Strange, how differently some things were treated within the red world. Such a private matter was strictly taboo for discussion in Cecile’s previous life.
Lone Eagle cleared his throat and stood. “I go to seek the company of my father and a conversation more suited to a man.”
She gave a distracted wave and leaned on her knees, waiting for more from the old grandmother. Rain Woman was like a well that never ran dry, and as the hours passed, Cecile found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open and her attention focused.
Feeling a kiss against her forehead, she peeked through half-lidded eyes and saw Lone Eagle spreading a blanket over her. “Where is Rain Woman?” she asked through a yawn. “I didn’t hear the end of the story.”
Lone Eagle shrugged. “She must have returned to her lodge. You were asleep when I came in.”
As she dozed off again, Cecile muttered, “I don’t know how a woman of her years can keep going for so long and still have energy.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two Clouds’ hungry cries woke Cecile. She sat and rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. Lone Eagle was gone, having left the lodge without waking her. She wondered where he was. It was unlike him to leave her sleeping. Perhaps he figured she needed the rest.
She heard children’s laughter outside and smelled the enticing aroma of morning meals wafting in the air. The baby’s wailing got louder.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” She donned her dress, but left it untied at the neck.
Two Clouds latched hungrily onto her nipple, his dark eyes sparkling as he suckled. She sat cross-legged, wishing she’d gone outside or at least opened the privacy flap. The air in the lodge was stifling, and the baby’s body heat made the temperature even less bearable.
She fingered a lock of his baby fine hair. Fate had been kind to give him Walt’s dark locks and olive skin. It eased her worry about anyone doubting Lone Eagle as the father. She caressed her little one’s cheek, feeling sweat bead across her brow. “Please hurry up and finish sweetheart. It’s hot in here.”
Cecile strapped the baby into his cradleboard, put her arms through the straps, then swung him onto her back. She wondered how much longer he’d be content being restrained. A good baby, he only cried when he was hungry. She hoped that didn’t change.
She scanned the grounds for Lone Eagle. A group of women sat together sewing hides to finish the sweat lodge, but there was no sign of her husband. She strolled over and watched the women work, still amazed at all the buffalo provided. Besides the covering for the ceremonial lodge, even the thread they used was made from tendons that ran along the animal’s backbone.
The women chattered like magpies as they worked. The scene reminded Cecile of a good old quilting bee in Silver City. She was about to sit and join in when Lone Eagle rode into camp.
“Over her, Lone Eagle” she called and waved, attracting his attention.
He trotted his horse in her direction, reining in the animal so close, its breath warmed her face.
“Where have you been all morning, husband?” She backed away, still fearing the animal’s ability to nip at her, although he never had. Any large animal frightened her—something about their untrusting gazes and huge teeth instilled distrust.
“The herd cleared away all the grass in the pasture, so we moved them to where food and water are plentiful.”
Even though nervous, she recognized that horses were considered the most valuable tribal possessions, and always a priority. She stepped up and stroked the nose of Lone Eagle’s mount with a quivering hand. “I don’t know who you take better care of, me or your horse.”
Lone Eagle laughed. “I care for each equally for I never know which I will need to ride.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she quickly glanced around, making sure no one overhead. “Oh, you and your thoughts! But since we’re discussing your treasured animals, I’ve been meaning to ask, how many horses would you have offered my father for my hand?”
He turned and lead his stallion away. “I could never own enough,” He called over his shoulder.
“Did you hear that, Two Clouds?” She directed her words to the cradleboard on her back. “I’m worth all the horses in the world and more.”
Cecile returned and joined the women in their communal sewing effort.
***
The days on the plains passed much the same as those in her mountain home. Cecile still did her own same chores, but now she shared in the tribal duties. Feeling more accepted, she joined in work groups—it was the Sioux way. Scraping hides and drying meat with other women made the tasks much more enjoyable. Of course, she still managed to spend time with Rain Woman every day.
“Hello, Un`ci. I’ve come for my daily language lesson,” Cecile accepted the invitation to enter once she had announced herself. She freed her son from his cradleboard and laid him on a buffalo robe. He kicked his legs and cooed.
“My heart fills with joy to see you and Two Clouds. Where is your handsome husband off to today?”
“He joined with a few friends to hunt. They hope to find signs of the buffalo.”
Rain Woman’s bones creaked when she straightened from tickling the baby. “It will be a good day when we hunt for buffalo. Now is the time to replenish our food stores. Most of the pemmican from last year is gone and the berries we mix with the meat are nearly ripe. We will feast here, but we must save for the winter. It is essential to our survival.”
“Don’t worry. If anyone can find the herd, Lone Eagle can. He found Two Clouds, didn’t he?”
The old woman grinned. “Yes, I should not question the abilities of the next chief.”
Her wee one’s squirming prompted a thought. “Come, Un`ci, let’s go outside and sit by the river. Two Clouds will have more to look at while you show me more sign speaking.”
“The fresh air will do us good, granddaughter. Your lessons are important so you will be ready for the Sun Dance. There are many voices in the Indian language, but signing is one understood by all.”
Two Clouds fidgeted and whined, clearly discontent with being confined on his mother’s back, but his newly-acquired skills of rolling over, scooting around on his tummy and trying to crawl required Cecile’s constant attention. She unhooked his cradleboard and laid him in the plush grass. For the moment, he was content and happily played with his toes while she concentrated on forming words with her hands. Sometimes the old Grandmother’s hands moved so quickly, keeping up proved difficult and Cecile’s fingers moved in mad gyrations.
Bright Star came and sat on the grass next to Two Clouds. It was customary for the older children to look after the younger ones, and Bright Star had taken great interest in practicing her mothering skills on Two Clouds. Because of the young girls help, Cecile gave her full concentration to learning another new word.
***
Cecile sat in the shade and nursed Two Clouds. Her thoughts again drifted to Silver City, wondering if her mother and father knew anything at all about what had happened to her. How could they? She tried to picture her father’s reaction to finding out she lived with Indians, and decided letting go of the image was for the best as it conjured up unhappiness.
What a sheltered life she’d led. Rarely did anyone talk of those with redskin, and the few times she’d heard anything, people referred to Indians as savages. They were so wrong. Living with the Sioux, Cecile treasured life as never before. Being part of the tribe taught her new values. There was security in knowing Two Clouds was being raised with a love and understanding of all of God’s creations. The Sioux had hearts and souls, just like everyone else.
She stroked her son’s head. “Just wait till you are old enough to learn all the things your father is eager to teach you. He’ll show you how to hunt and fish. Most especially, you’ll learn to track buffalo. Oh, Two Clouds, I know you are truly white, but please learn from your Sioux father the right values. Kill only to survive and love nature. Most white hunters slaughter entire herds of buffalo just
for their hides, truly showing their disregard and selfishness. Sometimes your mother is almost ashamed to be called a paleface.”
Cecile took Two Clouds into the tepee for his nap, but stepped back outside to enjoy the pleasant feeling of spring. Flowers bloomed by the hundreds, birds tweeted in chorus from the nearby trees and a mere breeze scented the air with the aroma of fresh grass.
She stretched her arms skyward and sighed, but the sun’s reflection in the river blinded her. Averting her gaze, she turned and noticed a large crowd gathering across the compound. Cecile motioned Bright Star over and asked her to stay with the baby while she went to check out the reason.
Angry words and agitated gestures indicated something amiss. She pressed closer and heard the heated discussion about how horses had disappeared from the herd during the night. The majority suspected a band of Crow warriors as the thieves. Their tribe was well known for raids on neighboring villages.
Cecile sidled up to Lone Eagle while the group made plans to get their animals back. A shiver of fear inched up her spine. She’d heard tales of raids, but never thought one would actually happen. Her husband often talked about counting coup, and by that she knew meant one had to get close enough to the enemy lay a hand on him. She grasped Lone Eagle’s palm as if her touch could convince him to stay.
The braves discussed the grievous mistake of keeping the herd so far from the main part of the village. Normally, the animals were kept tethered next to their owner’s tepee, but the count had grown so much, feeding them in a central area proved easier—although many called the idea unwise, and evidence proved it true.
Brown Otter had lost three of his horses in the raid. He stepped forward, the veins in his neck visibly tensed. “It is our fault. We have become too secure with ourselves. We must have guards posted at all times.”
“We must get our horses back,” another voice called out from the crowd. “We cannot lose face with the Crow. They must be taught a lesson.”
Lone Eagle didn’t speak, but Cecile feared he agreed. Life with the Sioux had been peaceful and harmonious, and the talk of revenge scared her. The thought of her beloved riding off into a dangerous situation knotted her stomach. He was often hailed as a brave warrior , but the mere talk of fighting didn’t frighten her nearly as much as the reality. She’d already lost one husband; she couldn’t endure losing another.
***
Lone Eagle and Cecile sat in the privacy of their lodge and finished their evening meal. She scanned their home, viewing his many trophies. Till now, she’d considered them ornamentation, but now they held real meaning. “Tell me more about the things hanging on the wall. Where did they come from, and how did you earn them?”
“Many are coup feathers. Do you know the meaning?”
“Yes, I know what counting coup means, but what I don’t understand is why it’s so important.”
“To earn a coup feather is the highest honor a brave can achieve.”
“Tell me exactly how you get one. Do you really have to get close enough to touch the enemy?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“To touch, to kill, to wound. All are reasons to say you counted coup. But someone else must witness the deed. It is more honorable to touch the enemy rather than kill him, but sometimes you have no choice.”
“But you have so many feathers already.” How many men had he’d killed? Though curious, she really didn’t want to know.
“The way the feathers are notched, dyed, or clipped signifies the honor. These,” he pointed, “are….”
“Oh, I don’t really need to know all the details. Why can’t we just let them have the horses? We have more. It’s not worth you getting hurt or even killed.”
“Green Eyes, please understand. Besides being a matter of honor, our horses are important. Before the Spaniards brought them to our land, our travels were difficult. We had to rely on dogs to help move our belongings. Now we have freedom to travel and hunt with ease.”
Her husband was a proud man. There was no way she could talk him out of going. All the tales of war and raids she’d listened to around the campfire had seemed like bedtime stories, but now they were becoming nightmares.
Chapter Thirty
Cecile listened to the retaliation plans unfold, her brow furrowed with worry. Singing Sparrow put her arm around Cecile’s shoulders. “Do not worry, my daughter, it is the way of the warrior,” she said. “The sacred bird for which he is named protects Lone Eagle. He, too, is swift to snatch up prey while in flight. As a warrior’s wife, you must have a strong heart and think only positive thoughts.”
The Sioux were superstitious people, believing that negative thoughts brought forth bad spirits. Unsure if their belief had merit, her mind struggled to grasp only good thoughts in case it was true. “I will try my best.” Trying was all she could promise.
While the men congregated to plan their battle strategy, Cecile handed Two Clouds over to Bright Star and went to seek Rain Woman’s wisdom. The old grandmother sat outside her lodge, basking in the early morning sunlight.
Cecile seated herself next to Rain Woman, grasping at her arm. “Un`ci, please tell me what is going to happen, I’m frightened.”
“Do not fret, little one. The spirits will protect your husband. Our Shaman, Fallen Falcon, will perform a ritual to prepare our men for battle.”
“Shaman?”
“Yes, he takes care of the spiritual needs of our tribe as I tend to the medicinal. Going into battle with a clean mind and body is of the utmost importance, and those who participate will prepare by purifying themselves.”
A domed lodge stood not far from the village in as quiet and secluded setting as possible given the open terrain. Cecile had never seen the inside. “Tell me about the sweat lodge, Un`ci.”
“It holds only ten to twelve warriors at a time. Sage is gathered from the prairie and spread over the floor, while stones are heated in a deep pit nearby and carried inside where the Shaman pours buckets of water over them. The misty steam makes the warriors sweat, cleansing the body and soul of all imperfections and evil spirits.”
Cecile grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like something I would enjoy. Is that all that happens?”
“That is all I know, other than the smoking of the sacred pipe. The men will not discuss the ritual for fear of causing bad luck.”
The entire sweating process didn’t make sense to Cecile, but she favored anything that would protect her husband. “I shall pray for their safe return. It can’t hurt.”
Rain Woman struggled to her feet, her ancient bones creaking with the effort. “You and I must get our supplies in order in case we are called upon to tend the wounded when they return.”
Cecile shivered at the thought. As she selected the appropriate roots and salves from Rain Woman’s parfleches, Cecile flashed back to the day she first saw Lone Eagle. “I met my husband when he was near-death, and nursed him back to health. I didn’t love him then as I do now, so I’m not anxious to face that agony again.”
“Pray, my daughter, pray! The Great Spirit will listen.”
Cecile’s mind wandered as Rain Woman chattered away, telling the same stories Cecile had heard around the campfire.
I knew if we left the safety of the mountains there would be trouble.
In the seclusion of the winter camp, the tribe was safe from intruders and protected from the outside world. Although Cecile was not naive about scoundrels and misfits, her own sheltered upbringing had kept her from the harsh realities of life. She felt ill equipped to face hatred and war. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Grandmother, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave now. I suddenly feel the need to be in the company of my husband.”
Leaving Rain Woman’s lodge, Cecile caught sight of Lone Eagle across the compound. Dressed only in his breechclout and moccasins, he wore beaded bands around his muscular biceps. His long dark hair hung in braids down his chest, and he wore a leather headband with a single feather on the side
--a symbol of the bird for which he was named. Her heart quickened with pride, desire and passion for this man she loved. Her own pride surged in seeing he wore the beaded bag she made for him. If only she felt as fearless as he looked.
Her thoughts drifted to the many coup feathers in the lodge. Regardless of her feelings, the raid was going to take place and all she could do was trust God to watch over him and bring him back to her.
Chapter Thirty-one
Cecile sat in the shade of the lodge, watching Lone Eagle paint his horse with various symbols. “Tonight there will be no moon,” he said, glancing at her. “We should be able to get into the Crow camp without being seen.”
“You aren’t going to fight unless you have to, are you?” A lump formed in her throat.
“No, our intent is only to get back what belongs to us.”
His words eased her fear, but she needed to focus on something else. “Tell me what the symbols on your horse mean?”
“The hand print on the flank signifies my kill in hand-to-hand combat. The coup mark, which is the highest honor, means I touched an enemy without killing him.”
Why had she asked? Of course there was an association with the enemy, just as with all his trophies. Her insides trembled as she thought of him taking another person’s life. She’d only seen the gentle and loving side of him. Imagining him in any other light was nearly impossible had she not seen proof in his many trophies.
“This mark is for my brother’s loss in battle,” Lone Eagle continued as he painted another symbol, “and this shows I’m the war party leader.”
The lump in her throat thickened. “Why do you have to be leader?”
“Who better than next in line to be chief?”
She wasn’t going to be able to steer the conversation away to more pleasant topics. The raid was important, and the Sioux believed these symbols and signs contributed to their successes in battle.
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