by Liz D. Marx
No, impossible.
“There! There’s another exit,” Chloe said, once again yanking him from his thoughts.
Mason turned onto the road Chloe was pointing at and, after just a couple of miles, he saw a sign indicating that they were back on track.
Welcome to Norman, Montgomery County. Population 423.
“Aren’t there a couple of zeros missing on that sign?” Chloe asked, true amusement in her voice.
“Nope, Norman is very, err, quiet,” Mason replied.
The town consisted of a two-way road, and a few houses every few meters. Most were plain modular homes with a wrap-around porch that had seen better days.
“Wow, the land is quite dry here,” Chloe pointed out.
“The weather’s been very harsh this year. The trees are already leafless and we’re only in the middle of fall.”
They passed by the Caddo burial ground, which was quite a well-kept park with a walking trail and a few spots for picnicking but not much more than that.
“Why is this site called the Caddo Indian Memorial?” Chloe asked, probably noticing the lack of historical landmarks. Her sharp mind didn’t miss anything.
“Bones and artifacts were discovered a few decades ago during the construction of a new sewage treatment plant. After analyzing the fossils, they discovered that this was once an ancient Native American cemetery. So the plant was canceled and a park was created instead.”
“Cool.”
“But?” Mason probed.
“Well, I was expecting at least a totem, a statue or something more, you know, prominent,” Chloe explained.
There were actually several signs throughout the trail that depicted the life and culture of the Caddos and their ancestors, but she was right, there should have been more―a bigger acknowledgment of the true first inhabitants of that land.
Mason drove along Main Street East, turned left on Golf Course Road and after a few more minutes arrived at their destination.
“We’re here,” he announced, pulling over in front of a large gate.
“We are?” Chloe asked, a slight frown crossed her brow.
Mason understood her skepticism. The high fenced property didn’t scream Native American. But the angry-looking man who came out of the gate with a large rifle in hands did.
“This is private property. You can’t park in here,” the man said. His gun wasn’t raised but he made sure it was very visible.
“Are you sure this is your friend’s place, Mason?” Chloe whispered.
Mason heard her whimper in fear when he stepped out of the truck, or maybe it was because the Native American also decided that just carrying the rifle wasn’t going to cut it, and aimed its muzzle at Mason’s chest.
“Hold it there, mister. One more step and I’ll shoot.”
“Bullshit, you couldn’t hit a dead rabbit if you wanted to.”
Mason’s response earned him another little cry from Chloe, but the man in front of the gate paused.
“Sonofabitch,” the large man exclaimed, putting the gun down.
“Well, you got that right, RB,” Mason joked, stepping closer to embrace the man.
“It’s good to see you, Raven Flying Low.”
Mason unlocked from their hold and saw that Chloe had gotten out of the car and was watching the two of them. “Chloe Doyle, this is Running Bison, the chief of this Caddo Village.”
“Caddo Cultural Center,” RB corrected lightly, then offered his hand to Chloe. “It’s a pleasure to see this old fool has finally settled down, Miss Doyle.”
“Oh, no, we’re not …you know, together. We’re …” Chloe hesitated, her cheeks blushing furiously.
Mason narrowed his eyes, waiting to hear what she was going to say. What were they really? He felt like leaving her to climb out of the deep hole she’d buried herself in, but― “We’re business partners,” he said, giving her a slight nod.
She responded with a small embarrassed smile.
“Oh, I see,” Running Bison replied with a raised eyebrow.
Mason kicked himself for not having anticipated that. He had forgotten that he had never brought anyone with him in the several occasions he had visited the Caddos.
“Come on in, you’re just in time,” his friend announced with a wide grin, then opened the gates.
Chloe followed Mason back in the car.
“In time for what?” she asked as he drove them through the narrow entry.
“I have no idea.”
The property was set on a rolling hill that gradually descended to the Caddo River. Chloe noticed small crops of corn and pumpkin, and a large barn with a short fence beyond it bordering the national park.
Mason parked the car next to what looked like a large one-floor building with an adjacent open pavilion. The dwellings were simple and the concrete-gray exterior was dominant, but colorful little flags and ribbons adorned the entire complex.
“Oh, that’s why he said it was a cultural center,” Chloe said to herself. “This is a school ground.”
“With dorms. They had problems with the tax man a few years ago and found the solution by establishing their farm as an educational institution. Here they teach young kids the Caddo way,” Mason explained as he opened his door. “Come, let me introduce you to the rest of the family.”
The place was buzzing with people. Men, women and children rushed around. They were setting up long tables, putting up decorations and sweeping the floor.
An elderly lady wearing a long dress and a white apron came to greet them. “Raven!” she exclaimed with a wide smile. “It’s been too long.”
“Hello, Mamma Clear Water,” Mason said, touching her forehead with his own.
“You came for the Turkey Dance?” she asked. Her chocolate eyes wrinkled at the sides with true contentment.
“Is it today?” Mason asked back. He turned to Chloe and was about to say something but was interrupted by a group of kids who were fighting for his attention.
Chloe felt the space around her get cramped as more and more people came to greet Mason. Suddenly the whole community was there. Chloe stepped back and watched her unassuming antiques-gallery-owner-turned-tour-guide salute each one of them in that forehead-to-forehead way.
“What a nice way of greeting each other,” Chloe said to herself.
“That’s our village’s ‘hello.’”
Chloe turned around to see a lean, tall woman standing next to her. She was very pretty with long dark hair, brown eyes and a lovely sun-kissed complexion. She resembled Mason in every way.
“It’s not in our custom to shake hands. Instead we put our foreheads together, like this,” the woman said, stepping closer to demonstrate the gesture.
Chloe leaned forward and tried to reach out without head-butting the woman. And failed miserably.
“Ouch,” Chloe said, rubbing her sore temple. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it takes practice,” the woman replied with a chuckle, also massaging her brow.
“Does every Caddoan greet each other like that?”
“No, just us. I’m Matilda, by the way” she added, offering her hand.
“Oh, good, this I can do,” Chloe said and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Chloe.”
“It’s always like this every time Mason visits us,” Matilda explained, referring to the crowd that had engulfed him. “He’s one of our biggest benefactors.”
“It’s quite amazing. I never knew,” Chloe replied, noticing that some elders extended their salutation to a point that looked like they were asking for Mason’s blessing. He must be a hell of a sponsor to be revered like that.
Chloe’s thoughts were disturbed by a slight movement above her. Raising her gaze, she saw a teenage boy crouched on the pavilion’s roof, watching the scene below. He was the only one who did not seem happy with their arrival. The kid shifted his attention and their eyes met.
A strange feeling overcame Chloe. Those eyes…they seemed familiar for some reason. Th
e kid frowned slightly, then turned on his heels and disappeared behind the building.
“Who’s that?” she asked Matilda.
“That was Johnny. He’s been living with us for a while,” Matilda replied, then tugged at Chloe’s elbow. “Come, let me show you around.”
Chloe followed the woman, but before reaching the house, she noticed Mason talking to Running Bison and pointing at the roof. He, too, had noticed the strange boy.
The rest of the morning was quite fun. After Matilda showed her the school, Chloe helped the villagers finish the preparations for the festival that would take place in a few hours. Everyone was very friendly and warm, not only towards her but with each other. The children helped out and then played around a little.
She learned that the cultural center was a boarding school for the Native Americans in Norman as well as an orphanage for underprivileged kids, and they kept their roots alive by celebrating the ancient festivals the way their ancestors did.
“The Ghost Dance is the most famous in the western Indian reservations, but for us, the Turkey Dance is the most important one,” an elderly lady called Whitebread explained while they kneaded the dough for what seemed like an infinite amount of corn bread. She also explained that the Turkey Dance was a celebration of life that took place every year just before the harvest.
“In the old days, our forefathers danced to thank the gods for the good food that would keep them strong and help them live through the harsh winter.”
“It has to be performed in the afternoon and must be completed by sunset,” another lady added.
“Because that’s when turkeys come home to roost,” a cute boy explained as he diligently poured more flour on the workbench. Chloe had the urge to hug him purple, so cute he was.
She was fascinated by it all. Her entire life she had read and studied the Native American rituals and ways of life, but this was the first time she was going to actually experience it.
After getting sore arms from kneading, she helped out with the pumpkin stew and then with sewing the last of the costumes for the evening dance. Mason popped his head in a few times to check how she was doing, and was promptly shooed away by the other women―who guaranteed him his girlfriend was in good hands.
In the beginning, Chloe had tried to explain that they were not together, but gave up after the tenth person referred to Mason as her boyfriend. It was either that or the unique name of Raven Flying Low. Chloe kind of liked that―both ways, actually.
The afternoon was approaching fast. After taking a nice hot shower, she went to the dorms, where she had been allocated one of the twenty bunk beds to sleep on. A khaki-colored leather dress was laid on her bed.
Picking it up, she realized it had been handcrafted with flax strings, and adorned with beautiful red and black drawings of leaves and birds. Its short sleeves had light fringes that matched the ones covering the hem of the long skirt. It was a typical Native American outfit from the time before the Europeans arrived.
“I made it myself,” Matilda said from the door.
“It’s stunning, but―”
“No buts,” her new friend said with a broad smile. “You should wear it, I insist.”
Chloe wanted to decline but she knew it would be a great offense if she did. “Thank you, Matilda. It will be an honor to wear something so beautiful and so significant.”
“Oh, drop the ceremony, Chloe!” Matilda joked. “It’s not my only one, and we’ll all be going traditional this afternoon.” She winked then left to get ready herself.
Chloe finished getting dressed and looked at herself in the communal bathroom’s mirror.
The dress was stunning. It hugged her in all the right places, and the low cut V-neck boosted her average-size breasts. She felt strangely nervous, as if she were going to her prom or something.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe,” she chided herself then, after failing to tame her wild blonde curls, stepped outside.
But instead of going straight to the pavilion, she stood by the entrance just watching the village.
Matilda had not lied. Every single woman in the party was wearing either a leather costume like hers or a long-sleeve calico dress underneath full-length aprons. Some carried a colorful shawl draped over their shoulders and a striking ornament on the back of their heads that Chloe recognized at once.
It was the famous dush-toh―an embellished, hourglass-shaped headdress with ribbons that flowed as low as their long skirts.
Most men wore old-fashioned three-piece suits or other European-looking garbs from the pioneer era. Chloe noticed a group of younger guys who were teasing each other. They were wearing breechcloths that reached their knees but were just wide enough to barely cover their intimate parts, and had moccasins for shoes, their hair covered with cheap-looking mohawk wigs.
“They must be freezing,” Chloe chuckled.
She then took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows, meaning to meet Matilda and the other women who were trying to keep the children away from the long food table in the pavilion.
“You look beautiful.” Mason’s husky voice startled her.
Chloe turned around to see him leaning on the building, just a few steps from where she had been. He wore brown leather pants that were tucked inside knee-high moccasin-style boots. His broad shoulders were covered with a cream cotton shirt with long bell sleeves. The wide V-neckline exposed his taut, strong chest.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she lied. He looked simply gorgeous.
Mason took a few steps closer and stopped just inches from her. “Did you enjoy your morning?”
Butterflies started the party earlier in her stomach. His nearness, in addition to the way he looked at her with those bedroom eyes, was just too much. Her brain suddenly lost the ability to speak. So she simply nodded instead.
“I’m glad,” he murmured. “It was quite amusing to watch you with the others. You looked... at home.”
“I was,” she breathed.
His penetrating brown gaze locked in hers, then they lowered to her lips. Oh, dear. Chloe’s breath got caught in her throat with the anticipation of a kiss.
But it never happened.
Out of nowhere, Mason stepped back and looked away.
Huh?
“Come, I want to introduce you to one of the elders. He can definitely help us with the stone.”
Again―huh?
Chloe stood there for a moment, numb, but then followed Mason to the pavilion, still puzzled by his sudden change of tone.
The children had finally been allowed to dig in and were delighting themselves in the several dishes laid out. Mason guided Chloe to a seat on the far end of the table where Running Bison and some other men were. They all greeted Chloe in that special forehead-to-forehead way and she mentally high-fived herself for returning the salutation without causing any injuries.
The atmosphere in the room was definitely one of celebration. Chloe was happy to see a number of Caucasian people there as well, along with the Native Americans. A lot of them came to drink wine with her, and Mason made sure she didn’t feel left out. Damn him.
The food looked great and smelled fantastic, but after the second mouth full, Chloe gave up on it entirely and stuck to just sipping on her red wine. She just wasn’t in the mood for eating. Her brief encounter with Mason earlier in the afternoon had done her head in. And throughout the whole meal, she tried to ignore the way his nearness made her insides churn, but failed miserably.
She was glad when one of the elders stood up and started telling old legends. “The Caddo people emerged from Chahkanina, the place of crying," he said with a strong voice that reverberated across the entire pavilion. Everyone stopped to listen.
“It was an underground cave at the union of the great southern rivers. An elder carried with him a drum, a pipe, and fire. His wife carried corn and pumpkin seeds. The moon god instructed the people not to look back, as they emerged accompanied by their animals. But the wolf looked
back and the exit was closed forever.”
Chloe grinned as everyone nodded in acknowledgement. Just like her, they probably knew the old tale by heart, but it was obvious that reminiscing old legends was part of the festival. She wondered if the story of Mantaka would be mentioned, and got slightly disappointed when it wasn’t.
After the fifth parable, Momma Clear Water stood up. “Enough with the talking. It’s time to honor our gods. It’s time to dance.”
Everyone cheered and stood up. Matilda came around and took Chloe’s elbow. “Come, Chloe, now the fun part begins.”
Chloe looked at Mason wide-eyed and whispered, “She can’t be serious.”
“I think she is,” Mason replied with a wicked half-smile.
Chloe silently begged for help, but Mason just leaned back and watched her be dragged away to the empty area by the basketball court.
“You’ll pay for this,” Chloe mouthed, but only got a sexy chuckle in reply.
The men sat down cross-legged on the dirt floor, forming a wide circle around a massive pole. The ones carrying the drums led the music in their native language, while the women placed themselves in a tight inner circle.
The soldier chief was killed.
They say it was the Caddos.
When he followed, it was all right.
When he caught up with us, it was all right.
The Tonkaway whooped.
He thought, "They'll be afraid of me.
They beat him with a rock.
It's because a warrior was there.
“The movements are quite simple,” Matilda explained, but somehow Chloe’s insides still felt like in a washing machine. “Just follow what I do and you’ll be fine.”
Once again, Matilda was right. The steps were quite simple, and very repetitive. It was a combination of stomping on the ground, wiggling her bum out, and sweeping the dirt backwards with her feet.
Chloe stumbled a couple of times, but after the third round, she had mastered it and started enjoying herself. She realized that, like the Caddoan song being chanted by the men on the outer circle, the dance told a story. Some movements imitated a turkey and some represented harvesting.