“What on earth happened?” Mrs. Spalding asked.
“This dog killed my sheep,” he answered. “Second one this week.”
He turned to the small crowd and announced, in Nimíipuutímt: “I shoot any dog who kills my animals. I give twenty potatoes to anyone who brings me a dead dog.”
“We do not kill dogs!” Swallow cried.
“We will shoot your animals!” one of the painted men shouted.
Riders galloped toward them from the south—Thunder Eyes and his sons, followed by others. As they dismounted, Daytime Smoke arrived on foot, his Soyappo work clothes dirty from the fields. Swallow quickly told him what had happened.
Thunder Eyes walked to the dead dog, then turned and glared at Spalding.
“It killed my animal,” Spalding said.
“He offers us food to kill dogs!” a young man shouted.
“We should shoot him!” the other painted man cried.
Smoke stepped in front of Spalding: “No one will shoot our teacher! You will have to kill me first.”
The young men jeered at Smoke, but he held his ground. “Enough!” he shouted. He seemed to swell up until he towered over the others. “He is a man of God!”
“And you are a slave!” Thunder Eyes hissed at him. “You have done his woman’s work for many moons—and you have injured Mother Earth. You know this is wrong.”
“These are just superstitions,” Spalding said, trying to reason with him. “My people have plowed for generations, and God is pleased with our work.”
“You will pay for this dog!” Thunder Eyes shouted. “And if you want to stay here, you will pay for this land!” Then he pointed at Smoke: “You think you can protect him from my powers? I tell you three times, those who help him, beware!”
A hollow dread filled Swallow’s stomach. The power of thunder and lightning, Thunder Eyes’s wyakin, was stronger than any power in the animal kingdom. The tewat could kill Smoke anytime he wanted, without even leaving his lodge.
She waited until the children were asleep before speaking to Daytime Smoke. They lay outside their tipi, on a buffalo robe, under a worn-out moon. The air had finally lost some of its daytime heat, but their lodge was still warm inside, even with the sides rolled up.
She reached over and found his hand: “I want to leave here. I fear Thunder Eyes.”
“He cannot harm us. Reverend Spalding has more power.”
“You believe that?”
He was silent.
“A man who pays people to kill dogs is not right in his mind,” she said.
“He gets angry, loses his way …”
She rolled toward him: “I would be happy to live here with Mrs. Spalding; she is like Jesus. But her husband is a crazy man.”
“But there is still so much I have to learn.”
She gazed into his eyes: “He teaches you things that cannot be true. There is no Hot Place, no Satan.”
“Thunder Eyes is unreasonable, demanding payment for his land. He will forget all about that in time.”
“But if the Sent One keeps shooting dogs ….”
Smoke grimaced. “I will speak to him. Perhaps Tamootcin and I can convince him to stop.”
TWENTY-FOUR
January 1840
“Mr. Clark!” Daytime Smoke turned and saw Reverend Spalding walking toward him with Richard Williams, the beaver hunter who had married Warm Robe, from Flint Necklace’s band.
“Mr. Clark, we need your help,” Spalding said. “You know Mr. Williams. His wife has run away, back to her people.”
Smoke replied in English: “If Warm Robe want to go, no one stop her.”
“No,” said Spalding. “When a man and a woman marry in the church, they are married for life.”
Smoke gazed at him. “Not our way.”
“She married a Christian.”
Smoke turned to Williams. “Why she leave?”
“Don’t matter,” Williams said.
“I want you to bring her back,” Spalding said.
Smoke’s eyes widened. “We do not force people to stay married.”
Spalding sighed, as if Smoke were too slow to comprehend. “She was married in front of God. Leaving her husband is a sin. Do you want her to burn in Hell?”
Smoke dropped his eyes. “No.”
“Then find her and bring her back.”
Flint Necklace’s village was on the River of Hemp, where Eel Creek emptied into the river. It took only half a day to reach it and swim his horse across, but the water was frigid. When he entered the village, Daytime Smoke was freezing. Warm Robe was just where he expected to find her, in the longhouse. Fortunately, Flint Necklace had gone hunting.
Smoke had worn traditional clothing, to make himself appear as one of them, and he sat by the fire drying his buckskins while Warm Robe prepared a meal of dried salmon and qawas bread. She was an attractive young woman, slender and graceful. Smoke could understand why Williams had married her.
Her mother and father joined them, and after they had eaten, Smoke spoke of why he had come. “Reverend Spalding sent me to ask you to return to your husband.”
Her brown eyes flared: “My marriage is over. My husband struck me when he drank firewater.”
Smoke had suspected as much. He had seen Williams with bloodshot eyes more than once. He took a deep breath, wished Spalding had sent someone else. “You were married in church,” he finally said. “Reverend Spalding says such marriage is for life.”
Warm Robe’s mother glanced at Warm Robe, then at Smoke. “She married in a field.”
“They used Book of Heaven,” Smoke said.
“She is Nimíipuu!” her father said. “She can leave her husband when she chooses.”
Smoke shook his head. “Those who sin spend all their days, after they die, in a hot place deep inside Mother Earth, burning in flames for all time.”
All three stared at him.
“Leaving her husband is a sin.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed: “She will not go to Land Above?”
“Not if she leaves her husband.”
Her father shook his head: “These are lies.”
Smoke sympathized with him. If it were Little Fire, he would not want her to go back either. “It is God’s word,” he said softly. “From Book of Heaven.”
Warm Robe’s mother began to cry. Warm Robe stared at Smoke, then stood and began to pack a parfleche with her clothing.
They departed the next morning, in a soft snowfall of flakes so large it was hard to see one lodge from the other. Warm Robe’s mother wept as she hugged her daughter in parting. Her father said not a word as he paddled them across the river in a canoe, while their horses swam.
It was still snowing when they reached Reverend Spalding’s lodge; when they dismounted, their moccasins disappeared into the snow.
Spalding did not smile when he opened the door. He stared at Warm Robe, then opened the door wider and beckoned them in.
The scent of burning pine filled the room. Richard Williams stood by the fire, Timothy next to him. Mrs. Spalding, who sat with her daughter on a settee, her new baby asleep in her arms, rose, took her daughter by the hand, walked into the cooking place and closed the door.
“When a man marries a woman in our Christian way, Warm Robe, they are married for life,” Spalding said.
Warm Robe returned his gaze in fear, her dark eyes soft in her young face.
“You married a Christian, in a Christian ceremony.” He reached for a whip that hung on the back of the door. “You were married under God, forever. Your punishment is seventy lashes.”
He handed the whip to Smoke, who refused to take it.
“Do you want her to go to Hell for her sins?”
Tears streamed down Warm Robe’s cheeks.
Smoke turned to Williams: “Why you hit your wife?”
The Soyappo’s eyes were defiant: “None of your business.”
“We do not force people to stay married,” Smoke said. “He strik
es her when he drinks.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Spalding said. “A wife obeys her husband. Would you prefer that she burn in Hell for eternity?”
Smoke shook his head.
Spalding thrust the whip at him again: “If you want to go to Heaven, whip her!”
Smoke accepted it this time. He looked at Timothy, his eyes pleading for help.
“We will leave while you do what must be done,” Timothy said.
Williams smirked as he bowed his head and ducked into the cooking room after Timothy and Spalding. It was all Smoke could do not to strike him down.
He looked at Warm Robe, unsure what to do. Still weeping, she turned away from him and lifted her dress over her head, then knelt down in front of the fire and waited.
Smoke gritted his teeth and brought the whip down on her back, heard the snap and her scream, watched the blood seep out of the angry red cut. The next time he whipped beside her, in the air, but she screamed again. Spalding had brought out his whip more and more as people began to resist his orders, and this is how Smoke had learned to cope with it. But he still flinched every time Warm Robe screamed. He cracked it time after time in the air, until her screams were only moans.
The next morning Darting Swallow served the komsit in angry silence. Then she started packing up her things. When she turned to the children’s clothing, he asked her, “What are you doing?”
“You stay here if you choose, but I am taking the children home.”
“Home?”
“To our village, if you come. If not, to my people.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He felt sick inside. But what choice had he had? “Should I have let her go to Hot Place?”
Her eyes blazed. “I cannot believe what you accept from that crazy Soyappo! Have you ever heard of someone dying and coming back and telling us about a Hot Place?”
He looked down at his legs, crossed before him. “It is in their Book of Heaven.”
“Where? Have you read it?”
“No, but—”
“You believe everything he tells you! Do you also believe they drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus?”
He grimaced; he too found this difficult to comprehend.
“Can you not see?” she asked. “He is not right in his mind! He lets Williams drink and strike his wife, because he needs him; but when his wife leaves, he has you bring her back and whip her! Does that not sound strange to you?”
Smoke said nothing; how could he argue with her?
“Your own daughter has nightmares about him shooting dogs! And what will Thunder Eyes do when he hears what you have done?”
“God will protect us.”
“Has your mind gone too? Thunder Eyes could destroy us!”
Her fear was palpable. “If he really has those powers,” Smoke said, “why has he not destroyed Reverend Spalding?”
“Perhaps he will! Do you want to be here when he tries?”
They had all heard of times when two tewats went to war, and no one wanted to be caught in such a struggle. But the Soyappos were building something to harness the power of water, to cut logs into boards, and he wanted to learn how to do this. “I cannot leave,” he said. “I have too much to learn.”
“Has he cast a spell on you?”
He glared at her. “I did what I thought was right, for her.”
“Then he is controlling your mind, and it is as sick as his!”
He stood up: “You and the children will stay with me!”
“You do not own me! I will do as I please!”
“And who will hunt for you?”
“I will find someone!” Her eyes hardened. “A Nimíipuu woman wants a man who hunts, not one who spends his day doing women’s work.”
“Go, then!” he shouted. “Find someone else!” He lifted the flap and stormed out.
TWENTY-FIVE
August 1840
Daytime Smoke knelt and pulled up the wooden gate, watched the water flow into his ditch. He would have a good harvest this year, thanks to the irrigation ditches Reverend Spalding and Timothy had helped him dig. He was growing potatoes, peas, corn, turnips, cabbages, and beans. And he had two cows now; his brindle heifer had given birth several months after he had bought her from Spalding for two horses. But he had no children to drink the milk, and no family to eat the crops.
He missed his family so much he ached. Twice he had almost gone to visit them, but he was afraid his crops would fail if they were not tended. He spoke English passably now, and Mrs. Spalding was teaching him how to read. But when Reverend Spalding had decided to baptize Timothy and Joseph with sacred water, he had said Smoke was not ready, because he had not found a way to know Jesus. When Spalding had married them to their wives and baptized their children, Smoke had barely been able to watch.
He heard a horse, looked up, and saw Reverend Spalding galloping toward him. The reverend reined in hard, breathless. “Joseph is ill, near death!” he said. “Will you guide me to his village?”
Smoke stood, gestured at his fields. “My crops will die.”
“I will ask Mr. Conner to irrigate for you,” Spalding said. “I would go alone; I have been there once. But I want to travel as fast as possible, and I fear I would lose the trail in the dark.”
Smoke nodded: “Of course I will come.” Joseph—Shooting Arrow—was chief of the Wallowa band. He was a wise leader and a good friend, and he knew Jesus.
They reached his camp at sunset the next day, after riding much of the night. There was no trilling of welcome as they rode up, just an anxious greeting from Joseph’s wife. She led them to a hide tipi, where the chief lay on his bed surrounded by family, barely conscious. Spalding knelt beside him, felt his forehead, then his wrist. “He has a fever,” Spalding said, “and his pulse is extremely rapid.”
Joseph’s wife explained that he had not passed anything solid for eight days. “I believe Thunder Eyes has done this to him,” she said.
“Nonsense,” Spalding replied. “He has a blockage in his intestines. Jalap will open it up.”
“Thunder Eyes could do this,” Smoke said. “Tewats have such powers.”
Spalding looked exasperated. “You see, my friend, this is your problem—after all this time, you are still lost in the darkness of superstition. If Thunder Eyes had these magical powers, would he not have killed me already?”
Smoke felt himself blush. It was so hard for him to disbelieve a tewat’s powers; he had seen them at work too many times.
Spalding fed Shooting Arrow calomel and jalap root, then bled him. All night they stayed with him. His breathing was shallow and his fever remained high. His wife was beside herself with anxiety, and her young children stayed close by their father, silent and solemn. When Reverend Spalding led them all in prayer, Smoke prayed as hard as he knew how. He so wished he could summon Jesus’s spirit here, to heal his friend.
Perhaps he was doing something wrong, he thought. “Every day, I pray to Jesus,” he told Spalding when the children had gone to sleep. “I ask to know Him, but nothing comes. Why?”
Spalding pursed his lips, stroked his long beard. “First, you must accept your condition of sin, the depravity of your soul. We are all in a condition of sin, from birth, and we remain sinners, bound for Hell, until we surrender to Jesus in our souls, ask him to be our master. It is he who taketh away the sins of the world.”
Smoke had heard this so many times the words no longer held any meaning. “Do you believe a child born yesterday has sinned?” he asked.
“All of us, ever since Adam and Eve committed the first sin and were cast out of the garden. We are all stained by that original sin; our hearts are vile, selfish, lustful. Neither good works nor good will can redeem us. We are all lost, ruined creatures, and there is no life for us without our redeemer, Jesus Christ.”
Smoke knew that his heart held lust, and selfishness too. This was true of all men, he agreed. But he did not see that those who had emb
raced Jesus and been baptized were any different. Perhaps Mrs. Spalding was. But certainly not her husband, nor Dr. Whitman, nor Richard Williams, nor Timothy nor Joseph. They all acted selfishly at times, and he was certain all men experienced lust. “I must confess my lust, my selfishness? And Jesus will come?”
Spalding nodded. “If you confess sincerely, I believe he will. You have to strip yourself bare. Admit to your utter worthlessness. When the Lord first came to me, I was as low as a human being could be.” He hesitated, and Smoke could see painful memories in his eyes. “I was contemplating taking my own life. And Jesus saved me. I could feel his presence, hear his words, and he bathed my spirit in his love.”
“But how do I do this?” Smoke pleaded. “Is there some ceremony?”
Spalding’s eyes softened, and he reached over and touched Smoke’s shoulder, as if to reassure him. “I will help you. We will pray together. And when you find Jesus, I will baptize you, and marry you and your wife, just as I have baptized and married Joseph and Timothy and their wives. I know you are sincere, and I sense that you are almost ready.”
The next morning, Shooting Arrow said he had to relieve himself. Smoke helped him hobble to the latrine, where he stayed for a long time. During the day, Shooting Arrow made three more visits to the latrine. By the next morning his fever had cooled, and by the third day his heart rate had returned to normal.
His family was grateful; they showered Reverend Spalding with food, set up a lodge for him and Smoke full of robes and wood for fire. Smoke wondered why he had ever doubted his teacher. Surely he was more powerful than Thunder Eyes.
Before he left, Spalding wanted to see the lake at the southern end of the valley. He had seen it last summer, on his first visit here, and it was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.
The three of them rode south along the river for a good ten miles, eagles drifting overhead, then climbed through a rocky area thick with undergrowth. Cottonwoods quaked in the breeze, and the constant chirp of crickets sang in their ears. Finally the trail took a turn and mounted a huge hill, and at the top the lake came into view. It shimmered blue in the summer sunlight, the mountains at the far end rising as if right out of its distant waters.
The Coming Page 17
