by Mike Rhynard
“As Isna has wanted to see Emily.”
She smiled excitedly. “Emily has practiced her Lakota words . . . but she must still use a few signs to—”
He nodded, grinned proudly. “Isna sees this is so and that Emily will now sign only when she does not understand a word.” His eyes suddenly softened. “Emily, Isna heard of Emily’s little one.” He reached out, held his hands on her cheeks. “Isna does not know how Emily’s people grieve, but Emily will perhaps know that Isna’s heart suffers with her. The loss of an innocent little one is the greatest of all losses.”
Her eyes misted. She dipped her head once. “It has been difficult; but he is now with God, Wakan Tanka, and will be spared the troubles and pain of this world. And Emily has shed her tears and is ready to continue her life.” She smiled weakly.
He nodded. “It is said tears of grief purge sorrow from the soul and strengthen it. Isna believes this to be so.”
“It is so, Isna. Emily knows it is so.”
He smiled. “Will Emily walk with Isna?”
Her smile deepened shamelessly. “She will.” She laid her pemmican bags on the ground then walked with Isna toward the forest.
When they had walked a short way into the forest, they stopped, sat on a bed of leaves, looked at one another in silence. The sparkle in Emily’s eyes suddenly yielded to an uneasy, concerned look. “Isna . . . Emily heard of the fight with the Powhatans.” She paused to allow the anxious quaver in her voice to subside. “Even though it has passed, it frightens Emily that Isna did what he did. He could have been killed.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Isna would have been killed had he not fought. A warrior does not run like a scared rabbit to be caught from behind by the fox.” He shook his head. “A warrior must die a warrior’s death . . . or die of old age; and of those two, Isna will prefer the warrior’s death.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Isna . . .”
“Would Emily respect Isna if he died running from an enemy?”
She looked at the ground. I hate this . . . damnable pride, total disregard for his life. “Emily would have Isna alive under any condition.”
“It cannot be so with a Lakota warrior. Perhaps with other peoples, like these Powhatans, who fight only when they have greater numbers, but not with the Lakota. And Isna is Lakota.”
She swallowed hard, looked into his eyes. “Yes, it is so. Emily understands this . . . but Isna should know that this is difficult for Emily . . . that it scares her . . . for she knows Isna will do this many more times . . . and that she must accept it.”
“Emily, Lakota warriors live by four virtues; bravery is the first and most important.”
“What are the others?”
“Fortitude, generosity, and wisdom. No man masters all of them, but most strive to do so. Wisdom is most elusive—like the clever creature that always evades capture—and very few acquire it. But without bravery, nothing else matters, for the people will not be protected, and all will die. So every warrior will give his life to defend the people.”
She looked at him glumly, silently. “Is Isna ever afraid?”
“All beings are sometimes afraid, just as all beings sometimes grieve . . . and it is these things—fear and grief—that make us whole. We cannot be so without them . . . bravery is meaningless without fear . . . as is inner strength without grief.”
She pondered his words for a moment, nodded. “Emily sees that this is so . . . and are there virtues for Lakota women?”
“Yes. They are bravery, generosity, truthfulness, and childbearing. But there is also an unspoken virtue.”
“What is it?”
“Lakota women will obey their husbands in all things.”
“All things?” She flashed an indignant look.
He nodded but looked confused by her reaction.
“Emily does not think she could live that virtue.”
“Emily, Lakota men provide for and protect the people against all threats—enemies, creatures that walk the earth, the weather that descends from the sky. But women must be protected. So, since men are the protectors, they decide all matters. But remember, Lakota men respect and honor their women, seek and consider their counsel before making decisions . . . at least in matters other than hunting and war.”
Emily’s cheeks flushed, but a hint of a smile appeared as she recalled her mother’s words of a year before.
Always let your man think he’s in charge. ’Tis easier that way. But ’tis we women who truly decide the direction of things through our influence.
It must be the same with Lakota women, she thought. “Emily understands this. In truth, ’tis no different from our ways.”
He nodded. “Do Emily’s people have virtues?”
“Yes. They’re called the Ten Commandments, and they came to us from God, Wakan Tanka, himself, but they’re the same for men and women.”
“Are they of equal importance?”
“No. The most important is to love Wakan Tanka above all things and worship none but Him; and the second greatest is to love others as yourself, including your enemies.”
“How can this be done?”
“ ’Tis very difficult, but it is a very important part of that commandment.”
“Perhaps many ignore this part?”
Emily smiled. “They do.”
“And will the people obey the other virtues?”
“Sometimes yes and sometimes no. Most try to honor their parents and not steal or kill or lie, but two other virtues—to not desire the possessions of another and to not desire the wife or husband of another—are more difficult for people to keep.”
He nodded. “Hmm. It is the same with the Lakota. And such wanting is thought to be a sickness that will destroy the people if those afflicted by it are not quickly banished or killed.”
“That is sometimes true with us, as well.” She looked away, pondered for a moment, then faced him. “Another important commandment is to not commit adultery.”
“What is this?”
Emily blushed. “It . . . it is what . . . what a man and a woman do to make a baby . . . but with someone other than the one to whom they are married . . . or . . . or before they are married.” An involuntary surge of carnal warmth flooded her body but was immediately followed by a wave of guilt.
He stared at her intently. “The Lakota also believe a man and a woman are to be married before they make a baby, and they are to do so only with the one they are married to. But it is not always so.”
“ ’Tis the same for us.” She felt her cheeks warming, looked away for an instant, wondered how they could be discussing such matters; she felt a tantalizing twinge of curiosity, a closeness, a sense of belonging with him. Then suddenly, for no reason, she remembered her strange dream. “Has Isna ever seen a large brown bear?” She spread her arms wide apart. “A very large brown bear, larger than five or six deer?”
Wry smile. “Yes . . . these bears roam the grasslands toward the setting sun from our land . . . and at a certain time, one also roamed in Isna’s dreams.”
“In his dreams?”
“Yes. Why does Emily ask this?”
“Because . . . because Emily had a dream about such a bear. He walked with a little white fawn and seemed to be protecting it.”
Isna’s smile vanished; his eyes queried hers with sudden awe. “ Isna had such a dream . . . many summers ago, when he undertook his vision quest as a boy becoming a man.”
“Vision quest?”
“Yes. Each boy, when he and the seer think he is ready to become a man, prays to Wakan Tanka for a vision that tells him what he is to be and what his spirit creature is. This praying is called crying for a vision and is undertaken with the help of the seer, who knows the holy ways. It can go on for several days, without food or water. The crying is then followed by more praying in a small shelter made of twelve or sixteen willow branches covered by hides, in which the boy sits, often for several more days, with hot, steamy rocks and his pipe while he
contemplates his inner self, asks Wakan Tanka to purify and cleanse him of all worldly influence, so he may receive his vision. He offers his pipe to each of the four directions, the sky, and Mother Earth, and adds a pinch of kinnikinnick tobacco for each. The pipe is then sealed with animal fat until after the vision quest. The young man goes alone with his pipe and without clothing, food, or water and sits and stands on a rock ledge on high ground far away from the camp for three days and nights by himself, shunning sleep. And during this time, he disregards his bodily wants, prays to Wakan Tanka, all the creatures of the earth and sky, and the spirits of his grandfathers to send his vision, and he listens to and speaks with all creatures and spirits who wish to tell him something.”
“What does he think about?”
“Isna thought of his father and grandfathers and the things they taught him as a child and young man: the languages spoken by all the winged and four-legged creatures, the signs they leave with Mother Earth, their habits, how they hunt; the disguises used by creatures to conceal themselves from enemies and prey; how to read the signs of the sky and Mother Earth; how to suck on a cold stone to keep his side from aching when running; how much water to drink before sleeping, so the need to urinate might wake him at a certain time; the ways and beliefs of Lakota enemies, how they think and fight; how to make and use weapons; how to confuse and conquer an enemy by being unpredictable; and many more things, including those taught by Isna’s mother. All these things hovered like a bird in Isna’s mind for three days and nights of praying to Wakan Tanka for his vision; and finally, on the third night, it came.”
“The large bear?”
“Yes. This bear is called Grizzly, the Four-Legged-Warrior, and he is the most feared creature on Mother Earth . . . even more so than man himself, for he knows not fear and is known by all as the killer of all enemies. He came to Isna and told him he would be his spirit creature and that he would allow him to possess his powers—his ferociousness in defending all who need his protection, his kindness and gentleness to those he loves—but he said Isna could only obtain these powers by finding Grizzly himself on the plains and taking his life and his spirit with his hands and bringing them both inside his own.”
Emily’s eyes were wide, an intense blue like the late afternoon sky; her lips parted in wonder.
“He then told Isna to wear his token—his claws—in battle, that he would protect him, and that Isna was to paint his face and shield with Grizzly’s symbols and the symbols of his vision. He told Isna to travel Mother Earth and that one day a little white girl fawn would come and that Isna was to honor her and protect her from all danger for all of his life. And many brown and white fawns then appeared and followed the bear and the little white fawn for a while; but then they went off in different directions on their own until finally, everything vanished except for one brown fawn that turned into an old woman who wore two black stones around her neck and held Isna’s vision pipe. But then a little white girl fawn appeared beside the old woman, and she placed her hand on its head; and a moment later, the old woman, along with the two black stones and Isna’s pipe, vanished, leaving only the little white fawn. And suddenly, the fawn grew into a mother blacktail with a little white girl fawn of her own; and then the two black stones and the pipe suddenly appeared around the last little white fawn’s neck, and Isna awoke. He then climbed off the ledge, returned to the village, told the seer what he’d seen, and smoked the pipe with him; but the seer could not explain any of the fawns or the old woman with the two black stones and Isna’s vision pipe. So Isna yet waits for that knowledge to be revealed to him.”
“Did Isna kill Grizzly?”
“Yes. But he did not give his powers easily; he nearly killed Isna before yielding. And that, Isna now knows, is because he wanted to teach Isna that things of great value are not easily earned.”
“Isna, this is a great truth . . . but how . . . how could a single young man kill so great a bear? Was Isna not afraid?”
“Yes . . . at first . . . even though the great bear himself had told Isna to do what he was doing; but then his spirit started coming into Isna’s, strengthening it, and Isna lost his fear.”
“But how did Isna take his life?”
“With many arrows, three strong spears, and finally, when Isna himself was about to die, with his knife. But before he yielded his spirit, he knocked Isna to the ground with his huge paws and tore at his head and shoulders with his teeth and long claws, which were nearly as long as Isna’s forearm.”
Emily’s hands covered her mouth then reached out, held his, her eyes wide with astonishment as she spoke carefully, measuredly. “Isna . . . the bear . . . the white fawn . . . the other fawns . . . the old woman . . . the last white fawn . . . all were in Emily’s dream as well. How can this be?”
He stared silently at her for a long, thoughtful moment. “I know not.” He glanced at the sky then slowly back to her eyes as if pulled there by an invisible string. Illumination crept slowly across his face like a gentle wave rolling onto the shore. “But this Isna does know: Wakan Tanka acts in mysterious ways, and that he sent Isna’s spirit vision to Emily means he has made Emily and Isna a dreaming pair . . . and a dreaming pair is bound together for life.”
They stared into one another’s eyes, mulled the implications of his words. Chills rippled down Emily’s back. Without speaking, they touched hands, embraced, rolled onto the leaves; their lips met, spread, tongues touched, caressed, explored; breath and hearts raced; bodies pressed together, moved as one on the forest floor; restraint evaporated like a snowflake in a raging inferno.
Suddenly, Isna stopped, drew back, looked into her eyes, waited to catch his breath. “Emily, this cannot happen now. Our blood flows too warm . . . we must not let it be so.”
She took a deep, quivering breath, stared into his eyes. “Isna is right. Though Emily would willfully yield to her passions, Isna is right. We must not.” She closed her eyes. Mother, help me. Such temptation I’ve never known. I know not how to control it; and if ever I am to break my vow ’twill be here, now, with this man who stirs my blood like no other.
Thomas Colman lay in bed on his side, propped up on his elbow coughing blood onto a rag which he quickly shoved inside his sleeve when he heard Emily open the cottage door. She carried a tankard in each hand, wore a bright, airy smile on her face. “ ’Tis ready, Father. Here, you shall have the first taste.” She put the tankards on the table, poured a cupful, and handed it to Colman.
“I know not if I dare, my dear. I’m probably too weak, could send me to sleep. You go ahead. We’ll toast your mother and brother.” He coughed.
“Very well.” She carried the cup to his bed, sat on the stool beside him. “Been a long time, Father. I’ve indeed missed my beer.”
“I, as well.” He studied the cup for a moment, abruptly smiled, slapped the bed with his hand. “Alack, I say! I care not if it puts me out. Bring me a cup of that brew, Daughter. Live hearty, for tomorrow, we may—”
“Father! Don’t say that! ’Tis bad luck. I don’t want to hear that word . . . heard it enough, seen it enough.” Her frown softened, a gentle smile took its place. “But I see no harm in a glass of ale.” She poured another cup, handed it to him. “So here’s to Mother and Brother Johnny, along with our prayer that they’re on their way to us soon. Eh?”
“To their health and safe journey.” Both took a sip. “Not too bad for corn beer.” He chuckled. “But John White had best return with as many beer kegs as people.”
Emily took another big gulp. “I rather like it, Father. But mayhap that’s because we’ve been so long without.”
“Go slow, young Em.” He coughed again.
Emily giggled. “Of course, Father.”
An hour later, they’d finished one tankard and half of another. Colman sat on a stool beside Emily as they completed a rousing verse of The Keeper. Suddenly, tears filled his eyes; he stopped singing, stared at the fire in the back of the room, rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.
“Father, what is it?”
“I’m afraid, Emily. Your old father’s afraid. Afraid he’ll die before he sees your mother and brother.” He shook his head. “One day I think I’m improving, but the next, I know not. I’m so weak, tired, filled with aches, so unlike myself. And the cough. The damned cough.”
Emily knelt beside him, held her arms around him. “I’ve seen it, Father, seen you coughing blood, as well. I’m gravely worried.” This can’t happen . . . not to Father . . . not without Mother here . . . but, God, I fear it is. Please stop it.
“I thought ’twas but a passing thing when it started back at Roanoke, but now . . . now I’m truly afraid, Emily . . . and mostly for you, for I fear I shall not recover; and more than all else, I dread leaving you alone in this land. So ’tis my sacred duty to ensure you know what could befall me and prepare you for what may come if it does.”
“Father. Don’t talk like that. You’ll not die.” Her eyes tried to fill with tears, but she held them back. “I sha’n’t let you. I simply sha’n’t. You’re going to get well. I know it. I shall ask the Chesapeakes, and Isna, if they have any cures for such an ailment. We’ll find something. Perchance you could sweat it out in a sweat lodge like the Lakota use to purify themselves for a vision. Or perchance—”
“For a what?” He coughed.
“A vision. Never mind. I was just speaking my mind.”
“Well, it does seem that you spend much time with those Savages. And I truly don’t approve of it. Forsooth, they’re naught but primitive heathens. I can’t imagine you could find anything interesting or attractive about them.” He nodded. “Yes, Emily, in truth, it bothers me deeply.”
“ ’Tis not for you to like or dislike, Father. ’Tis for me alone.” She felt an immediate jab of remorse. Be calm, Em; be kind. His illness magnifies his lack of grace. Understand; be patient.
“Well, you know my thoughts, Daughter. You should, at this moment, be married to Hugh Tayler, and . . . Emily, please give me another cup of that beer. It actually makes me feel a bit better.”