Strongheart: The Lost Journals of May Dodd and Molly McGill

by Jim Fergus

  “And you can really fly?” I ask, breaching the final frontier of my disbelief.

  “Of course.”

  “Can you teach me how?”

  He laughs. “It is not something that can be taught. But you know what it’s like from your dreams … and from riding in the air on my back.”

  I start laughing then, too, both in relief and for the absurdity of it. “I’m glad we had this talk,” I say, “for now we know everything about each other. Now that you mention riding on your back, I feel again the softness of your feathers against my skin, and the smell of you. We need to stop right now and take care of that.”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Having worked as long and hard as we had preparing the village for winter, it seemed to be a kind of holiday on which we were now embarked. The small portion of country we were able to travel through in two and a half days was magnificent. In order to have a view across the valley and get a better sense of the range of the landscape, we climbed into the foothills to the west to spend the first night. Earlier in the day, Hawk had killed a young antelope in the flats. We had dressed it out, saved the skin for tanning, and packed the meat in the panniers of our pack horse. It would feed us for these few days, and with the cool weather it wouldn’t spoil so that we’d have plenty to take back with us.

  In the early afternoon of the third day, the wind suddenly came up, the temperature dropped precipitously, and dark clouds began to build over the mountains.

  “We must start back now,” Hawk said. “This is not the place to be caught in a winter storm.”

  We were only several hours’ ride from the village, and had planned on staying out one more night and returning in the morning, but clearly our long “Indian summer”—a term our French girl, Lulu, had taught us to describe a stretch of unseasonably mild fall weather—was coming to a rapid end. And so we turned our horses toward home … such a strange concept … a place that was to be our home, perhaps for the rest of our lives.

  The snow beat us there, but it was still only falling lightly, just enough so far to leave a skiff on the ground. The sun had just set, and darkness was descending. We unsaddled, curried and tethered our mounts at the lodge, and put out hay for them. I told Hawk that I needed to look in on Ann and the others and try to talk them out of doing something rash.

  I found a number of them conferring in May and Chance’s lodge, not far from ours. Some had tethered their horses and pack horses there, the former already saddled, the latter loaded. Including the hosts, seated around the fire sharing dinner were Ann, Martha cradling her child, Grass Girl, Wind, Feather on Head holding Wren, Astrid and Christian, Gertie, and Howls Along Woman.

  Not in any mood for small talk and pleasantries, I came directly to the point. “I see that your pack horses are already loaded,” I said. “Surely you’re not planning to leave in the morning?”

  “Indeed,” said Ann, “Howls Along returned from her vision quest yesterday. In it she saw the storm coming and us traveling through it in the dark. We are leaving tonight.”

  “But that’s utter madness, you’ll all perish out there if the storm strengthens, which by all appearances it will. You must at least wait until dawn before leaving.”

  “Save your breath, honey,” said Gertie, “I told ’em the same thing, but they ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

  “May, Martha, you’re going to travel with your babies at night in what’s likely to be a full-blown blizzard? Have you both gone mad?”

  “It’s alright, Molly,” said May, “calm yourself, our horses will be tied together, as will the pack animals.”

  “So what?” I asked. “How will you even know in what direction you’re heading? And you, Chance, you think this is a good idea?”

  “Not the best, Molly, I gotta say, but I can’t stop ’em, and I sure can’t let ’em go alone.”

  “Red Fox and High Bear have agreed to leave, too?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Chance said. “Everyone who said they were leavin’ is comin’ with us.”

  “Astrid, Christian?” I asked. “You’re going?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m going to make war, and my husband is going to make peace.”

  “I have to keep trying, Molly,” Christian said, “spreading the word of Jesus … even to my own wife.”

  “Why can’t you all wait until just before dawn,” I said, “when it’s still dark, but will be daylight soon?”

  “No,” said Howls Along, “I saw my grandmother in my vision. She spoke to me, she said we must leave tonight. She said we must let the storm close around us and carry us there. If we wait too long, we won’t be able to get inside.”

  “Nonsense!” I said angrily. “You’re all going to die out there in the dark, and you’re going to kill your infants. Wait for the next storm, for God’s sake, I beg you.”

  “It is this storm or none,” said Ann. “Holy Woman told Howls Along in her vision that it is our only chance to go back. If we miss it, we will be stuck here forever.”

  “That also is nonsense,” I snapped, “and coming from you, Ann, of all people … and would it be such a terrible fate, to live our lives out together in a safe and beautiful land?”

  “For you, perhaps not, dear, but for me, yes, it would be.”

  My anger dissipated then, replaced by an immense sadness. I nodded.

  May came to me, knelt beside me, and put her arms around me, and we held each other. “It’s alright, Molly, really, we’ll be okay, we’re going to make it. Howls Along saw that in her vision as well. She saw us come out of the storm on the other side at dawn … all of us.”

  “You really believe that, May? You believe in a girl’s vision? Maybe she’s just telling you this to save face, because she doesn’t know how to get back.”

  “I do not think she would risk all our lives to save face,” May said. “Her grandmother got us here despite the fact that we did not believe, and I believe this girl will lead us back.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “In less than an hour. We must be on the trail before the tempest intensifies too much.”

  “You and Chance went to all the trouble of building this lodge,” I said, “and now you’re leaving it? I thought we would all stay together. I thought you would at least stay through the worst of the winter.”

  “So did I, but it came up so suddenly, and in this case, we all need to do what we need to do, when we need to do it. I think you and Hawk are quite right to stay here, and Phemie and the others, too. But you know as well as I that my goal from the day I left Chicago has been to return there to reclaim my children. And now, with Chance, I may have a way of doing that.”

  “I’m happy for you, May.”

  “Will you look after Falstaff for me, Molly?” she asked. “Let him sleep in your lodge on cold winter nights? He’s very well behaved, and he will look after you and your baby when the time comes.”

  “Of course, I will, my dear friend.”

  * * *

  All of our group who had elected to stay gathered to see them off. It was an emotional moment as the heretofore abstract notion that we would never see each again became an incontrovertible reality. Indeed, we would never even know for sure if they had made the passage safely … unless someone happened to come upon their remains in the spring … or some of the horses survived and found their way back. At the same time, they would never know what became of us.

  “We won’t even know what direction you’ve taken,” I said, “so that when the storm clears we won’t be able to come look for you if you need help.”

  “We will take the direction of the wind,” said Ann. “That is what Howls Along saw in her vision. Don’t bother looking for us. We’ll be gone from here.”

  I laughed. “Just out of curiosity, Ann, when did you, the most rational among us, suddenly become a believer in visions?”

  She smiled. “Well, I am not entirely a believer, I must confess, dear. But then again, Molly
, the last time I said good-bye to you, you fell off a cliff and ended up on the back of a horse. Very difficult to determine these days what to believe in, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever happens,” I said, “I’m going to imagine you back at your hunting estate in England, with your stable of horses and a kennel full of sporting dogs.”

  “That’s the spirit, my girl. And I’m going to imagine you right here in this lovely valley, raising a brood of children as brown as nuts … although with Hawk’s mixed blood, some are sure to be fair … Yes, brilliant!—you, Phemie, Maria, Lulu, and my dear Hannah will populate the land with skin and hair of all colors. One thing for certain, Molly, they will all be beautiful.”

  It was not easy for any of us to hold back our tears while saying our good-byes, and most did not succeed. But the wind had come up and the snow was blowing, and it was time for the travelers to be on their way. We all embraced before they mounted.

  “We lost you once, May,” Phemie said, hugging her. “Don’t let it happen again, girl.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Phemie, you said it yourself, I’m the cat with nine lives. You know it was my beloved Shakespeare who wrote that?”

  Hannah fell completely apart in Ann’s arms. “Will you go see me parents, milady?” she blubbered through her tears. “Tell ’em I’m happy, married to a good boy, and they’re going to have a grandkid soon. And me brothers and sisters, too, tell ’em all that I love ’em.”

  “Of course, I will, dear,” Ann said, tearing up herself, “and I’ll see that your family is taken care of.”

  Pretty Nose, my war partner, with whom I had been through so much, was, as always, stoic, already mounted and waiting for the others. I knew it was difficult for her to display affection, but when our eyes met, I smiled at her and nodded, and when she did the same back in acknowledgment of our bond, I saw her tears glistening.”

  May and I embraced. “God, I’ll miss you so, May,” I said.

  “And I you, Molly. Ours was a too short but beautiful friendship. You will always be in my heart.”

  “And you in mine. For the rest of my life, I will imagine you reunited with your children.”

  Gertie, overwhelmed, stood back a bit behind us, her head downcast, and scuffing the gathering snow with the toe of her boot. She could not bring herself to embrace or say good-bye to anyone, even May, who knew her well enough to leave her alone. Only when all were mounted and their guide Howls Along Woman gave the signal to move out, the most perfect replica of the howl of a wolf I have ever heard did Gertie look up, raise her fist in the air, and holler into the wind: “You gals, you ride this goddamn storm like a fuckin’ buckin’ bronc, don’t let go, and don’t fall off!” And then she let out an Indian war yell, the warriors among the departing, men and women alike, answering her in kind as they rode into the dark night.

  A LAST WORD

  by

  Molly Standing Bear

  “After your people exterminated the plains buffalo, and we had to eat our horses, and the often rotten beef the government sent us on the reservations, that’s when we started getting sick, both in body and spirit. We had coexisted with those animals for thousands of years, our entire way of life depended upon them, we considered them our brothers. And I don’t mean like our brothers, I mean we believe we are related to them. I’ll bet you’ve never looked a buffalo directly in the face before, into his or her eyes, have you? They are not like your stupidly vacant bovines … it’s difficult to explain but there is a certain sentience in their regard, a kind of ancient wisdom, and an almost human quality to the structure of their faces.”

  About ten days after JW’s and my little camping trip, a couple of the tribal elders paid him a visit at his trailer and told him he was going to have to move on. He’d been parked at the pull-off down by the creek for almost two months, and they had turned a blind eye to him all this time, due mostly to their respect for his dad. But now that he had a horse tethered next to the Airstream, a few bales of hay stacked, and a bin of oats he bought at a feed store in Hardin, they got the not unreasonable idea that he was taking up permanent residence. Word had been out for some time now that he and I are involved, and that probably didn’t help his case much, either. Not being a registered tribal member, I’m considered an outside agitator on the res, and the elders on the council are afraid of my power.

  I was away briefly on missing women’s business at the time this happened, but JW rode over to Lily Redbird’s ranch and asked her to board his horse as she had offered, and also asked if he could pay her to park for a short while on her property. Lily isn’t highly thought of herself on the res, for having thrown out her deadbeat husband, and for being a successful businesswoman on her own. There are few things that threaten the elders more than strong women who don’t respect the authority of the patriarchal tribal government. Plus they know she and I are friends and do some kind of work together, though they don’t know what, and that, too, doesn’t help her reputation. She also knew the news that she had let the white man move in over there would spread like a prairie grass fire, and be about as well received. But she doesn’t give a damn what people say or think about her. It’s one of the many qualities I admire about Lily.

  JW keeps to himself and doesn’t know anything about this whole dynamic, and, if he did, he wouldn’t have even asked her. But, of course, she told him he could camp there as long as he liked; she wasn’t about to turn down another source of income.

  I got back a few days later. I had spoken with Lily on the phone while I was away, and I knew all that had happened. The creek runs right through her ranch, and she’d made a spot for him where he could park his trailer beside it. Late on the night of my return, I took another batch of the journals and my manuscript in young Josh Miller’s saddlebags, and I walked there from town. I slipped into the Airstream, which he still never locks … on purpose, I know now, because he’s always hoping I’m going to show up. I hiked my shift up and straddled him on the bed. “I’m home, cowboy,” I whispered. “Are you happy to see me?”

  He opened his eyes. “Aren’t you going to hold me at knifepoint, Indian?” That’s what we call each other sometimes now, cowboy and Indian.

  “Only if you want me to.”

  “No, that’s OK. How was your trip?”

  “It was alright.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Maybe a little; there are some things you should know.”

  “Tell me where you were.”

  “Denver.”

  “Did you find bad guys to punish?”

  “Yeah, plenty of them, but they don’t all get punished at the same time. Did you know that three quarters of American Indians and Alaska natives live in cities now, and not on the res? Many of the women and girls who disappear are kidnapped off the streets by sex traffickers. They prey on Indians because they know they can; they can take advantage of the institutional racism of your system, and the fact that there’s no federal database tracking how many of us go missing every year. Still, FBI figures suggest that Indian women disappear at twice the per capita rate of white women, though we represent a much smaller population. I should tell you now that I’m going to have to go away again soon … maybe for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I’m going to disappear for a while.”

  “What does that mean, Molly?”

  “Look, JW, I’m tired and I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now. But we will later, I promise. I brought you some more journals and my edits to look at. You can read them in the morning.”

  “Will you still be here?”

  “Of course, I’ll be here … You wanna have some fun now, cowboy?”

  “What kind of fun, Indian?”

  “What kind do you think?”

  “Always.”

  “Good. Then we’ll sleep. I’m so damned tired.”

  “Maybe you should find another line of work?”

  “Yeah.”
>
  * * *

  The world looked better the next morning. It’s fall now, and getting cold at night. I slept late, buried under JW’s comforter. He was already up and about by the time I woke. He’d found the saddlebags and was reading the journals and my edit of them. I raised myself on an elbow, peeled back the curtain to look out the window, and saw that the sun was at about the 10:00 A.M. position for this time of year. “Wow, 10:07 already, huh?” I said. This was a game we played.

  He smiled and looked up at me, then at his watch. “Not bad, Indian. 10:11.”

  “Damn, four minutes is outside my margin of error. Are you going to bring me a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course,” he said, standing and taking the kettle off the stove. “Got the water hot, just need to pour it in the press.”

  “How’s the reading coming?”

  “Fascinating. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so we can talk about it.”

  I snuggled down under the covers again. “Bring me my coffee when it’s ready, cowboy, and we’ll do that. You know I don’t like to talk much until I’ve had my first cup.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  JW brought my coffee, and I propped myself up with pillows against the wall so I could drink it. “Damn, this is getting so domestic between us, isn’t it?” I said.

  He went back to his little foldup writing/dining table, returned with one of the ledger books and my notebook, and sat on the edge of the bed. “From what you said last night, Molly, it doesn’t sound like our domesticity is going to last much longer. And I felt from you a certain urgency in our lovemaking … like … like something is coming to an end.”