Powchutu shook his head as if refusing to allow her to accept even a small portion of the blame. “You know the evils I committed. Gray Eagle did not leave you to die that day. He knew you would be safe during his absence: the fort had been destroyed, and the Indians had a truce or were busy celebrating their mutual victory. After I shot Gray Eagle, I wished a thousand times I could bring him back to life. I mourned his death and could not savor such a bitter victory. I was tempted to sing the Death Chant for him, but couldn’t find the courage. It had been easy to plan my treachery, but so hard to carry it out. I had sworn he would never lay eyes or hands on you again as long as I lived, and Gordon almost made that vow come true. I was the one who should have died for my wickedness. I had no right to inflict such savage wounds upon your trusting heart or to make you suffer for two days in the desert. While we were staying with Joe Kenny, I saw you return to the girl you had been before your capture, the girl Gray Eagle had viewed and desired at the fortress. It was then I realized his love and desire for you were real, but it was too late, or so I believed. If only I had known he still lived, I would have returned you to his side and sacrificed my life to make peace between you two. What I did to you and to others was cruel and unforgivable, but I’ve changed. I’m not that same man you met so long ago.”
Shalee reached out and caressed his leathered and wrinkled face. She smiled and softly debated, “We were as much at fault as you were. There were so many secrets and obstacles between us. We were all wrong, and we all suffered. You only did what you truly felt was right. You must forgive yourself as we have forgiven you. You must forget all bitterness and hostility as we have done over the years.”
A look of curiosity and surprise roamed his features. He had not anticipated her attitude and behavior. She was still so generous and trusting. “We?” he repeated the intriguing word.
Shalee smiled once more and nodded. “Gray Eagle understands what you did and why. There is no reason to be rushed or afraid. I speak the truth and from my heart; he does not hate you or wish you dead. The war between you two was a terrible mistake. Many times he has said he wished you still lived so all could be made right between you two. I am so happy you are alive and you have returned. There is so much to tell you, and so much for you to tell us. You are family.”
Confusion filled his dark eyes and creased his brow. “How can such words and feelings be true?” he inquired skeptically, and hopefully.
“How can they not be, my friend and brother? You honestly do not know who or what you are, do you?” she asked mysteriously, eyeing him closely and intently. He was alive, and he was here. Prayers had been answered; wrongs could be righted, and peace could be forged. At last, the son of Running Wolf and brother of Gray Eagle could take his rightful place in life. At last, evil could be conquered. Looking at him, speaking with him, and being with him brought back memories of good times and good feelings. It seemed like yesterday or only last year when they were so close. The years of doubts and torments seemed to ebb like gently vanishing waves.
“I am the son of a Crow woman named Tamarra and a French trapper named Pierre Gaston. Since I recovered my memory, I have been living under the name my father gave me, Tanner Gaston,” he responded, yet he sensed this was not the response she was evoking. “I was born a despised half-breed, but I have been living as half-French/half-Spanish.”
“You are wrong, Powchutu. Yes, your mother was Tamarra, but your father was Running Wolf. You are Gray Eagle’s half brother. That is why you two favor one another. That is why you kept being pulled back to the Indian world. That is why the Great Spirit never allowed you two to kill each other. That is why you have been drawn home this sun. That is why Gray Eagle does not hate you. He mourned your death. Listen to your heart, Powchutu; can you not hear and feel this bond to us? They were mistaken when they believed and claimed I was Black Cloud’s Shalee, but this is no mistake or lie. You are the son of Tamarra and Running Wolf; this I swear on my life and honor.” She waited for his reaction, almost holding her breath.
Even as Powchutu recalled how many people—Joe Kenny, Alisha Williams, Jeffery Gordon, and others— had voiced their awareness of his similarity in looks and character to Gray Eagle, his head began to move from side to side in mandatory denial of her shocking words. He recalled two meetings with Chief Running Wolf of the Oglala. He recalled his confrontations with Gray Eagle. He recalled certain words his mother had said…She had told him many times never to become the enemy or betrayer of Running Wolf, but she had never explained why a Crow woman should speak such words about a Sioux foe. In a fever, at her death, she had told him, “Leave the white man’s world and evil, my son. Go to Running Wolf. Tell him you are the son of Tamarra. Accept him and be happy.” He remembered the day the mirror had told him why Alisha had been susceptible to him and to his treachery: his heavy resemblance to Gray Eagle! Was it possible…?
Powchutu wondered if this revelation explained why he did not favor the short, blue-eyed, blond Pierre Gaston in the slightest. True, he did not look like a half-breed; he looked Indian, and had passed for Spanish with his dark skin, hair, and eyes, especially without braids and dressed in white garments and speaking the white tongue. Yet, as he refuted her words, he somehow knew them to be true. “How can this be? If it were true, why did my mother never tell me? Why did Running Wolf or Gray Eagle say nothing? Why would they let me live in agony and shame? Why would they make me their enemy? How did a Crow maiden gather the seeds of a Sioux warrior?”
Shalee sighed heavily, wondering how she could explain such an injustice, an injustice which had done so much damage to so many innocent people. She certainly could not excuse either Tamarra’s or Running Wolfs action. She remembered what it felt like to be deceived, especially by those you loved and trusted. “Gray Eagle did not know the truth until fifteen years ago, and we both believed you were long dead. I do not know why your mother never told you, and I cannot forgive Running Wolf for not doing so, especially after he saw you in Black Cloud’s camp and realized what that secret had done to you and your life. All I can say in his defense is he did not learn of your existence until shortly before I arrived in these lands in ’76. You were a grown man, a scout for his white enemies, and your mother had married one of them while carrying you. When your mother became ill and knew she was dying, she sent word about you to Running Wolf. He tried to doubt her claims, to deny them and you. He was a proud and stubborn man, Powchutu. How could he claim a son by an Indian enemy who was now working for his white foes, by a woman who, to him, had betrayed his love and commitment by joining another? How could he accept a son who did all in his power to help wipe out his tribe and others? A son who was filled with hatred and contempt for him and his people? A son whose mother wed a white man and slept with him while carrying you? A son he had been denied all of the boy’s life? A son he felt it was too late to claim? Times were so bad then, Powchutu; he felt he could not tarnish his name and rank by claiming you. He did not know you or understand the man you were. He was confused and embittered. And I also believe he feared you would hold him to blame for your mother’s secret and your misery, that you would reject him and shame him before his tribe and others. I think he feared the rivalry and hostility between you and Gray Eagle. You do recall how it was between you two in those terrible days?” Shalee hinted pointedly.
Then she continued. “I believe Running Wolf thought it was less harmful for all concerned to let the lie stand. When he died in 1783, he was a sad and guiltriddled man who was burdened by his costly and painful secret. My heart ached for him, and for you. I do not think he ever got over what their lie had done to you and had caused you to do to others. He did love you and want you, Powchutu; this much I do know and believe,” she vowed earnestly.
Powchutu sank into pensive silence, permitting this news and its effect on his life to consume his thoughts. He could not forget the things he had done out of pride, jealousy, greed, selfishness, honor, helplessness, anger, and love. Who was he to j
udge his mother or father? Yes, he believed it was true. His heart and thoughts had always been Indian. There had been times when he had dreamed of Running Wolf as his father and Gray Eagle as his brother. He had always felt this strange attraction to them, some curious bond, some intangible clue. Perhaps he should have guessed it long ago and challenged Running Wolf to deny him and his birthright. That day when he had stared into Gray Eagle’s eyes before shooting him, he had felt… Felt what? he asked himself, and was unable to reply. It all made sense. Yet, there was a puzzle here…
He looked into Shalee’s entreating eyes and questioned, “How did you learn such things? If Running Wolf died many years ago, how did Gray Eagle learn them only a few years past? I am confused.”
“Now,” she advised, “you are the one who must be patient, for the telling of this story is long and painful.” Shalee related the 1782 episode involving her amnesia, the violent intrusion on their lives by Leah Winston, and the near-fatal wounding of Running Wolf. “While I tended him during his delirium, he revealed how you were his first-born son, a full-blooded Indian; he cried out for you and begged for your understanding and forgiveness. He talked of how he had secretly loved your mother and wanted to marry her, but their tribes were fierce enemies and their fathers would not make truce. He told of how Tamarra was traded to a French trapper and was lost to him, until she appeared at the fort to work there. He was stunned to learn you were his son, but he believed it. He suffered greatly knowing you had been condemned to the life of a half-breed. He wanted to acknowledge you, Powchutu, but he said he was too cowardly to take that risk.”
Shalee added, “He was glad Gray Eagle had spared your life at the fort and in Black Cloud’s camp. You recall how he came to visit you while White Arrow held you captive after my escape?” She prompted that particular memory. “He wanted to tell you then, but could not. He saw how much trouble there was between his two sons, and he feared what his confession would inspire. After all, you were all Indian and you were his first-born son. If others accepted his claim on you, that would have placed you above Gray Eagle. How could he allow his two sons to battle over the chiefs bonnet or cause dissension during such perilous times? He thought in time things would work out for all of you, but when you tried to slay Gray Eagle in the desert, he realized how deep your hatred and rivalry were. Even so, he loved you; he understood your actions and motives, and he mourned your loss till his death.”
Shalee inhaled deeply, then confessed, “I never told Running Wolf about his confession. He died believing no one knew his dark secret. There had been so much anguish and trouble because of our connection that I thought it was best to allow your ghost to remain buried, so I kept silent to my husband for many years. I did not want Gray Eagle to know his worst enemy was his own brother. I thought you were dead, and it would have served no good or logical purpose to stir up tormenting memories.”
She fused her gaze to his and then finished. “Until we thought you had been reborn in a child by Mary.” She told him about her son Bright Arrow and Joe Kenny’s daughter Rebecca. She could tell he was stunned to learn of Mary’s pregnancy and of the loss of their child, and he was saddened visibly by the news of Mary’s sufferings after his alleged murder and of her death from cholera. She exposed the facts of Bright Arrow’s exile and his battle to return home. “After our son’s return to us in the winter of 1804, I knew the past must be resolved for all time; that is when I told Gray Eagle about you.”
Powchutu had gone by Kenny’s cabin while tracking Alisha after his memory returned, but it had been uninhabited and locked. He had been standing near his first child’s grave, ignorant of its existence. He must think about and pray for his lost child and Mary later. His path had led where the Great Spirit willed; this he knew for certain. Just as he knew the woman sitting before him had prepared his heart to accept his rightful destiny. After departing these lands, he had been happy and successful; he had been rewarded for his many losses and sacrifices. His love and life had not been here, but his return to and death in his people’s sacred lands would complete his Life-circle. “News of our matching bloods birthed Gray Eagle’s forgiveness?”
Auburn braids teased at her breasts as she nodded. Natural skepticism filled his eyes. It would take awhile for him to accept such a staggering revelation and its effects on him. “I am sorry you never had the chance to really get to know him, Powchutu. He is strong, but gentle. He is a kind and giving man. He is understanding and wise. His people love and admire him and follow his lead. I worry so about him these days. He has done all he can for peace, and wars only when necessary. We have so many white foes. To capture and destroy Gray Eagle and his legend, the soldiers would bargain with the Devil. He is the essence of the Indian: their spirit, their mouth, their image, their courage. Without him, all would have been lost long ago. But like you, he is getting weary and his body tells him daily he is no longer a young warrior. I am glad you have returned at this time. You can tell him all you have learned about the whites and give him advice. You can make peace and, for once, brothers can battle enemies, not each other.”
“You do not know how happy you have made me, Alisha. I must speak with Gray Eagle; there is much to say between us.”
“He hunts with our sons and his band. Come, we will return to our tepee and await him. All will be good and safe; you will see.”
Since the others were resting or working inside their conical homes, no one saw them as they walked to and entered the large and brightly decorated tepee of Chief Gray Eagle. After Shalee served Powchutu buffaloberry wine and dried fruit pones, she pressed him anxiously. “Tell me where you have been and what you have been doing all these years.”
“First, you must complete your story,” he coaxed, eager to hear how she had spent these many years with his half brother. “Start from your first day in these lands, and leave nothing untold.”
Shalee laughed and teased. “You are as impatient as a child of two.” But she waxed serious as she confessed, “It is strange that you return from the grave on a day when I was reliving my past within my head. Fears and apprehensions fill the spaces in my heart and mind where joy does not reach. I command myself not to worry or be afraid, but the greed and evil of the white man are spreading so rapidly.” She lowered her gaze to prevent him from reading the remaining truth which was surely written there: his return seemed to signal Fate’s callings for those whom his Life-circle had touched or interlocked…
To distract herself from her tension and doubts, she did as he asked. He was amused and astonished when she revealed how years ago she had traveled to Williamsburg to lay claim on Jeffery Gordon’s estate as his legal widow and heir. She had sold everything and then returned home, using the money to purchase guns and supplies for her adopted people. She talked about her family and friends, those dead and alive. Anger and bitterness crept into her tone as she related incidents similar to those he had witnessed or participated in when he had been a fort scout. “The soldiers attack camps when they are vulnerable or the warriors are away. They seek to destroy the warriors’ homes, families, and supplies. They burn and slay all within their evil path. Then they scorn us and attack again for our retaliation. They cannot even be content with trampling some tribes to the earth; they crave the annihilation of all Indians. I fear for the lives of my family and friends; I fear for the survival of our people. You come at a good time and a bad time, my brother, for the whites are massing men and supplies for what they hope is a final attack on the Oglalas. You have lived as white, but you carry Oglala blood; now you must choose your fate. If you side with us, you will probably die before winter returns to our lands.”
Powchutu knew he could leave the Black Hills and Dakota Territory this very day and return to a life awaiting him in New Orleans, just as he knew, if he did not, her warning would come true. He had known that the moment he had decided to come here. “Even if it costs my life to face Gray Eagle once more, I had to come before I left Mother Earth. I have no time or energy le
ft to share with guilt and bitterness. The past is gone forever as each sun’s crossing of the sky. Here, I will live out my remaining days in peace, honor, and love. If my brother and his people will allow it, I will fight at his side and he will be my chief. Soon, my Lifecircle will be complete; this I knew when I left the white lands to return home.”
A voice which had not lost its strength and tone over the years replied from the tepee entrance, “Your words are true and wise, my brother. Before my second son was born, a vision came to me from the Great Spirit. I saw our father dying upon his mat when a warrior stepped from the nearby shadows. It was Gray Eagle; yet, it was not. I wondered, who but my son could reflect my face? When I learned of your existence as my brother, I understood and accepted that vision. My heart is full of joy and confusion at your return. Speak of such a victory over death and our past enemy,” Gray Eagle encouraged as he came forward and sat down near them. His gaze roamed Powchutu’s face and body, and he needed no white man’s shiny glass to tell him how much they resembled each other. He was surprised and pleased that no hidden resentment and hatred surfaced against this man who had been his fiercest enemy and rival.
Bittersweet Ecstasy Page 4