Cherish the Dream

by Kathleen Harrington

  A smile playing across his mobile lips, Blade answered the woman, and Theodora wondered what he’d said about her. Then he walked over to War Shield and lifted her down. “This is my grandfather, Chief Painted Robe,” he said as he led her before the eldest man. He motioned toward the other warrior.

  “And this is Broken Jaw, my uncle. He is a war chief of the Bull Soldiers.” He took the lovely Indian woman by the hand and pulled her forward. “And this is my cousin, Snow Owl.” Theodora looked at the waiting group and straightened her spine. All around them, men, women, and children gathered, silent except for the whisperings of children. “How do you do,” she said formally, and smiled at them.

  No one said a word. They stared at her in shocked amazement. If she’d been a Hottentot from deepest Africa, they couldn’t have looked more astounded. Theodora wondered if she should offer her hand in an effort to breach the chasm between them. She started to lift it, looked at their appalled faces, and stopped. Was it her imagination, or had they collectively taken a slight step backward? Acutely self-conscious, she dropped her hand to her side. She glanced up at Blade, who looked as though he could barely keep from bursting into howls of laughter.

  “You’ll have to forgive my family, Theodora,” he said, scarcely able to contain himself. “They’ve never seen a white woman before.”

  As she looked from one pair of dumbfounded eyes to an other, she realized the cause of their astonishment. In her nervousness she’d forgotten her own appearance. She was covered with filth. Her hair was encrusted with mud. Her face was smeared with it, as well as her arms and neck. Her dirty, ragged clothes hung about her mud-spattered person in disarray. No doubt the only thing “white” about her was the teeth she’d flashed in a too-wide, overfriendly smile, and the whites that encircled her green eyes. She swallowed her humiliation. “And they haven’t seen one now,” she gritted at him through clenched teeth.

  Bravely, Snow Owl stepped closer. Her huge brown eyes were filled with compassion for this pathetic apparition that might have climbed up from the bowels of the earth to stand in their midst.

  She wore a dress of soft antelope skin decorated with elk tusks. The long fringes at the hem of her skirt, which came to mid-calf, almost reached her beaded moccasins and, when she moved, revealed leggings that were pulled over the moccasins and tied below the knees. The sleeves were a cape that hung down to her elbows, ornamented with colorfully dyed porcupine quills.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Gordon,” she said in halting but correct French. “We are most happy to meet my cousin’s friend.” Though Snow Owl spoke with an accent, Theodora understood every word.

  “She speaks French!” she exclaimed to Blade. She turned again to the woman. “Vous parles francais!” she said.

  Blade and Snow Owl laughed. “Theodora, may I reintroduce Madame Pierre du Lac. Her husband is a French trapper. My cousin is visiting her family for the summer but will join her spouse at the rendezvous in a few days.”

  Then Painted Robe spoke, and Theodora turned to look up at him. He was as tall as his grandson, deep-chested, a powerful man despite his age, which she guessed to be in the early seventies. His long gray hair fell past his shoulders, the side braids decorated with otter skin. His scalp lock was braided and adorned with a cluster of eagle feathers, although he didn’t wear the long war bonnet she’d seen on a Sioux chief at Laramie.

  “My grandfather welcomes you to our village,” Snow Owl translated for her. “Because you come as a friend of Blade Stalker, you will be one of our family. My lodge will be your home.”

  “Tell Chief Painted Robe that I am honored to be a member of Captain Roberts’s …er, Blade Stalker’s family.”

  Looking at the chief, she could see the dignity and generosity with which he’d spoken. In spite of her fantastic appearance, he’d offered her his home with more grace than most so-called civilized gentlemen could have mustered under such outrageous circumstances. She understood now why Blade always spoke of his grandfather with such respect and admiration.

  Painted Robe motioned for Blade and Theodora to enter the lodge, then went before them. Stooping, Blade stepped inside. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” she hissed over his shoulder as she followed him.

  “I’d planned on letting you bathe in the river before entering the village,” he apologized in a soft tone. “But with Black Wolf following us for the last hour, I decided it wasn’t the right time to stop.”

  Unwilling to relinquish her anger while she remained in such a dreadful state, she snapped at him, “Where should I sit?”

  “Over there.” He sat down next to his grandfather, and she obeyed with reluctance, sitting across the fire from them.

  “I want to wash up immediately,” she demanded in a low voice.

  “Be quiet,” he murmured. “First the formalities. And don’t move. Everyone’s already convinced you’re half savage. An outburst of bad manners from you and they’ll never get over their initial prejudice.”

  With surprise Theodora realized she was the only woman present, for Snow Owl had remained outside with the others. Beside Blade sat his uncle, Broken Jaw, who studiously avoided looking at her, as though he was uncomfortable being in the same tipi with such a strange creature.

  With obvious ritual the men shared a pipe. Painted Robe spoke for a long time, then Broken Jaw, and finally Blade. During the long wait Theodora began to shift uncomfortably. The mud on her skin itched, and she tried to scratch surreptitiously. No one in the lodge paid her the least bit of attention. At last, Blade rose and motioned for her to follow him outside. As they returned to the bright sun, Blade called to Snow Owl, who was working nearby, pounding dried roots with a maul. She approached with a smile.

  He spoke in French for Theodora’s benefit. “Our guest would like to bathe before eating.” Then he continued speaking to his cousin in Cheyenne.

  Snow Owl reached out and took Theodora’s hand. “Come with me. Many of the women will be going down to the river to swim. I will get a few things from my lodge, and we will go together.”

  Torn between the raging desire to bathe and the fear of leaving Blade, Theodora looked up at him.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” he reassured her. “Only the women and girls will be there. No Cheyenne male would be so foolish as to go near their bathing spot. It’s forbidden by our customs.”

  Relieved, she turned to Snow Owl with a smile. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  The water was cool and invigorating in the afternoon heat. Theodora dove again and again into its clear depths, relishing the feel of it against her sunburned skin. All around her, young Indian women and girls swam like bronzed mermaids, splashing and calling to one another. Then they dressed and climbed on the nearby rocks to sit and comb their long straight hair, which cascaded to their hips like glossy, sable veils.

  Emerging from the river in dripping chemise and pantaloons, Theodora looked with disgust at her pile of damp, torn clothing. Though she had attempted to wash the blouse and skirt, they were in such bad condition she hated the thought of putting them back on.

  “Here, Little Blue Nose,” Snow Owl called to her in French. “I have brought you a clean dress and moccasins, since your own clothes were ruined by the Gros Ventre coward.”

  Theodora accepted the clothes with a grateful smile. “Oh, Snow Owl, how good of you to lend me your own things.” With delight she stroked the tunic of antelope skin. Snow Owl held up a blanket to provide privacy, and Theodora stripped off her bedraggled undergarments. Quickly she slipped on the dress. She sat down on the grassy bank and pulled on the moccasins, amazed at how soft and comfortable they felt.

  “This is also for you, Little Blue Nose.”

  Theodora took the hairbrush Blade’s cousin held out. It was made from the tail of a porcupine. The skin was stretched taut over a stick and the quills trimmed off evenly.

  “How ingenious,” Theodora said. She glanced up at Snow Owl as she brushed her wet hair. “Who did you call �
�Little Blue Nose’?” she questioned.

  “You,” Snow Owl answered with a smile. “It’s the name my cousin called you. He said in your language it means a wise woman of great medicine. He told us that you are different from most white men and women. That like our people, you know and respect our little animal brothers and sisters, as well as the plants and the trees.”

  Theodora flushed with pleasure at the praise, though the compliment in being labeled a bluenose was somewhat dubious.

  As she continued to brush her hair, several women moved nearer. They were drawn, she suspected, by the unprecedented sight of her blond locks. When she smiled a welcome at them, they sat down beside her on the grassy bank.

  “This is Deer Walking Fast,” Snow Owl said, touching a woman lightly on the shoulder. “She is the wife of Blade Stalker’s cousin, Bald Face Buffalo.”

  Theodora’s smile was immediately returned by a tall, angular woman in her early thirties. The Cheyenne woman spoke quickly to Snow Owl, who translated for her.

  “Deer Walking Fast wants to know if you color your hair like we dye the porcupine quills. She knows you are a medicine woman and hopes you will show her which plant changes your hair to the yellow of the flower that follows the sun with her face. She is a talented quiller and could use such a dye.”

  Theodora laughed. “My hair’s not dyed. I was born with this color.”

  When Snow Owl translated this unbelievable news, the women cried out in dismay and sympathy. They clucked their tongues with compassion. Theodora sensed what they were murmuring to one another. Clearly the birth of such a strange baby must have caused tremendous heartache to the parents.

  “I had a brother with yellow hair, too,” Theodora offered, hoping to allay their consternation.

  After this tragic announcement had been explained, another woman, with a face as round as a full moon, spoke solemnly, and Snow Owl translated her words to Theodora. “Two Moons Rising says your parents must have been very brave people to face such a tragedy twice.”

  Theodora was momentarily speechless. “Tell Two Moons Rising that her concern for my parents is deeply appreciated,” she said at last, “and I will convey her thoughts to my father when next I see him.” She ruthlessly quelled the laughter bubbling inside her at the idea of what her learned father would say when she told him about this fantastic conversation.

  “Two Moons Rising is the wife of Blade Stalker’s cousin, Weasel Tail. She has a new baby boy only four weeks old.” Snow Owl pointed to a board of hardwood, lined with soft buffalo hair, propped against a boulder nearby. “She is very proud that her first child is such a fine son. He will be brave and strong like his father and count many coups.”

  Theodora noticed for the first time that a baby was strapped to the unyielding board by leather bands, which bound his legs straight. He was sucking his finger and staring at tier with curious black eyes.

  “He is a beautiful child,” Theodora said.

  As quickly as this praise was made clear. Two Moons Rising brought the baby over and placed him, board and all, in Theodora’s lap, beaming with pride. The baby gurgled and cooed as Theodora touched his tiny fingers. “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “We call him Potbelly,” Snow Owl replied. “Later, his parents will decide upon a better name for him.”

  The women nodded and laughed, clearly delighted at Theodora’s appreciation of the tribe’s new baby boy.

  Deer Walking Fast, who had quietly left the group, returned carrying a round clay bowl. Graciously, she knelt beside Theodora and offered it to her.

  Theodora took the pot from her hands and looked at its contents. Dirt from the riverbank had been gathered and mixed with water to form a smooth mud. Perplexed, Theodora looked up to find all the women smiling at her in expectation. “What is this for?” she asked Snow Owl, holding the bowl out at arm’s length.

  The lovely woman pushed it closer to her in a gesture of open generosity. “It is for you, Little Blue Nose. Since it is your custom to spread mud on your body like we decorate our own with paint, Deer Walking Fast has mixed it especially for you.”

  Theodora gazed at the waiting, eager faces. Slowly, from deep inside her, laughter rose. She hugged the clay pot to her as she tilted her head back and howled with glee. “Oh, Snow Owl,” she gasped between giggles, “I didn’t put that awful stuff on myself. Blade … Blade Stalker . ..smeared it on me to make me look like an Indian woman. He didn’t want anyone to see my yellow hair from a distance, so he covered it with mud.”

  When Snow Owl told the others what Theodora had said, they joined in the merriment. The thought that Little Blue Nose, covered with grime, was supposed to look like one of them sent the women into convulsions of laughter.

  “Blade Stalker has been away from our people too long,” Snow Owl explained through her giggles, though it was obvious she didn’t for one minute believe such a fantastic explanation. It was clear they all thought Blade Stalker had played some clever prank on her, and they thoroughly enjoyed the trick.

  I’ll get even with Blade Stalker for this, Theodora told herself, even as she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. Somehow, someday, I’m going to turn the tables on him.

  Chapter 17

  The women returned to camp, talking and laughing among themselves, while Snow Owl busily translated for Theodora’s benefit. Young children saw their mothers approach and raced toward them, shouting with excitement.

  “Come,” Snow Owl called to Theodora. “The men are playing ohoknit.” She ran with her guest toward an open space at the side of the camp.

  Two groups of young men armed with curved sticks were racing after a flattened ball about four inches in diameter.

  “What are they doing?” Theodora asked.

  “They are playing a game called Knocking the Ball,” Snow Owl explained. “They must drive the ball between the two embankments at their opponents’ end of the field. If the ball passes outside of either mound, it counts as nothing. Black Wolf has just scored.”

  Theodora watched with curiosity. The level space of ground was about a quarter mile long, with two hummocks of dirt heaped up at each end to form a goal. Most of the players stood at either end of the field, but she noticed Blade and Black Wolf, on opposite teams, waiting at the sides.

  “What will they do now?” Theodora questioned.

  “Weasel Tail and Bald Face Buffalo will each try to strike the ball with his stick and knock it to the fastest runner on his side. Watch.”

  At a signal from one of the braves, the two leaders in the center struck the ball. With a resounding crack, Weasel Tail hit the ball and sent it crashing to Blade. Another brave tried to intercept it and smashed headlong into him. Blade Stalker kept his balance and shook off the charge like a maddened young bull. With fluid, graceful movements, he dodged another man, caught the ball on the curve of his stick, and raced toward his goal, while the other team chased after him pell-mell.

  Spectators on the sidelines roared their approval. Once out in the open, no one could catch Blade Stalker. He outran them all, including Black Wolf, who turned and scowled at the cheering crowd. The Fox Soldier glared at Theodora as she called encouragement to Blade, then turned and said something to another man. The second brave looked at her and shrugged, as if to say “She is none of our affair.”

  “Black Wolf does not like to lose,” Snow Owl remarked, for she too had noticed the look of contempt he’d aimed at Theodora. Then she spoke in Cheyenne to a woman nearby, whose soft reply conveyed embarrassment.

  “Whirlwind Woman is Black Wolf’s wife,” Snow Owl told Theodora. “But she is not happy. He does not treat her well.” The young woman was at most only seventeen. Theodora couldn’t imagine the sweet-faced girl living with the angry man who was possibly fifteen years her senior.

  “She doesn’t care for him?” Theodora asked cautiously, not wanting to give offense by prying.

  “Whirlwind Woman loved another young man. But her family gave her to Black Wolf wh
en he saved her brother’s life in battle. She is a dutiful daughter, so she shares her lodge with Black Wolf. But her heart is not there, and he knows this.”

  A roar from the crowd brought Theodora’s attention once again to the field. The men were dressed in breechclouts and moccasins, and their bodies glistened with sweat. Blade Stalker was easy to follow. His shock of ebony hair, though well down the nape of his neck, was much shorter than the hair of the other men, whose long braids came to the middle of their backs. And only he had the mat of black hair on his chest.

  At the crack of the sticks, Blade Stalker once again took possession of the ball. He was hurtling down the open space when Black Wolf stuck out his stick and tripped him. The groan of disapproval from the spectators told Theodora that this tactic, though not forbidden by the rules, was considered less than skillful. Blade Stalker crashed to the ground, rolled, and came up again with the grace of a mountain cat. He charged after Black Wolf, closing the distance with ground-devouring strides. With a clever feint, Blade Stalker snatched the ball on the end of his stick and bounded for the far goal. After him raced the entire opposing team. The crowd’s cheers rose to a crescendo.

  “Run, Blade, run!” Theodora screamed with excitement.