Snowbird secretly dreamed of one day marrying the tall and strong grandson of Blue Hawk, but she dared not be so bold as to mention such a thing, for she was much too young to be thinking of marriage. Perhaps one day, when she became a woman, Cale would come and ask permission to court her. He would bring her father buffalo meat, robes, and horses. Cale was good at catching wild horses, something his own grandfather did for a living. Horses were the greatest gift of all, and she dreamed of Cale’s bringing many to her father’s tipi one day.
“Grandfather,” Cale spoke up, his voice sounding weak and his eyes closed. Buffalo Boy supported one arm that Cale held out to be painted.
Caleb sat cross-legged, watching the ritual painting, keeping a good eye on his grandson and realizing the suffering he had already experienced in going several days without food and the last two days without water. “I’m right here, Cale.”
“Do you think I will have a vision that will give me a new name—an Indian name? I would like an Indian name.”
“It often happens. Just remember you can’t really tell anyone your vision, not even me. But if you feel it is a vision that calls for changing your name, you can tell me that much.”
Cale took a deep breath against the mixture of dread and excitement he felt every time he thought about what he would be doing the next day. “Pray hard for me, Grandfather. I don’t want to cry out. I would be disgraced.”
“You won’t cry out. Every time you feel a need to cry out, you will blow hard on your whistle.”
“I don’t have a whistle.”
Caleb untied a small leather pouch from his waist, opening it and reaching inside. He reached out and took Cale’s free hand, placing a carved bone whistle in it. “You have one now.”
Cale opened his eyes, looking down at the whistle, then glancing at the leather bag and meeting his grandfather’s eyes. “That is your own medicine bag!”
Caleb smiled and nodded. “It is. That whistle was given to me when I participated in the Sun Dance. I have carried it around with me for over thirty-five years. Every warrior needs his own medicine bag, Cale, filled with things that give him power and strength. My medicine bag has kept me alive, and its power helped me find Sarah again, brought me a daughter I never knew I had—your own mother. Now I am getting older, and it will be many years yet before I live truly as an Indian. If and when I do, it will mean your grandmother has left me in death, in which case I will have no need for the luck of the medicine bag, because life will mean nothing to me without Sarah. It is time to give my power to others, and I can think of no one more worthy than my grandson, who has chosen to be Cheyenne.”
In his weakened condition Cale’s eyes teared. Caleb squeezed the whistle into his hand and held his hand tightly. “No tears. You will mess up White Bird Woman’s beautiful painting.”
Cale managed a smile. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he said in a broken voice. “You should not do this. I already have the quill necklace.”
“These are things that should go to someone who loves the People, believes in them; someone who will help carry on the Cheyenne customs. I know your father was Cherokee, but to be Cheyenne is to be Indian, the same as Cherokee. And that is the most important thing to remember—the race. Don’t let it die, Cale. I see a future where the white man will do all he can to wipe out all Indians and their culture along with them. Don’t let it happen. Teach your children not to let it happen. The white man can take away the land, but he can’t take away what is inside, Cale—the spirit, the blood. Make it live on.”
The boy sniffed and nodded. “I will do all that I can, Grandfather. The things you have given me are such great gifts—a necklace given you by your own Cheyenne mother, the bone whistle you used at your own sacrifice. Yet you have given me a much greater gift. You have given me your love and guidance and some of your power. Please, make my mother understand why I am doing this. And . . . and tell James that no matter how he feels, he will always be my honored uncle and my friend. My feelings for him will never change, and I will pray that whatever he does with his life, he will be happy.”
Caleb felt the old ache of loving a son whom he knew he was losing in the worst way. “I will tell him.”
Buffalo Boy lowered Cale’s arm. The painting was finished.
“Now we can only wait and pray,” White Bird Woman said.
Cale held up the whistle, showing it to Buffalo Boy. “A gift from my grandfather. He used it when he also took part in the Sun Dance, many years ago when he was not much older than me.”
Buffalo Boy’s eyes widened, and he made a little hissing sound of awe as he touched and studied the whistle. “You must have a medicine bag, Cale, in which you will collect things that are good luck charms and will give you power,” Buffalo Boy told him in the Cheyenne tongue. “I will make one for you.”
Cale looked at him in surprise. “You would do that?”
“You are my good friend. We are like brothers. And I envy you, having the courage to do what you are doing. I will someday, too. But I do not feel ready yet. Not many do this at your age.”
Cale straightened, puffing out his chest. “Then it will be even more proof of my bravery—and it will more than make up for my disgrace.”
“Your disgrace will be forgotten after tomorrow, Cale.”
Cale met his grandfather’s eyes and smiled. “Ai. After tomorrow I will be an honored warrior, part owner of the sacred Sun Dance Medicine Bundle. After this I can help the priests conduct future ceremonies. And I will bear my scars proudly.” His eyes dropped to the scars over his grandfather’s breasts, the scars on his upper arms. He met the man’s eyes again, realizing how painful his ordeal would be. But Blue Hawk would be watching, as well as Buffalo Boy, and Snowbird. He had not looked at her, but he knew she was watching. He must be a man. “After tomorrow there will be no more doubts about whether I am worthy to be a Cheyenne. After tomorrow I will feel no white blood.”
Caleb nodded. “In the morning the dancing begins.”
Their eyes held. “You feel good being here, don’t you, Grandfather?”
Caleb smiled. “Yes. It is good to be here, Cale.” He thought lovingly of Sarah, patiently waiting for him to return. How familiar all of this felt: the tipi, the painting, the medicine bag, the wonderful summer ceremony of the Sun Dance. It had been so many years, and when he had done this, he had been showing off for his beautiful Walking Grass, Tom’s mother.
That made him think of Tom. Tom. What had happened to his precious first son? Other responsibilities kept Caleb from going to California to find the man. He could only pray for him, as he must pray now for Cale. If only he could know what was happening in California. But for now Cale needed him here.
James looked up from the fence he was mending to watch his father and Cale approaching. “Jess! They’re coming.”
Jess looked out over the northern plains to see the two riders. He knew Caleb’s outline well enough by now to know who it was. “I’ll go get Lynda. You go get your mother.”
Both men dropped their tools and mounted their horses, riding toward the cabins, which were a half mile to the south. A man Jess had hired to stay near the cabins when he had to be in the fields stood up from his chair on Sarah’s porch, cradling his rifle warily until he realized it was Jess and James coming. Jess headed for his own cabin, and James rode up to his mother’s, dismounting and tying his horse.
“They’re back, Carl,” James told the man before going inside. “Mother,” he called out, barging through the door. “Father is coming with Cale!”
Sarah’s eyes widened with joy. She hurriedly untied her apron, walking into the bedroom to get a look at herself in a mirror. She pinched her cheeks and patted the sides of her hair, which was pulled up into a heavy bun. She felt like a young girl, getting so excited at seeing Caleb. It was always this way. But this was especially exciting. He had been with the Cheyenne, and she always worried about losing him to that world, even though she knew better than to think he would e
ver not return to her. But he had been among Indian women, with their brown skin and long, dark hair and quiet strength. Did he ever wish he had married that kind of woman or wonder what his life would have been like if Walking Grass had lived?
She heard the door slam as James ran back outside, and she hurried out herself to see Lynda walking from her own cabin, leading John by the hand. Jess walked beside them. Lynda was already seven months pregnant, and so far she had carried the baby well. Sarah gave James a warning look not to spoil this moment, but James’s own curiosity overwhelmed his feelings of jealousy over Cale.
Grandfather and grandson came closer, and if they did not already know who they were, all of the Saxes would have thought the two men approaching were wild Cheyenne come to do them harm. Cale had chosen to be as Indian as he could be, striping his face in blue, his chosen prayer color because his grandfather was Blue Hawk. Both were dressed in buckskins, and Cale wore the blue quill necklace, as well as the bone whistle, which was tied on a piece of rawhide string around his neck. He wore a red headband, and his spotted horse was painted with signs of the summer celebration—a sun, tipis, arrows, a buffalo, and a blue hawk. Sarah noticed something was different about the blue quill necklace. There was a new stone hanging on it, a lovely, round, reddish stone with something carved on it.
Caleb’s horse was also painted. His hair hung long and straight, with a red headband tied around his forehead and white stripes painted horizontally on his cheeks. He was as Indian as any true Cheyenne, and Sarah’s heart swelled with pride, as well as ached with the old guilt of where this man truly belonged. He had been with them for several weeks, but he had returned. His moving blue eyes met hers as he rode up to her, sitting tall and beautiful on his mount, like a warrior come to steal her away. But then he had done that, many years ago. He smiled and dismounted, immediately embracing her.
“You are all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’ve been fine. And so is Lynda.”
He kissed her hair and turned to look up at Cale, all of them staring at him proudly. “This is Heammanahku. In our tongue that means Bear Above.” Caleb looked at Lynda. “From now on that is what you must call your son. He is no longer Caleb Lee Whitestone. I don’t think Lee would mind, and Bear Above hopes that you don’t mind. He has survived the Sun Dance with great honor, and he has had a vision, from which he took his name.”
Lynda stared at her oldest son, her eyes tearing. He looked much thinner, but well. He wore his hair long, but one side was braided behind his ear with beads wound into it. “Are you all right?”
Cale grinned. “I am fine, Mother. It has been four weeks since the celebration. One of my wounds was infected and it took me longer to heal than I had thought it would. Grandfather helped me get well. He helped me through everything.” He looked at Caleb lovingly before looking back at his mother again. “I will stay two days—no more. Then I go back. I have much to learn.” His eyes moved to James, and he tossed his head. “How do I look?”
“Like an Indian,” James answered. “Kind of scary.”
They all laughed lightly.
“Then maybe if the day comes that I have to fight white men,” Cale answered, dismounting, “I can just scare them away with my looks.”
No one knew what to say, for none of them wanted to imagine young Cale fighting white soldiers. Yet surely that day was coming.
“Warriors do not openly show their affection,” he told his mother. “But since I am not among Cheyenne, I guess I can hug you.”
Lynda smiled through tears, embracing her son, the young man who was all she had left of her first husband. “Your father would be very proud of you, Cale—I mean, Bear Above. You will have to let me get used to your name.”
“I understand.” He let go of her, looking down at her swollen belly. “You are all right, too?”
She reddened a little, putting a hand to her stomach. “Yes. I think this is going to be a good one.”
Cale grinned, picking up a wide-eyed John and swinging his brother around, holding him in one arm as he shook hands with Jess.
“I’m glad that everything went all right for you, Bear Above,” Jess told him. It seemed strange that he had already lost fatherly control over this young man. But then it seemed Indians did everything sooner than white men. What was it about the Indian spirit that could never quite be captured or controlled?
Cale turned to James, putting out his hand. Their eyes held, and James finally reached out. Cale grasped his wrist and James grasped Cale’s firmly. They held for a moment.
“So. We go our separate ways, James. I wonder sometimes—if Grandfather and all of you move away from here, will I ever see my childhood friend again? Will we ever be as close as when we were boys in Texas?”
James swallowed back his emotions. “Probably not. You’ve chosen a dangerous life, Cale.” He rolled his eyes. “Bear Above.”
Cale kept hold of James’s wrist. “Look at me. Could I have chosen any other and be happy?”
James smiled a little. “No. I guess not.”
“For me, living among the Cheyenne will not be as dangerous as trying to live among white men. You can live among white men safely. Just don’t forget who your relatives are.”
There was a tense moment of silence. James did not answer the statement, and Cale put a wiggling John down and turned to his grandmother, embracing her.
“You remind me of a young Caleb,” she told him. “We all love you, Bear Above. You can come to us anytime. Always remember that.”
“I will remember. And you will see me often as long as you are here. I will often be around the fort with Buffalo Boy and his family.” He held out the new stone on his necklace. “See what Grandfather made for me? He calls it a sun stone. It is round, representing the endless circle of life. And into it he carved a bear, representing my vision.”
Sarah studied the stone, touching the quill necklace lovingly. The necklace meant so much—a sort of powerful link for all of them. It was so old, and so much a representation of the heritage of Caleb Sax. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. She patted Cale’s shoulder. “You are much too thin, Bear Above. Lynda and I will prepare a supper that will fatten you up by tomorrow morning.”
They all laughed, but Caleb caught the torment in Lynda’s eyes. Jess embraced her reassuringly, and Caleb was relieved at how understanding the man could be. As long as she had Jess, and if the baby was born healthy, his daughter would survive the trauma of losing her precious eldest son to another world. Lynda was a strong young woman, a survivor—a Sax.
“We will eat at our cabin,” Sarah told them. “I don’t want Lynda doing too much work.”
Young John took the horses, proudly showing that he was getting big enough to help with some of the chores. Caleb turned to Sarah, seeing in her green eyes a sudden new concern. She reached out and took his hand, leading him away from the others. His heart tightened. Had she been sick again or was something wrong with Lynda? She turned and looked up at him.
“I’m glad it all went well, Caleb, and I’m relieved to see you back in one piece. And the stone—such a lovely gift. I know it came from the heart.” She sighed deeply. “There are more soldiers in the area. Some even came here, asking if we had had any trouble with renegade Cheyenne. If it wasn’t so serious, I would have laughed.” She tried to smile, but her eyes teared and she looked down.
“What is it, Sarah?”
She swallowed, looking back at him and watching his eyes. How she hated giving him bad news. “Our letter to Tom—it came back.”
He frowned. “Came back!”
“Yes. The messenger found Lecho de Rosas, but the land had been broken up and taken over by Americans. He said—” She swallowed before continuing. “He said they told him there had been some fighting there—that the owner, Antonio Galvez, had been killed. Those who live there now don’t even know exactly what happened after that. They only know that later several American volunteers and two or three Mexicans who ha
d apparently settled into the Galvez mansion were found murdered there—almost execution-style. Everyone who had anything to do with the ranch was gone, including Juanita Galvez. No one seems to know what happened to her, where she went, or who could have killed all those men.”
Their eyes held, and she saw the terror in his own, mixed with the fire of his own remembered vengeance. “If something happened to that girl, I have a damned good idea who could have been involved in those murders—someone who would most certainly seek revenge, just as his father once did!” He turned away, clenching his fists. “Damn! Something terrible has happened, Sarah. Maybe he was hurt in all that fighting. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t written.”
“But the girl is gone. Who else could have taken her but Tom? And if he did, that would mean he’s all right, Caleb. We have to believe that.”
Caleb stared out at the purple mountains in the western horizon. “Did the man say how things were in California in general?”
“Fairly peaceful now. The Americans have claimed it. Most of the trouble was in the Los Angeles area. A Commodore Stockton is apparently in control there, after some kind of dispute between him and Colonel Kearny. Kearny is on his way back east now with someone by the name of Frémont. There is very little fighting left, other than some raids by guerrilla californios against American settlements.”
“Californios?”
“That’s what the Spanish faction who don’t want American rule call themselves. There have been some vicious raids, and they say only a handful of californios seem to be responsible. They have begun calling them Los Malos, The Bad Ones.”
He turned to meet her eyes, and she saw his lonely sorrow. “He’s all right, Caleb, I just know it,” she assured him. “It’s just as before—when we thought he had been killed at the Alamo. You refused to believe the worst then, and you were right. And just as then, I’m sure there is some good reason you haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’ll get a message to you soon.”
He looked past her, absently watching Jess and Cale talking. “I don’t like this, Sarah. A bunch of American volunteers attacking that ranch and killing Señor Galvez, and now the girl is missing. Something terrible happened to her. I feel it. Tom must be suffering some terrible anguish. That would explain my dream a few months ago, when I thought he cried out to me.”
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