When her father had died, she had stood at the back of the room, controlling her urges to scold those who laughed, smoked, and talked over her father’s lifeless body. By then she was older and she had learned the art of restraint.
Putting herself in Sage’s place, Leonida hurried into the wigwam. She stopped and gasped. Sage was obviously just as stunned as she at what lay in a circle around the fire.
Then she thought back again about the food that had been brought to her parents’ house when her mother had died. Everyone had outdone themselves making the most delicious food ever for the grieving family. At the time she had felt that it was wrong to eat the food; she felt as though they were having a picnic at the expense of her mother. But her father had explained that it was traditional for friends, neighbors, and relatives to bring food to the family of the deceased, as away to give their condolences.
It seemed that the Navaho were practicing a white people’s tradition, for never had she seen such piles of food. Although their crops had been destroyed and their animals slain or abducted, the Navaho had taken from their stores of food that which they wanted to prepare for their chief and family. The smells were delectable as they wafted into her nostrils. Her stomach growled, and she could actually feel her mouth watering. Then she remembered how long it had been since she had eaten.
She glanced over at Sage. She knew that he had gone much longer without food than she had. He even looked pale and gaunt from hunger. She had to see to it that he took advantage of the generous offerings from his people.
“Would you look at the food?” she said, grabbing one of Sage’s hands and moving him toward it. She gazed up at him. “I’m starved. Aren’t you? I don’t think I can get a wink of sleep if I don’t eat something.”
Sage eyed the food, actually weak from having gone so long without eating. If he thought back, he could not really remember the last time he had taken nourishment.
In fact, his eyes were blurring from the lack of food in his body. And although he did not like to think of eating during his time of mourning, he knew that he must. He must stay strong for his people, in order to lead them.
Sage allowed Leonida to guide him down onto a cushion of blankets beside the fire and the food. He gladly accepted a tray that she fixed for him, eyeing it hungrily. He waited for her to fill her own wooden plate with food for herself. When she finally sat down next to him, with corn fritters. sliced peaches, pine-needle tea, and various other offerings, and started plucking the different morsels up with her fingers, he dove in. Soon his plate was empty, almost without even a blink of his eyes.
Leonida giggled at how quickly he had emptied his plate. She set her own plate aside and refilled his. “Your people are wonderful cooks,” she murmured. “I hope one day to learn all of the secrets of Navaho wives, so that I can always have a delicious meal waiting for you.”
Sage put a hand on her wrist, urging her to set the plate down on the floor of the wigwam. “My wife, my stomach has been warmed by food,” he said huskily. “But now my heart needs the same sort of nourishment.” He drew her into his embrace, his mouth moving toward hers. “My wife, love me tonight. Help lift my burdens at least for a while.”
“I’m always here for you, darling,” she whispered, twining her arms around his neck. She glanced toward the closed entrance flap. “But what about Runner? He should be coming home anytime now. We can’t allow him to find us making love. He will learn soon enough the desires of the heart.”
“Runner is staying with Adam tonight,” he said, combing his fingers through her long and flowing hair. “When he asked, I thought it best. I thought perhaps I might not be able to sleep, with the sadness of tomorrow pressing down on my heart.”
“Darling,” Leonida whispered, taking nibbles of his lower lip, “let our lovemaking be a potion for your grief. Let it heal you. Pure Blossom would not want you to grieve so over her death. She wanted nothing more of life than to see that you were happy. Darling, you were her life, her reason for getting up in the morning. You were her every heartbeat. Through you, my love, she still lives.”
“You speak with the wise heart of a Navaho elder,” Sage said, smiling down at her as he framed her face between his hands. “Your words have touched my very soul. I love you. Oh, how I love you.”
His mouth bore down upon hers. He gently took her wrists and pulled her away from the fire and food, spreading her out beneath him, where blankets and soft pelts were laid across the floor.
He kissed her for a moment longer, then slowly, almost meditatively, removed her clothes. After she was splendidly naked before him, Sage stood up and began undressing, but stopped when she came to him and moved his hands away. She removed his clothes herself, her eyes locked with his.
“Forget everything tonight, my darling, except our passion for each other,” Leonida murmured, tossing the last of his garments aside. “Tonight, my darling, give yourself up to the pleasure. I love you. Let me show you how much.”
Smiling up at Sage, she took his hands and led him down over her as she lay down on her back. Their lips met in a frenzied kiss, and when she opened her legs to him, locking them around his waist, he began his eager thrusts within her.
“I love you,” she whispered as he slipped down to suckle one of her breasts. She twined her fingers through his thick black hair as pleasure spread through her body.
“Darling, darling . . .” she whispered in a husky voice she did not recognize as hers.
Once again his steel arms enfolded her, and with one insistent thrust he was in her again, magnificently filling her. She rolled her head back and forth, her body seeming to be one massive heartbeat, throbbing from her head to her toes with building excitement and anticipation.
Sage buried his fingers in Leonida’s hair and held her face still, his lips finding hers in a gentle kiss. He felt her hunger in the hard, seeking pressure of her lips. He was almost beyond coherent thought as the wild splendor spread its fire through him, the flames licking at his insides.
The passion was cresting.
He was soaring, flying higher and higher.
He moved himself more slowly within her, then faster, with quick and demanding thrusts.
Soon his body turned to liquid fire, and he grew dizzy with the passions exploding within him. He clung to Leonida as his body spasmed into hers.
She cried out against his lips as she gave herself over to the bliss of the moment, feeling him pressing endlessly deeper as he plunged again and again into her.
And then they lay cuddled together, breathless. Sage stroked her back. “Tonight we perhaps made a child?” he whispered against her cheeks.
Leonida’s eyes widened and her breath slowed. “Darling, the way you said that makes me think you would wish it to be so,” she said, leaning away from him so that she could see him clearly. “A short while ago you spoke against having a child. What has changed your mind?”
“My wife,” Sage said, brushing a kiss across her lips. “You are the reason. You should never be denied anything as precious as having a child. And, my beautiful Leonida, you have ways of convincing your husband that the future is not all that bleak after all. Perhaps a child would heal many of my deep-seeded wounds, caused by the injustices of the world. A child is an innocent thing. A newborn child gives one the feeling of a rebirth for all things. Our child, Leonida. Our child would do this for this Navaho chieftain.”
“Then I pray that I can tell you soon that I am with child,” Leonida whispered, her lips trembling against his as she kissed him.
“I would wish for a daughter first,” Sage whispered against her lips. “She will be called Pure Blossom. My sister would be alive, always, in our child.”
“That is such a beautiful thought,” Leonida sighed. “I shall whisper it to Pure Blossom tomorrow while I help prepare her for her burial.”
Sage hugged her tightly to him. “You are so very special,” he said, his voice breaking. “So very, very special.”
Cha
pter 28
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday—
—JOHN CLARE
The next morning everything was solemn again between Sage and Leonida as they ate their early-morning meal. Leonida understood Sage’s silence as he sat staring into the flames of the fire, after scarcely touching his food. Soon they would be placing his beloved sister in the ground, far from the place where their ancestors had been buried.
This too seemed to tear at Sage’s insides. Resentment toward the white man burned within him like a fire spreading. Suddenly he turned to Leonida. “There is much to be asked of you today,” he said.
Leonida’s eyebrows rose questioningly. She set her wooden platter aside, her own food half-eaten. “What do you mean?” she murmured. “What are you going to ask me to do?”
“Last night you spoke of helping prepare my sister for burial,” Sage said, gently placing a hand to her cheek. “My wife, I must ask more of you than that. I must ask you to prepare my sister for burial alone.”
“Alone?” she gasped. She had dreaded even assisting the other women, yet she felt that it was required of her because the dead was Sage’s sister. “Why must I do this alone? Everyone loved Pure Blossom. There will be many of your women who will want to care for her.”
“As time goes on, there will be many customs of my people that you will learn,” Sage said thickly. He caressed her chin with his thumb, then moved his hand away from her face. “Today you will learn one of the most important customs of the Navaho.”
“And that is?” Leonida prodded, yet she dreaded hearing the answer. The thought of being alone with Pure Blossom, readying her body for burial, frightened her.
And how was she to know what to do? It would be bad enough to be with Pure Blossom now, seeing her so stone-cold in death and remembering how vital she had been even with her affliction. But to take on the duties of readying her for her grave?
Yet how could she say no to her husband?
“The Navaho people are very hesitant to touch a dead person, and outsiders, non-Navaho, have always been recruited to prepare the dead and to remove the corpses from their dwellings,” he explained, his eyelids heavy as he gazed at her.
“But how could that be possible?” Leonida asked softly. “The Navaho live a secluded life, away from the others.”
“It has not always been that way,” Sage said bitterly. “I recall the neighboring Pueblo, who when I was a child were always ready to come to the aid of their friends, the Navaho. And although so many Kiowa were our enemy, there were some friendly bands with whom we exchanged favors.”
Sage doubled his hand into a tight fist at his side. “But now there are none we can call friends or allies,” he said in a hiss. “The white people have seen to that. Those who once allied themselves with the Navaho are now scattered like blowing grains of sand in all directions of this earth. The customs of the Navaho must change because of this.”
His eyes softened and he took her hand in his, squeezing it lovingly. “But today there is one among us who can help as my sister is prepared to travel to the Country of the Ghosts, the destination of human beings after death. You, my wife, are the one we will depend on today. Can you do this for your husband and his people?”
Leonida swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Yes, I will do this for you,” she said, flinging herself into his arms and hugging him tightly. She still dreading her task with all her might, but if this could help lighten his burden, then so be it. She must do it. Yet a thought struck her that made her pull away from Sage.
“But I don’t know what to do,” she blurted, timidly looking up at him. “How can I do this if I am not shown?”
“You will not be shown, but you will be instructed by Gay Heart, a close friend of Pure Blossom’s,” he said, his voice breaking. “She will tell you what to do. Everything.”
“Oh, I see,” Leonida said, though she still did not feel any better about it. The responsibility frightened her, for what if she did something wrong? Would this affect the burial rites? Would this change the course of Pure Blossom’s journey to the “Country of the Ghosts”?
Her thoughts were catapulted back in time, to the day before her mother’s funeral. Although Leonida had not been very old, she had been forced to accompany her father to the mortuary. Her knees had trembled as she stood at his side while he made the burial arrangements and chose the casket. It had been so morbid to her, she had become ill, choking back the urge to retch as her father ushered her quickly out of the dark and gloomy mortuary.
She shivered at the memory of standing aside and watching as her mother was prepared for her final resting place in the casket. Several women had fussed over her mother in her bedroom while preparing her for her casket. Earlier, the women had chosen the dress that she would wear. It was black and sequined, nothing at all like her mother would ever have had in her wardrobe.
Leonida had shuddered as they combed her mother’s hair into a tight bun atop her head. She had been proud of her long, flowing golden hair.
But it was the makeup on her mother’s face that made Leonida want to shout at the women to get away from her. With all the makeup they put on her porcelain-white face, these women made her mother look like a circus clown instead of the sweet and soft-spoken person she had always been.
Remembering these things made it easier for Leonida to accept the responsibility of Pure Blossom’s appearance. She would let no one make her look like a clown. She would make sure that Pure Blossom was not a mockery of the way she had been in true life, so sweet and giving, so loved.
“There is someone else that I must approach about Pure Blossom’s burial,” Sage said, his jaw tightening, his eyes suddenly filled with tormented anger.
“Who?” Leonida asked, moving to her feet along with Sage. As he dressed himself in his dark velveteen breeches, and a velveteen shirt to match, Leonida also dressed in a garment devoid of bright colors and frills. It was a full-skirted gingham dress with a high collar and long sleeves. As she waited for Sage to respond, she brushed her hair until it lay across her shoulders and down her back in glistening, golden waves.
Sage bent over and pulled on a knee-high buckskin moccasin. “Kit Carson is aware of the Navaho’s tradition as well,” he said, pulling on his other moccasin. “I must go to him. I must seek his help. If he agrees, then tonight, as the sun sets, we will make bargains between us that will best suit us both.”
“You’re not going to ask him to help with the ceremony?” Leonida gasped. She went to him and put a hand on his arm. “Sage, surely you wouldn’t.”
“I thought about this hard and long into the night,” Sage murmured, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. “Kit Carson has known the Navaho many moons. He once was a friend. Perhaps drawing him into the ceremony of the Navaho might bring friendship between us again, not only between me and Kit Carson but between him and my people, as a whole.”
“But he has said, time and again, that he cannot make decisions that will affect the welfare of your people without the direct order from the president,” she said, her voice guarded. She was not sure just how much the Navaho men accepted their wives’ debating their decisions. Until now Sage had seemed open enough with her to make her believe that she could be as open with him.
“He has more powers over decisions than he allows anyone to think,” Sage said, smiling smugly. “If he helps with the burial before he knows that I am ready to set him and the captives free as payment for his help, then he will prove to me that he is worthy of my chancing to trust him again.”
“What are you going to ask him to do at the ceremony?” Leonida asked softly, doubting her husband’s logic for the first time since she had met him. This man, this Kit Carson, was not to be trusted ever again.
“He will be asked to remove Pure Blossom’s body from her dwelling,” he said, his voice drawn. “He will carry her to her final resting place and lay her there. By doing so, he will align himself with
the Navaho again. And while doing this, he will be aware of the full meaning of his sacrifice. He will expect to receive his freedom. He will expect to see the Navaho as friends then, instead of enemies. He will follow his heart then to do what is right by them.”
“I hope you are right,” Leonida said, more under her breath than aloud.
He lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. “Let me explain the belief of the Navaho burial ritual to you,” he said softly. “Then as you witness it, you will understand. After you have prepared Pure Blossom for burial, her body will not be taken out the doorway, but through a hole broken in the north wall. The wigwam will then be abandoned and never entered again by any Navaho. Pure Blossom will be carried to a high, commanding bluff that overlooks the river. Such a serene place of burial is desired because of its solemn dignity.”
He stopped and cleared his throat. Talking about the burial of his sister pained him deeply. “My sister’s soul will have to undertake a long journey before it reaches its destination. Somewhere along the way her spirit will stop and drink at a large hole in the ground, after which it will shrink and pass on to the ‘Country of the Ghosts,’ where it will be fed with spirit food and drink. After this act of communion with the spirit world, her spirit may not ever return.”
Sage drew Leonida into his embrace. He stroked her waist-length hair. “It is my belief that my sister’s soul waits to be released from her frail, twisted body, then to be a thing of beauty in the hereafter.”
“I would like to think that also,” Leonida said, gazing up at him with tears in her eyes.
“I must go and speak with Kit Carson,” Sage said, easing Leonida from his arms. “My sister awaits your arrival.” He leaned a soft kiss to her lips. “My sister will somehow know your obedience and kindness to her. I will thank you for her.”
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