Spirit of the Lake

by Paty Jager

  “Are all marriages of the heart? Are not many made for convenience when the man is of an age he only feels a protector?” Crazy One showed the black gap in her teeth as she smiled a mischievous smile.

  She thought of the married couples she knew. “That is true. There have been many warriors who marry the wives of their brothers… But you said the Creator wishes Wewukiye and I be together.” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know this?”

  The idea warmed Dove more than the flames licking toward the smoke hole above. Did the Creator really wish them to be together? But how? She removed her shawl and sat cross-legged across from Crazy One.

  “Is it not in the way your gazes meet and the power my uncle has given you?”

  Dove smiled. Yes, Wewukiye had given her power. The power to love not only him and herself but the child growing in her. She lovingly ran a hand over her belly. They would be a family once she gave birth and the truth came out about Evil Eyes.

  “We wish to go to Lapwai. Do you have an idea of how we can without the elders and Thunder Traveling to Distant Mountains stopping us?” She picked up the small piece of buckskin she’d worked and worked to make soft and supple to use for the baby’s first tunic.

  Crazy One set her project to the side and stood, staring into the fire. She stood so long, she began to sway. Dove started to rise to catch the old woman before she fell into the fire. Crazy One’s eyes closed, and she began chanting. Her body swayed to the rhythm of her words.

  Finally, the woman opened her eyes, and a smile revealed the gaps in her teeth. “Is it not your vision that shall set you free?” Crazy One patted her head. “Do you not sleep well and dream?”

  “I don’t understand.” Dove watched the woman drop herbs in a wooden bowl of water. She used a stick and picked up one small glowing rock and added that to the water and herbs.

  The water stopped simmering, and Crazy One poured the liquid into a smaller bowl. “Is not tonight the night of dreams?” She held it to Dove’s lips.

  “I don’t know what dreams has to do with going to Lapwai?”

  The woman pressed the bowl to Dove’s lips and tipped. She drank to keep the liquid from pouring down her front. The bitter drink nearly gagged her, but she drank and wiped the awful taste from her lips with the back of her hand.

  Crazy One patted her head again. “Is it not time to sleep?”

  Dove stared at Crazy One. The old woman’s motions jerked and blurred. Dove raised her hand to pull the rawhide ties from her hair, but her arm could not lift the weight. Crazy One grasped her shoulders and settled her onto the tulle mat and blankets, covering her with a heavy, warm buffalo robe.

  “What did you give me?”

  “Was not your vision quest many seasons ago? Did you not come back forgetting you saw your weyekin? Will not this drink help you see things clearer?”

  My weyekin? Dove’s eyelids refused to remain open. Darkness descended.

  White flashed bright and sunny. Heat warmed her face and the sun sparkled on the lake in the valley down below.

  Le’éptit

  (20)

  Her dress barely covered her skinny adolescent knees as she scrambled through the summer bushes. Her mother, too sick to make her dresses, her grandmother too feeble, left Dove to wear garments others gave her. Her bare feet scuffed through the decaying foliage under the great pine trees. She sat on a large flat rock high above the lake and watched the sun shimmer and glisten off the blue surface.

  Rumbling in her belly reminded her of her quest. When her father sent her into the forest four days before he had said, “You cannot eat or drink. Keep your mind open for your weyekin to speak to you.”

  She picked at the moss on the boulder and tossed it over the side. No one had ever spoken to her without giving orders. Her father had wanted a son. Her mother fell ill after her birth, and her grandmother no longer remembered the simplest tasks. The day she was born the sun had disappeared leaving the world black for a period of time. Many believed the sun’s hiding during her birth brought hís·qi, bad luck upon her.

  As soon as she could handle the smallest of chores, her aunts showed her the things a grandmother would usually teach a young girl. After this quest, at ten summers old, she would be given all the adult tasks on her own. Why didn’t her father marry another? Most warriors had several wives. Another wife would help with the chores.

  The warm sun relaxed her body. Her eyelids drooped, and soon she no longer stared at the shimmering lake. Blackness surrounded her, wrapping her in a dark warm blanket, tossing her worries and fears away.

  Something bumped her arm. Sleep held her heavy to the rock. The nudging continued. With much effort she pushed her body to a sitting position, rubbed her eyes, and blinked.

  Big brown eyes and long lashes behind a black pointed nose stared at her. Fear did not squeeze her chest. She held her breath in admiration of this beautiful doe.

  “You seek answers?” The soft words came from the animal, yet her mouth did not move.

  “A-are you my weyekin?” Dove reached out to touch the animal. The doe stepped back.

  “You must remain loyal to your people. One day you will sit with a White man and that talk will help your people and set you free.”

  “What do you mean? I do not—”

  The doe pivoted and gracefully leaped away.

  Dove snapped awake and stared at the smoke hole in the top of the dwelling. She placed her hands over her child. Why did she not recall her visit from her weyekin until Crazy One made her drink the nasty liquid?

  She shook the sleep from her mind and thought about her dream and her vision quest. She now remembered running down the mountain to her village. She tripped, rolling and tumbling. Disoriented and confused, panic and fear jumbled in her head. If something happened to her who would take care of her parents?

  Her hysterical arrival at camp covered with twigs and dirt and bleeding in many places had brought shame to her family. They thought her appearance meant she could not take care of herself in the woods. They never asked her about her weyekin, and she had let the incident disappear from her mind.

  Her arm cradling her child tightened. She would never mistreat her child. Understanding and love would be the nourishment this child would receive.

  Tonight, during the nightly singing and storytelling in the great lodge, she would sing of her weyekin. The elders would have to see she must speak with the agent. Dove pulled the buffalo robe up under her chin and smiled, thinking of traveling with Wewukiye.

  «»«»«»

  Wewukiye had wandered the river area all night as an elk trying to form a plan for a trip to the Indian agent. Everything he came up with would raise the elders’ suspicions. He stepped out of the cave, focusing on the encampment below and Crazy One’s dwelling. Dove stepped from the structure and stared directly at the cave entrance.

  His heart raced. They could only be seen together in the presence of Crazy One after the sentries found her alone in his cave last night. He had little doubt the two had already informed Thunder Traveling to Distant Mountains what they discovered.

  Dove’s essence wrapped around him as if she stood next to him. I remembered my gift to my people.

  That is good. I have not come up with a plan. He hurried down the side of the gorge toward the encampment eager to join her. Crystalline frost squeaked under his feet and glistened over the ground.

  He arrived at Crazy One’s tipi, his breath puffing in small clouds. Excitement fluttered in him like a quail taking flight. He wished to learn of her gift and to be near her.

  Dove stood by the dwelling her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, and her face glowing. A warm smile she bestowed only upon him lit her eyes. “There is no need to hurry. Crazy One is heating the kouse.” She motioned to the log in front of the tipi. Frost glittered on the smooth surface.

  “Bring a blanket to place upon the log.” To treat Dove any differently because of the child would make others wonder about their relations
hip. Only the elderly whose bones did not deal well with cold would cover a log. He, however, could not allow her to take chances where the baby was concerned.

  Dove tipped her head and ducked into the dwelling. He scanned the village, others mingled around their tipis, girls collected wood, men returned from their morning bath, placing their weapons at the ready by the entrances. In seasons past, this was done in preparation for warring tribes, now it was done in fear of the White man using their non-treaty status to take their home.

  Dove joined him. A wool blanket draped over one arm, and she carried two steaming wooden cups. She handed the cups to him and folded the blanket on the log, dry seating for the two of them.

  They sat. He held a cup to Dove. Their fingers touched, and he savored the spark of their meeting.

  The brief touch ignited his desire for her. Just gazing upon her, he yearned to draw her into his arms. To touch her… his body sprang to life and wished to cling to her like the fluff of the cottonwood to rough surfaces. Within sight of the band, they had to keep a formal distance.

  I wish to spend more time in your arms. Her eyes reflected her need to draw him close as well.

  We must keep our feelings hidden around others or we will have to wait to meet away from prying eyes.

  She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling in a deep sigh of resignation.

  A woman sauntered by.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, in a non-committal tone loud enough for the woman to hear.

  “I had a dream I wish to sing about tonight.” Dove glanced at the woman and took a drink. “I remembered the day I met my weyekin.” She stared into the steaming cup of broth. “She was a doe. Her large brown eyes and slim muzzle stalled my breath at her beauty. The gift she bestowed on me will save my people.” Dove’s eyes shone with hope. “This is why I must see the agent William.”

  Wewukiye wanted to embrace her excitement, but he had to ask what he knew the elders would ask. “How is it you are now remembering this?”

  She bit her bottom lip and raised eyes shimmering in tears. Her mouth twisted in a sullen smile. “Have you heard why my parents do not stand up for me?”

  Heartache and pain flashed in her eyes before tears glistened in her brown gaze.

  “No. I have wondered from things you have said, but I did not ask Crazy One. I wished to hear your feelings.”

  She swiped a fist across her eyes and stared at her feet. “The day I came upon this earth the sun hid, casting the day into night. My mother never regained her strength. My father said I brought hi·sqi to our family by being born during the dark day.”

  Wewukiye wished to pull her into his arms and show her he did not believe her to be bad luck. Being born during the eclipse of the sun gave her the power he recognized.

  “The day you came to this earth, during the dark day, gave you the powers that now grow with each moment we touch. Your ability to speak with me without words and sense the evil in others is special, not a curse.”

  Dove started to place a hand on his arm and quickly drew it back. If only they did not sit among the encampment. Anguish seared through his body for her. “What does this have to do with you forgetting your weyekin?”

  “After my gift was revealed, I ran down the mountain to tell my family. I tripped and rolled, gathering sticks, dirt, and scratches. I feared for my parents should something bad happen to me. I entered the village my heart racing. My father accused me of panicking in the wild and further proving my hi·sqi.” Dove stared into his eyes, her strength shining like a thunder storm. “I believed my father correct in my unsound qualities and did not remember my encounter until last night. Crazy One gave me a drink and suggested I would recall my gift.”

  Wewukiye shook his head at her strength and the disgust he harbored toward Dove’s father and the holy man who had not discovered her true essence.

  “Has your stomach not been rumbling since you woke?” Crazy One exited the dwelling carrying three wooden bowls of mush.

  “Qe`ci`yew`yew.” Wewukiye took the offered food even though he did not require the nourishment.

  “Did you sleep well and have good dreams?” Crazy One asked Dove, squeezing between she and Wewukiye on the log to sit upon the blanket.

  “Yes. I remember my weyekin and gift. I will sing of this tonight.” Dove scooped the mush with her fingers and ate.

  Wewukiye smiled at her appetite. It was good to see food did not upset her stomach anymore. Her cheekbones no longer appeared sharp and her skin glowed a healthy bronze. Her shawl and large dress hid the growing child, but he had the privilege of feeling the slight bump and yearned for the day he held her child in his hands. The baby would be the future of the Lake Nimiipuu. He felt this as strong as he felt Dove’s txiỷak.

  “Will the elders not question your singing now?” Crazy One asked.

  “They will. If my father is there he will learn the story of how his disfavor blinded my memory. His disfavor of me has been on my shoulders all these years, but tonight, I will toss it off.”

  The defiance sparkling in her eyes worried Wewukiye. “Do not mention me or your txiỷak, only the gift of your weyekin. While there are many who would understand, there are those who have taken in the word of the so-yá-po’s God. These people would not understand.”

  “Thunder Traveling to Distant Mountains is a dreamer. He once told me the day I was born was a sign of good not bad.” She narrowed her eyes. “At the time I did not believe him. And with his actions since my attack”—she stared into his eyes, shook her head—“I believed he thought otherwise now.”

  Wewukiye glanced at Crazy One. The woman smiled and nodded. Her meaning was clear. Dove’s time had come to show her people she cared for them.

  “Will you come to the ceremony tonight?” Dove asked. I wish your presence.

  Her plea flowed through him melting his resolve to stay distant from her people. He feared too much contact with anyone other than Dove and Crazy One would grow suspicion about his history. To enter the communal lodge would open him up to the band. He would be expected to sing of his gift. Panic, an emotion he experienced once as a child when the band found out about his father’s bad judgment and crowded around his father and his siblings, twisted in his belly.

  “Is it not time you stepped among the people completely?” Crazy One leveled an inquiring stare on him.

  His gaze darted from the old woman beside him, to the village coming to life, and settled on Dove.

  I need you to watch the people and give me strength.

  “The ritual of singing of your gift is sacred. I cannot sing of my gift. It will bring too many questions.” He stared at Dove, willing her to understand.

  “You do not have to sing of everything. Is there not a gift you have that you could sing about?” Dove started to reach toward him. Crazy One grasped her hand, holding it in hers.

  “Do you not have the gift of travel to bring people together?” Crazy One nodded. “Can you not sing of your travels?”

  Wewukiye’s heart lightened. He could be there for Dove. He could sing of his travels. Of the people he knew. The things they taught him.

  “Yes. I have many stories of my travels.” He peered into Dove’s eyes. “This journey I take now with you will have a satisfying ending for all.”

  Elation bubbled within as her eyes signaled she wished for the same ending. He did not know how, but Dove and her child would be a part of his life from this day forward. Even if he had to become mortal. A shiver raced down his back. Never in his years as a spirit had he thought of becoming mortal again.

  The qualities he favored as a spirit would make a great leader. Arrogance, decision making, authority figure. He stood. Being mortal would also make him vulnerable and temporary. A chunk of frozen lake landed in his gut; cold, hard, and jagged. He did not want to be mortal. He needed time away from the woman whose essence plagued him with desire and fuddled his mind.

  “Where are you going?” The uncertainty in Dove’s voice
led him to believe she read his mind.

  “I must think about what I will say tonight.” He focused on her face. “I will return for the ceremony.”

  He strode from the village and up the side of the canyon. Images swirled in his head, the passing of his seasons of being a spirit. The wonders he saw and helped perform. Sorrow clenched his chest and fear, an emotion he’d forgot, pricked his memory as the vision of his brother’s body and mind slowly decayed while as a mortal.

  Wewukiye glanced down the canyon to the cluster of teepees. His gaze sought Crazy One’s dwelling. Dove stood beside the structure watching him. The fear lessened thinking of her, but the images of his aged brother lingered.

  Could he do that for Dove? For her child and their people?

  Le’éptit wax ná-qt

  (21)

  Dove stood outside the communal lodge. Her heart thudded in her chest. To sing of her vision now after all these years would throw suspicion on her. But it was the way of her people, and her gift would forge her path to the agent.

  Each person who entered the lodge stared as they passed. She had avoided such events since Evil Eyes’s attack and living with Crazy One. The old woman had entered already, but she could not. She waited for Wewukiye. The stricken expression on his face that morning plagued her all day. What had twisted his features and put fear in his eyes?

  A slip of moon gave little light. She stared into the darkness. Where are you? Am I to do this alone?

  I am coming. We should not enter together.

  His words brought a smile to her lips. He would never let her down. He was the only person she could count on.

  Her father approached the lodge. He stopped and ushered those behind him to enter. “Why are you here, daughter?”

  “To sing of my weyekin.” She pointed her chin up and peered down her nose at him. She would not let her father take away her assurance.