“Have you been out here before?” Quinton asked, sounding a little concerned with her tone.
“No. Have you?” Regina tried to sound upbeat, but she knew her tone sounded hollow.
Quinton looked at her before he answered. “Yes. I have family out here.”
Startled, Regina felt herself stiffen, even though she tried not to. Quinton’s fingers held their grip, elsewise her hand would have fallen from his. Regina was ashamed of her bigotry, but could not help how uncomfortable she suddenly felt. The woman did not bother to hide the shock in her voice. “You’re part Indian?”
“A quarter. My father’s father was full-blooded Kalamash. We used to come out here to visit his family. Does that bother you?”
What was she to say? Yes? Yes, it bothered her to find out that the man Regina thought she was falling in love with was a heathen. Regina could not even believe that she had thought that word. By no means was she a devote Christian. So why had she come up with that bizarre, derogatory slur. What did it mean anyway? Heathen? How much did Regina really know and truly believe about the local Indians, and how much was she just parroting what she heard in town?
Regina groaned inwardly. Like this whole rendezvous wasn’t hard enough already? Now she had to resolve her completely tangled emotions over a tribe she barely knew or had given any thought to.
Or maybe she did not have to overanalyze this news. Did it really matter that Quinton was part Indian? Did that really change how warm and soothing his hand felt in hers? The man was silent as the internal struggle waged inside of Regina. How could she go to this reservation and look any of the tribe in the eye? Hell, Regina hadn’t even voted for the measure to put a larger schoolhouse at the reservation. What right did she have to go to a dance out here amongst these people?
“I take it potlatches aren’t your thing?” Quinton asked. His voice now neutral.
“A potlatch? I’m sorry I don’t even know what that is.” Regina hoped that she did not sound as agitated as she felt.
“It’s a celebration. It usually involves coming together to enjoy one another’s company and the giving of gifts from the heart.”
Great, just one more thing for her to stress about. “But I didn’t bring anything to --”
Quinton squeezed her hand and shushed her quietly. “Don’t worry. I brought it.”
“What?” Regina’s voice didn’t hide her skepticism. Those jeans the man had on were skin tight and did not allow for any hidden presents.
It was Quinton’s turn to look uncomfortable. Finally, he sighed. “I brought me.” His voice trailed off, but before Regina could ask, Quinton explained. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve visited. I know that just coming back will be considered a gift to my family.”
Oh, how awful Regina was beginning to feel. It was obvious that this celebration meant far more to Quinton than a simple clandestine rendezvous. He had chosen to share a part of his heritage and his life with her. And what was she doing? Whining about ethnicity? She had to be the biggest fool alive. Regina needed to be encouraging of his choice tonight, just like he had been last night at the club. It would be nice for him to lean on her some support.
Before she could find the words to demonstrate her feelings, Quinton continued. “I know this is a shock. I should have warned you, but I couldn’t even voice the desire to come here to myself. I just sort of blurted it out in the parking lot, and once I did I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m sorry if the situation makes you uncomfortable. We can go anywhere else you want.”
“No,” Regina said, almost surprising herself with her own heartfelt sincerity. “I want to go to the potlatch.”
Quinton released her hand and stroked her cheek with his finger. “It’s obvious this isn’t your thing. I can visit my family anytime. Tonight was supposed to be about you and me.”
Regina’s hand found Quinton’s, and she brought his finger to her lips. Tenderly, she kissed the tip. “It is. I want to share this with you.”
Quinton looked like he was going to lean over, but the road dumped into a large grassy area where everyone was parked. People were milling about the cars, and Quinton had to turn his attention back to driving. Regina could still taste the slightly salty tingle on her lips where she had kissed his finger. It was the most delicious taste she could imagine. Of course, Regina was beginning to image other areas she might want to sample, but she tried to keep her mind on being supportive of Quinton. Afterall, he was the one in the driver’s seat.
CHAPTER 9
Quinton felt his throat tighten a bit as they exited the car. He almost forgot to lock the door before they headed towards the campfire. The drums were pounding out an ancient rhythm that stirred his blood. Quinton had forgotten how much he enjoyed these native celebrations. It was almost shocking to think of how much of himself he had given up when he put on a suit and tie. Not even Quinton had realized how badly he had sold out until now. These people were proud of their heritage, and what had he done? Changed his name to distance himself from his Native American roots.
Shame threatened to overwhelm him, but Regina was by his side, holding his hand. Quinton did not think that he could have braved this crowd without her. The desire to share an intimate part of himself with this woman was the only thing outweighing his longing to run in the other direction. Homecomings were never easy.
Several people passed by and nodded their welcome, but none seemed to recognize him. But why should they? It had been over fifteen years. Quinton barely recognized himself. His hair had gone from deep black to salt and pepper. He had grown a mustache for the first time in his life to blend in better with corporate America. All in all, he looked nothing like the young man who wore a leather-head band and an eagle’s feather to these pot-latches years ago.
The sights and sounds were familiar yet strange. Add to that the beat of the drums and Quinton’s head was swimming. He must not have been the only one impressed for Regina stopped in her tracks to watch the musicians.
“What’s that?” Regina asked, pointing to a hand-made instrument.
“It’s a growler. It’s used to get the god’s attention and blessing.”
Regina squeezed his hand and moved forward, but her eyes never left the odd assembly of musicians and instruments. Quinton noticed that there were far more tribes than just the Kalamash here tonight. It looked like half a dozen other tribes had joined the celebration. There were even a few Flatheads from Idaho here. He could not remember a time when he had seen so many Indian together. The sights and sounds threatened to tug him back.
“Quinn?” an old woman’s voice tentatively asked from behind.
Turning, Quinton found his great aunt, Whispering Flower. Beneath her traditional deerskin dress and ceremonial beads, she looked so old that Quinton almost did not recognize her. Her mass of wrinkles had multiplied until you could barely make out her features. Whispering Flower had been a tribal elder back when he was still dancing at these celebrations. She had to be getting on eighty years old, but her eyes must still have been sharp to have recognized him after so long.
Hugging his great aunt, Quinton could not find the words to express how deeply sorry he was. He should have known that he did not need to. At least not with Whispering Flower.
“We have been waiting for your return,” she said. “I told them you would find your way back here tonight.”
Noticing Whispering Flower’s short cropped hair, Quinton asked, “Still haven’t grown it back yet?” Back when he was young she had the longest, straightest hair one could imagine.
“Why would I?” she asked back.
Quinton gave his great aunt another firm squeeze before he released the old woman. There was no point in asking further; Quinton knew the reason. Until Whispering Flower joined his uncle in the next life, she would keep her hair cut short in mourning. Instead of pestering his aunt, Quinton guided Regina forward to introduce his date, but he stumbled over her name, suddenly realizing that they might not wanting to give h
er real name. “This is...”
Whispering Flower held out her hand. “I know of her. Regina is it not?”
Regina looked horribly uncomfortable, but she shook Whispering Flower’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Is it?” Whispering Flower asked with the purest of tone. Quinton could tell that Regina was squirming, and he wanted to rush in soothe the situation but his date found her voice.
“Yes, it is,” Regina said, her voice a bit shaky.
The two women looked into each other eyes, and Quinton knew that something unspoken had passed between them. He longed to know what it was but was realistic that he probably never would.
Whispering Flower’s voice was warm and inviting when she turned back to Quinton. “They’ve already started. Join them. Once my other duties are done, I will find you.”
Before Quinton could say anything more, his great aunt had already turned and hobbled off towards one of the tee pee that encircled the huge bonfire. She was old and bent but had a determination to her stride that Quinton wished that he had in his own. But Whispering Flower had an advantage that he had thrown away long ago. The old woman knew who and what she was. Nor was she trying to hide this information. Quinton felt his eyes burn, and he knew it was not the smoke from the campfire.
Regina had picked up his hand again and just stood by him patiently. He looked over at her, but her eyes were on the distant moon. She seemed equally pre-occupied by her own thoughts. Funny, he had pictured this evening going in such a different way, yet he would not change a thing. He felt far closer to Regina now, than if they had met and immediately began making out.
“Quinn!” A man’s shout came from the other side of the fire. The tall man charged around the ring of rocks that outlined the flames and caught Quinton in a bear hug before he could even move. “Damn, it’s been awhile! I almost didn’t recognize you!”
Quinton patted his second cousin on the back. Until he heard the man’s voice, he did not recognize his cousin. “Black Feather, meet Regina.”
He did not know what else to say. The last time Quinton had seen his cousin, the man had been a pudgy boy, nearly rolling around. Standing before Quinton was a svelte piece of work. Black Feather’s hair was as straight as his mother’s and almost as long. A single thick braid fell to the right side of his face, indicating that he was still available. The younger man’s shirt was open at the collar showing off a chiseled chest with a thin sheen of sweat. For an instant, Quinton was slightly jealous of his cousin’s physique. He did not want Regina’s eyes to stray too much at this potlatch.
“Come on over. The old gang’s here, and we were just talking about you! We’ll never hear the end of it from Whispering Flower! She’s been saying how you were going to show up tonight.”
“I know. We already bumped into her.” Keeping hold of Regina’s hand, Quinton followed Black Feather to the other side of the fire.
Somehow Quinton had imagined having time to assimilate to his surroundings and perhaps meet everyone on his own terms. Quinton never thought that he would be recognized almost immediately and whisked back into a group of his old friends. This whole reunion thing was awkward enough without him having to worry about Regina too. How as he going to balance his multitude of desires?
***
Regina clung to Quinton’s hand like a life preserver. The interaction with Whispering Flower had shaken her badly. Everything that Regina had ever thought that she knew about the Native Americans was shattered. Looking into the old woman’s eyes, Regina had realized that the reason all the locals disliked the Indians was not because the Indians were lazy, on welfare, good-for-nothing, criminals, or loafers. It was because the townsfolk were scared of them -- intimidated by the Indians. Lord knew that Regina was. It came as a shock to realize that it was fear that fueled her husband’s fervent hatred of these people.
Whispering Flower had a presence like none other. Oh, Wayne had presence, but his was based on a shaky platform of rage and billowing anger. This old woman’s power came from deep within. It was like the earth itself had shook Regina’s hand. She felt light-headed and ever so superficial after speaking a few sentences with the old woman.
Whispering Flower had held Regina in her gaze, and she felt like the old woman had looked right into her very soul. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Regina had the sense that Whispering Flower had liked what she saw way down inside of Regina’s heart. Still, the intimacy of the interaction had thrown Regina off-balance, which was not such a good thing since her head was already swimming with too many concerns.
Regina barely heard the round of introductions with his family and friends. Regina sat down upon the thick blanket with Quinton. The texture was coarse against her fingers, but the pattern was striking. Someone threw another log onto the fire, and it crackled and snapped so loudly that Regina was drawn back into the present moment.
“Remember this?” Black Feather asked Quinton as he handed him a blanket. This one was thinner than the one they sat on, but more intricately decorated. Tiny beads outlined the scene of bear, wolf, elk and eagle at sunset.
Quinton almost shyly received the proffered blanket. “It’s the one Grandpa gave me.”
Black Feather nodded and sat back down once the exchange had been made. “We’ve brought it to each potlatch, hoping you’d reclaim it.”
Quinton brought the blanket onto his lap and delicately fingered the smooth beads. Silence descended upon their small group despite the festivities that surrounded them.
Feeling uncomfortable, Regina spoke up. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” Quinton answered distantly, but then turned to her. “My Grandmother wove it. I never met her... I only know her from this blanket.”
Everyone fell quiet again as Quinton outlined the animals.
Regina was startled when she heard Whispering Flower’s voice. “I told you we’d be seeing him tonight.”
Moving over to make room for the old woman, Regina was both pleased and disconcerted to have Whispering Flower so close to her.
“So, how did you know, Great Mother? Did you ask the spirits, O’Great Wise One?” Black Feather asked.
Regina was enthralled to hear Whispering Flower’s answer. She wanted to learn the older woman’s source of power. As much as Regina had heard about the Indian’s lazy lifestyle, she had also heard of their nearly mystical properties. That somehow these people knew things that the rest of humanity could only guess at.
Whispering Flower seemed to be stifling something as she answered, “Yes. I put loco weed on the fire and asked the smoke to answer me.”
Leaning forward, Regina was impatient to hear the revelation, but the old woman could not keep from chuckling a bit as she continued. “Actually I was in Crow’s Landing the other morning and saw Quinn at the logging company.”
Regina was stunned. She had expected some kind of magical explanation, not an old woman spotting her wayward nephew on the street.
Black Feather was amused though. “Ah, the oldest Indian gift. Sight. But why didn’t you tell us?”
“I could see he was armored in white man’s clothes. He did not look too approachable.”
“Then why did you tell everyone that I would show up tonight, Whispering Flower?” Quinton asked.
The old woman shrugged. “There was something in your eyes that morning that did not match the suit and tie. I hoped the smell of the air would remind you who you truly were.”
Quinton seemed uncomfortable and did not answer immediately.
Whispering Flower went on, “But I don’t think it was the breeze that brought you to us. I think it was something else entirely.”
It was Regina’s turn to squirm as the old woman gave her a knowing glance. All eyes were upon she and Quinton. She looked to him, but the man was intently studying the ground. Suddenly, Regina noticed the chill that had settled into the night. Goosebumps coursed up and down her arm. This was awkward enough. She did not need to be shivering to boot. Any amorou
s feelings she had were doused by the strange cold surroundings.
“Do you mind?” Regina asked Quinton indicating to his blanket. For a second, he hesitated, and a look passed between him and Whispering Flower. Regina had no idea what type of faux pas she had made. “It’s okay. I have one out in the car. I’ll just --”
“No. It’s okay. Here,” Quinton said as he gently laid the blanket over her shoulders. Their fingers briefly touched as Regina pulled the cover around her neck. Heat seemed to transfer from his hand to hers and warm Regina all the way through. How quickly the fire could be restoked. Before Regina could respond and let Quinton know how much she appreciated his attention, Black Feather hopped to his feet.
“This is our dance! Longspear, want to see if you can still outdo me?”
Quinton tried to demure. “Maybe later. I don’t want to leave Regina alone.”
“Shush!” Whispering Flower said. “I will keep her company. Now get out there. Reclaim what you have lost. Your woman will still be here.”
Regina was kind of startled and kind of thrilled to hear the Indian call her Quinton’s woman. She was certain that Whispering Flower knew that she was Mrs. Togglehorn, but that did not seem to matter to the old woman. As much as Regina wanted Quinton near by, she could tell that this was something important that he should do.
“She’s right. Go, Quinton.”
The man hesitated for another second, then hopped up with Black Feather. Before he left to join the group of dancers, Quinton took her hand. “You’re sure?”
Regina was certain of nothing right now, but that was not what he needed to hear. “Yes.”
After Quinton rushed off, Regina felt horribly uncomfortable as the silence stretched between her and Whispering Flower. Everyone else in their circle had picked up their conversations again, leaving the two women in a silent bubble all their own.
“What dance is this?”
“The Bear Dance. It is usually danced in the spring, but we have so few of these that we tend to dance anything we can. Besides it seems appropriate for tonight.”
Indian Moon Page 12