Little Flower

by Jeanie P Johnson

  Now that his purification ritual was completed, Gray Wolf opened the flap for the last time, immerging into the light, filling his lungs with the cool air breathed from the mouth of Grandmother Earth. Then he went to the river, plunging into the cool water, his skin screaming at the change of temperature, and then subsiding into blissfulness.

  He was ready to receive his vision. This he knew may take up to four days, but no longer, even if he did not receive a vision. He would fast the whole time as he waited for the Great Mystery to open his eyes to part of the mystery of his own life. Was he meant to be with Little Flower? It was his only desire, but the Great Spirt must agree with his wish. He thought of the million wishes, and knew all those wishes would be merely to have Little Flower by his side once more.

  As he walked up out of the river, the storm clouds broke in a sudden clashing of thunder and lightning, stabbing the sky. He believed it was the Great Spirit washing his soul clean before his vision quest began. Like the breaking of the storm, Gray Wolf also felt his heart had released pent up emotions and anxiety. He felt calm. He felt ready. He felt purified. He walked along the river, welcoming the drenching rain, raising his eyes to the heavens, looking for the Great Mystery somewhere beyond his own vision. A single silver lining behind one dark cloud gave him hope. He would find a vision quest cave and begin his seeking.

  As Gray Wolf headed towards the small cave he had directed his steps to, his body was completely cleaned of the white clay. He wore nothing but his breechcloth and a knife in the sheath on his belt. His long hair clung to his wet body, the single feather attached to a thin braid in his hair, was limp and soggy, losing its ability to flutter in the wind. The rain continued to drench him as it fell from branches of trees, sliding off their leaves in larger drops that had gathered before they weighed down the leaves letting the contents spill over to the ground below.

  The leaves beneath his feet were soggy and made no sound as he walked, his footprints leaving indents in the carpet of leaves. The dark clouds blocked out the sun, making it appear to be later in the day than it actually was. However, Gray Wolf’s heart felt light. There was a certain optimism that he would discover the answers he was looking for. He saw the cave in the distance and began to sprint, anxious to start his vision quest.

  The cave smelled musty, yet it was much dryer than outside. Gray wolf watched as the torrents of rain curtained the opening of the cave. He gathered leaves and twigs that had blown into the cave, and took sticks which had been gathered there by someone unknown, probably preparing the cave for future use for a vision quest by whoever needed it. He pulled his knife and flint from his belt, and began striking for the spark that would start the fire.

  When it flicked out, licking at the dry leaves and kindling, the flames leaped up, consuming the fuel as Gray Wolf blew on it and then added more sticks. It wasn’t until he felt the warmth of the flame that Gray Wolf realized how chilled he had become. His hair dripped over his shoulders, down his back and chest, slowly drying as the heat of the fire grew and rivulets of water found their way down his body to the floor of the cave to puddle around him. He began chanting a prayer, as he stared into the flame. It seemed like the flame consumed his mind, burning up any thoughts that had gathered there. His chants grew louder, filling up the space in the cave and echoing against the walls. They filled his ears, and permeated his soul. They blocked out the sound of the rain outside the cave, and the crackling of the fire. The smoke drifted up to the top of the cave above and dispersed, being sucked outside by drafts caused by the changing of the temperature inside the cave. Sometimes a gust of wind would blow inside, causing the flame to dance and leap as fresh oxygen excited the fire.

  Gray Wolf closed his eyes and continued to chant, offering up his prayers to the Great Mystery, pleading for answers to his quest. He unrelentingly prepared himself for the vision he was sure would come in time, once the Great Spirit granted his quest.

  Gray Wolf was not aware when he had fallen asleep or even if he had fallen asleep. He only knew that he was swept away where his soul seemed to part from his body. He could feel it pressing against the rough ceiling of the cave, as he looked down on himself chanting before the fire. Only now, he no longer heard himself chanting. He could only hear a loud ringing in his ears, as he pushed through the top of the cave and was suddenly outside, floating above the earth.

  It frightened him. He was afraid he was going to float away up into the heavens and never return to his earthly body again. He would end up joining those in the other-side-camp, stuck within the twilight of illusion and reality. Suddenly he seemed to be sucked up into the heavens, the stars around him streaking past him at such a rate, they began to blur. Even though on some level he knew it was daytime, all around him was dark except for the stars streaking past him, causing him to gasp at the rate he seemed to be traveling without making any effort to propel himself one way or another.

  It was like some great hand had plucked him up and was flying through the universe with him. Was it the hand of the Great Mystery or the God of the Wind? Was it the Thunderbird lifting him up and taking him into the unknown? He didn’t know. He was like a feather, weightless, tossed upon the wind with no way to prevent himself from being carried away to where? He waited to discover the answer.

  Now he seemed to slow. He became intrigued with the landscape beneath him. He was no longer racing through the stars. He could see where he was going but was alarmed that he was floating above the ground the way he was. He seemed intent on going in a certain direction, so he let the pull take him wherever it intended. There were curious buildings below. He had never seen so many buildings before. The only buildings he had been aware of were the forts and log cabins that some of the settlers had built in the woods. This appeared to be a place where many people lived and he knew instinctively that it was not his people who lived there. Only white people would live in buildings such as the ones he saw below.

  Then without warning, he started falling. He was falling so fast that it took his breath away. He closed his eyes, expecting to hit the ground at any moment. When he opened his eyes, he could see a roof of a house racing to meet him and waited for the impact. Instead, there was only a ‘puff’ as his body fell through the roof, slowed and began floating through the rooms of the strange house. He was trying to understand what it all meant, when he heard someone crying. He hovered, trying to figure out where it was coming from. The voice sounded familiar.

  It swiftly dawned on him that the crying he heard was Little Flower crying. His heart stilled as he looked around to discover where the sound was coming from. Then he saw her, below, lying on a bed. Her body shook. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to comfort her, so he worked at lowering himself closer, until he could reach out and touch her cheek.

  Little Flower abruptly turned her head, and stared at him. “Gray Wolf?” she whispered with unbelieving eyes, and quickly sat up as her eyes locked with his. As she did so, he unexpectedly zapped away, straight up through the top of the house, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the floor of the cave. The fire had gone out. He was shivering. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there. He was acutely aware of a pleasant smell. He was trying to place the smell. Then he recognized it was the smell of Little Flower’s hair and an added scent he had never smelled before, but it was sweet and had drawn him to her. Her scent filled his nostrils, even though he should be smelling the smoke in the cave, or the dampness of the place.

  He had been there! He had been in the very room where Little Flower was. He just didn’t know where that place was. She had seen him and recognized him. He willed himself to return; only he had no power to create the sensation again. Gray Wolf began to weep, wondering how he was ever going to find her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Daisy sat at the small dressing table, dabbing sweet-smelling perfume behind her ears, trying to clear the smell that filled her entire being, only it didn’t assuage her anger as she placed the stopper in the bott
le, with a little clink. She had been trying to distract herself, by exploring the collection of bottles and boxes that cluttered the top of the dressing table, lifting stoppers and smelling what was inside, taking powder-puffs from round boxes, and patting them on her neck, liking the feel of the silkiness of it. Only, even that, could not disrupt her angry thoughts, or block out the smell that still permeated her senses.

  She had believed that Davy was trying to become her friend when he had invited her out to see the orchard and garden her mother had mentioned while they were eating lunch. He was going to take her to check on Lucky and Starfire, which she thought was rather thoughtful of him. She had not expected what actually happened.

  Perhaps it was her own curiosity that brought it on, she scolded herself, but that did not excuse what Davy had done.

  As they wandered into the backyard, she noticed a small building. It seemed too small to be a house or even a storage shed.

  “What is that building used for?” she questioned as they approached it.

  “Haven’t you ever seen an outhouse before?” he asked, an unexplainable grin dividing his face.

  “Actually, no,” she admitted, not knowing what an ‘out house’ even was.

  “The servants have their own outhouse. We have chamber pots in a water closet in our rooms, but that is only for use in the middle of the night. You have to use the outhouse during the day, to save the servants from having to empty chamber pots all day long.”

  “What is a chamber pot?” Daisy wanted to know, feeling even more confused.

  “Good Lord, you are uninformed, aren’t you?” Davy laughed. “You don’t even know what an outhouse or a chamber pot is? What do Indians do when they have to relieve themselves?”

  Daisy lowered her eyes. “Oh,” is all she said.

  “Do you want to see it, maybe try it out so you will know how it works?” he asked with a bright smile on his face.

  “I suppose, since I have never used one before,” Daisy agreed timidly.

  “Then go ahead. Go inside and close the door. There is a hole that you are to sit on while using it,” he explained.

  Daisy wrinkled her nose, not certain it was a place she actually wanted to be, but if it was necessary to use it, she might as well get used to it, she told herself to embolden her spirits.

  Davy opened the door for her, which had a little half-moon carved in it, apparently the only source of light or ventilation for the little, awkward-looking house.

  “Just go in and sit down and see how you like it,” he encouraged.

  Daisy did as he suggested. She noticed there was a hook on the inside in order to lock the door if she wished, but since she had no intention of actually using the place, especially while Davy was standing outside the door, she had no reason to lock the door.

  A stench hit her nose, the moment the door was closed, and she did not like the little enclosure. The walls seemed to press in on her, and the smell was making her feel faint.

  “Very interesting,” she mumbled as she started to push the door open again, but when she tried to do so, the door did not budge. Why was there a lock on the outside, she wondered, as she tried pushing harder? “Davy,” she called, starting to feel alarmed. “Why is the door locked? Let me out!” She merely heard laughter.

  “Have fun,” she heard him state, listening to his footsteps receding from the outhouse.

  Daisy looked through the little half-moon hole but could see no sign of Davy. “Davy!” The call ripped from her throat. “What is going on? Why have you locked me in here?” Her heart jolted, seeing he was nowhere in sight, so of course, there was no answer. Frantic feelings started to race through Daisy’s veins. She began pounding on the door with her fists, swearing in the Sioux language, calling Davy wacitusni waksica, which meant sly devil. The smell was stifling her and the little space was suffocating her, with little air circulation inside.

  Daisy pounded again, but no one came to her rescue. She had not expected anyone to, but she had to do something. Was she destined to remain in that little pitiful house all day, and perhaps, all night? The thought made her panic. Surely her parents would miss her and ask Davy where she was, only would he actually tell them? Then the thought occurred to her that someone may have to use the outhouse, and when that happened, they would discover her there and release her. This hope helped calm her, but didn’t make her feel any better. Maybe they wouldn’t use it, and choose to use their chamber pots instead, she worried.

  Daisy could feel the tears of frustration starting to slip down her cheeks. Davy was a cruel, wicked young man, and Daisy vowed never to trust him again. He was worse than a sly devil. He was downright mean! It was quite clear he did not want her there, but to treat her so was unforgivable! She sat down, trying to calm herself, but it wasn’t working very well. From time to time, she banged on the door and called out for help, to no avail. She didn’t even know how long it had been since Davy closed the door, because each minute seemed like an hour to Daisy as she started to feel more and more agitated as the time slowly plodded on.

  What if Davy told his parents that she had run away? They wouldn’t even bother looking on the property for her, if they tried to look for her at all, she thought in horror. Maybe they would be relieved that she had decided to leave. Maybe they really didn’t want her there after all.

  She wished her father had not bothered to bring her there, yet at the same time, she had not wished to remain in the Sioux village. She was certain once the council learned of what Talking Dog had done they would either make her become his wife or if she refused, shun her and send her out from the village to fend for herself. Neither circumstance was acceptable to Daisy. She would rather be dead, she thought sadly.

  Daisy wondered what Gray Wolf thought, once he discovered she was gone when he returned from the hunt, but what difference did it make now, she wondered; she probably would never see him again. Instead, she was stuck in a stinky house where the waste of humans was causing her to feel nauseated. She put her nose to the hole in the door, trying to breathe in fresh air. She looked through it again, hoping to spot someone who happened to be in the yard, but it seemed eerily empty. Surely, by dinner time, someone would notice she was missing, but then, no telling what Davy had told her parents about her absence.

  Daisy sat back down and leaned her back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes to try and block it all out, but the smell kept her acutely aware of her plight. After, it seemed like an eternity, she heard a noise outside the door of her prison, and jumped up to look out the hole again. She could see Gordon, the young man who had helped her down from her horse, shuffling across the yard in the direction of the barn. Daisy let out a screech, calling out for help, and saw Gordon turn and look in the direction of the outhouse.

  Her hopes rose as she saw him coming in her direction, a puzzled look upon his face, so she called out again. Now he was at the door, muttering. “Who propped this rake up against the door to hold it closed?”

  By this time, Daisy was pounding and calling out. His eyes met hers through the half-moon cutout. Abruptly she was falling forward, because all her weight was pushing on the door, and when he removed the rake, it flew open almost slamming into Gordon, who jumped back, and then managed to grab Daisy before she tumbled to the ground.

  “What is going on here?” he muttered as he grasped Daisy in his arms. “Who locked you in the outhouse?”

  Daisy knew he could easily guess who did it, but said nothing. She would figure out her own way to get revenge on Davy, she thought diabolically to herself. “It was just a prank,” she mumbled, trying to gain control of her senses, as she leaned against Gordon for support.

  Only, now it seemed that everything was whirling around her. She felt dizzy and out of breath. She had been taking deep breaths to get rid of the stench that still hovered in her nose. The more she breathed, the dizzier she felt. She feared she would never clear her lungs of the dirty air she had been inhaling for the last, she didn’t k
now how long.

  “Are you alright?” she heard Gordon asking, as he steadied her with one hand.

  “I…I don’t think so,” she barely managed to mumble before she slumped into Gordon’s arms.

  “You were breathing too fast,” Gordon pointed out, only he could tell she hadn’t heard him. She was limp in his arms, so his only recourse was to lift her into his arms and carry her to the house.

  When Gordon came through the back door with Daisy draped in his arms, Rebeca rushed forward, her face expressing alarm. “Mercy me, what has happened? Is Daisy hurt?” she exclaimed.

  “I don’t think so. Someone locked her in the outhouse,” his stare went straight to Davy, who was looking on from a distance with a smirk expressing the satisfaction he was feeling. “She was so frightened that she started breathing too fast and fainted,” Gordon went on to explain.

  “Take her up to her room, and I will send Mazy up to tend to her,” Daisy’s mother instructed.

  By this time, Daisy was starting to come too, and looked up into Gordon’s face, trying to figure out what she was doing in his arms? She glanced to her mother, and then saw Davy standing there, smiling at her with distaste in his glare. She could feel Gordon transporting her across the hall with long, even steps, and then bounding with her up the stairs.

  Her mother had said something about Mazy tending to her, and Daisy’s heart fell. She was sending a maid to take care of her instead of coming with Gordon to comfort Daisy herself. For all the worry Mazy claimed her mother had when she went missing several years ago, she seemed to have no concern about what had just happened to her daughter, at the hands of her son. However, Daisy vaguely remembered that when she was young it was the nanny who tended to her, so maybe that was natural for her mother to ask someone else to see to her.