Forever Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  “What if it is not?” the daughter of Flaming Star asked as she kept her gaze on her chore. “What if it is another’s destiny? What if he is not Sky Warrior?” Buckskin Girl hinted at but did not reveal her suspicions or her hopes. The hopeful woman did not want Tanner harmed, but she prayed the real Sky Warrior would arrive soon. No, she corrected, would return soon. It was obvious that everyone— except her— had forgotten about his existence. He had been gone for sixteen years from this territory, driven away by shame and anguish, after the war chief’s bonnet was stripped from his head by evil. He had gone to the white world to seek himself. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about Notaxe tse-amo-estse, the Cheyenne name for Sky Warrior. His father was Cheyenne and his mother was white, but his grandmother was Oglala. Perhaps Stede Gaston was the first man in Payaba’s vision, but Notaxe tse-amo-estse was the second! His looks and Life Circle matched the vision words perfectly! Soon, the Great Spirit would call him home to her side and to his great destiny!

  She missed the blue-eyed, sunny-haired warrior, and she loved him with all her heart. The day Sky Warrior had said, “Na-ese,” she had understood the Cheyenne words: “I’m leaving.” It had broken her heart, but she had believed he would return one day, especially after she learned of the sacred vision years ago. She had refused to join with another and had lived for the sun when he came back to take his place of honor as fore told in the sacred vision. She knew that Morning Star did not think of Sky Warrior because her friend had been only three winters old when he left. But Tanner’s coming was strange. If the vision was about Tanner and Morning Star, Buckskin Girl worried, her dreams were over.

  Morning Star shook her friend’s arm with a wet hand. “You do not hear my voice and words, Buckskin Girl. Where has your mind traveled? Why do you say such things? How can you doubt Payaba’s vision?”

  Buckskin Girl’s dark gaze met her friend’s worried one. “I do not doubt it, Morning Star. But you must not dream rashly. I do not wish you to be unhappy if you lose the contest and if Tanner is not the vision helper.”

  “How can such be true, my friend? I do not understand.”

  The older maiden chose her words carefully. “It is possible the first man is Stede Gaston, but the second is not his son. Tanner is not the only man with sky eyes and sun hair and white blood. You hunger for him to be the man and you to be the woman, but that will not make it so.”

  Morning Star looked toward camp as the ceremonial drum, the can cega, alerted men to a coming announcement. A verbal message rang out in the air: “Omniciye ekta u wo”— Come to the meeting. She knew the contest would be discussed and she was anxious to enter and win it. “You sound as doubtful of Tanner and the vision as my brother and Knife-Slayer. I wish this was not so, my friend.”

  Buckskin Girl knew how Morning Star would feel tomorrow when she became her challenger, but it was something she must do. She knew that the daughter of Sun Cloud was skilled in many areas, but so was she. She must win the contest, so she would be at her love’s side when he replaced Tanner Gaston! But, until everyone was shown the truth of this mistake, it was best to withhold her secrets. If the Great Spirit had a purpose for this episode, she must not intrude. “I am sorry, my friend, but I cannot help what Grandfather places in my heart.”

  “That is true,” Morning Star conceded with reluctance and understanding. She glanced at her friend from lowered eyes. She sensed that something was troubling Buckskin Girl, but a friend did not pry. A good friend stood close and patient until the right time arrived.

  As the two females worked in silence, Morning Star wondered how Hawk Eye’s vision-quest had gone this morning. She knew the shaman had purified his body in the sweat lodge, then gone into the hills to “find his way to a spiritual path to Grandfather” with the aid of a peyote button. She wondered if the medicine chief would see the truth and, if so, would he speak it? Again, she chided herself for having such wicked thoughts about him.

  As Morning Star hurried from the woods with her burden at dusk, Knife-Slayer halted her and said, “Wociciyaka wacin velo. Unkomani kte lo.”

  She did not want to speak with him or to take a walk with him today or any day, and wished he would halt his pursuit of her. “I am busy, Knife-Slayer,” she refused in a polite tone.

  Morning Star continued on her way, with the man trailing her and urging her to spend time with him. They came to Sun Cloud, Singing Wind, and Hawk Eyes.

  Singing Wind smiled and said to her daughter, “You work late. We have eaten. Your food is by the fire. Do not let it get cold.”

  “I was gathering wood for Payaba and Winter Woman,” she responded as she adjusted the loaded carrying sling on her back. The much loved and elderly couple had no children left to help with their chores so many Red Hearts assisted them. Morning Star had deep affection and respect for the past shaman and his wife, and she often did their tasks. “I must fetch water for them from the lake before I eat. Thank you, Mother.”

  As Morning Star left the small group, she heard Hawk Eyes tell her father that the Great Spirit had told him in his vision today to wait, that He would reveal all soon. She didn’t know if that pleased or dismayed her. She heard Knife-Slayer quickly excuse himself from the group, and she prayed he would not follow and join her. She was glad when he did not.

  Later, when Morning Star entered her tepee, she sat down by the dying fire, removed the cloth from a bowl, and ate her evening meal.

  Sun Cloud and Singing Wind returned an hour later. The chief explained the contest, revealed the judges, and related the rules. He said it would begin tomorrow and would require all day to complete.

  Morning Star was thrilled but apprehensive. By tomorrow night she would know if she was to ride with Joe. She scolded herself for allowing her brother and best friend to shake her self-confidence. Yet what if they were right? What if she did lose? But surely it was not vain or wrong to believe in herself and her skills. Surely Grandfather had thrown her and Joe together to meet and to work as partners.

  Morning Star curled into a tight ball and clutched her stomach with her arms. She was nauseous, feverish, and shaky. Beads of moisture dampened her flesh and caused her hair and garments to cling to her body. She heard her stomach rumble in protest as something evil attacked and slashed at it with an unknown knife. Pain seared through her, and she trembled. Her perspiration increased. Her head ached. Her throat warned of a violent eruption in the making. Without pulling on her moccasins, she crept from her sleeping mat and entered the woods near their tepee, thankful for its close location during winter camp.

  For over twenty minutes, her body emptied itself. Her weakness increased, and the agony mounted. She shook from illness and fear. Her mouth tasted terrible. She felt awful. Dizziness swept over her, and she clutched a tree to steady herself. When she felt relief for a time, she cleaned the area as best she could.

  Morning Star went to the lake to wash out her mouth and to cool her face. She knew she wasn’t finished with the strange illness, but she had to lie down or risk fainting. She sought her mat once more.

  It wasn’t long before she was compelled to dash for the woods again. This time, Singing Wind followed her daughter and asked, “Nikuja he?”

  When she felt a little better, Morning Star replied, “Yes, Mother, I am sick.” She explained the curious illness. “What medicine do you have? I must get well before morning for the contest.”

  When Singing Wind asked where it hurt, Morning Star pointed to her stomach as she replied, “Lel mayazan.”

  “I will take you to your mat, then seek Payaba’s help.”

  Morning Star’s torment was too great to refuse, despite the late hour. Holding her mother’s arm, she return to her mat.

  “What is wrong?” Sun Cloud asked from the shadows.

  “Anpaowicanhpi li’la kujape.” She replied that their child was very ill.

  “Do you wish me to call Hawk Eyes to her side?” he inquired.

  “Hiya,” Morning Star refused in a weak voi
ce.

  “Do you wish me to call Payaba?” he offered.

  Morning Star nodded and said, “Han.”

  Sun Cloud went to the past shaman’s tepee and called out softly to avoid awakening others.

  “Tuwa kuja hwo?” The old man asked if he knew the problem.

  “It is Morning Star, Wise One.” The chief related the symptoms.

  Payaba gathered his medicines and followed Sun Cloud to his tepee. Singing Wind had started a fire to give light and to heat any water needed. The white-haired, slump-shouldered man went to the girl’s mat and knelt. Her parents hovered nearby, waiting and watching, praying and worrying.

  Morning Star and Payaba talked for a time. Then he went to work to prepare a medicinal tea from white oak, water avens, and several herbs to halt the diarrhea and vomiting.

  Before it was ready to consume, Morning Star knew she was about to be sick again. “I must go, Mother.”

  Singing Wind assisted her child into the forest. Morning Star was hunched over with pain, and she could not suppress her groans. When she was finished, they returned to the tepee. The younger woman sank to her damp sleeping mat, exhausted and frightened.

  When the tea cooled enough, Payaba handed it to the quivering girl.

  When he saw how she was shaking from weakness and fever, Payaba held the cup for her. “Drink, precious one. It will make the leavings of the body firm, not as the running of water. It will stop the food from retreating on the same trail it took inside.”

  Morning Star drank the bitter liquid, fearing it would return before her aching stomach kept it long enough to do its task. “I’mapuze.”

  “No, you must not drink water until the medicine heals you inside.”

  For several hours, Morning Star continued her treks into the forest, then returned to drink more tea. She fretted that the liquid was not working and she would grow weaker. Surely she had nothing left inside her body to expel!

  At last the bouts ceased and the herbs worked their magic. When she drifted off to sleep, Sun Cloud thanked Payaba and walked him to his tepee. The old shaman had warned Singing Wind not to give her daughter anything to eat or drink until he checked her, in two hours, in the morning.

  Sun Cloud cuddled his weary and relieved wife in his arms. He whispered into her ear, “I do not think she can enter the contest today. She is too weak. Perhaps it is the Great Spirit’s way of letting another win.”

  Singing Wind did not believe that was true, but held silent.

  The sounds of dogs barking, horses neighing, and people talking and laughing awoke Morning Star. She ached from head to foot. Her mouth was as dry as grass burned by a scorching sun after months without rain. Her stomach was sore from emptiness. Her throat scratched its discomfort. Her chest protested breathing after its exertions last night. She felt as limp as a wet cloth. She was in trouble…

  Tears misted her dark brown eyes and she fought to control them. She felt awful; but worse, she felt weak as a newborn. How could she participate in the events in the contest today: race, ride, battle a warrior, track, shoot? In her condition, even a strong child could beat her!

  “Help me, Great Spirit,” she prayed with all her soul and might.

  A day’s ride from the Red Heart encampment, Joe reined in his horse and stared at the scene before his wide eyes. He was in trouble… “God, help me,” he prayed with all his soul and might.

  Chapter Six

  A mounted Indian party had left the trees ahead and had taken a position in Joe’s path, watching him with brandished weapons.

  The blond-haired man knew it was too late to remove the armband— Sun Cloud’s safety token and a connection to the dreaded Sioux— and conceal it. His keen mind, which hadn’t detected their presence earlier, took in fifteen warriors who were ready to pursue him if he fled. Yet they appeared content to let him make the first move; be it one of peace, aggression, or cowardice. He was glad they were not wearing warpaint and hadn’t ambushed him before giving him time to speak. If he was lucky and clever, and if he made the right choice, maybe he could save his life. He ordered himself to appear unworried, as he’d heard that most Indians respected courage in a foe. He kneed Star’s sides and walked his roan toward the waiting men, hoping they were only curious about him.

  When he was close enough to view their clothing, Joe recognized the geometric beading design of the Lakotas. Realizing they were not Crow, relief washed over him like a calming wave. Then he remembered Morning Star telling him some bands hated whites and rode as renegades against them. If this was such a band and their hostility was deep, they might not honor Sun Cloud’s message. Yet all he could do was approach them.

  Joe reined in his horse and used the little sign language he knew. He greeted them by making a combination of three signals: sunrise, day, and good. He raised his right hand to neck level— palm out and with index and middle fingers touching and extended— then lifted his hand until his fingertips were even with his face: the sign for friend. Next he moved his left hand, palm up, to his waist and grasped it with his right, allowing his thumb to rest on the back of it: the sign for peace. So far no brave moved, spoke, or threatened him.

  The only emotion the chief exposed was interest. His black hair, parted in the center, was straight, breast length, and shiny. His most prominent facial feature was a long nose with a large base. His wide mouth was full lipped; and it was relaxed, neither smiling nor frowning. Joe decided the leader’s expression and mood were calm and controlled, as was expected of a man of his rank. An air of dignity exuded from the chief, who appeared to be a sailor’s knot under thirty. Then Joe noticed a clue to his identity, or hoped he had.

  “Lakota kitnla ia,” telling them he spoke very little Lakota. As he waited a response before continuing, his mind drifted for a moment. The elder Tanner Gaston— Powchutu— had taught his son Stede sign language and the Lakota tongue before returning here and dying, almost as if he’d known the man would need them one day. Stede had taught his son and had tried to teach Joe during the journey here and the winter at Fort Laramie. Joe found the Indian language difficult to learn. Their words were not positioned in the same sentence order as English: time was always mentioned first; adjectives and prepositions followed nouns; direct objects went before verbs; plurality was shown with verbs, not nouns; and certain endings identified the sex of the speaker or listener. In many cases, is and was were left out of sentences, which explained why Morning Star often skipped those English verbs. Too, the Dakota, Nakota, and Lakota dialects differed in some spellings and pronunciations; all reasons why he needed a translator for his coming task.

  When the Indians held silent, Joe pointed to his armband, which he was sure had been noticed, and told them he was Sun Cloud’s friend and cousin as the Oglala chiefs instructed. “Nituwe hwo?” he asked.

  “Sinte Galeska,” the chief replied. “Spotted Tail of the Brules. I speak white tongue. How is man with white face family of Sun Cloud of Oglalas?”

  With brevity, Joe explained his assumed identity and mission to the dark-skinned man wearing a raccoon tail as his medicine and name symbol. His guess was correct; the leader was Spotted Tail, a Brule, a tribe of the Teton branch, as was the Oglala. Tom Fitzpatrick had told him the names and tribes of the most important chiefs in the territory. Spotted Tail was said to be a clever man who was cautious and cunning in his dealings with the whites, a man who preferred truce to war.

  Spotted Tail had heard stories of Powchutu and the 1820 ambush, which had occurred three years before his birth. “Evil white men like mist, hard to capture. Wet hand give clue he been there, but bad spirit gone. I trade and speak with whites many times. Since trouble come, whites no trust any Dakota. It bad to see good and bad Indians as one people to attack. It good to seek peace; it hard to find between wolf, buffalo, and bird.”

  “Han,” Joe agreed. Indian Agent Tom Fitzpatrick had told him to use the Indian way of speaking to relax them, to reveal respect, and, of course, to be understood clearly.
His comparison was, “Game does not come to a warrior’s tepee; he must hunt it or starve. It is the same with truce; peace must be sought and taken into the body or it will die from war wounds.”

  A suppressed smile caused the chiefs eyes to shine. “You speak wise and good for white man,” Spotted Tail remarked. “Need more like you.”

  “Pilamaya.” Joe expressed his gratitude.

  Spotted Tail translated for his band before telling Joe, “We ride to Sun Cloud camp to speak of new trouble. War rides the wind this season. If you find victory, war not dismount to attack both sides. Go in peace, Tanner Gaston. You be safe in Dakota lands and camps.”

  Joe signed good-bye, then continued his journey. Thoughts of the two great chiefs he had met entered his mind. If all Dakotas were like Sun Cloud and Spotted Tail, he concluded, his search for truce would succeed. But he needed to work rapidly and victoriously before trouble changed their minds. If he didn’t fail and it went fast, he would be gone by fall.

  Morning Star wandered into his head at that possibility. He could envision her without closing his eyes. She was like stimulating rain that followed a drought; she refreshed his thirsty landscape, gave him new life, and brought beauty to his surroundings. Her aura was like the fragrances of certain flowers whose scents lingered in the air. Being with her was like riding waves in his ship: some were calm and quiet, others tempestuous and rough. He would love to take her on a voyage around the world on one of their ships, show her wonderful sights, and teach her many things. She was too brave and adventurous to be frightened by exotic lands and busy ports. She would be enthralled by all the world offered. There was so much that she didn’t know existed, and her hungry spirit would feast on all of it. She was eager to confront the unknown, to overcome obstacles, to endure hardships, to battle dangers. But her challenges were here in her land, for her people, in her culture.

  How could an Indian maiden with a simple rearing fit into an aristocratic setting— balls, dinners, theater, and such? He could easily sail anywhere with Morning Star, but he couldn’t take her into his society. His fear wasn’t that she would embarrass him, as the smart female could learn all the correct things. She would be beautiful in a walking dress with a parasol clutched in her dainty hand or in a riding habit racing over their plantation or in an expensive ball gown with her black hair piled atop her head. Yet she would be like a lost child in his world; she could be hurt, humiliated, and scorned. Too many whites feared and despised all Indians, viewing them as savages. What she lacked was the background and education to help her become an accepted part of the southern scene she would enter if…