Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

  Sean slammed the truck door and shuffled toward Lance.

  "Hi, guy," she said with forced cheeriness. "You boys better stay at a distance and keep quiet. If things get . . . tense, and I tell you to go to the house, I expect you both to get tracking. Understand?" She looked at the twosome. They both nodded, moving back to sit with their backs against the barn door.

  Several cold droplets reminded her of another potential problem. She couldn't think of that now. They’d take one thing at a time. If only Doctor Potter had come instead of Brett Turner. The crunch of gravel made her turn. Brett approached carrying a large black vet bag.

  "What do you think you're doing, you're not a veterinarian?"

  "You're right, but I'm the next best choice you have at this moment. I've finished all but my job experience hours under a licensed vet, to become one myself." He set out several instruments on a clean towel he'd spread on the ground.

  "I didn't know that," she muttered. "But if you haven't had field experience yet, you really don't know what you're doing, do you? I mean, there's a big difference between reading something in a book and knowing what to do. What are those for?" she asked, observing the straight row of ominous looking knives, clamps and needles.

  "A C-section. We need to be ready just in case," he answered, without looking at her.

  "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" His glaring response caused her to fall silent. She had to admit having Brett help was better than no help at all. She didn’t want either animal to die. She swallowed what remained of her pride and asked, "What can I do to help?"

  "Tell your father to pack up his feathers and rattles and get out of the way," he said, kneeling behind his patient.

  "I guess it's impossible for you to stay civil for more than a few minutes. Why did I expect anything different?" she asked, between clenched teeth. "Thunder needs my father. He stays!"

  "There's no time to argue, Willow. Pull on a pair of gloves and get down here."

  While he pushed and pulled the calf inside Thunder, Willow snapped on long latex gloves.

  Brent grunted slightly. "Whatever Antelope Tipi gave this animal, it's sure effective."

  "How's it going?" she asked, dropping to her knees alongside Brett.

  "Hold this position while I double check where the cord is," he directed.

  She moved in closer. "I've got it," she said, struggling to keep her balance and remain motionless as he moved knowing hands around the birthing cavity. She became aware of his warm breath on the back of her neck.

  "Be ready. When I say pull, I want you to give it all you've got," Brett said.

  Willow glanced at him, confused by his sudden change in character. She'd never seen this side of Brett Turner. It made her feel more on-guard than his arguing did. She'd have to distract herself with conversation or her body might betray how his closeness affected her. "Why did you quit school? Too much work for a rich rancher's son?"

  "Rich had nothing to do with it," he said, glancing her way. "Hand me that bottle and sponge. This will sterilize the birth opening some. My father was dead set against my becoming a vet. He hated it so much, he wouldn't give me a penny toward my schooling."

  "Why would he be against something so worthwhile and what you wanted?" Willow sat back on her heels to give him more room to work. "How'd you pay for it all?" She drew in a breath of burning sweetgrass, and her father's soft chants calmed her.

  "I worked two jobs and studied in between. I'll admit it was difficult, but I did what I had to do. It was my dream." He reached his hand back into the laboring buffalo. "This is it, pull!"

  Willow pulled on the struggling calf, guiding it through the opening of its mother's body. Brett grabbed her hand in an attempt to help lift the newborn. She glanced at him and paused, finding warm blue eyes staring back at her. Uneasiness washed over her. Once again she realized she didn't know this Brett Turner. She tore her gaze away and settled it on Lance and Sean.

  "Boys, grab some towels and be ready to dry our newcomer," she shouted, while helping Brett bring the struggling calf into the world.

  A silence fell over all of them.

  "He is a sacred buffalo," Grandfather Antelope Tipi said in a quiet tone. "It is considered sacred and has been revered by Plains Indians for centuries. This is a sign."

  "That's all superstition," Brett snapped, turning away from the old Indian.

  Willow could tell Brett seemed impressed, even awed by the rare sight before him. She wondered why he tried so hard to hide it. The story of White Buffalo Woman, which had been told and retold through generations, prophesied she would return to the People in times of need. The birth of a female white buffalo is an important event.

  "I've never seen a white buffalo," Lance said, his voice equally hushed as his grandfather’s. The boys moved in closer for a better look.

  “It’s an albino, might be somewhat unusual, but many animals have albino births,” Brett offered.

  “Not albino with black nose and black eyes,” Antelope Tipi pointed out. “The last time a white buffalo was born was nineteen-ninety-four, in a small town in Wisconsin.”

  “That’s right, Father. That was on a small farm in Janesville, Heider farm, I think.”

  "Wait 'till I tell the kids at school! Can we take him to show everyone?" Sean asked, crowding alongside Lance.

  "We may have to consider having a school field trip here." Willow smiled at their eagerness and noticed Brett watching the calf with great interest, in spite of himself.

  "Wow, Mom! He's beautiful," Lance said.

  "Yeah, Mom . . . Willow. Can we dry him off?" Sean asked.

  "You boys stay back," Brett ordered.

  "Oh, let them wipe the baby off. It'll be something they'll always remember," she said.

  They raised affirmative thumbs-up at each other. Willow wondered what Brett would say if he knew the 'x' scar on their thumbs meant they were true blood brothers. She smiled, liking it.

  "Please, Dad?" Sean asked, his tone bordering on a whine.

  "Okay. But stay clear. We're far from done here and I don't want you in the way," he answered, working on his patient.

  Aware of his intensity and gentleness, she handed Brett a plastic bag, and he cleaned the area without hesitation. He did appear to know what he was doing. "Why didn't you finish what you needed to become a vet?"

  "I had a ranch to run, a son to raise, and a mother to think about instead of myself." He looked concerned and moved his hand back into the laboring buffalo.

  "Something’s wrong with Thunder, isn't there?" She inched closer for a better look.

  "Not exactly. There's another calf." He pressed his hand in deeper.

  "What? You've got to be kidding! Did you hear, boys? Thunder is going to have another calf. We're having twins! No wonder she was so big. Doc Potter never said a word." Glancing over at her father, Willow watched his rhythmic rattle and listened to his steady chants. Somehow she got the feeling he knew they weren't done before they did.

  "Why isn't she loose with the other wild animals?" Brett grunted with an effort to pull.

  Willow moved to stand beside him, ready to help. "You might say she's more of a pet than a wild animal. The boys have been playing with her for years. Now I'm grateful. Otherwise, this much human contact might have been a shock to her." She felt Brett’s body heat and found it unsettling.

  "The boys shouldn't be anywhere near a buffalo, wild or not. They're unpredictable." He guided first the calf's head, then legs through the opening.

  "If I'd felt the boys were in any danger, you can be sure I'd have taken action. Besides, the buffalo is looked upon as the animal given to our People by the Creator. The correct name is bison. In Blackfoot we say Enee, meaning bison."

  Brett rolled his eyes upward, and she shook her head. She concentrated on her father's soft chanting and drew in the faint scent of the purifying sweetgrass, comforted by his presence, in spite of Brett's negativity.

  "Grab hold, this one doesn't seem t
o be struggling too much. He may need some immediate attention." Brett rubbed his sleeve across the sweat that rolled down his forehead.

  Willow grabbed a strip of cloth and wiped off his brow without thinking. The gesture seemed personal . . . too personal. Uneasy, she pretended a need to check out the boys, feeling his stare for only a few seconds. She stood and gripped the newborn's slimy legs. Brett lifted and she pulled. With a minimal amount of effort, together they brought another buffalo calf into the world.

  Chapter Two

  The newborn struggled to get to his feet, and then dropped to the ground.

  "Yahoo!" Sean shouted, jumping with excitement.

  "Kyai-yo!” Lance turned to his friend. "It means I am surprised."

  "It doesn't look good, Brett." Willow glanced at him. In the distance sounded the warning grumble of thunder.

  "Tell that old man to stop that noise! It's grinding on my nerves," Brett snapped, his disposition tense.

  "He's my Grandfather. Apologize!" Lance shouted, his feet spread.

  "I apologize, Antelope Tipi." Brett stated. "Looks like the kid has more grit than his old man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I didn't . . . you know . . . the guy’s dead and all. It slipped―"

  "Enough!" Willow said, and added under her breath, "The next time you make a statement like that in front of Lance, you'll be sorry."

  Brett pumped with a hand bulb, sucking mucus out of the calf's mouth.

  "Will he make it?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  "He's breathing. Best I can do for now. We need to get the mother finished up, and then we'll see what more can be done."

  Brett pressed here and there, and she realized he was helping Thunder pass the afterbirth. He seemed confident and knowing in his actions.

  "How's Thunder doing?" Willow asked in a low, hushed tone.

  "Some name for a wild buffalo," he stated, shaking his head.

  While he stitched up her precious buffalo, he grew quiet, and she wondered what he was thinking. He must be hoping the ancient animal died. She couldn't forget how much he hated her buffalo.

  "She's gone through a lot. I've done the best I can." He pulled a syringe from his case.

  She looked at the needle, then at Brett. "What's that for?"

  "Why? Think I'll slip something in it to kill her off anyway? You ever let up, or are you suspicious by nature?"

  Baffled by his sudden attack, she felt her defenses rise. "I learned it from you. You suspect every move I make. What I can't understand is why?" She stopped at his set jaw and cold steely eyes.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd believe you were totally innocent."

  "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." She sat back and pulled off the rubber gloves. Brett stood and stretched his long muscular legs. She felt his power and strength. He pulled off his bloody gloves, then snapped on a new pair. His words left her baffled. "You care to explain?" she finally asked.

  "Explain?"

  "What am I not totally innocent about?" she asked, watching the boys rub the calves down with energy. They spoke in hushed tones to each other, hearing only themselves. Like brothers, she thought.

  "Don't pretend you don't know, because I don't buy it."

  She struggled to control the new rush of anger that rose. "I explained my buffalo didn't infect your cattle once already. Don't expect me to go through all that again. When you get an idea, you don't let it go, do you?"

  "There's more to this and you know―"

  "Mom, I'm going to name my calf Little Thunder," Lance stated proudly. "What you naming yours, Sean?"

  "Don't know, how about Shadow? He's black and came after Little Thunder," Sean stated with a hint of pride in his voice.

  "Great name," Lance agreed.

  "Why don't you boys go in the house now," Willow said, grateful for the interruption. "Get some of Grandma's apple pie. We'll finish up here and join you later. Go on."

  "It's too bad we can't get along as good as the boys," Brett said, moving toward a weak-looking Shadow.

  She masked her inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness. “I’m not the one making all the hostile accusations," she responded, wiping Shadow's ear clean.

  "Did it ever occur to you there are reasons? Look at it from my point of view once. In the past year twenty of my calves have died of brucellosis. The only well I own, which provides the ranch with bathing water, has been filled with stones. My new fence on the north pasture suddenly snaps off, allowing at least three hundred pregnant heifers to wonder across Bureau of Land Management property. I lost another good fifteen mothers and calves to the rising river. The Missouri Breaks are no place for cattle any time of year.”

  "All this has happened to you this past year?" she asked, surprised and suspicious herself. "But why would you suspect I had anything to do with it? For years you've been hostile to me—and Gordon, too," she pointed out, wiping another raindrop from her face. She glanced around and realized the storm had moved in sooner than she'd expected. They didn't have much time to get the animals into the barn.

  "I have my reasons. But as time has passed, well, things have gotten worse," he admitted, checking out the darkening clouds.

  "Such as?" She noticed his jaw tighten. A flicker of apprehension coursed through her.

  "We'd better get these calves into the barn first, and then we'll figure out a way to get Thunder inside too." He lifted the lively Little Thunder without effort. She watched how the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged and felt her heartbeat increase. Damn. She'd been celibate way too long, she thought, glancing away.

  She piled the stack of dry, clean towels on Shadow's shoulder. Taking two corners of the towel she pulled him into the barn. She said nothing as Brett lifted the sickly calf and placed him on a bed of straw, alongside his brother.

  "You think he'll make it?" she asked, watching the slow rising and falling of Shadow's chest.

  "I'm not sure. We need to get Thunder in here, but there's no way we're going to do it ourselves. We'll have to get her to her feet and hope she can walk on her own, or she'll have to stay out in the rain."

  They walked out into the steady, cold drizzle. She stood aside and grabbed Brett’s arm to pull him out of the way, to allow Antelope Tipi to lead a proud mother to her children.

  "I am honored to welcome the beginning . . . hope . . . for our People. You both did a fine job together. You are not as different as you think," he said, and then left the barn without another word.

  "What do you suppose he meant by that?" Brett asked.

  "He sees and feels things. He had a reason . . . a meaning," Willow answered.

  Brett looked Thunder over, and his smile told her all she needed to know. "She's doing well. She looks strong on her feet. You have any grain for her?" he asked, glancing around the barn.

  "I'll get some." She headed for the feed room and returned with a bucket of grain in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. He rushed up to her and grabbed them, his fingers brushing hers, causing a heated flush to rush up her neck and spread across her cheeks. She didn't even like this man, why did his nearness send her into awareness frenzy?

  Brett held the bucket while Thunder ate and Willow found herself surprised again at his gentleness. She'd never have expected this man to have a caring bone in his body, except maybe toward his son. A shiver traveled the length of her. She rubbed her arms to generate some warmth.

  She grabbed two towels, tossed one at Brett, then wiped at her soggy clothes. Antelope Tipi returned to retrieve his feather and rattle, then silently left. This had been a great day for their People.

  "Why is your father sitting out in the rain?" Brett asked.

  His sudden change toward her father, even if it might be temporary, pleased her. Antelope Tipi had a way of commanding respect. "He has his reasons. I've stopped asking why a long time ago. It isn't any of my business. He does what is needed."

  "You can't believe his hocus-pocus is going to help, do you?" Brett aske
d, rubbing his hair.

  Sandy curls slipped through his fingers, and she wondered what they felt like. She shook her head to chase the thought from her mind. "Let's just say I don't disbelieve. Why do you hate the People so much?"

  His jaw tightened once more, and a look of hatred swept across his face. "Because a broken down truckload of drunken Indians stopped at my folk’s ranch one day while my dad was in town. They beat and raped my mother. They left a bastard in her womb―"

  "You? Oh, God, Brett, I'm so sorry." It surprised her that he shared this with her. He didn't strike her the type to wear his family tragedies on his sleeve. It must have been the emotion of the births, she concluded. He remained silent, so she added, “I'd heard gossip, several different stories, but I didn't really believe any of them. Small town like this, the gossip is worse than, well, I just dismissed them. I can understand your anger, but that doesn't make all of us drunks and rapists. There are non-Indians who are drunks and rapists, do you hate them equally?" She suddenly realized she'd been rambling. “Father was right."

  "Right about what?" He sat down on the straw next to Shadow.

  Willow moved to sit next to him. "He said you have troubled spirits. When you look in the mirror you see what you do not want to see. The truth."

  "What the hell does he or anyone know about the truth? My father never forgave my mother for giving in to those bastards. It wasn't her fault. She birthed me, and then couldn't have any more kids . . . his kids. He hated her for that. She's the kindest, gentlest woman you'd ever want to meet. He treated her like shit. He treated me like shit, too."

  "I'm sorry. It must have been hard on both of you. I like your mother. She's always been kind to me, even in public. Now I realize that must have been difficult for her. I'm surprised she doesn't hate us as much as you do. I'm sure I remind her of what happened. I'm glad I know―"