Night Wind's Woman

by tiffy

  His hand cupped her shoulder, tangling in her hair, rubbing it unconsciously as he spoke. ʺWe entered the water in a very prescribed way, I from the north, you from the south. Each of us circled the perimeter of the water, then we met in the center and stepped out of it facing the east.ʺ

  ʺWhere the sun rises each day,ʺ she said with partial comprehension.

  ʺThe east is more than that to usit is the beginning of all warmth and light, of life, renewed with each dawn.ʺ Like you, Sun in Splendor. ʺWe entered the purifying waters alone and traversed it in opposite directions, then joined together in the center.ʺ

  ʺIt was very beautiful,ʺ Orlena said with a catch in her voice.

  ʺIt was not a binding marriage in your one true church,ʺ he replied cryptically.

  Her heart skipped a beat. ʺDo you consider us married, Night Wind?ʺ

  ʺYes, but I am more Lipan than white, in spite of Fray Bartolomeʹs influence.

  What do you believe, Doña Orlena?ʺ Some self‐punishing part of him, the halfcaste rejected by Spanish civilization, had to ask. He was amazed to find he held his breath, awaiting her answer.

  ʺYes, I believe we are married, husband,ʺ she answered him, this time speaking haltingly in the Lipan tongue.

  He tightened his embrace, holding her against his heart in the still silence of the night.

  Chapter 13

  An idyl of honeymoon closeness between Night Wind and Sun in Splendor began the night of the marriage and continued in the following days. If they could not confess their hopes or fears to each other, they could communicate in the oldest language, the language of love.

  Once his resentment over being coerced into the marriage passed, Night Wind felt an odd sense of relief in being bound to her. Now the dilemma of returning her to Conal for revenge was ended. She was his wife, the mother of his child, and he would keep her. Hatred of the Spaniards no longer held him in thrall.

  Although he had not relinquished vengeance, he found it amazingly easy to focus on the present and his golden wife, not on the dark and bloody past. Yet he feared for the future. She was European, an aristocrat, not meant for the hard and dangerous life of the Apache. Night Wind was sure of her passion, but did she love him? Did he love her? The answer to both questions eluded him.

  Orlena, too, experienced confused feelings. She had long admitted to herself that she loved Night Wind, but feared to speak the words aloud to this proud, aloof man who still remained such an enigma to her. He desired her and felt bound to her even as he was bound to her foster family. But duty and desire were not love.

  Adding to her insecurity were the sweaty, terror‐filled nightmares in which she heard her motherʹs screams of agony echoing across the courtyard of their estate in Aranjuez. She Who Dreams assured her that she would not have such a difficult birth, but a lifetime of fear was not easily set aside.

  The jeering contempt of Sweet Rain and a group of her friends did not soothe Orlena either. Sweet Rain continually reminded her of how unfit she was to be a Lipan woman. Nevertheless, others, older women like She Who Dreams and many of the younger married women, offered friendship after her adoption and marriage.

  Little Otter, a young wife who was exceedingly pregnant, shyly introduced herself to Orlena as she filled a water skin at the stream one chilly morning.

  Squatting awkwardly, for her ungainly belly allowed her no grace, Little Otter stuck the neck of her water vessel into the current. As it inflated, she smiled at Orlena, who was kneeling with two larger skins for She Who Dreamsʹ cookfire.

  In halting Spanish, the Lipan girl said, ʺGood morning,ʺ then lapsed into slow, simple sentences in her native tongue. Her shiny black hair was braided in a sleek plait, and her loose, comfortable tunic and skirt were plain but clean and soft, sewn with great care. ʺShe Who Dreams has sung your praises. She was very sad when her daughter died. You fill an empty place in her heart. I would like to be your friend.ʺ

  Returning the guileless smile, Orlena practiced her broken Lipan, ʺI want to be your friend. How are you called?ʺ

  ʺI am Little Otter, daughter of Stands Tall and Oak Woman. And you are Sun in Splendor, daughter of White Crane and She Who Dreams.ʺ Her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as she gazed raptly at Orlenaʹs hair.

  Orlena laughed. ʺHow strange! Where I was born, a womanʹs identity lies with her husband, not her parents. Are husbands not important to the Lipan?ʺ she asked, only half jokingly.

  ʺOh, very important,ʺ Little Otter replied solemnly. Then a slow smile spread across her face as she patted her protuberant belly. ʺWithout them we would have no babies!ʺ

  Seeing the joy and contentment on Little Otterʹs face sent a stab of jealousy through Orlena. ʺYou do not fear the birth?ʺ She asked the question tightly, her fingers unconsciously splaying across her own stomach.

  ʺWhy? My mother and She Who Dreams will be there. They have birthed many babies,ʺ she replied with puzzlement as she struggled to lean far enough out to finish filling her waterskin.

  ʺHere, let me help you. You should not work hard,ʺ Orlena scolded as she took the heavy skin and tugged it from the stream.

  ʺHard work is good for me. It makes me strong,ʺ Little Otter said as she took the container from Orlena and stood up, unconscious of her ungainly appearance.

  ʺShe Who Dreams told me I had nothing to fear, that I was strong . . . but with Spanish women . . .ʺ Orlena struggled for words to convey the concept of confinement and the pampering that generally accompanied pregnancies for those of her class.

  Little Otter looked around as they began to stroll from the stream to camp, careful that no one could overhear them. ʺYou already carry Night Windʹs child?ʺ At Orlenaʹs uncomfortable nod, Little Otter continued without censure, ʺYou must be very careful. Do not let anyone know until your belly grows. Once you tell, you cannot lie with your husband.ʺ

  Orlenaʹs face suffused with color. ʺNight Wind has explained that to me.ʺ

  ʺOf course, a few women are eager to sleep alone.ʺ Little Otter looked at Orlena and then let slip a girlish giggle. ʺBut they are married to ugly, fat men who are bad lovers!ʺ

  Thoroughly engaged by her newfound friendʹs candor, Orlena, too, laughed in spite of her embarrassment and her fears.

  Over the next days, Sun in Splendor and Little Otter became fast friends, helping each other with chores and sharing confidences. Little Otter was appalled at Orlenaʹs explanations of how Spanish noblewomen stayed hidden indoors and took no exercise while pregnant. She Who Dreams and Little Otter both exhorted her to forget the foolish ways of white women. Small wonder they sickened and died, in their hot stiff clothes with their muscles grown flaccid from laziness!

  Taking their lessons to heart, Orlena found she felt a renewed burst of energy in the days that followed. Outside of an exceptionally voracious appetite and a slow but steady weight gain, she had no actual ill effects from being with child.

  Remembering her mother, listless and thin, taking to her bed and saying all food made her ill, Orlena felt sad for Serafinaʹs fate and prayed her own would be different.

  There was a great deal Europeans could learn from the Apache. Already she had watched She Who Dreams skillfully set a boyʹs broken leg with green willow branches and a stiffened cowhide binder to hold the bones together as they knit.

  A man bitten by a rattlesnake, who would have been resigned to die in any Spanish settlement, was cured with an herbal poultice and a strong, evil‐smelling drink to counteract the deadly venom. She still recalled vividly the miraculous fever‐breaking properties of the cherry bark infusion She Who Dreams had given Night Wind. Her thinking had undergone a complete reversal in less than six months, but that never occurred to Orlena. She was caught up in the hard work of village life and the sensuous web of her husbandʹs caress.

  Little more than three weeks after her marriage and her befriending by Little Otter, the two women worked together late one afternoon on tanning a large buffalo hide. It was a splendidly perfect s
kin that Little Otter planned to make into a sleeping robe to celebrate her husbandʹs return to her bed. For over an hour after their midday meal, the two women toiled, scraping with their adzes.

  Orlena noticed that her friend worked more slowly and paused often, but assumed it was merely because of her advanced pregnancy and her consequent awkwardness. Then the dark‐haired girl emitted a sudden gasp and dropped her scraper onto the large hide. Straightening up from her task, she rubbed her back and looked up at Orlena. ʹʹSun in Splendor, I think you must call She Who Dreams.ʺ

  Orlena went pale. ʺYou are going to have the baby?ʺ

  Little Otter continued rubbing her back. ʺI have been having the baby all morning, but now I believe it is wise to consult She Who Dreams.ʺ Panicked, Orlena shot up and ran across the village. It was a sun‐kissed day with no wind, a most propitious day for a birthbut then so was the day Santiago was born in Aranjuez! She ran faster.

  When the breathless girl yanked open the tent flap, She Who Dreams was already gathering her medicines and charms. Looking calmly at Orlena she said, ʺIt is time. We will go to Little Otter now and you will assist me.ʺ

  ʺMe?ʺ Orlenaʹs voice squeaked! Women who had not borne children were never allowed to witness a birth in Spain.

  With considerable trepidation, she followed She Who Dreams back to where Little Otter continued working on the staked hide. She had been joined by her mother, Oak Woman. Every few moments Little Otter would pause and rub her back, then resume her task. The girlʹs words finally sank inLittle Otter had been laboring with the baby all the while they labored at the tanning!

  ʺShould she not go into her tepee and lie down?ʺ Orlena asked She Who Dreams.

  Smiling serenely, She Who Dreams shook her head. ʺFoolish. Lying down only makes the coming of the child take longer. She should walk now, I think.ʺ

  Little Otter obediently rose with assistance from Oak Woman and Sun in Splendor. The three women ambled along the edge of the stream. After about thirty yards, Little Otter again stopped and rubbed her back, this time pausing longer. A slight beading of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip in spite of the chilly February air.

  ʺNow you will drink this,ʺ She Who Dreams said, approaching Little Otter and her two helpers as they stood by the creek. She offered the girl a gourd filled with a steaming herbal brew. Little Otter drank it in a few swift gulps and handed the container back to the old woman.

  This process of walking and drinking the medicine womanʹs offerings continued for several more hours. Her friend was obviously in pain, but still she kept doggedly walking. Afraid of upsetting Little Otter, Orlena held her peace and offered her arm when her friend faltered. The herbs in the drink must possess some sort of pain‐numbing property, she thought as she noted the way the brew seemed to relax Little Otter. For a prospective grandmother, Oak Woman remained calm, saying little but simply patting her daughterʹs arm from time to time.

  About mid‐afternoon, She Who Dreams reached a decision and said matter of factly, ʺNow we will go to the lodge.ʺ

  Entering the tepee Little Otter shared with her husband, Strong Bow, Orlena helped Little Otter kneel on the bed of skins. Oak Woman and She Who Dreams began preparations, assisting the girl in taking off her skirt and tunic. Orlena watched in fascination as Little Otterʹs distended abdomen hardened and moved with a powerful contraction. No wonder her back ached! Every muscle in her torso seemed to be pulling her apart.

  Oak Woman held one of Little Otterʹs arms, and She Who Dreams motioned for Orlena to take the other to help the girl support her weight. Then the old medicine woman spread Little Otterʹs knees and set a wide low basin between them.

  ʺNow, you push down. Let go and the little one will arrive quickly,ʺ she instructed.

  Little Otter began to grunt, panting for breath as she followed instructions. Sweat soaked her body now, but a fire warmed the lodge, keeping her from taking a chill. Both of the older women spoke in steady tones, soothing the girl and urging her on with her labor, for that was what it appeared to bebone‐jarring hard work, but not the mysterious, terrifying agony Orlena had imagined from her motherʹs screams.

  Suddenly, after one long, hard push, a gush of water came pouring into the basin, filling it nearly to overflowing. Clucking in apparent satisfaction, She Who Dreams deftly replaced the full basin with another one until all the birth waters had been expelled. She Who Dreams removed the basins and placed a soft, clean deer pelt between the girlʹs legs. Then she examined Little Otterʹs belly again.

  Now the outline of the child could be clearly seen, lying with head pressed low in the birth canal, curled up with legs tucked in its belly.

  ʺGood. The baby is in the right position. Now, push more. It will not be much longer,ʺ She Who Dreams instructed. Little Otterʹs grunts became more feral now, harder and louder with rasping breaths between them as she worked to expel the child.

  Orlena was too engrossed in watching the mystery of life unfold to be frightened for her friend or herself. She held firmly to Little Otterʹs arm and felt every muscle in the girlʹs strong young body work in singleminded unity.

  A sound of pleasure came from She Who Dreams as she held the crown of the babyʹs head in one leathery old hand. With the other she kneaded and stroked Little Otterʹs belly, helping the natural rhythm of the contractions as first the head emerged, then in several more hard, driving pushes, the shoulders.

  Orlena found herself craning her neck, intent on seeing the infant emerge. What sex was it? Was it well formed and healthy?

  Little Otter took an enormous breath and gave one final push. The baby girl slid into She Who Dreamsʹ arms and gave a lusty squall. As Little Otter squatted lower to accommodate the short length of the umbilical cord, She Who Dreams laid the infant on the soft pile of pelts between the motherʹs thighs. Then she tied off the cord and cut it.

  The baby continued crying fiercely all the while, causing the two old women to exchange a smile. The medicine woman then awaited the swift expulsion of the afterbirth, which she carefully examined. Once assured it was intact, she laid it on another, larger piece of cowhide.

  ʺHow perfect and beautiful she is,ʺ Orlena breathed in awe, oblivious of the fact the child was a bloody, sticky mess!

  After instructing the two women holding Little Otter to assist the exhausted new mother in stretching out on her pallet, She Who Dreams washed the infant gently in warm water she had set aside in a bison‐horn container. The baby gradually quieted, almost magically. Now all four women beamed.

  ʺSee how she kicks. She is strong and fine,ʺ Little Otter said with glowing eyes as she watched.

  Remembering how disappointed her mother had said her father had been at her birth, and how much Conal had wanted a son, Orlena had a fleeting fear that Strong Bow might not be as pleased with the girl child as the mother was, but she said nothing.

  She Who Dreams turned to Orlena and said, ʺMake haste and bring water from the stream so that Little Otter may cleanse herself and then present the little one to Strong Bow.ʺ

  Looking from the exhausted new mother to She Who Dreams in amazement, Orlena only nodded and did as she was bidden. Outside the lodge, Strong Bow stood nervously awaiting word of his wife and child. He was a pleasant‐looking youth with a wide, earnest face and shy manner. Uncertain of whose role it was to make the announcement, she smiled to reassure him, and then scooped up two big waterskins and their leather carrying strap and raced for the stream.

  When she returned with the water, she fully expected that she and Oak Woman would have to assist Little Otter with her ceremonial washing, but the smiling mother sat up and reached for the coarse piece of buffalo cloth, eager to perform her own bathing.

  ʺOak Woman has gone to bury the afterbirth,ʺ She Who Dreams said to Orlena.

  ʺIt is very bad magic to let any mischief makers find it.ʺ Turning to the large buckskin pouch sitting against the far wall, she unlaced it and pulled out a buttery soft yellow tunic and skirt. ʺWhe
n she is cleansed, you may help her dress for Strong Bow,ʹʹ she said to Orlena.

  The new fatherʹs face was alight with love and joy as he took the infant from Little Otter. ʺShe is as lovely as her mother,ʺ he said solemnly. ʺI will present her to the sun and the four winds now.ʺ Gingerly he carried the wriggling bundle from the lodge to perform the ritual of initiation. As Lipan custom dictated, Little Otter must stay in the tepee for four days.

  ʺNow is her time to restafter her work is done, not before,ʺ She Who Dreams explained to Orlena. It seemed to make sense. As the two of them observed Strong Bowʹs proud presentation of his daughter to the sun, and in turn to the north, south, east, and west, She Who Dreams whispered to Orlena, ʺDo you still fear the baby in your belly?ʺ

  It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her and she could breathe freely once again. ʺNo, no, I do not.ʺ Her hand pressed against her abdomen and she smiled as Night Wind walked up to join the happy assembly watching Strong Bow and his infant daughter. The look on Orlenaʹs face was radiant. When his father‐in‐law had informed him of She Who Dreamsʹ plan to have his wife assist in the birth, Night Wind feared for her delicate Spanish sensibilities, knowing what he did of how the European nobility shielded ladies from such matters.

  Now he could see that his mother‐in‐law had made the right decision.

  ʺStrong Bow is a very happy man,ʺ Night Wind said softly to Orlena, almost musing to himself. Would he feel such joy on seeing his child, with more European blood than Lipan?

  ʺI . . . I am happy for them,ʺ she said hesitantly, uncertain of how to express what she felt. ʺAmong the Spanish, a son is more prized than a daughter. I had feared when the baby was a girl . . .ʺ Her voice faded away as she realized how little she understood these complex people whom she had once branded ignorant savages.

  Night Wind smiled arrogantly. ʺA daughter stays with her parents and brings another provider for their old age. We do not pass on land through our sons, but tradition through our daughters.ʺ