Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  Graham stopped pruning and turned to focus on Redfield. “Oh, I didn’t know.” Once again, his ignorance of American Indian history came to the fore. He felt embarrassed.

  Redfield didn’t seem bothered by his friend’s lack of historical knowledge. “Well, what exactly is this job?” he asked, putting the pruners in motion again.

  Graham recounted the story about the job notice, the application, and his subsequent acceptance.

  Redfield was pensive and listened intently to the young man’s story. When Graham finished speaking, the Crow motioned him over. “Let’s take a little break,” he said as he brushed snow from a fallen ash tree on the edge of the orchard. “Have a seat.”

  Graham sat on the log beside Redfield and waited patiently as he watched his friend go through the ritual of making a cigarette, finishing the task with a lick from his cloverleaf tongue. After lighting the cigarette and taking a puff, he turned to Graham with a solemn look.

  “When I told you about my vision, I didn’t share everything. There’s something I left out.” Redfield paused, uncertain whether to proceed with the conversation.

  Graham sat a little straighter on the log. “Oh, what’s that?”

  “You remember the part of my vision where the bear quieted the noisy birds of different colors?”

  “Of course,” Graham replied immediately. “You are the peacemaker of Big Hill Farm. And you do it very well!” he said earnestly.

  “Well, there was another bird in my vision. A young bald eagle with red breast feathers sat on top of a tree that grew beside the orchard. I saw the bear go over to the tree, stand on his hind legs, and swipe at the eagle with his paw. One of the claws detached and stuck between the eagle’s talons. The young eagle flew away into the setting sun.”

  Graham was perplexed. “What does it mean?” he asked.

  “I didn’t understand what it meant for the bear to chase an eagle into the western sky. But the medicine man provided an interpretation. Remember the bear represents me. In the vision, I send a young man, who is represented by the bald eagle, on his personal vision quest. This man carries a bear claw with him.” Redfield looked directly at his pruning partner. “It’s possible you are the young man.”

  Graham’s mind was racing. He was trying to process what Redfield told him. “Wait a minute. You said the eagle had red breast feathers.”

  “Glad you were listenin’. That’s right. The red feathers indicate this young eagle is wounded. And you are wounded, right?” Redfield looked directly into the young man’s eyes as he posed this question.

  Graham swallowed hard and looked away. This conversation was becoming too personal for his comfort. How did Redfield know about his brothers and sister? He was hurting inside. Was it that obvious? He wasn’t ready to reopen the wounds caused by his family’s tragic past or discuss the gloomy present.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” Graham said weakly.

  “What about your hearing?”

  Graham was startled. It’s not what he thought Redfield was referring to by being wounded. He had not spoken to anyone at Big Hill Farm about his deafness. Graham believed he had effectively concealed his handicap from his coworkers. “How did you know?”

  “I figured it out shortly after you started working. I could tell by the way you turned your head in a certain direction when people were talking to you. And you were always careful to walk on my left side when we worked closely together. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me - just like our cloverleaf tongues.”

  Graham nodded. “Thanks. Yes, I’m one-sided deaf. I’ve been this way since I was a little boy.”

  “Like I said, wounded.” Redfield took one last puff from his expiring cigarette and extinguished the smoldering butt against the heel of his boot. “I need to ask one more thing to confirm you are the young man in my vision.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “Gra’am, the eagle in my vision is especially important. Can you tell me if an eagle has a significant impact on your life?”

  The question caused him to gasp. Graham knew he was the eagle in Redfield’s vision. “Oh . . . my . . . God!” he stammered slowly as he brought both hands up to the sides of his head in disbelief. “I am an Eagle Scout!”

  Graham explained his experience with Scouting as a youth, the proud moment when he earned the organization’s highest achievement, and how much it meant to him.

  When Graham finished regaling Redfield with a few of the happier events in his life, the Crow Indian slowly rose from the log where they had been sitting. “Gra’am, you’re the young, wounded eagle in my vision. No doubt. We have much to talk about. But these trees need prunin’ right now. Let’s get back to it.”

  * * *

  Graham placed his pruning shears on the workbench and walked back to the Studebaker, where Redfield and Leonard were staring under the hood. It was three o’clock, and everyone else in the small work crew had left for the day.

  “Well, what’s the verdict?” Graham asked Leonard as he approached the ailing vehicle.

  Leonard rubbed his hands on an oily rag as he turned to face the car’s owner. “Now, I ain’t no professional mechanic,” he pointed out. “But it don’t look good. Don’t sound good, either.”

  “How so?” Graham asked, feeling his heart sink at the prospect of an expensive repair bill.

  “At first I thought maybe you might just need a good tune-up. You know - new spark plugs, points, condenser, stuff like that. Or maybe the carburetor or the choke needed adjustment. But I did a little checkin’, and you got a bigger problem. Look here.” Leonard pulled the dipstick out of the oil pan and held it in the sunlight. Graham and Redfield leaned in to get a closer view. The residue on the stick looked more like chocolate milk than used motor oil.

  “You got antifreeze in the oil,” he explained. “And two of the spark plugs are fouled. Most likely means the head gasket is leakin’ or you gotta cracked block. If you run it that way long, it’s gonna ruin the engine.”

  “Yeah. You’re right,” Graham agreed dejectedly. He had seen another car with a leaky head gasket when he was a mechanic’s assistant at a local garage. It had shown the same symptoms. The dollar signs were adding up quickly in his head. This repair was way out of his budget.

  “Sorry, Graham. Wish it was somethin’ else.”

  “Me, too,” he sighed. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time to look it over. At least I know what I’m faced with getting it fixed. Thanks.”

  “Hop in,” Graham said to Redfield as he waved goodbye to Leonard and opened the door to the Studebaker. The old car’s engine stumbled and coughed, but it started with a puff of white smoke. Graham coaxed the car toward the road and headed toward the camp. When they arrived, Redfield climbed out and poked his head back into the car.

  “You busy tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Not really, why?”

  “How ’bout coming over to my place so we can talk?”

  “Okay. See you around three.”

  Redfield closed the car door, and Graham drove the faltering vehicle away from camp and toward the county road. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Crow Indian unlock his door and disappear into the end camp unit.

  It was only a twenty-minute drive home. This was plenty of time for Graham to ponder the two significant things he learned today. The trusty Studebaker needed serious mechanical attention. It was the budget-busting kind of repair he simply couldn’t afford. He would have to find another way to get to work and school. But even more troubling, his plan to drive his car to Wyoming was no longer an option. He dreaded sharing the news of the Studebaker’s demise with his father, who would most likely say, “I told you so!”

  Graham quickly centered his thoughts on the stunning revelation he was part of Redfield’s vision. Could it really mean he was destined for a vision quest like the one his Indian friend had taken as a youth? It was hard to get his head wrapped around this idea. He had so many questions and was looking forward to the conversa
tion with Redfield tomorrow afternoon.

  At dinner that evening, Graham contemplated how to break the news of his car troubles. Finally, he decided to simply report what he knew. “Looks like the Studebaker needs some major repairs.”

  Leroy looked up from his plate and used his napkin to brush some breadcrumbs from his beard. “What kind of repair?”

  “Leonard thinks I have a blown head gasket. He showed me the oil dipstick, and I agree. It’s sure running rough and the radiator level is low, so it looks like coolant is leaking into the combustion chamber.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, you might try one of those gasket sealers. Just dump it in the radiator. Might work. Might not. Worth a try.”

  “Good idea. I hadn’t thought of that,” Graham said. He was taken aback by his father’s trying to be helpful. “I’ll pick up a can tomorrow on my way out to the farm.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” Helen said.

  “Yeah, I know. Redfield wanted me to come over to his place. He has something he wants to show me,” Graham replied vaguely.

  “Well, just be sure you’re home for dinner at six,” his mother reminded him.

  Leroy stood and opened the front door while reaching for his coat. He looked back at his son and said, “Guess this Yellowstone job wasn’t meant to be.” The door closed before Graham could respond.

  * * *

  Cold air filled the staircase leading to the unheated attic. Graham pulled up the collar of his sweater as he ascended the stairs. Looking around at the myriad of boxes stacked between the exposed rafters, he tried to decide where to start his search. Where would his old Boy Scout things be stored? After fifteen minutes of opening boxes, he found the one he was searching for.

  Someone had used a black permanent marker and scrawled “Graham’s Boy Scout stuff ” on the side of the box. Unfolding the top flaps, he saw a collection of mementos from his time as a Scout. These included an old mess kit, a pocketknife, compass, merit badge sash, and his original Scout handbook.

  A small plastic display case at the bottom of the box caught his eye. Graham opened the display and extracted his Eagle Scout award. “Be Prepared” was inscribed on a scroll at the top of the medal. A silver eagle with “BSA” imprinted across its chest was attached by a small metal ring to a vertical red, white, and blue ribbon. He briefly admired the award before returning it to the display case. He was eager to show it to Redfield the next day.

  * * *

  The bright winter sun was low on the horizon when Graham pulled his Studebaker into the migrant camp just before three o’clock Sunday. He walked over to Redfield’s end unit and knocked. The Crow Indian shielded his eyes from the sun when he opened the door.

  “C’mon in, Gra’am.”

  Graham walked into the small room, and Redfield offered to take his coat, which he laid on the end of the bed.

  “You can sit over there,” Redfield suggested, pointing to a vinyl-clad chair next to a small wooden table on the back wall. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  As Redfield shuffled over to the lone cupboard hanging on the cinder-block wall, Graham sat at the table and surveyed the room. He estimated it to be about ten feet wide and twelve feet long with a small louvered window installed high on the wall above the table. The twin-sized bed sat along the wall opposite a kitchenette with a two-burner electric stove. A half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey sat on the laminated countertop beside the single-bowl sink. A half-dozen boxes were neatly stacked on top of a small chest of drawers tucked into the back corner at the foot of the bed. The toilet shared a small area with a shower and a tiny porcelain sink. The space was so compact anyone who sat on the toilet could simultaneously wash his hands in the bathroom sink.

  “Here you go,” Redfield said as he handed Graham a cup of tea and kept a second cup for himself. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t have any sugar. I hope that’s okay.”

  “No problem,” Graham lied. He decided to just take a few sips to be polite.

  “I thought about my vision again last night, and I’m certain you are the young eagle. Are you willing to pursue a vision quest? I can’t send you unless you want to go.”

  “Absolutely!” Graham said without hesitation, not really knowing what was involved.

  Redfield sipped his tea and paused to gather his thoughts. “Please listen carefully, Gra’am. There are three requirements for any Crow to connect with a spirit patron during his vision quest and gain Baaxpée, or what we call power transcending the ordinary. Let me explain each one of these.

  “First you must get close to the Creator. There are many sacred places where the Creator is present in our physical world. Some are located on the Crow Reservation in Montana. Some of these sites have been set aside as parks or national monuments. The spirits are especially active in Yellowstone, which we call “Land of Burning Ground.”

  “The Crow aren’t the only people who believe the park has sacred sites. Remember I told you we have Kiowa blood in our family? Our Kiowa ancestors consider a cave of hot water called Tó-sál-dàu as very sacred. Today this place is known as the Dragon’s Mouth Spring.

  “My grandmother shared the story of the Dragon’s Mouth. When the earth was created, there was no homeland for the Kiowa people. The Creator offered the Kiowa a place to live if they could make a long and difficult journey to a place of steaming vents and hot water. The Kiowa who made this trip gathered around Tó-sál-dàu, where the Creator offered the land as a place to live if someone was willing to jump into the basin of boiling water. One Kiowa warrior accepted the challenge and leaped into the hot water. He lived and climbed out of the pool. Because of his courage, the Creator transformed the surrounding area into a beautiful and abundant land and proclaimed it home for the Kiowa.”

  Graham had never heard of the Dragon’s Mouth before. “And you say this place is in Yellowstone Park?” he asked.

  “That’s right. It’s near the Mud Volcano.”

  Graham wished he had a notebook and pen to write these things down. He told himself to commit the key aspects of Redfield’s story to memory and read more about them later. “Okay. I understand. First, go to the Dragon’s Mouth spring.”

  “Here’s the second requirement to connect with a spirit patron,” Redfield continued, taking another sip of tea. “You must make a humble and honorable request to the spirits.”

  “What do you mean by an honorable request?”

  “You can’t ask for wealth or power or fame, for example. Those requests will never be answered. The best petition is asking the spirits to guide your way. Let them decide your path. This appeal must be made under a full moon. It cannot be hidden behind any clouds, because the spirits need to clearly see you.”

  Graham’s thoughts flashed back to the fateful night nine years ago when Billy fell through the ice and drowned. It was a cloudless night with a full moon. He closed his eyes and felt the latent memory stab his heart like a sharpened pick. The pain in his chest was accompanied by a sense of dread. He shuddered involuntarily.

  “Gra’am?” Redfield asked, reaching over and touching the young man’s knee. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I . . . I guess so,” Graham replied. He looked at Redfield and asked, “Are you sure it has to be done under a full moon?”

  “Yes. Not everyone who goes on a vision quest is able to connect with a spirit. You need to arrange everything to have the best chance of being seen and heard. Why?”

  “Something terrible happened in my family years ago,” Graham said, not wanting to share any more details. “I just remembered it was a full moon that night. Ever since, I become anxious when I am alone under a full moon.” Graham wondered if Redfield would understand or simply think he was a coward.

  Redfield nodded. “We all have something that scares us. I think I can help you overcome your anxiety. Let’s come back to that in a minute, okay?”

  “Sure.” Graham was relieved at his friend’s assurance and was curiou
s what he had in mind.

  “You need to satisfy a third requirement to connect with a spirit patron,” Redfield confirmed.

  “What’s that?”

  “You must let the spirit know you are vulnerable and imperfect. This opens you up to its guidance. That’s why I cut off the end of my finger,” he said, holding up his left hand to remind Graham.

  The younger man sat up straight and grabbed the sides of his chair. “Do you mean I have to cut off . . . ?”

  “No. You already have a physical deformity - your hearing loss. You are already imperfect in the eyes of the spirit.”

  Graham felt himself exhale. He had not realized he had been holding his breath. Once again, he was the lucky deaf boy.

  Redfield paused. “No offense intended in referring to your deafness.”

  “None taken,” Graham responded sincerely. “So let me be sure I’m clear on the three requirements to connect with a spirit. I must go to a sacred place like the Dragon’s Mouth, I must appeal to the spirit under a clear full moon, and I must be vulnerable and imperfect. Is that it?”

  “Those are the requirements for a Crow Indian. But you need something more since you are a white man. And I have what you need.”

  Redfield walked over to the chest of drawers and carefully removed a black cotton cloth from the top drawer, unfolding it to reveal a necklace, which he placed around his neck. The simple necklace featured a large grizzly-bear claw suspended from an elk-hide cord.

  “After I received Baaxpée from the bear spirit, I made this sacred bear-claw necklace. It represents the power I gained and helps to maintain the bond between me and the spirit. I wear this necklace every so often to remind myself of the healing power.”

  As Redfield spoke, Graham marveled at the size of the bear claw hanging from the neck of the man standing in front of him.