As the large group rode away, women and children watched them take their leave, as did the warriors left behind to guard the camp.
Morning Star, Singing Wind, and Buckskin Girl watched until their loved ones were out of sight. Concern filled each woman.
“Come, we have chores,” the oldest woman told the younger two.
“What if this plan fails?” Buckskin Girl worried aloud.
Morning Star murmured with undisguised trepidation, “It must not. But I fear the change the Indian agent made in it. Broken-Hand does not want Orin to know he walks into a trap. It is clever,” she admitted, “to have Black Moon waiting for him to destroy any suspicions. It will be good if Sky Warrior can learn why Orin does this evil thing. But this deed has many dangers. Sky Warrior will be bound and helpless among many foes. He could be slain before soldiers or our warriors can help him. When Snake-Man sees he is trapped, he will strike at Sky Warrior before his capture or death. Broken-Hand wishes to prove enemy tribes can work together, but it is dangerous to let the Bird People share in this great moment. Black Moon has proven he is our foe and Orin’s friend. Why must they ride to his camp to seek his help? It may defeat the sacred vision.”
“No, my daughter, it is a good plan,” Singing Wind refuted in a gentle tone, trying to conceal her own fears. “It will draw us together for future peace. It will force Black Moon to give up his bad ways. He does not wish to anger the soldiers and whites. He fears them more than he fears the false spirit. He will obey and help. When the evil white man and his men see Black Moon, they will approach and be trapped by forces working together.”
“I understand such hopes, my mother, but I do not trust him, and it was not in Payaba’s vision. Evil is strong this season and seeks to defeat all that is good. I should be there, for all know Sky Warrior rides with a squaw.”
Singing Wind patted her shoulder. “Your tasks are over, my child. Women do not ride into battle with men. There is no need to risk your life again. Your presence would worry and distract others and it could anger Black Moon to learn the daughter of Sun Cloud tricked him many times. It is dangerous to walk on a man’s pride; it make him behave bad.”
“What if Black Moon slays them when they reach his camp? Do you not fear for Father’s life? Do you not know what a great coup Black Moon will earn if he slays Sun Cloud and Sky Warrior? All he must tell other whites is they did not reach his camp. If he buries their bodies, Mother, who can prove he lies? If the agent is slain, there will be no peace. Snake-Man will pay many guns and supplies to stop the treaty. Black Moon’s heart is filled with greed and evil. What is to stop him?”
Singing Wind had thought of such grim possibilities, but cast them aside. “Grandfather will not allow such evil to win over good. You must believe the sacred vision, my daughter. You must learn to trust and accept past foes. It is the new way. What is more important than peace and survival?”
“Can you accept and trust past foes, Mother?” the girl probed.
“I must, for the sake of our people. But your words and eyes carry a different question. Speak it, Morning Star. What worries you more?”
Payaba had joined them during Morning Star’s list of worries. “Do not fear, my child,” he coaxed. “Victory will be ours. What you must say to your mother must be spoken to her alone; it is not for the ears of others on this sun. Go with her, Singing Wind. Listen with your heart and mind. Know what she says is the will of the Great Spirit, for I saw it in a vision. I did not speak of it because Grandfather held my tongue. Go, Morning Star, and tell the words in your heart and mind; this is the sun for them.”
“You know what I must say and do, Wise One?” she queried with torment in her gaze and voice.
His eyes filled with wisdom, his mind controlled by insight, and his tone tinged with grief at her impending loss and sufferings, Payaba nodded. “Yes. It will be hard and much pain will come from it, but it must be done. It is your destiny, your sacrifice, your Life-Circle.”
“Is there no way to make it easy, Wise One?” she fretted.
The gentle and tender-hearted old man shook his head of white hair. “No, little one. The path you must soon walk will destroy your old one. Do not lose courage and faith. It is the will of Grandfather.”
“No,” Singing Wind murmured in alarm and anguish, guessing what the two meant, what she had feared since the white man’s arrival. “It cannot be. It must not be. It is wrong. Bad. Shame and dishonor. He is of your blood, Morning Star. Turn away before it is too late.”
“No, Mother, he is not—”
“In your tepee,” Payaba interrupted. “Nothing must destroy peace.”
Singing Wind and Morning Star obeyed Payaba’s soft order, both noticing the way this matter affected their elderly friend.
Inside, Singing Wind faced her only daughter and urged, “Tell me what I fear is not so. Tell me you do not challenge a loss of face and dishonor.”
Morning Star dreaded this confession, but it was time to make it. Now that Payaba had revealed it was part of the sacred vision, she had the courage to expose her feelings and intended departure. “I love him, Mother. I will go with him to his land and join to him when the mission is over. When Father returns, I will tell him of my choice.”
Singing Wind’s eyes enlarged with panic and disbelief. She had feared her child would come to love the paleface, but had believed she would remain true to her heritage. She imagined the effect of this news on Sun Cloud. “How can this be so, my daughter? He is of Sun Cloud’s bloodline.”
“He is not. His name is Joseph Lawrence, not Tanner Gaston.” While her mother gaped at her in astonishment, Morning Star explained the ruse and the reason for it. She related Joe’s true identity. “I am sorry I tricked my parents and people, but Grandfather commanded it. You said nothing was more important than peace and survival. Can you deny words you spoke from your heart?”
Singing Wind was distressed, but she tried to remain calm. She had to reach her daughter and change her mind. Her voice quavered as she reasoned, “That was before I knew of such lies and tricks, my daughter. You will be banished forever. The whites will not accept you among them. They will see and treat you as a wild savage; they will make fun of you, for joining with Joe. Have you not thought of such torments? You must be true to your blood and your people, to your ways and laws. We did not teach our child to shame herself and her family. How can you accept white laws, enemy ways, their god? How can you leave our land forever? How can you eat, dress, live, and behave as white? How can you raise the grandchildren of Sun Cloud, bloodline of Gray Eagle and Brave Bear, as palefaces, half-breeds? You will destroy a great bloodline; you will hurt and shame your father deeply. You will never see us again. Whites will insult you, hate you, reject you. How will you feel when the new treaty is broken, as Payaba warned long ago? Which side will you choose then, my daughter—his or ours? You cannot take both.”
“I have thought of such things, Mother. They trouble me, but I will face those challenges when they appear. Joe is the sacred warrior, Mother; he has done all the vision said. Did you not hear Payaba? This is part of the vision; it is my destiny. The Great Spirit put us together many moons ago when I was a captive of the evil whites. He would not do so if it was wrong to love and marry Joe, for He knows all things. He gave us special time together to work for peace and to yield to our love for each other. He has not separated us or slain us for such feelings. He has not punished us, so how can our love be wrong?”
“He allowed your weakness to continue for the good of our people.” Singing Wind realized how much her daughter had learned from the white man. Morning Star was stronger and more confident now. “What if Grandfather proves to you this joining must not be? If He says you cannot go and the white man cannot stay, will you obey Him?”
“Yes, but that will not happen,” she replied with certainty. “You say the whites will not accept Indians, but they did not reject Powchutu and Stede. They did not scorn Bright Arrow and Clay Thorne when they li
ved among them. The Great White Father, their President, commanded acceptance and friendship. We must do the same.”
“Powchutu, Stede, Bright Arrow, and Clay were accepted because they all passed for white and none revealed their Indian blood in words or deed. Your face cannot fool the whites.”
“Joe says they will think I am from a land far away. They will think I am a… bride he found while riding his ship over the big water. The ocean,” she corrected. “You say I must be true to my Oglala blood. How will that be so if I defy Grandfather’s sacred command? The treaty will be broken one day, if I go or if I stay; my actions do not control that bad deed.”
Singing Wind knew she was losing the battle to save her child and to spare Morning Star from terrible wounds. If only she and her husband could have talked to Joe first, they could have made him realize he would destroy the woman he loved if he took her to his enemy land. Perhaps when Joe returned, she and Sun Cloud could convince him to sacrifice Morning Star and leave her here where she belonged. “How can you love and join a paleface, my daughter?”
“How could Grandfather love and join a white woman? How could Bright Arrow love and join a white woman? How could Black Cloud love and join a white woman? If it was not wrong for them, why is it wrong for me? Life can be strange, Mother; Life-Circles sometimes join with enemy ones. Your mother was to join Gray Eagle, but Grandfather chose a white mate for him. Your father loved her, too. If Chela and Gray Eagle had wed, you would not be here. That was His will. Grandfather sent Powchutu into the white world to find and marry the real Shalee, to have a son who could return to bring peace. That was His will. Bright Arrow desired you and the chief’s bonnet, but Father won both. That was His will. The Great Spirit gave my uncle a white woman to love, to bear his children, to give one to the Cheyenne chief, son of a chief who joined a white woman. All of these Life-Circles have touched on some moon. Yet both sides said they were forbidden, wicked, shameful. How can that be when they were powerful and victorious? All found happiness with true loves that could not be denied, that were destined. It is the same with me and Joe.”
Singing Wind felt her heart drumming in alarm at one sentence. “What do you mean, Powchutu joined the real Shalee?”
“I know the truth, Mother. Joe did not tell me. I heard Father speak it to him and ask him to tell no one about my grandmother. I do not care she was white; Alisha/Shalee was a great woman, an honored legend. I have told no one I know the truth; I did not tell Joe I heard those words. I only speak them now to you in secret to prove our union will work. You scolded me for using lies and tricks, but my grandfather and father did the same to win their loves and to keep peace. I cannot hate half-breeds; Sun Cloud, Bright Arrow, Night Stalker, and Morning Star are mix-bloods. Can you hate my child who will carry two bloods, as your husband does? Did the truth about Alisha change your feelings for her? Do you scorn Gray Eagle for joining a white? No, no, no, Mother,” she answered the three questions with accuracy. “Powchutu was full-blooded, son of a great chief, but he was forced to suffer the life of a half-breed. We must learn to feel with our hearts, not judge with our eyes against those who look different from us.”
“Your words touch my heart, Morning Star, and make me proud,” Singing Wind declared. “But change takes time. Love controls you, so you are blinded to many things. You think your choice will work because you want it to do so. Powchutu was raised half white, my daughter; Shalee/Sarah was raised all white, so they were accepted by the palefaces who did not know their secrets. Rebecca earned her way into our tribe by risking her life for Oglalas and Cheyenne, as did Bonnie Thorne. Your grandmother was believed to be half Indian, daughter of Chief Black Cloud, so she was accepted. Such is not true with you, my daughter. You are Oglala; you were raised Oglala. You cannot become and live as white.”
“Alisha was born white and raised white,” Morning Star countered, “but she became Blackfoot and Red Heart. She was worthy of Gray Eagle. The same is true of Rebecca Kenny with Bright Arrow. Why can I not do the same with their people? Why is it not bad for Sun Cloud’s father and brother to have forbidden loves, but is bad for his daughter to love and join Sky Warrior from a sacred vision? Joe risked his life for Red Hearts, and he is blood brother of Sun Cloud.”
“They accepted our ways and joined us. For you to join him, you must accept his world. How can a maiden with the bloods of Gray Eagle, Black Cloud, Running Wolf, and Sun Cloud deny her bloodline, people, and ways to love an enemy, to sacrifice all she is and knows?”
“He is not our enemy,” Morning Star protested softly in dismay.
“But his people are, and a wife must go with her husband and accept his band as hers. Yes, there are many good whites, and we will make peace with them soon. But it will not last; they will not change. What then?”
“Can I deny what Grandfather places in my heart? Can I refuse to walk the path He has planned for me?”
“If it is His will, my daughter. I do not understand it. If such is true, I will not stand in your path. But it will be different with your father. He is chief. All watch what he and his family do. He will not believe or accept this until the Great Spirit proves it to him.”
“How will He do this, Mother?”
“I do not know. If it is, he must obey it; but he will never accept it, for it means the loss of his daughter. He will be forced to turn his back, to deny you, to banish you, as is our law. The Red Hearts yielded for Gray Eagle and Bright Arrow, but not until much suffering was endured. It will cause worse trouble to ask them to do so again for the bloodline of their chiefs. That will say Gray Eagle’s line wants white mates.”
“But Father married you, an Indian.” Morning Star contended, “Night Stalker, the next chief, is joined to an Indian. Bloody Arrow, chief after him, has no mark of the white man on him; the bloodline is strong and pure again in my brother’s son. I am a woman and cannot become chief. My sons are not in line for the chiefs bonnet. Why must our people care if mine is broken? Why must they order me to stay here and to join an Indian, a man I cannot love? It is not fair or good, Mother.”
“You are Oglala and it is our way. If you defy our law, your father will be forced to never speak your name again, to never look upon your face again. Can you shame and hurt him this way, our child? Many suns from now, will it not harm your feelings and marriage when your husband’s people attack and slay Oglalas? When they steal our beloved lands? When they try to put us on reservations after our strength and will are broken, as they have done with other Red nations? When the people you have chosen kill or rule all you loved, what will you feel? That moon will come, my child, for Payaba has seen it. Do you love Joe this much?”
Tears ran down Morning Star’s cheeks, but she did not brush them away. They dropped to her buckskin garment and made dark spots there. Her heart ached, and a heaviness burdened her chest. Despite what her mother had said about her being too blinded by love to see this matter clearly, such was not the case. She realized how hard a break with her life would be. She realized how difficult and intimidating—and perhaps painful—her new challenge would be. She had agonized over her decision; she had not rushed carelessly and selfishly into it, as she knew it affected many people.
Yet the full reality of her choice had just hit her. Hearing the things she had feared spoken aloud was different than when her mind gave those warnings in silence or gave them while Joe was near with his love and assurances. She considered the many challenges and sacrifices: a mysterious world far away, filled with strangers who might reject her, unfamiliar customs she must learn, an unknown religion she would be expected to embrace, the necessary demand of hiding her race and upbringing, the strain of behaving as a paleface every day, accepting the fact she was dead to her family and this life. Banished forever. Live as white until she died. Never see her family. Hurt her loved ones. Never come—
Singing Wind intruded on her concerns. “Can you become white, Morning Star, forever?” she asked. “What will happen to you there if Joe dies bef
ore your training is complete? You will be alone in an enemy land. What if his parents do not accept you and they reject him for joining you? What if his friends leave his side? Will he remain happy with you? Is his love enough to receive in return for so many sacrifices? Does his love have the strength to help you win the many battles you will face? Think on this more. Once you choose, my daughter, your path leads but one way.”
Chapter Eighteen
At Bear Butte, the lookout rode into the clearing to report that a wagon and seven men were sighted: six white-eyes and Wind Bird. The party had halted an hour away while two of the men rode toward them to scout the area. It appeared that Orin McMichael was taking no chances this time, though the red-haired man with an unusual half-beard had not been seen. It was presumed the trader was staying concealed in the “white tepee.”
Everything was ready, every precaution had been taken. Black Moon and a few Crow were camped at the regular meeting site. Soldiers and Red Hearts were concealed behind trees, rolling hills, and bushes that encircled the location, but at a safe distance to avoid discovery by the approaching scouts. Horses, except for the Crow’s, were tethered a mile away to prevent their sounds from alerting the prey to a cunningly baited trap. The signals were arranged—one by Joe and/or one by Tom Fitzpatrick. No one was to fire a weapon or make any movement until either or both was given. Then they were to fire only in self-defense, as they wanted all villains captured alive.
Joe’s hands were bound behind his back and he sat on the earth before a tree. Clay’s rifle was aimed on his spot for quick rescue if things went badly. Other sharpshooters had weapons trained on the scene to make certain no lawbreaker escaped, particularly the boss. Joe and the others would bide their time until Orin’s motive was uncovered, if possible. Then the trap would close around him and his gang.
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