Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  Black Hawk obeyed. This was a white man’s disease, and only the white man seemed to know what to do about it. His hatred for what the wicasa ska had brought to his people was for the moment overshadowed by his agony over the possible loss of his only remaining son. A semiconscious Little Fox managed to swallow some of the water, and to Black Hawk’s relief, it stayed down.

  “Now we wait a little while and give him some more. I’ll get some cooler water from the well and we’ll use it to bathe him and keep the fever down. It’s only the drinking water that has to be boiled.”

  Evelyn hurried out again, and Black Hawk looked around the tidy room. Lace curtains hung at the window, and the bed looked homemade, the posts cut from the trunks of pine trees. He touched the bedding, noticing how Little Fox had sunk into it, and he knew it was probably stuffed with feathers. How white people slept on such soft beds, he could not understand. Everything in the room showed that a white woman lived here: the brightly colored quilts on the bed, a picture of the white man’s Jesus on the wall, a trunk in one corner painted with yellow flowers, a wooden contraption on another wall that had doors on it, where he supposed Evelyn Gibbons kept her pretty dresses. Beside it was a mirror, under which sat a stand with a bowl and pitcher.

  Evelyn came back inside with a small bucket of water and a rag. She set the bucket on a stand near the bed and dipped the rag into it, then wrung it out and laid it on Little Fox’s forehead. “How long has he been sick?”

  “Three days. We visited my sister and grandmother before that, and it was only then that I knew there was sickness in our village. When we got back, I took Little Fox with me to hunt. I spotted Seth Bridges driving a wagonload of corn to the river, so I followed him, sure he was going to meet whiskey traders. I watched them unload his corn onto a riverboat, but before I could see what they loaded onto the wagon, Little Fox suddenly turned away and doubled over in pain and vomited. In only minutes he had a high fever, and I knew he had the terrible sickness. I took him first to my grandmother’s village, but he only got worse, so I took him to Night Hunter. He told me this is something only the white doctors know how to care for. I do not trust the Army doctor, so I brought him to you.”

  Evelyn looked across the bed, meeting his gaze. It had all happened so fast. One minute she was worrying and wondering about this man, and now here he was, in her own cabin. There had not even been time to say hello or to ask about his arrest. She had not seen him since that day. “You still trust me, after what happened, even when your own son could die from a disease my people brought to you?”

  “My arrest was not your fault. It was Otter Woman’s. And you did not yourself bring the disease. It was the circus. I told you those animals carried evil spirits. My people believe that the animals with human faces brought the sickness.”

  “The monkeys?”

  “I never saw them. I would not come. There would be too many white people there, too many soldiers. But Many Birds told me about the monkeys and how our people were very afraid of them. It is just as I told you it would be. They are an evil animal.”

  Evelyn decided there was no sense trying to make him understand that sickness did not come from evil spirits. It came from germs. Some day when Little Fox was better, she would explain. She watched him take the rag from the boy’s forehead and begin gently washing his face and neck with it. He spoke softly to him, words of love and encouragement. Evelyn wished that whites who did not even think of the Sioux as human could see this moment, a father soothing his son lovingly, tears in his eyes.

  She studied Black Hawk’s powerful arms as he bathed the boy, realizing she had been so concerned for Little Fox when he first arrived that she had not really taken a good look at the man. It struck her that he was more handsome than she had remembered. Today he wore the lightweight doeskin leggings that were open at the sides, and a buckskin shirt. A turquoise bracelet on his wrist only made his skin seem darker, and his hair was pulled back into a simple tail at the back of his neck, tied with a strip of rawhide that had little turquoise beads on the ends. His throat and chest were bare of jewelry, and his face was unpainted.

  “How do you feel, Black Hawk?”

  “I am well.” He met her gaze, his eyes moving over her then. “You are too thin. Have you had the sickness?”

  She smiled self-consciously. “No. I have just been working very hard helping those who are sick. I guess this all happened a little too soon after I recovered from the arrow wound. I don’t really have all my own strength back yet.”

  Their eyes held for several silent seconds, and Evelyn wondered if he had missed her and thought about her as much as she had him; if he felt the same deep pull at his insides at seeing her again that she felt when she was near him.

  He finally spoke. “I never got the chance to say that I am sorry. If I had known that asking you to come there would mean so much pain and suffering—”

  “I would do it again, Black Hawk. I was afraid I would never see you again. I am the one who is sorry, for the way the soldiers treated you.”

  Hatred came into his eyes, so deep that it almost frightened her. “That is not your fault. The one called Sergeant Desmond looks for any excuse to give me trouble. He is afraid of me because of Wounded Knee.”

  Evelyn took the rag from him and wet it again so it would be cooler. She handed it back to him. “Wounded Knee? Was the sergeant there?”

  Black Hawk reached around to the back of Little Fox’s neck and held the rag there for a moment. “He was there. When I found my wife, shot in the head, and my little son, Small Bear, stabbed in the heart, I also found the sergeant sitting on his horse nearby, holding a bloody sword. He just stared at me at first, then turned his horse and quickly rode away before I could reach for him. I had no weapons, but I would have killed him with my bare hands!” He moved the rag back to Little Fox’s face. “I will never forget that day, and the sergeant knows it. He is afraid that one day I will sneak up on him and cut out his heart!”

  Evelyn shivered. She had no doubt that if Black Hawk thought he could get away with it, he would do just that. The only thing holding him back was Little Fox. He was all the boy had. He would never do anything that would mean leaving his son alone.

  “I am so sorry, Black Hawk.”

  He kept his eyes on Little Fox. “A blizzard came later that day. When I went back to find Turtle Woman and Small Bear, their bodies were frozen and covered with snow.” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath to keep his composure. “The Army dug one big hole and loaded bodies onto wagons like rotten logs, then dumped them into the hole and covered them. We could not even give them a proper Indian burial. I would have buried my wife and son together, on a scaffold up high, where they could easily walk the road to the heavens. I would have buried with them all the things they need for the journey: new moccasins, blankets, food. Now I do not know if their spirits were able to climb out of that terrible hole and find their way to the land where there are many buffalo and the grass is always green and there is no pain.”

  Evelyn blinked back tears. “Black Hawk, I believe we worship the same God, and my God finds lost souls and takes them to Him. It doesn’t matter where they are buried or how they died. He finds them and sets their spirits free. I have no doubt that Turtle Woman and Small Bear are playing happily together somewhere in a land just like what you described. My own mother is probably with them.”

  He looked up from Little Fox with a frown of surprise. “You believe that white people go to the same place as my people?”

  It was the first time in many days that Evelyn felt an urge to laugh, but she only smiled reassuringly. “I believe that all good people go to the same place. My God does not see the color of a person’s skin. He sees only the soul, Black Hawk, the goodness of their hearts.”

  He nodded, then laid the rag across Little Fox’s forehead and straightened, taking a deep breath. “I was afraid when I came here that I would find you, too, had died of this terrible t
hing. I was glad when they released me to learn from Agent McLaughlin that you had survived the arrow wound. Then when I heard about this sickness…” His dark eyes studied her almost lovingly, making her blush.

  “I’ll be fine, Black Hawk. I just need a little more rest.”

  He glanced down at his son. “Now my son is in your bed. Do you want me to move him?”

  “No. He seems to be resting well. I can borrow a cot and put it in the outer room to sleep on. Most of the sick I am helping care for are in the school and at the church, but Little Fox is special. We’ll leave him right here.”

  His eyes teared again. “Tell me he will not die. He is all I have.”

  “I can’t make such a promise, Black Hawk. Only God makes those decisions. I can only pray.”

  He sighed. “I leave him in your care. I am going into the hills to pray in my own way, and to make a blood sacrifice.”

  A chill moved down her spine. She knew what he meant. He would cut himself and shed blood in an offering to Wakantanka, in hopes the sacrifice would convince his God to spare Little Fox’s life. She wanted to beg him not to do it, shout at him that it was a heathen, barbaric act, but she knew it was all the hope a man like Black Hawk had. She understood how strongly he believed in such things, and this was not the time to argue with him about the difference in their religious practices. One had to move slowly with Black Hawk, teach him a little at a time. It was enough that she had planted the idea that they worshipped the same God. “When will you come back?” she asked.

  Black Hawk studied her blue eyes, surprised she had not objected to what he wanted to do. Most white women would have been shocked, would have told him it was wrong. He thought what a small thing she was. He could easily hurt her, but he would rather hold her, feel himself inside her, give her pleasure and take his own in return. He wanted to love her fully, in every sense, spiritually, emotionally, physically. “I will return when the spirits tell me I have shed enough blood.”

  Evelyn swallowed, feeling the weight of her responsibility. “I will do what I can, Black Hawk.”

  “I know that you will. That is why I brought him here.” His dark eyes held her in their hypnotic spell a moment longer before he turned and left the room. A moment later the outer door closed, and she heard him ride away.

  Evelyn looked at Little Fox, so pale and wasted. “God help me,” she whispered. “Don’t let him die.”

  She thought about his remark concerning Seth Bridges. Was it whiskey the man had traded the corn for? She wished she could prove it! She could have the man arrested and get his daughters out from under their horrible living conditions.

  She began bathing Little Fox again. There was no time now to worry about Seth Bridges and his possible involvement with selling whiskey to Indians. Black Hawk’s precious son was in her bed, and Black Hawk was counting on her to take care of him. He had to live, for if he did not, Black Hawk would feel he himself had nothing to live for, and she would lose him forever.

  For three days Little Fox lay near death, but inexplicably, on the third night, his fever broke and the vomiting stopped. Late on the fourth day the boy was able to sit up and eat bread and soup.

  “Your father’s connection with the spirits must be very powerful,” Evelyn told him. “Look how strong you are getting.”

  “Father’s prayers are strong because Wakantanka knows he is brave and has not forgotten the Sioux way.” The boy’s voice was still weak. “His inner circle of life has not been broken.”

  Evelyn smiled. It was obvious Black Hawk had spoken often with his son about the importance of keeping to Sioux customs.

  “Father said that when I am better, we will go and see Night Hunter and we will celebrate inikaqapi to become stronger again.”

  “The sweat lodge?”

  “Yes. It will be the first time for me. Some would say I am too young, but Father has already taught me much.” The boy breathed deeply for strength. “Allowing me to take part in inikaqapi shows that he believes I am close to being a man. Do you know the seven rites of the Sioux?”

  Evelyn sat down on the edge of his bed. “Well, there is the sweat lodge and the vision quest.”

  “My father has had many visions. He has made the Sun Dance sacrifice three times.” Little Fox spoke with great pride.

  “Yes, I have heard,” Evelyn answered, thinking about the one vision that still had not been realized. She touched Little Fox’s hair, smoothing it back from his face, aching at the circles around his eyes and the way his cheekbones protruded from loss of weight. “The Sun Dance is another rite,” she added.

  Little Fox nodded. “See if you can name them all,” he said softly, too weak to speak in a normal voice. “That is three. If you can name them all, I will give you a present for helping me get well.”

  Evelyn thought how easy this sweet, intelligent child would be to love. “All right. Let’s see… another is, I think, something about keeping around a dead relative’s spirit for a while… Wanaqi… Wanaqi yuhapi, I think it’s called.”

  Little Fox’s grin widened. “You are right! If a family wants to keep the spirit of a loved around, they must give away everything they own in sacrifice. There are many steps that must be taken to preserve a ghost spirit.” He sat up a little straighter. “Now you must name three more rituals.”

  Evelyn could not help wondering if it was her prayers that had let the boy live… or if it was because of Black Hawk’s bloody sacrifice. Sioux customs were not something to be taken lightly. There was much merit to many of them, and she thought it very foolish for most whites to laugh them off.

  “Well, there is the Hunka ritual, in which two unrelated people decide to create a bond between them that is stronger than kinship. After a special ceremony, they are forever obliged to die for each other if necessary.”

  “It is also sometimes called Hunkalowanpi. After the ritual, the older person is called Hunka ate by the younger one, meaning father. The younger one is just called Hunka. I think that you and my father should take part in the Hunkalowanpi.”

  “You do, do you? I don’t think your people would appreciate your father wanting to bond with a white woman.”

  “Why not? My father says you have an Indian heart. My father loves you.”

  Evelyn lost her smile, taken back by the unexpected. statement Surely the boy would not say such a thing so casually if Black Hawk had not told him of such feelings. She felt suddenly too warm, even though the weather had cooled, and her whole body tingled. “I… you mean… as a friend. Yes, we are good friends, Little Fox.”

  “I think he loves you more than like a friend. He thinks about you all the time. He says you are a part of his vision and that the spirits want you to be his woman.”

  Evelyn got up from the bed, suddenly completely flustered. How was she going to face Black Hawk after hearing such a statement? “Well, I… we will just have to see about that, Little Fox.”

  The boy shrugged. “What are the last two rituals?”

  His remark had left her so shaken that she could not think. Little Fox apparently did not think much about what he had just said. It was something he simply took for granted and supposed she should, too. “I—I can’t remember,” she told him.

  “They are the puberty ritual, Isnati awicalowan, like what my aunt, Many Birds, had. The other is Tapa wankayeyapi, the throwing of the ball. A ball made of buffalo hide is painted to represent the earth and held by a young girl, who then throws it to many people who are gathered around her in the four directions. As each person catches the ball, they throw it back to her. The ball is the same as Wakantanka, and the people around the girl represent people who are trying to get close to the spirits so they can stay in the Indian world and out of the white man’s world. The ball is knowledge, and those trying to catch it are doing so because they want to free themselves from the darkness of ignorance. Now I cannot give you the gift. You did not name all the rituals.”

  “What?”
Evelyn had hardly heard the boy. Her thoughts were reeling with what he had said about Black Hawk loving her. “Oh! I would have remembered if you had given me time to think about it.”

  The boy smiled. “I know. I will give you the gift anyway. It is something that belonged to my mother. I cannot give it to you until Father returns. He will have to go back to our camp to get it. Will you come with us?”

  Being alone with Black Hawk had new meaning now… new dangers. “I will think about it, Little Fox. If the reverend and his sister no longer need my help, I will come.”

  “After you were hurt, I was afraid you would never come back. I want to learn more from the books you gave us. I studied them often.”

  “That’s very good, Little Fox,” Evelyn told him rather absently. She turned and urged him to scoot back down in the bed and try to sleep. “You are very weak yet. You need a lot of rest.”

  “You should rest, too, so that you can go back with us when we leave here.”

  “We will see about that.” Evelyn tucked a light blanket around him. “You sleep awhile and I will make you more of the beef soup you like so much.”

  “I am grateful.”

  Evelyn could not resist the urge to lean down and kiss his cheek. He was a child who was easy to become attached to. His smile and openness had already won her heart, but so had his father won a place there, and that was not as easy to accept. She left the room and walked outside to the small front porch of the cabin, looking out to the hills. Black Hawk would come back anytime now. How was she going to be able to look him in the eyes, after what Little Fox had told her? She knew she should be offended hearing that an Indian man loved her, but she only felt a wonderful joy, and more—a deep and surely sinful longing to be held lovingly in Black Hawk’s arms.

  Eighteen