’s father does, Sacagawea answered.
Swan wondered at the reasons for Red Hair’s attachment, but it was not her way to ask. After a few minutes Sacagawea brought the boy to her shoulder and patted his back, then handed him to Swan while she emptied his cradleboard and packed it with fresh cattail fluff. By the time she was done, he was asleep, and she placed him back inside. She turned to Swan and signed again: When I was ill, Red Hair gave me medicine and drained sick blood from my body. He took care of Baptiste.
Do you think he can cure Black Horn?
If your medicine men cannot cure him, can anyone?
My husband tried everything. I feel him watching now, wanting me to do more.
You cannot spend your whole life caring for Black Horn.
Is there something more important?
Find a new husband.
Swan shook her head. This is what my husband would want.
Clark patted his full belly. Red Grizzly Bear and Cut Nose had arrived to visit. When they discovered their hosts were out of food, Red Grizzly Bear had announced that most of the horses in the valley belonged to his people and the captains could have any they wanted.
After the meal Charbonneau pulled out his favorite pipe—as long as his arm and carved in the shape of a woman’s naked body, with giant breasts and hips. The huge, elongated bowl looked like a man’s cock in the woman’s open mouth. Charbonneau lit the pipe and puffed, sucking on the woman’s toes. He caressed her luxurious nipples with one hand, looked sideways at Clark: “This is what the capitaine want to do with the Indian girl, eh?”
“More’n that,” York smirked, and the men roared.
Clark squirmed. Red Grizzly Bear, laughing with them, had no idea they were joking about his daughter.
“These women keep their knickers on,” Colter said.
“Not all of ’em,” York grinned.
“The capitaine, he is embarrassed,” Charbonneau said.
The men howled, and Charbonneau handed the pipe to Clark. “You practice on this, no?”
Clark chuckled, took a puff, and handed the pipe to their guest.
Drouillard tapped him, nodded in the direction behind him.
Clark turned and saw Swan Lighting coming their way. He stood up, asked Red Grizzly Bear for the pipe. He handed it to Charbonneau: “Get this thing out of here!”
Charbonneau grinned, not understanding, and took a puff.
Clark jerked his head toward the approaching woman: “Now!”
Charbonneau turned, saw her, then lowered the pipe and ambled away. Colter and Reuben Field pounded the earth, laughing so hard they were almost in tears, as Clark moved toward Swan Lighting. Feeling the heat of a full blush, Clark signed: Your father’s generosity would do honor to the best of my nation.
If you would like to repay his generosity, we wish to try your treatment again, she replied. Black Horn’s brother has enlarged your sweat lodge. His father will go in, to support him.
Clark’s mouth fell open. He could not believe his luck. He turned, said, “York, we’ll need a fire,” but Swan reached out and stopped him.
Outside of hole we build fire, heat rocks in it, she signed. In bottom we place hot rocks, put wood over them. So sides of hole do not burn anyone.
He nodded; that mi
ght actually work. More important, it would keep her here.
Five Lightnings was already heating the stones. Clark and Swan watched him lift the hot stones out of the fire with a forked stick and place them in the bottom of the hole. Swan placed three logs over them, wedged into the bottom of the hole. Lone Elk stripped to his breechcloth and climbed in with a basket of water. He sat on the logs, and Clark and Five Lightnings gently lowered Black Horn onto his lap. Lone Elk was old, his hair white and his face lined, but he cared for his son as if he were a newborn baby.
After they put the structure of bent willow branches over the hole and covered it with blankets, they heard water hissing against the hot rocks. Then Lone Elk began to sing.
After about ten minutes Swan lifted the blankets off the sweat lodge. Clark and Five Lightnings lifted Black Horn out of Lone Elk’s arms, carried him to the river between them, and lowered him carefully into the cold water. A flock of geese slowly beat its way out of the water. They held Black Horn there for several minutes, each of them in the river up to their waists, then returned, dripping.
Lone Elk held a large horn of horsemint tea. He put a finger in it to make sure it was not too hot, then carefully poured it down his son’s throat. Swan pried up the logs at the bottom of the hole and added red-hot rocks to those that had cooled. When Black Horn had drained the tea, Lone Elk climbed back into the hole, and Clark and Five Lightnings lowered Black Horn into place.
When they pulled Black Horn out the next time he grimaced and complained of pain. Swan stood up: We must stop!
It is good, Clark signed. Sensation returns to his body.
He and Five Lightnings lifted Black Horn to take him back into the river, but Swan blocked their path. No more! He is in pain.
She spread out his buffalo robe, so they lay him down and Swan wrapped him up.
I will give him medicine for pain, Clark signed, smiling at her. I believe this is working.
When she awoke in the gray light of dawn, Swan heard tule reeds rustling in the wind, then the coo of a dove. At last. When the doves began to coo in this valley, salmon were not far behind.
The Coming Page 7
