She heard Black Horn’s buffalo robe move slightly. Carefully, so as not to wake the others, she stood and tiptoed to him. He was lying on his side with his back to her, his arms in front, clenching and unclenching his hands. When she knelt in front of him he looked up at her in wonder. She took his hands and they squeezed hers. She could not believe it. Red Hair was right—it was working!
She found him by his fire. Come, she signed.
He followed her back to the lodge. Black Horn lay on his back now. He smiled at her as she knelt down beside him. Then he raised one arm, clenched and unclenched his hand, and beamed.
Red Hair clapped his hands once and grinned. Good! he signed. We will sweat him again today.
She patted Black Horn on the chest, then rose and walked to her bags, stored behind her sleeping robes. She picked up the hide she had recently tanned, took it to Red Hair. She had been planning to make a new dress from it, but there was no point; she could not wear a new one in mourning. There would be plenty of time to tan another.
A gift, she signed, to thank you. I will make you a tunic.
He bowed slightly, thanked her, then signed, Wait, and hurried out of the lodge. When he returned he showed her a small object that gleamed. It had an oval wooden part with something like ice in the middle, silver and bright like the scales of a salmon. He held it up to her face and it reflected her image back at her, like the still surface of a pond.
Her hand went to her cheek as she recoiled, embarrassed by the sight of her plain hair and dress.
He handed it to her: A gift for you.
TWELVE
June 6, 1806
Clark stepped into the river, felt the shock of the frigid water. He dove in headfirst, let the chill penetrate everywhere until his breath evened. Then he lay on his back and stared up at the gauzy white clouds that floated in an early morning sky. This morning the yellow vining honeysuckle and the seven bark were in bloom, and the strawberries he had been keeping an eye on, along the riverbank, were finally ripe.
Sometimes, out here where the mountains were so high and the canyons so deep, the sky so immense and the trees so grand, he felt as if he could truly know God. And yet no white man had ever set foot here before them. God had reserved all this for the Chopunnish. It felt right, somehow, in a way he did not fully understand. They were honest and honorable, the most generous Indians he had yet come to know.
He swam back upstream and stood up. York tossed him the bar of soap, and he lathered himself, lathered his hair, and ducked under to rinse off. Finally he lathered his face.
York stood on a rock by the river’s edge, sharpening a razor on a leather strop. Clark stepped out of the water and dried himself, wrapped the towel around his middle. Then he sat next to York, and the slave set to work, squatting on his haunches.
“Massah William, this would be a sight easier if you all had a chair,” York said.
“If wishes were horses, poor men would ride.”
“Oh yes. And York would dearly love that. I wonder if we gonna have enough horses for York to ride on the way home?”
Clark raised one eyebrow. “The walking was good for you. You walked all the lard off.”
York stood up, moved to the river, and rinsed off the blade. “I think maybe I’ll shave, too,” he mused, feeling his beard. “Indian ladies likes a man with a smooth face.”
York had already visited several villages to trade for food. He always came away with a good trade, and he always stayed overnight.
Today they would visit Broken Arm’s village, at his invitation. Clark wondered if Swan Lighting would be there, and how she would react to his bare face. What would he tell her, by way of explanation? That he thought it might help him get into her bed?
As York made one careful stroke after another, Clark watched an eagle soar slowly above the river, its wings barely moving. Now it swooped lower, toward the water. Suddenly it dived, right down onto the surface. Its huge talons went into the water with a small splash and came out holding a large fish, two feet long, its silver sides gleaming in the sun.
Lewis had his sextant out when Clark approached. “Another fix?” Clark asked.
“One last time.” Lewis squinted into the sun. “The water fell an inch last night.”
Lewis checked the river’s height several times a day. He asked the natives about it at least once a day, he was so anxious to figure out when they could leave. The water usually rose during the night and fell during the day. The snow melted during the day in the mountains, the natives explained, but it took the water so long to reach them that the surge arrived at night.
“Black Eagle says it’s done rising,” Lewis continued. “That means there’s less snow left to melt.” A flock of geese flew low over the water, heading north in a V formation. “I discovered a new bird this morning. About the size of a large sparrow but longer, with a beak like the Virginia nightingale. It had a fine red plumage on its head and neck.”
Thank God Lewis could lose himself in his specimens, Clark thought; otherwise he’d be as tight as a porcupine’s ass. In his heart, Lewis was a naturalist. Clark could imagine his friend addressing the American Philosophical Society, introduced by Jefferson, lecturing on the flora and fauna west of the Mississippi.
“I’ve got only five or six more plants to preserve and catalog before we depart, and I should finish those tomorrow.”
“You heard what the natives said last night.”
Lewis continued to aim the sextant and squint into the sun. “I just counted: we’ve found 162 species heretofore unknown to science.”
“Lewis.”
He glanced over: “What did they say?”
“The mountains are not yet passable.”
“I no longer have confidence in their predictions.”
“These people don’t lie, Lewis.”
“Then why have they dispatched one of their men over the mountains?”
“He arrived back last night, said there was too much snow.”
Lewis turned and stared at him. “You’ve shaved.”
“Indeed.”
Lewis frowned: “Who told you the Indian came back?”
“He rode in after you retired.”
“Then we’ll hunt for four or five days up on the prairie, lay in some meat. I am determined to get this corps back to civilization this year, if that be possible within the compass of human power.”
“The Indian woman told me the mountains won’t be passable till the full moon.”
A look of recognition crossed Lewis’s face. He put the sextant down and stood up. “You’re a fine woodsman and a peerless leader, William—until you let your dick do your thinking.”
Clark looked away. “Christ.”
“Is that why you’ve shaved? For God’s sake, man, come to your senses! She’s a savage.”
Clark stiffened. “Is that all they are to you? Savages?”
“And what are they to you?”
“People.”
“People who live in mat houses and starve to death in a bad winter!”
“They’ve shown more generosity to us than any white man I ever met.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You think on it, Lewis. How many of our horses have they returned?”
“But they were paid …”
“They don’t eat horse, but they’ve given us all the horses we wanted.”
“Fine. They’re generous. But they’re savages. They send out war parties and collect scalps.”
“And white folks don’t? You served on the frontier.”
“I never saw a white man wearing thumbs and scalps as decorations!”
Clark glared at him. “You ought to take a woman, Meriwether. Maybe if you did you wouldn’t be strung so bloody tight.”
Lewis gave him a withering look, picked up his sextant, and walked away.
Clark heard the trilling of welcome as they approached the village. When they crested a small hill the chief stood waiting, his sons be
hind him, then Red Grizzly Bear, Black Eagle, and three women. Clark realized with a start that the third was Swan Lighting. Her cheeks were painted red, from her jawline almost to her eyes; her black hair was combed and braided; and she wore the handsomest white dress Clark had yet seen, heavily ornamented with blue and white beads, quills, and elk teeth. He stared at her, utterly confused. Was she out of mourning?
When Broken Arm spoke, the crowd’s eyes turned toward Clark. Black Eagle signed: At our first salmon feast he will honor you, to thank you for healing so many of our people.
Clark smiled, then raised his arm in a wave to the crowd, and the women trilled again in response. Come, Black Eagle signed, we will talk.
Red Grizzly Bear pointed at Clark’s face: You pulled hair out.
Shaved, Clark signed. Like your women scrape hair off a deerskin.
Red Grizzly Bear’s eyes narrowed and his broad forehead wrinkled. Clark drew his knife from his scabbard and pulled it slowly along his cheek, as if shaving.
Red Grizzly Bear put the back of his hand to Clark’s cheek, felt the slight stubble. “Ah-heh.”
In the village, the sides of the longhouse were drawn up a few feet to let the spring air in. When they ducked inside, the sweet scent of burning alder greeted them. Broken Arm introduced them to his younger son, a warrior named Heavy Shield, broad like his father. He explained that Heavy Shield lived with his wife’s people on the River of Hemp, in the village that was farthest south, closest to the Snakes, and that he had a message for the Soyappos.
A friendly nation that lived three sleeps below the Meeting of the Waters had received a peace delegation from the Snakes, Heavy Shield explained in sign. The Snakes had heard the captains’ words of peace from their fellow Shoshones, who had sold the corps horses last summer. They wanted to make peace with the Chopunnish.
Clark smiled. So their words had not fallen on deaf ears, after all.
Broken Arm threw signs: We have sent men in search of this Snake delegation. We will invite them to smoke peace pipe. I tell you three times, I will never break this peace.
The chief picked up two pipes that lay beside him. The first one, made of red pipestone, with a long stem from which three eagle feathers hung, he handed to Clark: This pipe I give to you, in thanks for your message of peace. The second pipe, even longer, was made of green pipestone, inlaid with silver. This pipe we took from Snakes, he signed, in Season When Fall Salmon Run Upstream. I will send it back to them with our peace delegation, to show our hearts are true.
I will keep your peace pipe always as a memory of you and your people, Clark responded. He took out some blue ribbon and white wampum he had brought to trade for food, tied the wampum on the stem of the green pipe, then wrapped it tightly with the blue ribbon. This is a sign of peace among our people, he signed. When you take it to Snakes, tell them our hearts are glad to hear of peace between your nations.
Next Broken Arm explained that they could not accompany the corps to the Missouri River, as Lewis and Clark had requested. But the chiefs would select young men to guide them back across the mountains in the snow, at a gathering of the entire nation that would take place in 10 or 12 days.
Lewis would never agree to wait that long, Clark thought. Nonetheless, he thanked Broken Arm profusely.
After a few more words, the chiefs led them outside for a ceremony to thank the Creator for the arrival of the salmon in their waters. The rest of the people were waiting in a large circle, around a fire. The clouds had parted and sun streamed down. Red Grizzly Bear motioned to Clark to stand between him and Swan Lighting, and when Clark brushed against her, she didn’t flinch. He was sure she was out of mourning now, and he had to suppress an urge to touch her again. Black Eagle took two of the salmon that lay on a flat rock near the fire, speared each with a sharp stick, and placed the sticks between rocks that surrounded the fire, so they held the long fish up over the blaze to roast. The pungent smell of roasting salmon slowly filled the air.
A tall man—one of the few as tall as Clark—approached Swan Lighting and handed her a small leather pouch. He wore an otter-skin tippet, draped with white weasel tails. Swan opened the pouch and showed them what was inside: a hundred or more pieces of dentalium, the small, white, cylindrical shells from ocean creatures found on the Pacific Coast. Clark had seen them decorating the clothing of many tribes.
Clark sensed that he had a rival for Swan’s affections as the man gave him a steady gaze. I am Spotted Wolf, he finally signed. For healing my father, Black Horn, I thank you. We are honored to have you at our celebration.
Broken Arm retrieved one of the salmon from the fire. He held the stick up toward the sun and began to sing. Then he turned, and Red Grizzly Bear handed him a digging stick. He dug a hole, placed the salmon in it, and covered it with dirt.
Young women circulated with horns full of water, and everyone took a sip. One of the girls retrieved the second salmon and brought it to Broken Arm; he broke off a small bite and swallowed it. Then the girls broke the fish into pieces, put them in wooden bowls, and again circulated through the crowd. Everyone took a small piece.
As men propped more of the salmon over the flames to roast, Broken Arm began to talk, and Clark found all eyes on him. Black Eagle signed to him: While fish cook, Broken Arm will lead a name-giving ceremony for you. Into our nation we adopt you, by giving you a name.
I understand, Clark signed, nodding with respect toward Broken Arm. He had trouble taking his eyes off Swan Lighting; he had to force himself to pay attention to the chief, who continued to speak and gesture toward him.
He describes your prowess as a healer, Black Eagle signed. Red Hair Who Heals will be your name.
Clark half-bowed toward Broken Arm. When the chief said nothing, as if waiting, he signed: It is a great honor to receive a name from you, to be adopted into your nation. My nation and yours will be friends forever.
There were smiles and nods around the circle, a murmur of approval. Broken Arm spoke to him again, signing: To Creator we give thanks for sending you.
A part of my heart will stay here always with you, Clark responded.
Now Broken Arm led them into the longhouse. Women seated themselves on tule mats that lined the floor on one side, men on the other, facing them. They waited while men brought large wooden bowls full of salmon and young women brought cakes, dried berries, and tea. They served the elderly first, then everyone else, and Broken Arm led a prayer.
Clark gazed at Swan Lighting, who sat across from him, just eight feet away, and wondered if this would finally be his lucky night.
After the feast, as darkness fell, drumbeats broke the quiet. Swan Lighting moved with the other women to form a circle, creating a dance area around the fire. Slowly men began to enter it, each in ceremonial dress, the scent of their paint mixing with the smell of pine smoke. When the drummers sounded, the dancers began to move. Swan stood with the other women around the edge of the dance area, their feet moving in gentle rhythm. It felt good to finally join in the dancing after so long. Her grandmother had been the one to finally reach her, after a long conversation in the Old Man, the sweat lodge. “It is yours to choose, to say yes or no to your father or Spotted Wolf,” she had said. “But it is time to stop hiding. Four full seasons have passed. It is time to live again.”
Spotted Wolf danced in front of her, his weasel tails shining white in the moonlight. She remained stone faced, but inside she cringed. She could see the glances, hear the whispers. Between his gifts and this dance, everyone knew what would be next.
When he finally moved on, York danced in front of her. She watched in surprise as his big, muscular frame imitated the moves of the other dancers. He had stripped off his shirt, and in the light of the fire his bare chest and stomach glistened. She could hear titters from the women around her.
Her father handed Red Hair his firerock gun and beckoned him toward the dance area. He was so enamored of the Soyappo, so eager for her to show interest in him, she felt almost sor
ry for him. Red Hair hesitated, and her father gestured again. Black Eagle, already dancing under an eagle feather headdress, reached out an arm, guided him into the circle of men, and the Soyappo grinned. He tried to imitate the step-hop of the dancers, on his toes, his knees and waist bent, and quiet laughter rippled around the circle. Now he closed his eyes, moved around the fire with the others, bobbing and dipping. His eyes opened again as he approached her, searching out hers. When he smiled at her, she dropped her eyes.
She had been wrong about him, that she could admit. He was a healer; he was just more honest about his abilities than most tewats. Nor was he the fool she had thought him. He was different from Nimíipuu men—he met people’s eyes, clapped them on the back, touched them as he laughed. Yet he had become careful not to touch her, and when she found his eyes on her, he looked away. But how could she marry him? He was so foreign, so full of talk and laughter. Her husband had been quiet, with a fierce dignity that moved her heart. He had been equally fierce in his lovemaking, passionate and insistent. She could not even imagine making love with the Red Hair. He had shaved the hair off his face, but still, he was so strange.
Suddenly Spotted Wolf was in front of her, shouting at Red Hair. Red Hair stopped dancing as Spotted Wolf motioned him toward the other sideline. When Spotted Wolf shoved him, Red Hair brought his gun up, in two hands, and shoved back. Spotted Wolf came back at him with a knife, and Red Hair swung the gun to force him back, then flung it down and drew a knife from the scabbard at his own belt. Swan’s mind reeled as the two men circled one another. The only sound was the crackle of the fire; the drums had stopped and the crowd had hushed.
Broken Arm grabbed Spotted Wolf from behind just as York did the same to Red Hair. Red Hair bellowed at the black man, struggling to free himself. But her father stepped in between the combatants, shouting at Spotted Wolf, upbraiding him. The young warrior ignored him, still glaring at Red Hair. Broken Arm pulled Spotted Wolf away, and as she watched them go, it hit her. If she married Red Hair, Spotted Wolf would no longer want her. Her father would be happy, and soon Red Hair would leave. If she chose to stay, she would be free.
The Coming Page 8
