Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  The old man shook his head. “Dreams tell us what is to come, not what has been. When you saw Black Hawk for the first time, you knew he was the man in the vision?”

  Anyone else would think her crazy, but she knew this man believed and respected her feelings. “I think he is.”

  “I know he is. Black Hawk can tell you that himself, if you ask him. Do not be afraid to tell him of this dream.”

  “He would laugh at me.”

  “No. Black Hawk is a wise man. He will not laugh at you. He knows something that you do not, and so you must talk to him about this, not to me.”

  “Is Black Hawk the one who will be in trouble?”

  “Perhaps. I cannot say until the time comes. You will know. Then the vision will be fulfilled, and when he reaches out for you, he will not disappear.” He reached out and patted her hand. “I must know if you are menstruating before I can offer the pipe now.”

  Evelyn was embarrassed at the question, but she knew that to the Sioux, such things were important, and the question was not considered out of place. A sacred pipe was never removed from its bag in the presence of a menstruating woman.

  “No,” she answered, her face flushed,

  “Then you will stay now, while I smoke the pipe so that the Spirits will bless you.” He picked up a beautifully beaded pipe bag and pulled out his sacred prayer pipe, which was decorated with plaited porcupine quills. White eagle feathers hung from it, the color for peace. Evelyn knew that in wartime, a sacred pipe was decorated with red feathers. She watched Night Hunter attach the bowl to the stem of the pipe, after which he filled the bowl with a native tobacco of redwood.

  “Cansasa.” she said softly.

  Night Hunter nodded with pleasure at her knowledge of the Sioux rituals and language. He held up the pipe, as though to ask her what it was called. “A sacred pipe is called cannunpa wakan,” she told him.

  He nodded again, the dark eyes that had so frightened her before now glowing with kindness. He held the pipe high above his head, offering it to Wakantanka. He then handed Evelyn a pair of wooden tongs and told her to pick up one of the hot coals with them. She did so, and he held his pipe toward her, putting the end of it in his mouth. She realized he wanted her to light it for him. She held the coal to the bowl, and soon the lovely fragrance of the redwood in its bowl wafted upward from the bowl as Night Hunter pulled air through the stem. He offered the pipe to the four directions, then lowered it in honor of Grandmother Earth. Evelyn knew it was a sign of great honor that the man had asked her to light it, for just to touch a priest’s pipe was regarded as sacred, something only men and women of high respect could do. He puffed the pipe once more and blew the smoke at her face, which she realized was a ritual of blessing and purification, not an insult. “May Wakantanka be with you,” he told her, “and guide you in the decisions you must make.”

  Evelyn nodded respectfully. “Thank you for allowing me into your lodge, and for your blessings.” She had not gotten the answers she had hoped for. Apparently she would only get them when fate brought whatever it would bring, and by questioning Black Hawk. She rose, and walked around the central fire, then outside, where the sun made her squint. She put her bonnet back on and tied it, feeling happy that Night Hunter had welcomed her and spoken with her as he had. That would help her win the trust and respect of more of the Sioux. But she was not happy with the things he had told her.

  A white man would die? Who? And how would Black Hawk be involved? How could she possibly help him? Maybe she never should have come here after all. She climbed up into the old sidesaddle Janine continued to let her use and headed John Phillips’s white mare out of the village, as confused as ever, not sure whether to look forward to seeing Black Hawk tomorrow, or to dread it.

  From a distant cabin Otter Woman watched the white woman she hated leave Night Hunter’s village. Her heart burned with jealousy. Not only was this woman the cause of Black Hawk forbidding her to come and see him; but now the woman had been welcomed into Night Hunter’s lodge! Why? What was this magical thing about the woman that made the Sioux accept her, even their most rebellious warrior and their spiritual leader? It wasn’t fair, and something had to be done about it. She turned back inside to face her grandmother, who was watching her carefully. “Do not look at me that way!” she snapped.

  “I know your heart, child.”

  “I am not a child. I am a woman who has outlived two husbands. I am the woman who the warrior Black Hawk prefers in his bed. I do not need your advice, old one.”

  “You know that it is wise to listen to the old ones. I am telling you now, Otter Woman, to stay away from that white teacher. You tell me you saw her go to Night Hunter. He accepted her into his lodge. This has great significance.”

  “It only means that the white woman, with all her education, has found a way to fool our wisest people. She is somehow tricking them, and I will stop her!”

  “And how will you do that, Granddaughter? Please do not do something foolish.”

  Otter Woman turned away from her. “I will do what I must do,” she answered before storming out of the cabin.

  The old grandmother shook her head, tears in her eyes. “It is wrong, Granddaughter. It is a bad thing you are thinking of doing.”

  Twelve

  Evelyn rode into the canyon and waited for Black Hawk to meet her again. Her emotions were mixed as she watched him make his way down the same steep bank where he had waited for her the first time. What did the future hold for her and this forbidden Sioux warrior? Did he know she had been to see Night Hunter?

  He came closer, watching her with dark, penetrating eyes. It was cooler today, and he wore a buckskin shirt, the lacing undone at his neck, which was graced by a bone hairpipe necklace. His hair was tied to one side with a heavily beaded hairpiece. Another hair ornament, a circular copper barrette-type design, decorated with long beaded strips of rawhide that hung over his shoulder, decorated the other side of his hair. At the ends were tied little pieces of copper that tingled against one another when the wind made the narrow rawhide strips move. His doeskin pants were full-leg, rather than open at the sides, and beaded rawhide fringes decorated the side seams.

  “I was not sure you would come again,” he told her.

  “Why did you doubt it?”

  He sighed deeply. “I do not easily trust the wicasu.”

  His eyes moved over her, and she felt a shiver. Her cautious side told her that perhaps she was too trusting. This man could indeed be dangerous. Many white settlers still feared him, and the soldiers chose to leave him alone. Yet here she was again, riding into a place with him where others would be a long time finding her if she needed help. Rather than being afraid, she found herself wondering if he liked what she had worn today, a lavender dress with puffed sleeves and a fitted bodice that accented her small waist and full bosom. But why on earth did she care if he noticed her shape, or if he thought she was pretty?

  “Follow me,” he told her. He turned and rode on, and Evelyn obeyed. Was Night Hunter right when he told her she must tell this man about her dreams? Would Black Hawk think her brazen and foolish? How on earth was she going to find just the right opportunity to bring up such a thing, let alone tell him she had ordered oil paints and brushes and special canvas for him, hoping she could convince him to paint pictures for her to try to sell. Everything she needed to tell him or wanted him to do would seem an intrusion on his privacy and his way of life.

  Just as she had done the week before, she followed him to where he was camped at the same pretty, grassy spot. Again Little Fox was waiting there for them. To avoid having to talk about herself and her visit to Night Hunter, she got right to the lessons. This time they sat outside beside the creek, enjoying the bright sunshine and cool, fresh air.

  Evelyn was surprised and pleased at how much both father and son had remembered from their first lesson, and how intently they apparently had been studying.

  “Does gr
ass have an A in it?” Little Fox asked. “It has the same sound as apple.”

  “Yes, Little Fox,” Evelyn answered with a smile of surprise. “What a smart young man you are! Here, I will spell grass for you.” She wrote the word on a small chalkboard she had brought with her this time, explaining the sound of the G and the R and the two S’s. “Put the sounds together, and they spell grass,” she told him.

  Little Fox grinned with joy and excitement. “I can remember the S because it looks like a snake,” he told Evelyn, “and it has a hissing sound like the snake.”

  “What a clever way to teach yourself to remember,” she complimented. “And I am so pleased at how you have been thinking about these things and studying the sounds of the letters I gave you last week. Today we will do three more new letters: D, E, and F. The D…” She hesitated when she felt a touch at the back of her neck. Black Hawk, who sat to her left, fingered the hair ornament he had given her. His touch sent an unexpected fire through her blood.

  “You wore the hairpiece,” he said softly.

  She swallowed. “I told you that I would.” She quickly returned to the lessons in an effort to overcome the flutter his touch brought to her heart. She reviewed A, B, and C—going on to the new letters, looking for excuses to extend the lessons beyond the lunch hour and hoping to pick up again after they ate so there would be no time left for talking about other things.

  It was two o’clock when Black Hawk suggested she stop and drink some water and eat some Indian fry-bread. “It is good and fresh,” he told her. “Otter Woman brought it to me yesterday. I have told her to stay away, but she was worried I might need something. The women at her village do many things for me and Little Fox: wash and mend our clothes, make new ones, bring us bread, make our hair ornaments and jewelry.” He handed out a piece of the soft bread.

  Their eyes held as Evelyn took it from him, and she felt a new rush of jealousy. Otter Woman had been here! Had he bedded her? The last time they talked, he had casually told her that the woman serviced his every need, as though it was no different from washing his clothes. Was that how men like Black Hawk looked at making love, as just a way of relieving themselves? “Thank you.” She dropped her gaze, worried he might read her thoughts, which she knew were foolish. She had no doubt this man had loved Little Fox’s mother very much. Something in his eyes told her he was capable of great passion, and that thought only stirred deeper feelings she would rather not have for an Indian man.

  “Otter Woman told me something,” he said then.

  “Oh?” She broke off a piece of the bread and ate it. She wanted not to like it, because Otter Woman had made it, but it was very soft and sweet and coated with sugar. It reminded her of the fresh-made doughnuts her mother used to make. She swallowed and met his eyes. “What did she say? Something about me?”

  He studied her intently. “She said that you visited Night Hunter. She thinks you are trying to poison our people to your ways, that you are doing it by trying to win those who they most trust, like me and like Night Hunter, that you only use us to get what you really want.”

  Evelyn met his eyes squarely. “And do you believe her?”

  Black Hawk laid his bread aside. “I do not know.”

  Evelyn sighed resignedly, realizing she had to tell him the truth. “Black Hawk, I went to see Night Hunter because…” She looked down at her lap. “Because I wanted him to help me with something that has troubled me for a long time.” She met his eyes again, deciding it was now or never, and whatever his reaction, so be it. “I have no evil intentions toward you or your people. Surely you know that. In fact, I respect your beliefs, your spiritual connections. That is why I went to Night Hunter, because of a strange dream I have had… the same dream many times over. It started before I ever even decided to come here.”

  He bent his legs and crossed them, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about this dream.”

  She could not continue to meet his gaze. She set her own bread aside and rose, folding her arms and turning toward the creek to watch Little Fox return to his game of catching fish with his hands. “In the dream someone is riding toward me—an Indian man… on a spotted horse.” She waited a moment, but Black Hawk said nothing. “He comes closer, and he looks very much like an Indian man I once knew as a small girl. He reaches out for me, as though to ask for help, or to take me with him. I’m not sure the reason. I reach back to him, and when our hands touch, he disappears. The dream is very real. It always startles me awake, and I feel very anxious, as though there is something I am supposed to do to help this man, but I’m not sure what it is. When Janine came to my father’s church back in Wisconsin and said teachers were needed here, I felt the dream had some connection, so I decided perhaps it meant I should come here.” She took a moment to breathe deeply to calm her pounding heart. “I went to Night Hunter because I wanted him to help me interpret the dream. He only confused me more by telling me that a white man would die, and that… that someone in your tribe would be connected with the death… and that I am to help them.”

  She waited through another several seconds of silence before he finally spoke. His words startled her, for it was only then she realized he was standing directly behind her. He had moved so quietly she did not even know he had got to his feet.

  “Am I the man in the dream?”

  She wished she could meet his eyes, but she was too embarrassed. “I—I think that you are. I wasn’t sure… until that first time I met you. If you want the truth, I feel as if the Indian I knew as a child has returned to me… through you.” She waited for him to laugh at her, but instead he walked closer to the stream and knelt down to pick up a smooth rock and study it.

  “Who was this man?”

  His back was to her now, and she wondered if it was just as difficult for him to face her as it was for her to meet his eyes. “His name was Wild Horse. He was Cheyenne. My father was preaching at the Cheyenne reservation in Indian Territory, my mother used to take me to swim at a pond when it was hot. One day Wild Horse came there, and he and my mother… became good friends. She learned many things from him about Indian ways. I thought he was the most wonderful, fascinating man I had ever known. He was a friend to both of us, but now that I am grown, I realize he was more than a friend to my mother. I believe that she loved him, and he loved her.”

  Black Hawk sat down in the grass. “What happened to him?”

  It was easier now. He was listening. He was not laughing at her. “He was very much like you, rebellious, sometimes getting into trouble when it wasn’t even his fault. One night I heard people talking about soldiers looking for him. I don’t even remember why—something about stealing some cattle. I decided that if I went to the pond, maybe I would find him and I could warn him, but I ended up getting lost. I know now that Wild Horse was planning to run away from the agency that night before he could be found and arrested, but instead of saving himself, when he heard I was lost, he stayed and searched for me. He found me where I had fallen down a steep bank and hit my head. The rest of that night I lay in his arms, feeling perfectly safe, and in the morning he carried me up the bank and was going to leave me someplace safe. Soldiers spotted us, and before he could explain… they shot him. I was crying, but it was because I was afraid for Wild Horse, not afraid of him. The soldiers thought he had kidnapped me. Right before my eyes I watched them fill him with bullets. As he was dying, he asked me to never forget him, and I never have. Now I feel his spirit has come back to me.”

  Black Hawk rose, turning to face her. His dark eyes blazed with something she could not quite determine. Anger? Passion? Surprise? Maybe a mixture of the three. “Through me?” he asked.

  She swallowed, her skin feeling prickly all over. “Yes.”

  His eyes remained unreadable. “And this is why you told me that day we met that we would meet again, that there were things to be settled between us?”

  She nodded, suddenly realizing that she was falling in love wit
h this man, a man whose world bore no resemblance to her own, a man forbidden to someone like herself. “I am still not sure what we must do,” she said aloud. “Night Hunter believes that I am destined to somehow help your people. Maybe that is why I felt so compelled to find you, convince you to send Little Fox to school. That was the way I thought I was meant to help your people, through you. What did Night Hunter mean when he said that I should ask you why he believes you are the man in my dream?”

  A soft breeze blew at the little rawhide tassels of Black Hawk’s hair ornament, making them tinkle. She thought how such decorations on a white man would look ridiculous, but on Black Hawk, they only made him more provocative.

  “I also had a dream,” he told her. “Never in my life would I have thought that I would share a sacred vision with a white woman, but Night Hunter has told me I must do so now. I did not want to tell you, but now that you have told me these things that are close to your heart, and since Night Hunter told you that you must ask me about your dream, I have no choice.”

  He sighed, and she realized he was as nervous about telling her his dream as she had been to tell him her own.

  “It was during the Sun Dance,” he continued, “when all feeling and thoughts of this world left me in my pain. I closed my eyes, and I was riding my spotted horse at a hard run, trying to reach a woman with golden hair and wearing white women’s clothes. I came close to her, reached out for her, and she to me. The moment our hands touched, she disappeared. When I asked Night Hunter about it, he said that when the time came that this white woman could help me, the vision would be fulfilled, and she would not disappear from my eyes.” He stepped closer. “The woman had no face… until now. I believe you are the woman. I did not want this to be. That is why the first time I saw you I was very angry, but not truly at you. I was angry that Wakantanka has sent me this vision, that it seems I am destined to turn to a white woman.”