The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

“Hawk?”

  Slowly he lifted his head. “Spirit Woman?”

  “Over here.”

  Tears burned Maggie’s eyes as she watched Hawk struggle to his feet. Hunched over against the pain that wracked his body, he walked slowly toward her.

  “Oh, Hawk, what have they done to you?” His left eye was swollen shut, his body was a mass of bruises, and she thought, from the rasp of his breathing, that he might have a fractured rib.

  Blinking back her tears, she reached up through the bars, barely able to reach his cheek with her fingertips.

  Eyes closed, he leaned into her touch, sighing softly as she stroked his cheek. “Mag-gie. How did you know where to find me?”

  “I heard you calling me, and I followed the sound of your voice.”

  He accepted her explanation without question, and it occurred to her that it was odd that she had heard his voice so clearly in her head, and even more odd that she hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. Thinking about it now made her shiver.

  “We are bound to one another heart and soul,” Shadow Hawk remarked, rubbing his cheek against the palm of her hand. “If I could see you through a hundred years of time, why should you not be able to hear me calling you?”

  Why indeed, she thought.

  “Mag-gie, I think I must sit down,” he said, and dropped heavily to the floor.

  “Hawk? Hawk!”

  “I am all right,” he assured her.

  But he didn’t sound all right. He sounded hurt, weak from pain and the loss of blood.

  Grasping the bars, Maggie pulled herself up so she could see over the window ledge. Hawk was lying on his left side, his eyes closed. She could see the bright splashes of blood that covered his back, hear the painful rasp of each indrawn breath.

  “Hawk?”

  It required too great an effort to answer her. As from far away, he heard the sound of Maggie’s voice promising help and he grunted softly, knowing there was no way she could help him. The major would come back tomorrow night and Snider would whip him again and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it. The mere thought of anyone, anything, touching his back made him shudder with dread.

  He wanted only to sleep, to drift into blessed oblivion.

  Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the darkness hovering all around him, smiling because Snider would never find him there.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Maggie ran back to her cabin, her mind whirling. She had to get Hawk away before it was too late, before they returned to beat him again. He’d never survive another whipping; indeed, it was blatantly obvious that the major didn’t intend for him to survive.

  When she reached her house, she paused, one hand on the door knob. There was no way she could free Hawk on her own. She needed help. Slowly, she glanced toward the entrance of the fort. And then, her mind made up, she hurried toward the gates, relieved to find them open to admit a wagon train of settlers. No one noticed her slip past. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the Lakota lodges.

  There were only a few people outside, mostly men, huddled around small fires. They eyed her curiously as she approached. White women were even scarcer in the Indian camp than in the fort, she thought as she smiled at the nearest man.

  “I need help,” she said, speaking Lakota.

  Frowning, the man huddled deeper into a ratty-looking buffalo robe. “Go away.”

  “Please, I need help.”

  “Why?” His voice was curt and unfriendly, but his eyes were curious as he stared at her, bewildered at her knowledge of the Lakota language.

  “My husband is a prisoner in the fort.”

  The man shrugged.

  “He’s Lakota.”

  The man looked at her more closely, his face twisted with doubt.

  “It’s true. His name is Shadow Hawk, and he’s Oglala.”

  “Shadow Hawk is dead.”

  “No he isn’t. Please, you’ve got to help me. They’ll kill him.”

  The man looked at her for a long moment, then, with an irritated shake of his head, he left the fire.

  Maggie stared after him, wondering where he’d gone, wondering if he’d come back.

  Five minutes later, the man returned, followed by a tall woman wrapped in a red blanket.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked curtly. “What do you know of my son?”

  “Winona?”

  The woman blinked several times, then nodded.

  “Shadow Hawk is my husband.”

  “No. He would not marry a white woman.

  “But he did. And he needs help. Now. Tonight. Please, you must believe me.”

  “How are you called?”

  “My name’s Maggie St. Claire. But Hawk calls me Spirit Woman.”

  She didn’t know what had possessed her to say such a thing, but the effect was startling. The woman pressed a hand to her mouth and took a step backward.

  “Winyan Wanagi,” she murmured. “My son has spoken of you often.”

  “Then you’ll help me?”

  “If I can.”

  “They’re holding Hawk in a small building near the back wall of the fort. He’s been badly beaten.”

  Winona took the man aside and they spoke for several minutes, then the man disappeared into the shadows.

  “My cousin, Crooked Lance, has gone to ask Red Arrow to help him. They will climb over the wall when the moon is low. When they have Shadow Hawk, they will bring him here.”

  “No, this is the first place they’ll look.”

  “If he is hurt as badly as you say, he will not be able to travel.”

  “He’ll have to.”

  Winona frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “I will gather my things.”

  “You’re coming with us?”

  “Of course. He is my son. Come, let us go into my lodge to wait.”

  The lodge was small and bare save for a buffalo robe bed and a few cooking pots and baskets.

  Maggie was too nervous to sit still. While Winona packed her few belongings in a par-fleche, Maggie paced the dirt floor, wishing she knew what was happening, wondering if the men would be successful in getting Hawk out of the fort, wondering where they could possibly go to hide.

  She drank the cup of willow bark tea Winona gave her, hardly aware of what she was doing. Closing her eyes, Maggie tried to concentrate on Hawk, but her mind was in such turmoil she couldn’t concentrate, and she began to pace again, praying that he’d be all right, that the waiting would soon be over.

  It was almost two hours later when Crooked Lance and Red Arrow ducked inside the lodge, supporting Hawk between them.

  Maggie stared at her husband in dismay. He was unconscious and when she touched him, she could feel he was burning with fever.

  “You must hide him,” Crooked Lance said urgently. With Red Arrow’s help, he laid Hawk face down on Winona’s blankets. “Already the bluecoats are searching for him. I will get my horse and leave tracks leading away from the fort. Perhaps it will give us some time.”

  Winona nodded. “Go, quickly.”

  “I will keep watch outside,” Red Arrow said, and followed Crooked Lance out of the lodge.

  Maggie stared at Hawk. His face was swollen, his left eye puffy and black. His upper body was a mass of bruised and torn flesh. His breath came in shallow gasps. But it was his back that made her stomach churn with horror. There seemed to be hardly a place that had more than an inch of whole skin left.

  “We must work quickly,” Winona said. “You must sit beside him,” she instructed. “Should he wake up, you must keep him quiet.”

  Maggie nodded. She dropped down on her knees beside her husband, unable to watch as Winona began to wash the blood from Hawk’s mutilated back.

  He lay as one dead for several minutes and then, as Winona touched a particularly deep gash near his left shoulder, his whole body went rigid.

  “Hawk.” Maggie whispered his name as she took his hand in hers. “It’s all right.”

  He stared up at her,
his left eye swollen shut, his left eye glazed with pain. “Where am I?”

  “In your mother’s lodge.”

  “Iná?”

  “I am here, my son.”

  “How?”

  “Later,” Maggie said. “Rest now.”

  Hawk nodded. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. Questions, he thought; he had so many questions. But the pain in his body made it difficult to think of anything else and he hovered in a twilight world of light and shadow. The pain was constant, swelling and receding each time his mother touched him.

  He clung to Maggie’s hand, finding comfort in her nearness. As from far away, he heard his mother tell Maggie that several of the cuts in his back would require stitching.

  “You must not cry out,” Maggie said, leaning forward to whisper into his ear, and he nodded that he understood.

  The first few stitches were agony. The pain sickened him and he turned his head to the side, his stomach heaving. The warrior in him felt a sense of shame as he retched helplessly, uncontrollably, while his mother and his woman looked on. And then Maggie was there, offering him a drink of cool water, holding his hand once again as his mother finished stitching his wounds.

  He tried to tell them not to worry, that he would be all right, but the words wouldn’t come, and then merciful darkness closed in around him, shutting him off from all thought, all feeling.

  After what seemed like hours but was in reality only about fifteen minutes, Winona stood up, one hand pressed to her back. “I think he will be all right,” she remarked.

  “We’ve got to get him away from here,” Maggie said.

  “Perhaps tomorrow. He cannot travel tonight. The fever will get worse. He must stay warm and drink much water.”

  Winona went to the door of the lodge and called to Red Arrow. They spoke quietly for a few minutes, then Red Arrow drew his knife and began to dig a hole in the rear of the lodge.

  “We will hide Shadow Hawk there,” Winona said, answering Maggie’s unspoken question. “I think you must go back to the fort. They will be looking for you also.”

  Maggie nodded. Winona was right, but she was reluctant to leave Hawk.

  “I will take good care of him,” Winona said.

  “I know. Thank you for your help.”

  Leaving the lodge, Maggie hurried back to her cabin. Undressing, she climbed into the narrow bed, only to lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Hawk would be all right, wishing she could ask the post doctor to look after him. She tried to tell herself that he’d be all right, that the Indians had managed to survive for thousands of years without the aid of modern medicine, but in the back of her mind she knew he might die. He’d lost a lot of blood, he had a high fever and she thought, from his careful breathing, that he might have a broken rib as well. She wished she’d thought to tell Winona to check and see, but it was too late now.

  She woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door. Rising, she wrapped herself in a blanket and hurried into the parlor.

  “He’s gone.” The lieutenant’s voice was brisk.

  “Who’s gone?” Maggie asked, smothering a yawn.

  “That Injun. Is he here?”

  “No.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me if he was, would you?”

  “No, but you’re welcome to come in and see for yourself.”

  Collins grunted. “Where were you last night?”

  “I was here.”

  “All night?”

  “Of course. Really, lieutenant, I object to your tone.”

  “You’re glad he’s gone, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. He didn’t deserve to be locked up. He hasn’t done anything.”

  “Kidnapping a white woman is considered a serious charge out here,” Collins remarked dryly. “Especially when the culprit is a redskin.”

  “I told you before, he didn’t kidnap me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.”

  With a curt nod, the lieutenant turned on his heel and walked toward the general’s office.

  Maggie felt a thrill of relief as she closed the door. At least they hadn’t found Hawk yet! She dressed quickly, eager to go to him, and then paused. She couldn’t go to him now. She had no logical reason for visiting the village. And if anyone saw her, they might report it to the general.

  She spent the morning quilting with Mrs. Sully and a few of the army wives. Much of the talk was about Indians, how they were all thieves and liars, running around the country causing trouble, killing innocent women and children.

  Maggie kept a tight rein on her tongue, afraid to say anything for fear of offending her hostess. She had to play her part, pretend she was glad to be free of Hawk, back with her own people.

  Later in the afternoon, she went walking with Lieutenant Collins, waiting patiently for him to mention Hawk, which he finally did.

  “He’s still missing,” Collins said irritably. “I guess he’s long gone by now.”

  Maggie nodded, careful to keep her expression neutral.

  “Change your mind about him, did you?” Collins asked. “I thought you’d be upset at being left behind.”

  “No.” She smiled up at him. “You were right. I want to be accepted here. I’ve missed my own people.”

  “So you don’t consider him to be your husband anymore?”

  “No,” Maggie said, pained by the lie. “You were right about that, too. The marriage probably wouldn’t have been recognized, anyway.”

  “Have you ever thought of marrying a career army man?”

  “No,” Maggie replied with a coy smile. “Do you know a career army man who’s looking for a wife?”

  “I might.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, playing the game, “you must introduce me to him sometime.”

  “I will,” Collins said. “You can count on it.”

  She bid him good day at her door, promising to dine with him at the general’s house that evening, though she dreaded the thought of flirting with him, of listening to more talk about how terrible the Indians were. Why did everyone think the Lakota were wrong to fight for their land, to expect the government to abide by its treaties? Oh, it was so unfair!

  She thought the evening would never end and then, when Collins had escorted her home, she wished she was back in the Sullys’ home, safe from the lieutenant’s advances.

  “Just one kiss, Miss St. Claire,” he urged, backing her into a corner.

  “Please, lieutenant, we hardly know each other.”

  “I’m trying to remedy that,” he said, grinning down at her.

  Maggie gazed up at him, feeling as helpless as a cat treed by a dog. The lieutenant was a handsome young man, with an engaging smile and a charming manner. Under other circumstances, she might have found him attractive. But now, all she could think about was Hawk. She was frantic to see him, to make sure he was all right.

  “Just one,” she relented, and lifted her face for his kiss, thinking that it would be faster to give in and get it over with than spend an hour arguing about it.

  The lieutenant smiled somewhat smugly as he lowered his head, his lips claiming hers as his arms drew her close.

  It was a surprisingly pleasant kiss. His moustache tickled, his lips were warm and firm, gently beguiling…

  Shocked to find herself responding to his touch, Maggie twisted out of the lieutenant’s embrace. “Just one kiss,” she reminded him, and slipping under his arm, she opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night, lieutenant.”

  She wandered through the cabin for over an hour, waiting for the fort to settle down for the night, before she slipped out the back door and made her way to the village.

  Several warriors looked at her suspiciously as she made her way to Winona’s lodge. She rapped on the lodge flap, her heart beating with eagerness to see Hawk.

  Winona’s face was grave when she threw back the flap and bid Maggie to enter.

  “Where is he?” Maggie asked after a quick glance around.

  “He is here,
” Winona said, and bending down, she uncovered Hawk, who was concealed in a shallow hole covered by the buffalo robe. It was, Maggie thought, a clever way to hide him.

  She knelt beside Hawk, her heart going cold. He was going to die. She knew it. His skin was hot, so hot, his breathing rapid and shallow. He groaned softly as Winona lifted his head and urged him to drink from a waterskin.

  “Spirit Woman?” His voice was thin and uneven.

  “I’m here,” Maggie said. She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her breast.

  “Are you spirit or flesh?” He looked up at her, his dark eyes void of recognition.

  “He’s burning up,” Maggie said. “We must bring his fever down quickly. Here.” She grabbed a blanket and thrust it into Winona’s hand. “Soak this in cold water.”

  Wordlessly, Winona did as bidden and Maggie spread the blanket over Hawk, tucking the ends over his shoulders and under his legs.

  She sat beside him all night long, forcing him to drink the thin broth Winona made, replacing the water-soaked blanket when he threw it aside. He called for her over and over again, his hands reaching for hers. It grieved her that he didn’t know she was there beside him.

  He was going to die. The thought repeated itself in her mind even as she prayed for his fever to break.

  He was going to die. She tried to accept the fact, to ready herself for the inevitable.

  Toward dawn, Hawk fell into a deep sleep. It was then that Winona told Maggie that the soldiers had come during the day, poking into the lodges, questioning the men, finally deciding that Hawk had indeed stolen a horse and escaped. Red Arrow had seen a half-dozen bluecoats ride out of the fort, following the trail Crooked Lance had left the night they’d freed Hawk.

  Maggie looked up, her eyes damp with tears, as Winona’s handed her a cup of black tea.

  “You love my son?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “How did he find you?”

  “Do you know of the Sacred Cave?”

  “Yes.”

  “He came to me through the cave, from your time into mine.”

  Winona frowned. “Your time?”

  “The future.”

  “It is not possible.”

  “It is,” Maggie said, and wondered how she’d get back to her own time if anything happened to Hawk.