White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  Standing, she glanced over the frame and tested the tautness of the rope. Without the anchor, a sudden gust of wind could take down the poles, and even break them, rendering them useless. Sofia braced the lifting pole with her foot, and raised the hide cover while Dove spread it around the frame. Short crossbars were affixed to the east tripod pole and the pole on the other side of the door, which formed a short ladder.

  She climbed up and pulled the two edges of the cover together with lacing pins. As soon as the cover was snug, she hopped down, removed the cross bars from the doorway of the tipi and laced the door cover to the tipi while Sofia set up the poles for the smoke holes.

  Jessie joined them when they were nearly done. “I’ve practiced all winter,” she said, “and I still can’t set up my tipi as fast as the others.”

  Sofia stared at the neatly arranged tipis around them. Each woman had taken up her place, and now the dwellings all formed one large circle with each tipi placed precisely. She was likely realizing that they set up their tipi in precisely the same location within the circle. “How does everyone know where to set up?” she asked.

  “Leading families, such as ours, camp at the northeastern entrance to the circle which faces east—as do all tipis within.” Dove pointed to the center behind her where Emma had pitched her tipi. “My brother holds the place of honor in the center beside the council lodge and the tipi of our shaman. In a larger tribe, tipis belonging to different societies holding power would also take their place in the center.”

  Jessie handed her children a pouch of wooden blocks carved in different letters and numbers to play with. “I’m done with our tipi if you want to unpack your things,” she announced to Sofia.

  The woman stifled a yawn. “Think I’ll take a bit of a rest before we start supper.”

  Dove finished unloading the horses and attached the inner lining with Jessie’s help. When her father arrived, he glanced around. “Where is your mother?”

  Dove didn’t look at him. Instead, she pointed toward the river. “She went to bathe.” Her father left without another word.

  Jessie put her hands on her hips and blocked her path. “When are you going to make peace with Golden Eagle?”

  Startled that Jessie had brought up the bad feelings between her and her father, she stared in surprise.

  “Don’t tell me it’s not my business,” Jessie said, reverting back to English. “Your mother is upset that you and your father are not speaking.”

  Guilt ate at Dove. She stared at her hands. “I hate the tension between us, but I don’t know how to put it right. What he asks of me is too much.”

  Jessie pulled her into an embrace. “I wish I could do more to help, Dove.”

  “No one can. My father is stubborn.”

  Humor danced in Jessie’s green eyes. “And you are not? I think you and your father are more alike than either of you admits.” Hearing a wail of annoyance from one of the twins—they had run off behind a tipi—Jessie sighed. “I’d best go check on them. Think about what I said. Please?”

  Dove nodded, then sat in front of her tipi. She wished she had the gift of sight like her grandmother and her older sister. If she knew her future, or if her grandmother were still alive, she’d know where her path lay.

  She knew her father worried over her, that he just wanted her taken care of. But she didn’t understand why he insisted on pushing her into marriage. Each of her siblings had fulfilled their grandmother’s vision and found love in doing so. That just left her. Pressure to do as well as her brothers and sister made her careful in her choice of a husband. But it was hard when all she knew of her future was that she would marry a great warrior.

  She wished she knew if her path lay with Jeremy. But how could it? He was not a warrior, great or otherwise, and the man she married had to be braver than she herself was—which meant he had to have proven himself in battle. And Jeremy had not done that; he was not necessarily brave.

  She remembered his incident with the beehive and added wisdom to the list of important qualities for a husband.

  Follow your heart, her grandmother had said. Unfortunately what her heart and her mind sought weren’t the same. And her body certainly didn’t care if Jeremy became a warrior. It just wanted him to stay with her. Her heart, too. Thinking of the long, lonely nights spent dreaming about Jeremy, she admitted the painful truth. She’d fallen in love with him. Had it been three years ago, when he’d first kissed her? Or maybe it had been that time at the stream when she’d given him his clothes and he’d looked deep into her heart and had told her what she needed in a man. Or when he’d seduced her with words.

  Resting her chin on her knees, she knew it didn’t matter when she’d fallen in love with him. The pain if he were not “the one” would be the same. Somehow she had to hide the truth and bury that love before he claimed her very soul.

  * * *

  Jeremy followed Striking Thunder on foot. He’d slung his belongings over his shoulders. Behind him, the cubs followed, and all around him, women erected their tipis and unpacked. He passed Jessie and waved. Instead of sharing his sister’s dwelling, Striking Thunder had told him that he was to live with another family. The young chief had explained that all Sioux children were given a second set of parents. As he was to become one of them, this family would become his. They stopped in front of a newly erected tipi on the other side of the circle.

  Striking Thunder waited while Jeremy drove a stake into the ground behind the tipi and tied the length of rope attached to collars around the cubs’ necks. Later he’d free them. Most of the time, they ran loose now, and soon he’d start teaching them to forage for their own food.

  He rejoined Striking Thunder who called out to the occupants of the tipi. Jeremy heard a gravelly voice reply, “Tima hiyupo.”

  Striking Thunder stepped in. Unsure if he should follow or wait, Jeremy hung back.

  “U wo!” At the sharp command, Jeremy entered. The Lakota speech that followed between Striking Thunder and an older man was spoken too rapidly for him to catch more than the occasional word. He recognized ate for father and cinski, meaning son, and the word kaonnspe. To train.

  He studied the man who would now be considered his adoptive father. In his late thirties or early forties, he looked stern, forbidding and trail-worn. A hard taskmaster. Not once did he glance at Jeremy. As the conversation continued, Jeremy worried that the man did not want him there.

  To settle his nerves, he glanced around the inside of the tipi, his gaze drawn to a feathered bonnet hanging from one pole, a painted shield and bow from another. From other poles, various parfleches swayed in the draft from the open doorway. On the other side of the tipi a small, thin woman with gray streaks in her hair and sad eyes watched him. She glanced quickly away but not before Jeremy saw something in her eyes—hunger, regret, sadness, grief. All of it rolled into one look.

  He had no chance to wonder more about her before Striking Thunder turned to him. “This is Tawasuota and Miniyata. They are now your father and mother. My sister has explained how our people live, how we regard our elders?”

  “Han.” Yes.

  “Tawasuota will train you. You will listen and learn. And obey,” he added with a serious frown.

  Jeremy nodded. From here on out, his every action would be scrutinized.

  Striking Thunder indicated the quiet woman. “Miniyata will treat you as a son. You may find many of our customs strange or hard to understand. Most mothers do not address their sons directly.” He grinned wryly. “My own mother has chosen to ignore certain customs where her sons are concerned.”

  “Dove explained this. Do my new parents understand English?”

  “Not much beyond a word here or there.”

  “Won’t their own children resent my presence?”

  “They had two sons. Both were killed in battle. You
will be a welcome addition to their tipi. Miniyata will once more have a son to care for and to brag about. Give her many reasons to brag.”

  Jeremy swallowed, understanding the cause of the deep sadness he’d glimpsed in the woman’s eyes. “I don’t want to remind her of her loss.”

  “She will hold her sons in her heart until she joins them. Having a new son will make that time pass quickly and give her something to look forward to each day.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to make her proud.” And he would. For the first time, he saw a positive reason behind caring what others thought of him. More, he realized, he cared about what he thought of himself. This time, he wouldn’t fail or let anyone down.

  Striking Thunder studied him. “I believe you will. From now on, Tawasuota will see to your training.”

  Jeremy wondered if that meant he’d no longer spend the evenings with Dove. He hoped not. After a few more moments, Striking Thunder left, leaving him on his own. He faced his Sioux father, wondering what he should do.

  For long, unnerving minutes the older man just stared at him. Jeremy remembered Dove’s instructions and met his Indian father’s gaze without flinching.

  Finally, Tawasuota nodded. He pointed to one side of the tipi where Miniyata had just laid out a pallet of furs.

  “Pilamayan.” Jeremy thanked her and set his belongings down. Reaching up, he hung his quiver and bow.

  Tawasuota took down his quiver and pulled out his three poor excuses for arrows.

  Jeremy shifted from one foot to another. He’d traded a small knife for some seasoned shafts to make those arrows. Unfortunately, he hadn’t mastered the techniques that produced straight, precise missiles. He watched Tawasuota examine each one. His new father tried to bend the first one. It was too stiff.

  Holding the arrow out in front of him, he pushed it out to his left, indicating in flight, it would veer to the left. He broke it in half. The second one flexed—too much if Jeremy read the sign correctly. This arrow, when held out in front as if in flight, turned to the right. That one also joined the pieces on the dirt floor of the tipi.

  Tawasuota stared at the last arrow, shaking his head in disgust. He snapped it in two without explaining its fault. Bending down, he started rooting through Jeremy’s things. He stood, holding Jeremy’s trousers and shirts slung over his arm. In his hands he held socks, a small knife, his boots and, to Jeremy’s dismay, his hat. Then he leaned over to finger the jars of honey Jeremy had brought with him. He took one then headed for the door, indicating that Jeremy should follow.

  They stopped near a group of men. Tawasuota tossed down Jeremy’s things and spoke. One man stepped forward and picked up a shirt of red flannel; he grinned and left with the shirt, then returned with five arrows. The second man took the boots and returned with a pouch of feathers. Two more shirts went, then Jeremy’s trousers. One by one, the pile dwindled and Jeremy’s arms filled with tools and items he’d need to begin his training.

  By the time the last man had given him something in trade, Jeremy had two dozen arrows, a large bundle of seasoned shafts, bone and stone for arrowheads, and other seemingly useless items which Jeremy assumed he’d need for something. Only his hat remained. Of all his things, the thought of losing that hat left him with regrets. He’d had it for what seemed like forever.

  Just as he thought with relief that no one wanted it, Thunder Dreamer approached, walking backward. He stooped, picked up the hat, popped it inside out and stuck it on his head.

  Jeremy’s eyes widened. Dove had told him about Heyokas but Jeremy hadn’t met Thunder Dreamer yet. The warrior wasn’t much older than him, but because he’d dreamed of thunder, he’d been forced to take on the life of a clown—which included dressing foolishly and acting contrary to what was considered normal.

  Jeremy had a hard time understanding it, but he knew Thunder Dreamer was respected. Because of his visions, his medicine was powerful, and many sought his help and his medicines to cure the sick.

  Watching the Heyoka walk away, sideways this time, Jeremy figured his hat had found a good home. He looked to his new father, who grunted and led the way back. Well, this was it, he thought. All his clothes were gone—his shirts, his boots, his belt, even his hat.

  There was no going back now.

  * * *

  White Wind sat with her back to the trunk of a large cottonwood, struggling to breathe as the ache in her arm traveled to her chest and squeezed. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the flow of the river’s water to help fight the pain. Finally, the pain receded, leaving her weak and shaken. Her time was near. The pains in her chest were growing worse. Soon, she feared she wouldn’t be able to hide it from her husband or children.

  “Not yet,” she prayed, both to the god of her mother’s people, and to the spirits of her father’s. “So much to do yet.” She didn’t pray for a miracle. Just time. Time to see her youngest settled. She ended her prayer with mitakuye oyasin. All my relations. Relations to the Sioux were everything that crawled, grew, ran, crept, hopped or flew.

  Her life among the Sioux had opened so many doors, given her so much. She didn’t fear death, just the anguish it would leave behind. When her pains subsided and her heart rate returned to normal, she opened her eyes, thankful to be alive.

  Sadly, she discovered that she was no longer alone. Her husband stood before her. She pasted on a smile, ready to tell him she was just tired, but one look in his eyes told her he knew. Bending down, he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to their tipi. They didn’t speak. Instead, he made a soft bed, set up their backrests and pulled her close. When he commanded her to sleep, she did, listening to the strong beat of his heart.

  * * *

  The month of Wihakakta cepapi wi heralded the sugar season. Both men and women tapped the box elder trees for sap. April was also known as the Birth of the Calves and the year’s beginning.

  Jeremy left his tipi early. With his knife strapped to his thigh as Tawasuota had shown him, he made his way to the herd of horses. Breathing deeply, he greeted the new day and wondered what it held in store for him. His first week had been spent sorting and gelding stallions not suitable for breeding. Though it wasn’t what he’d envisioned doing among the Indians, Jeremy had felt right at home working with the large animals. He loved the scent of horseflesh and magnificent beauty of the large beasts, and he didn’t mind one bit when it was his turn to watch over the herd at night. There was something peaceful about being alone, sitting on a horse with only the moon and stars for company.

  Best of all, the differences between him and the other warriors fell away and gave him the chance to ease into his new role. He held his own and earned many words of praise for his ability to work with the animals. But that work was done now. The training of the individual yearlings and two-year-olds fell to the animals’ owners.

  Two warriors, both of whom he’d worked side by side with just a week ago, walked past. One said something under his breath that Jeremy didn’t understand. The other chuckled, and they both gave him an amused glance. Jeremy rolled his shoulders and glanced up into the wide, blue sky. Once more he was on his own. He’d either prove himself and earn the respect of those two along with the rest, or fail. There was no in between.

  Reaching the herd, he whistled. A four-year-old pinto mare with swirls of brown, white and tan lifted her head and trotted over to him. Jeremy stroked the large patch of hair which had earned her the name White Blaze. The horse had been a gift from Tawasuota for making his wife happy once again. Jeremy hoped to present the pretty mare to Dove as a wedding gift.

  The mare nudged his hand. Jeremy laughed softly. “Loyacin hwo?” Then he shook his head. “Stupid question. Of course you are hungry.” He pulled out a treat and gave it to her. She took it greedily, then sniffed at his hand. “No more,” he apologized.

  The mare nipped his hand playfully, th
en offered her head as if to say, “If you have no food, then you must pet me.”

  Jeremy obliged her until she grew bored. When Tawasuota joined him, they put the mare through her paces. Though Jeremy knew how to train a horse, he’d found it a challenge to learn the Sioux way. After an hour, he followed his Sioux father away from the herd. Off in the distance, he spotted a herd of elk.

  He grimaced and hoped he wasn’t going to have to try stalking them again. Give him his rifle, and bam. He’d have his elk. But killing an animal that size with an arrow took more skill than he’d anticipated. It looked so easy when others did it, especially Dove.

  But it wasn’t. Not only did he have to snake through the short grass to get close enough to get a straight, clean shot, he only had one chance before the herd spooked and ran. He wasn’t agile enough to ride and shoot with accuracy yet, and his clumsy tracking abilities had sent the entire herd of elk running before he had even got a shot off yesterday. He’d returned empty-handed and had to endure lots of good-natured teasing. Even Dove had rolled her eyes, her look plainly scornful that he couldn’t even do something so simple as bring home an antelope.

  Relieved as his step-father headed away from the herd, he followed Tawasuota to a group of boys ranging in age from eight to ten. Several adult males stood nearby with their arms crossed, looking stern and forbidding. At a sharp command from one of the men, the boys, along with Jeremy, shouldered their bows and quivers. Off they went, across the prairie toward the Black Hills. Jeremy went not as a teacher, but as a pupil. To be put with boys half his height and a third his age stung his pride, but he didn’t complain. He’d do whatever it took to become a warrior and win Dove’s heart.

  The men broke into a run. What followed seemed to be a game of follow the leader; he and the boys raced over the uneven floor between thick trunks of pines, jumped over fallen logs, and ducked beneath low branches—essential skills to have in case of pursuit.