The Spirits of Nature

by Michelle Post

  “You see, Ms. Butler, there are some things that are considered very sacred to the Indian. We do not share all we know of our culture or the stories of our people with everyone, especially the white man.”

  For the moment I thought that Jack and the kids might have been right. What if I had traveled all this way to be disappointed? What if he did not want to share the whole story with me, whatever the story was?

  I did not know how to respond to his comment. I could have tried to reassure him. But, I knew I would have to earn his trust. It would take time to build that reliance in me. I had my work cut out for me.

  It had been late when I crossed the threshold of his house. He seemed to be so excited when I entered the room. In a short time he seemed to tire as quickly. It was as though his interlude with what he referred to as the spirit world had exhausted him.

  Of course, I wanted more but I would have to wait until the following day.

  Although he was guarded Tiponi was much friendlier than the other inhabitants of this reservation. I was grateful because I was starting to feel kind of lonely and out of place. We talked for a short time about my trip and my family. I sensed when it was time to leave and followed that feeling.

  As I left his cabin with Lilly I noticed a very tall muscular man watching my every move. He was stoic. He looked away when our eyes met, but for that moment our eyes locked I saw a world of pain.

  I returned to my cabin at around 11 p.m., exhausted yet restless. The mountains that were so beautiful earlier in the day seemed forbidding now. They surrounded the reservation as though they were either protecting the land or keeping it a private domain. The night air was clean and still. The ‘Big Sky’ that I took pleasure in during the daylight was now illuminated with a billion stars. This was something I had never seen in Chicago.

  It took me a while to wind down enough to go to bed. It had been a very unusual day to say the least. I still did not know what to make of Tiponi. However his strong faith was evident. I admired it.

  Lying in bed did not guarantee slumber. I was restless and my heart was filled with anticipation for my next meeting with Tiponi in the morning.

  I still missed Jack.

  ~2~

  The Birth of Running Wolf

  The following morning I woke early. Cosette was restless. She is used to a morning walk and today would not be any different. She followed me into the bathroom and to the kitchen as I put on the coffee. All this time she had her leash in her mouth. It was her way of telling me she would not rest until she had her walk.

  I pulled on some sweats and began my first full day on the Crow Indian Reservation. The air was so fresh in the cool morning. I was in awe of the rising sun above the mountains in the beautiful state of Montana. There was a peacefulness here that even a seasoned writer would find hard to describe. It was so serene. Once again I had the feelings of familiarity. There was that sensation I had felt when I first arrived, the feeling that I had been here before. I tried to shrug it off. Maybe it was getting away from the city that made this sleepy town so inviting.

  When we returned to the cabin I quickly dressed. Cosette had a porcelain cocktail and breakfast. We left for the home of Tiponi.

  Lilly did not accompany me to the cabin of Tiponi; I was secretly grateful for the one on one. I took my pad of paper, my tape recorder, and my inquisitive heart. Cosette lay outside patiently waiting for me, her long fur gently lifted by the soft winds off of the mountains.

  Just before entering the home of Tiponi my eyes met with the eyes of a man sitting on the porch next door. This was the same man I had seen the night before. This subsequent encounter was even more uncomfortable than the first. I quickly entered the house. This troubled me and that is unusual for me. I am not at all shy and do not know any strangers.

  Tiponi was praying or meditating as I sat cross-legged before him. I waited, not wanting to disturb his rumination. When he opened his eyes they reflected a peace I had not seen before in anyone. He began to tell me the stories of the Butler family and the Crow Indian tribe. The date he gave me was ‘Just before we took their beloved land away.’

  ~

  In an obscure Indian village Black Bear a Plaines Indian, stirred restless in his sleep. It was near to dawn and the fall sun was just beginning to peer through the overcast sky.

  He had slept outside his tipi the night before. His back ached from the lack of comfort the ground had to offer. He missed his bed and the warmth of his wife lying beside him.

  He stood up and stretched his back. He was a man with the muscular body that the Indian lifestyle demanded for survival. He was a handsome man with deep-set eyes that had the wisdom of a man much older than his years.

  He wore his hair down, as did many of the Braves in the camp. They also cropped their hair at the crown. The men took great pride in the length of their hair. A Brave could have hair that dragged on the ground behind him. The hair of the Brave was as sacred as the scalps he took as a trophy during battle.

  Inside the structure, made from buffalo hide, his wife Bright Star Over The Mountains labored to give birth to their first child. She had been Black Bear’s wife for almost a year. She was a young and delicate girl with gentle features. She was merely a child herself, just past the age of seventeen.

  Bright Star Over The Mountains was as tall and lanky as she was pretty. The Crow were known for their height and striking looks.

  Bright Star Over The Mountains bore down one last time. She had been in labor for nearly one day. She had begun her labor shortly before Black Bear had left to hunt the morning before.

  She was a strong woman but this task had taken its toll on her. Beads of sweat were rolling down her face. The two women assisting her coaxed her. How she longed at this moment to have her mother present. She had lost her several years ago. She felt alone and longed for the comfort only a mother could supply. She grunted.

  Black Bear sat upright pulling the buffalo skin around his shoulders to shield himself from the chilled morning. He worried about the welfare of his wife as he anticipated the birth of his first offspring.

  His mind wandered to the events of the previous day. He was grateful and fortunate to be alive. He thought about the split second that the Great Spirit provided to save his life, allowing him to see his firstborn.

  Black Bear who was a fearless warrior, now shivered with worry and confusion as he heard the muffled sounds from within his tipi. He reflected on the day before so he would be distracted.

  It had been a successful hunt. He was tired and thirsty. Black Bear had stopped at the river to get a drink. His thoughts were with his wife and how much he hated to be away from her at this time.

  The buffalo herd was in the meadow. The tribe was busy preparing the buffalo that had just been hunted. Black Bear had gone ahead of the others, anxious to see his wife and hopefully his new child.

  He had stopped at a river that ran next to the mountain. He wanted to water his horse and refresh himself. He took the cool water into his hands and splashed it on his face. He sighed as he felt the refreshing water cleanse his face. When he rubbed his eyes he saw a wolf staring at him from across the river.

  The Indians of the Plaines believed that the Almighty gave each animal certain powers. When Black Bear went on his vision quest, the wolf chose him. The wolf would be the animal that would serve as his guide. He spent many years studying the wolf. Black Bear admired the wolves’ strong instinct to sense danger. He also had worked for years on emulating the speed at which the animal could move when threatened.

  Today, as he gazed into the eyes of his brother wolf he saw danger. He could feel it in every fiber of his body. He knew instinctively that the source of his peril was at his back. His breathing became shallow and his heart raced. As his heart pounded he could feel the danger surrounding him.

  He turned quickly to where he could sense the threat.

  Black Bear came face to face with a mountain lion. The animal was lurking on the mountain and about t
o pounce.

  Black Bear stood almost motionless. He carefully reached to his back taking an arrow from its pouch. He was not sure he could get a clean shot before the animal lunged for him, but this was his only option.

  Then, he heard the wolf howl behind him. It was not the usual behavior for this animal. Not at this particular time. He was not seeking out his mate. The wolf was not in a threatening situation that would warrant this reaction. Black Bear knew it was to save his life.

  His howl was enough to distract the wild cat. It gave Black Bear the split second to prepare his weapon and defend himself. He would have only one attempt to save his life. Black Bear took careful aim and shot his arrow into the neck of his predator.

  The animal collapsed and slid down the mountain resting at the feet of a very rattled Black Bear. The Brave could feel his hands tremble. His heart was beating so violently that he could feel the vibration in his ears.

  He was grateful to be alive. He looked to the forest to find the wolf that had saved his life. It was gone.

  ~

  The shrill sound of the infant crying interrupted his thoughts. He quickly came into the present. Without invitation he entered the tipi. His first thought was of Bright Star Over The Mountains. She looked very tired and the color had gone from her face.

  “She is fine,” the midwife assured him knowing his concern.

  He took the infant from the midwife, as was the custom. He left the tipi to present the baby to the awaiting tribe. He held the crying child up for viewing.

  “Running Wolf,” he named his firstborn son.

  No one would know or question the meaning behind the name.

  The tribe cheered, welcoming their new member. Black Bear returned to the tipi. He and his new family were finally alone. He moved close to his wife as she suckled Running Wolf, then the child fell into a restful sleep. The new father was sitting behind his wife and put his arms around her as she held the sleeping infant. He gently placed a kiss on her forehead and watched her and his son as they slept within his embrace.

  ~

  Tiponi looked tired and I sensed it was time to leave. This man and the story he was telling intrigued me. I think I could have sat all day with him and absorbed his stories. Tiponi had a very calming effect on me and I liked him immensely. His promise would be to tell me more tomorrow. This time it would be about the Butler family.

  I sat for a moment and looked at him. I had a question but did not want to take more time from this tiring man.

  Much to my surprise, he had an intuition I had only attributed to the female gender. He looked at me and knew I wanted something.

  “You have a question for me,” he stated in a soft tone.

  “I was just wondering something after hearing the thought that Crow men put into giving a name to their babies. What does Tiponi mean? I am sure, that even though you are generations away from the people you are telling me about, that there is some meaning to your name as well.”

  He just smiled. I could see he was tired. Normally I would have considered him rude for not answering, but I did not feel the least bit slighted. I had the feeling this man did not do anything without some purpose. I was equally sure that the people who surrounded him did not give him enough credit. He had a quality about him that was from the generations he was so openly sharing with me. A quality that I prayed I would capture in my writing.

  Cosette had fallen asleep outside but was quick to greet me when I emerged from the house. I could see the tall Indian leaning back on a chair on the porch next door. I looked for a minute and noticed that he was asleep, or rather passed out. There was an empty bottle of cheap vodka at his feet.

  ~3~

  The Birth of Rebecca

  Madeline Butler had been told repeatedly by her doctor not to have any more children. Philip was three and born only one year after her marriage to Jeremiah.

  She held her daughter close to her bosom knowing that death was waiting for her. Jeremiah sat on the side of the bed, grief stricken. He also felt responsible and guilty for the imminent expiration of his wife.

  Madeline sensed this even in her nearly comatose condition.

  “Don’t look that way, my love. I wanted you and we have our beautiful daughter as a result.” She looked at her baby and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Please call her Rebecca.” That was her final request. She secured the blanket around the sleeping child, her hands weak from the loss of blood.

  Jeremiah had not really looked at the baby until now. The fruit of their love would also mean the destruction of his one and only love.

  She was a beautiful baby, who resembled her mother. Madeline was ravishing. But today, her strawberry blonde hair had lost its shine and was lying limp on her face. Even now in her final moments she was beautiful, at least to Jeremiah.

  At the foot of the bed, three-year-old Philip was anxiously waiting, wanting to hold his younger sister. Jeremiah looked at his son. He indicated that he wanted him to sit in the chair in the hallway. When Philip did he held his arms out to receive his sibling. Jeremiah took the baby from Madeline and placed her in the arms of the curious toddler.

  Jeremiah pulled his wife into his arms. Her grip slowly lightened until he knew that she had drifted off and he had lost her. He wept bitterly as he held his beloved Madeline.

  Jeremiah who was ten years older than Madeline never imagined life without her. Because of their age difference he assumed she would long outlive him. He was a man who prided himself in taking good care of his business and himself. He appeared to be younger than his thirty-five years. It was not apparent that there was an age gap between Madeline and Jeremiah.

  Mrs. Walters, the family’s head housekeeper, heard the cries of Jeremiah and rushed into the room not noticing Philip holding the child.

  Mrs. Walters had been a member of this family for almost five years. She was a relatively young woman to be head servant. She took her position in stride and ran the Butler household like a tight ship. She came from a long line of military people and knew discipline to be the source of an organized life.

  She wore her dark hair pulled neatly back and in a bun. She was an attractive enough woman and Jeremiah wondered why it seemed she had never married. He assumed by her sir name that she had at one time, but he did not question her concerning personal matters.

  Mrs. Walters lived vicariously through the Butler family. In the relatively short time she was employed by the Butlers she had grown very fond of them.

  She had seen Jeremiah take Madeline as his wife. When Philip was born Mrs. Walters waited impatiently with Jeremiah until the cries of the infant echoed throughout the house.

  She attributed her satisfaction in her position with the Butlers to Madeline. Madeline was very different than the clientele she had been accustomed to serving. She knew why. Madeline Butler had worked all her life having come from a working class family. She easily fit into the Butler lifestyle but she never lost sight of her life before becoming the wife of an aristocrat. Therefore, she had a heart full of compassion. She never treated her servants with anything but respect.

  This was probably the only thing that Madeline and Jeremiah quarreled about. He thought she was too friendly. He thought she ran the risk of losing the respect of their subordinates. The opposite was true. The staff loved Mrs. Butler and would do anything to please her. Her passing would devastate them.

  Philip held his sister with a firm grip. He was very

  precocious for his years. “Don’t worry; I will take care of you,” he assured his sleeping sister.

  Mrs. Walters came out of the room in tears. She had walked past Philip before but now noticed him.

  “Here Philip, let me have the baby.” She was grateful that he had not dropped the child.

  Philip wanted to hold her and pulled her closer to his chest. Mrs. Walters coaxed him.

  “It is okay, Philip, you will be able to hold her again soon.”

  He reluctantly let her go.

 
; Mrs. Walters held the sleeping child, her heart breaking at the thought of her never knowing her mother.

  Philip was not sure what was happening in all the confusion. The Butler household had always been somewhat quite. It was not that way now. He saw adults acting in pain and out of control. In that moment he decided that he would have to be the one to take care of his sister.

  In the weeks to follow, Mrs. Walters would insist that Mr. Butler allow her to care for his children. Without expecting any added compensation she would take on the responsibility of the baby and Philip. She loved Madeline as much as she would a sister. She could not fathom anyone but her handling the children she had grown to love.

  She would have to be careful. She knew that Mr. Butler would want to keep things at a professional level. It would be hard for her to care for them without voicing her opinion on how they should be raised.

  ~

  Tiponi tired easily. He did seem more coherent than the first day. I was not sure though where he was going with his stories. I was not sure he knew either.

  I had so many questions for Tiponi. I wanted to know the connection between the two stories he had shared with me. My mind kept flipping from certainty to doubt. I had trouble relaxing, thinking that I may have made a very expensive mistake. Maybe I was just a captive audience for an eccentric old man. He could be senile and telling stories from his vivid imagination. Deep in my gut I doubted it.

  I left the cabin in time for the majestic sunset. I looked around at the depressed surroundings and the mistrustful eyes of its inhabitants. Everyone was very friendly but somewhat guarded. I would see that one lone man every time that I left Tiponi. I was not frightened but let me say concerned. I wanted to know his story. I would ask in time.

  I had enough today to write a couple of chapters at least. I would write until I had finished or could not keep awake any longer, whichever came first. It was also a way of dealing with being alone tonight.