Brave Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  Serena nodded and did as Little Swallow instructed. She watched as the Lakota woman took some of the fresh sage and vigorously rubbed her body with it. Serena followed her example and found the fragrant scent of the sage encircling her as she finished scrubbing herself with the plant. As she sat there cross-legged and naked, a sensation of peace blanketed her. Struck by the utter naturalness of being with nature in a way she’d never fathomed, Serena found herself eager to learn more from Little Swallow.

  Dreaming Bear began bringing in glowing red rocks, one at a time, on the tines of an elk antler. Each of the first seven rocks to be placed into the deeply dug pit was blessed with the stem of a pipe held by Little Swallow. She told Serena to place a pinch of sage upon each rock to welcome it as her relative, for then the rock spirits would work their powerful healing on her for showing such respect. Soon there were twenty red-hot rocks in the pit.

  The flap was drawn down, plunging the sweat lodge into complete blackness. Already, Serena was beginning to sweat. She heard Little Swallow dip the ladle into the container with water. She threw the water on the rocks. In seconds, hissing, hot steam shot upward and filled the lodge. Perspiration dripped from Serena, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of heat combined with steam.

  The moments flowed together as Little Swallow began to sing one Lakota song after another. The music of her voice united with the warmth of the steam and Serena began to feel odd sensations. They weren’t uncomfortable sensations, no, they were wonderful, giving her a sense of tranquility that seemed to move like a living, breathing thing within the darkness of the lodge.

  The women remained in the sweat lodge for four rounds, and at the end of each round the flap was lifted to allow the steam to escape. Then more glowing rocks were placed into the fire pit, more water was added, and the door closed once again. By the end of the fourth round, Serena felt a new kind of strength, something she couldn’t define. She only knew that when she crawled out of the door and stood with the other two women’s help, she felt reborn.

  They took Serena to the river and sluiced cold water across her to cleanse her of the sweat drawn out by the lodge ceremony. Next, they made her kneel on the bank and scrubbed her hair with hupestola, soapweed. Dreaming Bear used the herb, wild bergamot, a very sweet-scented flower, to rinse her hair, leaving it smelling clean and fragrant. Serena was very weak by that time, so after the women dried her off, they sat her on a flat stone, wrapped in a wool blanket.

  Dreaming Bear brought forth the purple coneflower root that had been painstakingly ground to a fine consistency and mixed with bear grease. As gently as possible, she applied the healing herb to the burns on Serena’s breasts, the whole time murmuring soothing sounds. Then, with old and trembling hands, the elder bound Serena’s breasts with soft buckskin to protect the seeping wounds so that the herb could work its healing magic.

  Serena wished she knew more Lakota to thank Dreaming Bear for her care. The elder treated her as if she were a frightened child, constantly clucking and soothing her with pats and touches to her shoulder. Next, they dressed her—this time in a lovely gold-colored buckskin dress with beading across the shoulders and down the arms. As Serena stood, each woman bracketing her, she felt her knees go wobbly. All the exertion, the excitement and strain combined to make Serena feel suddenly faint.

  Little Swallow made her sit down on a fallen log so that she could place a pair of beaded deerskin leggings on her calves and moccasins on her feet. She turned to Dreaming Bear. “I will ask Wolf to come and help. She is too weak to walk, and we cannot carry her.”

  Serena watched Little Swallow leave. She touched her damp, fragrant-smelling hair, which was badly tangled and hung in thick ropes about her shoulders. She looked up at the woman who had stood at her side, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Dreaming Bear.”

  With a toothless smile, Dreaming Bear patted her gently on the shoulder.

  Serena saw Wolf appear at the top of the bank minutes later with his sister. He wore a worried expression, but when he saw her, his eyes darkened with some undefinable emotion.

  “Wolf, she is very weak. Will you carry her back?“ Little Swallow asked in Lakota.

  He tried to contain his surprise at how lovely Cante Tinza looked. The gold buckskin emphasized her pale features, but the curled, damp strands of the hair that framed her face made her look beautiful to his heart. “Yes.”

  By now, Wolf knew he must approach Cante Tinza slowly, so he held out his hand toward her. “Come,” he coaxed.

  Serena gave Little Swallow an uneasy look and tried to stand up. “No! I can walk. Let me walk!” Her protest was cut off as Wolf easily slid his arms beneath her back and legs and lifted her. Serena gave a little cry of alarm and stiffened as she was brought against him.

  “Safe,” Little Swallow said, patting her arm as she walked beside her brother. “You safe, Cante Tinza.”

  Wolf tried to swallow his hurt over her reactions. He could feel Cante Tinza trembling in his arms, her hands tight against her body. He was alarmed at how light she was, and as he walked, he caught his sister’s attention.

  “Do you have any stew?”

  “Yes. For Cante Tinza?”

  “As usual, you read my thoughts,” Wolf grunted.

  With a pleased look, Little Swallow said, “I will send one of my daughters over with a small kettle of deer stew. Let her eat all she wants.”

  * * *

  Mortified that she’d had to be carried, Serena was never so happy as when she was deposited outside Wolf’s tepee. She tried to ignore his long fingers wrapped around her arm to ensure she did not fall as she climbed through the opening. The warmth of the tepee and the fragrance of the dried herbs conspired to ease her fears. Wolf released her once she sat on her pallet. He went over to a parfleche and drew out an elk-bone comb.

  “Here,” he said, making motions for her to comb her hair.

  Stunned by his sensitivity to her needs, Serena reached out for the comb. She took a handful of the damp strands and slowly drew the teeth of the comb through them. Minutes later, a little ten-year-old Indian girl came in with a small kettle of stew, which she placed over the fire. Then she silently left. Wolf busied himself by stirring the fragrant food in the kettle, and occasionally he glanced over at Cante Tinza.

  The silence deepened in the tepee as he pretended interest in the kettle of food. The sounds of snorting horses, talking men and laughing children gently permeated the buffalo-hide walls. Wolf saw pain flit across Cante Tinza’s face when she tried to lift her arms above her head to comb. She would wince, bite down on her lip and try again.

  He placed the wooden spoon aside and moved over to her. She was on guard instantly, but this time there wasn’t as much fear in her eyes as he crouched in front of her.

  “Here,” he said, holding out his hand and asking for the comb. She hesitated, then gave it to him. Wolf realized that Cante Tinza’s breasts were still very sore, preventing her from lifting her arms high enough to comb the tangled hair on top of her head. He would do it for her.

  He slowly moved his hand toward her hair, aching to touch the burnished strands. “Safe,” he told her as his fingers barely touched the crown of her head.

  Serena winced and cowered.

  Wolf froze. She was acting like a beaten dog. His heart bled for her, and again he murmured, “Safe.“ He ran the comb through her damp, strong strands, trying to tame them into place. With each stroke of the comb, Cante Tinza relaxed more and more. Then, Wolf remembered that his songs, his chants, had stopped her from becoming restless and frightened when she walked in the shadowy darkness of unconsciousness.

  Serena heard low, soft sounds begin in Wolf’s chest as he continued combing. She closed her eyes, relenting in degrees. Each time his fingers barely grazed her scalp, her skin tingled wildly in response. Wolf’s chant went on, subdued and deep, and Serena responded. No longer did she clench her hands in her lap, or cringe. Instead, with each stroke of the comb, she straightened
a little more.

  She had never been touched by a man until Blackjack had raped her. Serena would never forget his groping, bruising touch. Now she was in awe of Wolf’s size, and yet despite his hands being so large, he was incredibly careful combing her hair. Wild, confusing emotions began bubbling up through Serena, and she didn’t know what to feel or do. She had never seen before a man comb a woman’s hair. Was it ever done? Struck by how different Indian men were from white men, Serena could do nothing but sit there and hungrily absorb Wolf’s occasional touch to her scalp, and listened to the wonderful song that somehow fed her starving soul.

  Wolf felt the vibration of the song flowing through him like a thunder being sending his sound across Father Sky. He watched his song work a miraculous kind of magic on Cante Tinza. No longer was her face pale. Instead, a rosy blush stained her gaunt cheeks, and her compressed lips softened and parted in the wake of his ministrations. He had great satisfaction in feeling those strong, fiery strands of hair flow in and around his fingers. She had strong hair, like a horse’s mane, and that was good.

  Finally her hair, which hung in copper-colored sheets below her breasts, was combed, and looked like a fiery, shining cape. Wolf allowed his hands to drop to his thighs as he shifted into a kneeling position. As her lashes lifted, his breath lodged in his throat. Cante Tinza’s green eyes were filled with gold flecks of sunlight, not the darkness of fear. He silently thanked White Buffalo Calf Woman, who had brought the seven sacred ceremonies to his people, for her intervention. Cante Tinza’s lips were parted, and Wolf wanted to reach out and touch them, to explore their shape and their texture with his fingertips.

  Wolf controlled his desire, for he realized that somehow the song had created a fragile bridge of trust between them as he’d combed her hair. With a slow gesture, Wolf pointed to her hair and then to his braids. She would be unable to braid her hair herself, and he could do that for her, too. But would she allow him? He held his breath.

  “Han?” he asked.

  Serena blinked, caught within the webs of the chant he had been singing. It felt as if the baritone music was still moving through her. Her scalp tingled, and Serena could smell the sweet fragrance of the wild bergamot in the folds of her hair. She lifted her gaze and met Wolf’s inquiring eyes. When he pointed to his braids, she understood. Her arms were weak, much more so than she liked to admit, and Serena knew she could never braid her hair right now. Perhaps, in a few days, but not now.

  “Yes…please?“ A part of her looked forward to Wolf’s butterfly-light touch once again. She saw pleasure shining in Wolf’s eyes. His chiseled mouth drew into a smile, and she felt as if the sun itself were shining down upon her. This time, when he gathered up her hair to braid it, Serena did not wince. Nor did she cringe. She sat there consuming Wolf’s touch, which somehow was healing her. How could that be?

  Just as Wolf completed the second braid, about to tie it off with a bit of deerskin, a scratch came to the door.

  “Enter,” he ordered.

  Serena looked beyond where Wolf kneeled beside her. She saw Deer Woman come through the entrance. Her young face was bright with happiness until she saw them together.

  “You!” Wolf growled. He quickly knotted the piece of deerskin and rose in one fluid motion. “Where have you been? Half a day has passed.”

  Pouting, Deer Woman lifted her chin defiantly. “I was with Swift Elk! Why do you snarl at me, Black Wolf? I was getting us dinner for tonight!” She tried to hide her jealousy. She knew that only a husband combed and braided his wife’s hair. Wolf was braiding the wasicun’s hair. Oh, how she had dreamed of Black Wolf someday coming and braiding her hair. Pain twisted through her heart, and she couldn’t accept the fact that he wanted the stranger.

  “You left Dawn Sky alone—agin,” Wolf snarled. His nostrils quivered with fury as he moved around the altar and fire to face Deer Woman. Her young lips were set with petulance. He pointed to the baby who had just been fed by her wet nurse. “And Cante Tinza had to take the baby from the cradleboard because she was crying and wet. You call yourself a help? I think you ran off with Swift Elk because you are lazy, Deer Woman. I will not continue to tolerate your lack of attention to my niece.”

  Deer Woman’s lower lip trembled. She glanced angrily over at the red-haired wasicun. “She is the reason I left! I got us food!” She held up the rabbit. “Swift Elk gave me one of the rabbits he killed.”

  With a cutting gesture, Wolf silenced her. “If you ran off with him to make me jealous, it is of no avail, girl. You have made me angry, and I do not forgive you for leaving my niece alone and unattended. We already have enough meat. If you’d looked in the other parfleche, you would have seen the dried buffalo meat.”

  Hanging her head, Deer Woman bit down hard on her lip. “I—I did not mean to displease you so, Black Wolf. I only wanted to help.”

  Wolf didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t palm off his niece on his sister. He glanced over at Cante Tinza, whose eyes once again had become shadowed. Realizing that he’d raised his voice and caused her to fear him once again, Wolf forced himself to speak in a more reasonable tone. “Do you want to stay here?”

  “Oh, yes! Yes, I do, Black Wolf. More than anything.“ Deer Woman pleaded with him. “Let me stay. I give you my word, I will stay around the tepee.”

  Wolf didn’t believe her, but what was he to do? He dug into Deer Woman’s golden eyes, luminous with such undisguised love for him that he felt nothing but compassion for the girl. “I will give you one last chance, and then I will send you back to your mother if you displease me.”

  Eagerly, she walked over and picked up Dawn Sky, nestling her in her arms. “Thank you, Black Wolf. I promise, I will be of more help.”

  Wolf didn’t like the jealous look Deer Woman threw in Cante Tinza’s direction. He wasn’t even sure she realized that the girl was jealous of her. That could be dangerous, as Tall Crane had warned him. Unhappy, and still grieving over his sister’s death at the hands of the miners, he left the tepee. He had a healing ceremony to perform later that night for another family, and he couldn’t afford to remain in a black mood. No, the Great Spirit asked all healers to be of peaceful mind and of good heart when they performed such a ceremony.

  Still, Wolf was needled by the deadly look Deer Woman had given Cante Tinza. Surely the girl wouldn’t do anything harmful. Yes, she was frivolous and young, but not mean or cruel in her heart.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Serena realized the entire Lakota camp was being moved. Deer Woman had quickly packed all the supplies into parfleche containers and rolled up the buffalo robes. Serena left the tepee and gazed around the camp. Activity filled the air, cutting through the fog that rose off the river in silent fingers and wove through the dark green, thick bulrushes that lined the banks.

  Serena tried to stay out of the way as Deer Woman hurried back and forth between the tepee and the packhorses that would carry most of their goods. Horses were fitted with travois, which would carry not only the heavy buffalo robes, but the hides that created the tepees. Where was Wolf? She missed his presence. He had not returned last night before she fell asleep. Had he come home at all?

  Deer Woman placed the cradleboard containing Dawn Sky into Serena’s arms, asking her to watch the baby. Serena wanted to remain warm in the late October chill, so she took the infant closer to one of the large cooking fires still burning. Above her, the sky was pale blue and cloudless. Pine trees surrounded her in every direction.

  Serena sat on a log with the cradleboard in her lap, and inhaled the fresh scent of pine. Everywhere she looked, the Lakota were busy. She began to appreciate how the people all worked together for the common interest of the community. Even the children, no matter what their ages, seemed to have duties assigned to them, and they willingly carried them out.

  There was such peace here, Serena realized. How different from her life of near starvation in Wexford, Ireland, and then the deepening nightmare of her months in Am
erica. The smell of wood smoke, the steam from horse’s nostrils, the yip of dogs and the laughter of children all conspired to make Serena feel as if she were part of some large, undefinable family.

  From the center of the village, Serena saw Wolf on a small black horse that pranced eagerly in the chill of the dawn. Her arm tightened automatically about the cradleboard as she realized he’d spotted her and was coming in her direction.

  Today, he wore several brown and white eagle feathers in his hair. The buckskin shirt and leggings outlined his proud form. In Serena’s eyes, he was a magnificent warrior. Even the black mare realized that her master was special as she arched her neck, and proudly lifted her fine, delicate legs. Serena gulped as Wolf’s dark eyes met and held hers. Instantly, her heart picked up in ragged beat, but this time it wasn’t out of fear—it was out of awe.

  She recalled the morning the miners had attacked the Lakota women, and how, at the last second, she’d seen Wolf ride up to the rise just above her. That was her last conscious memory, she suddenly realized. So much of that day’s events was blocked—until just now. On one side of the horse, to the rear of the cottonwood saddle draped with a red wool blanket, was Wolf’s shield. There was a running black wolf painted on it, with red flannel over the top edges of the shield, and a dozen eagle feathers sewn below. The shield looked as if it were alive as the horse danced beneath his guiding hand and legs.

  Her gaze lingered on Wolf’s expressionless face. In his own fashion, he was ruggedly handsome, with high cheekbones and a broad, lined brow, his mouth full and chiseled, his nose hawklike and thin. The authority surrounding him as he rode with such ease made Serena feel light-headed.

  As Wolf drew near, Serena saw his dark eyes grow warm with silent welcome. She felt shaky as he pulled the black mare to a stop a few feet from her.

  “Hau kola,” he greeted.