Nate sighed and plopped his face back onto his pillow. ‘You woke me up for that? Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘Our daughter is in love, but she refuses to admit it,’ Winona said. ‘She has invited Dega over for breakfast and requests that you and I stay in bed until they leave.’
‘The nerve of the hussy,’ Nate mumbled. ‘And in our own cabin.’
Winona leaned toward him so she could see him better. ‘I am not so sure I like your tone. You are taking this far too lightly.’
Nate shifted so he faced her. ‘And you, my dear, are making a mountain out of a prairie dog burrow. Yes, she cares for him. We figured that out weeks ago. If you say she loves him, then I believe you. She was bound to fall in love with someone eventually. It’s nothing for us to be upset about.’
‘Do you remember the first time I invited you to my father’s lodge for a meal?’
‘Sure. Your mother made venison. It was delicious. Your father kept staring at me as if he wanted to lift my hair. So?’
‘Do you remember what we did after we ate? When we went out and stood under a blanket together?’
‘Of course I remember,’ Nate said, and chuckled. ‘You were about the friskiest little vixen this side of—’ Stopping, he sat bolt upright. ‘Dear God! Find my pistols. When Dega knocks on the door, I’ll shoot him.’
Two
Well before sunrise, Degamawaku of the Nansusequa was up and dressed in his green buckskins. He tightly laced his green moccasins, which came to his knees, and slid the strap of his green pouch across his shoulder and chest. He made sure the bone-handled knife in its green sheath was snug on his hip.
Green was special to the Nansusequa. It was the color of the grass and the leaves, the color of the forest. It was the color his people associated with Manitoa, the nurturer, That Which Was In All Things, the source of all that was and all that had ever been and all that would be. The Nansusequa dyed their clothes green and their blankets green and anything else they could dye, in Manitoa’s honor. Green was their world, green was their life.
Dega picked up his lance. On cat’s feet he moved toward the lodge entrance. He did not need light to see. He passed his father and mother, Wakumassee and Tihikanima. He passed his sisters, Tenikawaku and Mikikawaku, both bundled in blankets. At the entrance he paused to look back. His heart swelled with love for the four people who meant more to him than anything.
They were the last of the Nansusequa. Dega still could not quite believe it, could not quite accept that the rest of their tribe had been massacred. And for what? For the land the Nansusequa had lived on since the beginning of all things, the land that had nurtured the Nansusequa and which they had nurtured in turn. For land that white men wanted so they could fell the trees for cabins and barns and scar the soil with their plows.
Only by the grace of Manitoa had Dega and his family survived. They were all that was left of their kind. When they were gone, so were the Nansusequa. The thought filled him with profound sadness.
With a toss of his head, Dega pushed the green blanket aside and stepped out into the brisk chill of predawn. He faced to the east and raised his arms and gave inward thanks to Manitoa for another day of life, as was Nansusequa custom.
The forest was still. The tall trees that grew on all sides reminded Dega of the forest in which he had been reared. But this forest was not the same. The trees were different, the plants that made up the undergrowth were different, the ground drier. Still, it was forest, and it was of Manitoa, and all that came from Manitoa was good, and it was right to be thankful for all that Manitoa gave.
Dega headed for the rear of the lodge. It was not as high or as long as the lodge they had lived in before calamity struck, but it was of the same shape and pattern, and in the daytime he would sometimes stare at it and think of all the other lodges that once made up the Nansusequa village, and all the happy, smiling, peaceful people who had lived in those lodges, and his sorrow would be almost more than he could bear.
In a corral were two horses, gifts from Nate King and Shakespeare McNair. Dega spoke softly to them, as Nate had taught him to do, and opening the gate, went in. They came to him, the two of them, and nuzzled him. Dega marveled, as he had many times, that these powerful creatures now belonged to his family, to do with as they pleased. The Nansusequa never owned horses. There was no need. Maybe if they had, he reflected, more of them might have escaped their terrible fate on that day.
‘Why can I not stop thinking of them?’ Dega said to the dun, his favorite, as he rubbed its neck. ‘Will their memory haunt me all my life?’ The answer was yes. Which was as it should be. They were the last of their kind, the only People of the Forest who were left, and they must never forget all those who had come before.
A bridle hung from a post on the gate. Another gift, this time from Zach King. Dega slid it onto the dun, then led the horse from the corral and closed the gate. He swung on bareback and jabbed his heels. Skirting the lodge, he emerged from the trees and reined to follow the lake shore.
A breeze fanned his face and stirred his long hair. He sniffed and smelled the smoke. Coming, no doubt, from the chimney of one of the cabins. He could guess which.
The inky vault of sky was speckled with stars. Far more than Dega ever saw in the night sky when he was younger. He did not know why that should be, and had once asked Nate King. Nate said it was because the air was clearer this high up. Dega wondered, though, if it might not be because the stars were that much nearer.
Dega rode alertly, his lance across his thighs. He must never forget that this land was not as the land of his forefathers. It teemed with animals new to his experience. There were grizzlies to watch out for. The first time he saw one, he had been amazed. Never had he imagined an animal so huge, so formidable. It called to mind tales the elders had told of a time, long ago, when strange and wonderful creatures roamed the land, creatures much larger than those that existed now. Giant cats with teeth as long as knives. Deer with antlers as wide as a canoe was long. An animal as big as a lodge, with a snake for a nose and two white fangs the length of a man’s arm.
Dega had been skeptical. He had secretly questioned whether such fantastic creatures ever truly lived. But not now. Not after seeing buffalo and that grizzly. The buffalo fascinated him. With their great humps and curved horns and oddly shaped bodies, they were like something out of that long gone era.
And everything was bigger here than back east. Black bears were larger, deer were larger, even the rabbits were bigger than the rabbits he was accustomed to. Why that should be, he could not fathom.
A splash out on the lake ended Dega’s reverie. A fish, no doubt. Although Evelyn had told him there was something else in the lake, something her family caught glimpses of now and then, something huge that left a broad wake when it swam near the surface. Shakespeare McNair was of the opinion it was a giant fish called a sturgeon, but the others were not so sure.
A cabin hove out of the darkness. McNair’s. Dega gave it a wide berth so as not to disturb McNair and his wife in their sleep. He liked the old man. Neither NcNair nor the Kings looked down their noses at him and his family, as whites were prone to do. From the beginning, the Kings and McNair had accepted them for who and what they were, and not thought less of them because of it.
Dega had been surprised. He would be the first to admit that after the slaughter of the Nansusequa, he hated whites. Or tried to. But it was not the Nansusequa way to hate. From early childhood the Nansusequa were taught that hatred and envy and greed and violence were poison to Manitoa.
Since Manitoa was in all things, all things were related. The wild things of the forest were brother and sister to the Nansusequa. Even the whites, as strange and different as they were, were part of the great circle of life. Even the whites were nurtured by Manitoa.
Or so the elders had instructed, and so Dega believed until he witnessed the destruction of everyone and everything he held dear.
Small wonder Dega had strugg
led with hatred of whites for a while. Small wonder he considered all whites as enemies.
Then along came Nate King and Shakespeare McNair. Whites who had Indian wives and who had adopted many Indian ways. White men who regarded red men as equals. Whites who lived as the Nansusequa elders once taught all people should live.
It had been hard for Dega to admit that some whites were good and decent. It had been hard to extend the hand of friendship to those whose kind had wiped most of his kind out of existence.
Ahead loomed another cabin.
Dega drew rein, everything else forgotten in the realization that she was near. Light glowed in the window. A shadow flitted across it. Her shadow, he imagined. His mouth went dry, and his palms grew moist. He kneed the dun on and drew rein near the door. He slid down and raised his hand to knock, as he had learned was the white practice, then hesitated.
Degamawaku remembered the first time he set eyes on her. He remembered being struck by her beauty: by her lustrous hair, by her lithe, graceful body, and by her lovely face. But most of all he had been dazzled by her eyes, by those marvelous, extraordinary, incredible eyes of hers. Green eyes, the first green eyes he’d ever seen. Green, the special color of the Nansusequa. Green, the color of the nurturer, of Manitoa.
Suddenly the door opened and there stood Evelyn King, wearing a dark blue dress she once told him she made herself, and holding a spoon. She smiled that smile he could not get enough of.
‘I heard you ride up. Breakfast is about ready.’
Dega returned her smile. For a few moments he was so lost in her loveliness that he could not remember the words he had worked so hard to learn. ‘Good morning, Evelyn,’ he said formally, upset that he did not pronounce the words quite as they should be pronounced. But she did not seem to notice.
‘I hope you’re hungry. I made enough to feed an army.’
Entering, Dega looked for her father and mother, but they were not to be seen.
Evelyn noticed his glance and said, ‘My parents are still in bed. It will just be the two of us.’
Dega hid his surprise. Among the Nansusequa it was unthinkable for a young woman to be left alone with a young man. Another family member must always be present.
‘Have a seat,’ Evelyn said. ‘I’ll have your breakfast ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
Dega racked his brain, but he did not know what a lamb was. That it must be an animal was obvious or it would not have a tail. But what did shaking it have to do with anything? Sometimes white expressions confounded him no end. Suppressing his nerves, he moved to the chair she had indicated and gingerly sat.
Evelyn was watching and giggled. ‘You always do that like you’re sitting on glass.’
Again Dega was confused. On the table in front of him was what whites called a glass. They used it to drink out of. Why anyone would want to sit on one was beyond him. Clearing his throat, he replied, ‘We not have chairs when I grow up.’ He was proud he could say all that. The white language was hard to master, and he wanted to be as good at it as she was.
‘None of the Indian tribes do, either,’ Evelyn said while taking plates from a cupboard. ‘Indians are more like the Romans. In one of Pa’s books, it says that they liked to lie on robes and blankets and such.’
Yet more puzzlement. Dega had never heard of the Romans. Were they a tribe of whites? Did the whites even have tribes? He did know about books, though, and glanced at the shelves that lined one wall. The shelves held dozens of books that belonged to Nate King. Nate had explained how the marks on the pages formed words that could be understood just like speech, and had tried to teach him how to read some of them.
‘You are hungry, aren’t you?’ Evelyn asked.
‘I am much hungry,’ Dega assured her. He had not eaten last night just so he could do her cooking justice. It was the first meal she had offered to make for him. Among the Nansequa, when an unattached woman did that for an unattached man, it was a sign the woman was fond of the man. His sister Teni had jokingly said that Evelyn must want to become a Nansusequa. But there was no telling with whites. To them, cooking for a man might only mean, well, cooking for a man. An act of friendship and nothing more.
‘Good.’ Evelyn beamed as she brought over a plate and set it in front of him. She set another down across from him and moved to the counter where a tray and bowls were heaped with food. ‘I just hope you like what I cooked. I didn’t think to ask if there was something special you might want.’
‘Any food you make, I like,’ Dega responded.
‘Don’t say that until you have tasted it. My brother says I’m the worst cook on the planet.’
‘Zach say that?’ Dega could not get used to how the two were always sniping at each other. He liked to tease his sisters and they liked to tease him, but their teasing was not like the teasing between Evelyn and Zach. The teasing they did went far beyond anything a Nansusequa would stand for. Zach said things to her that would have Dega’s sisters in tears, and she said things to Zach that would hurt Dega’s feelings if she said them to him.
‘He’s just jealous because he can’t cook worth a lick,’ Evelyn was saying. ‘His idea of a fine meal is a chunk of half-cooked deer meat.’
Dega squirmed in his chair. His own idea of a fine meal was the same. Did that mean she would not like him as much? He felt he had to say something, so he offered, ‘I like deer meat.’
‘I like it too,’ Evelyn said, ‘but if that was all we ever ate, eating would get mighty boring, don’t you think?’ Smiling, she came over with the first of the dishes she had prepared. One by one she placed each in the center of the table, then stepped back. ‘What are you waiting for? Dig in.’
Dega was unsure where to begin digging. None of the food was familiar. On a long wooden tray were stacked large circles of what looked to be baked dough. In a bowl were cakes made of com-meal. In another bowl was some sort of mush. In yet a third were balls of dough of an unappetizing pale hue, as if they had not been cooked or baked long enough. ‘A lot of food,’ he said.
‘Never let it be said I starved you,’ Evelyn said. ‘I recommend the flapjacks to start. The dumplings are for dessert.’
‘Flapjacks,’ Dega said. Another new word. But which were they? He was certain they were not the cakes; he had eaten them before. That left the circles of dough, the balls of dough, and the mush. Reaching out, he touched the bowl that contained the latter.
‘I trust you like your oatmeal nice and hot,’ Evelyn said, sliding into her chair. ‘I added extra sugar.’
‘Oatmeal,’ Dega said. That meant one of the others must be the flapjacks. Since the first part of the word, flap, sounded a lot like another word he knew, flat, and since the circles were flatter than the balls, he took a chance and reached for one. He froze when Evelyn coughed.
‘You might want to use your fork.’
Dega looked down. Three objects were arranged in a row. The spoon and the knife he recognized, which told him the fork must be the third. Gripping it in his fist, he speared a flapjack and started to lift it onto his plate. To his dismay, the flapjack broke into pieces and fell on the table. ‘I be sorry!’ he declared, appalled by his blunder.
‘It’s perfectly all right,’ Evelyn responded. ‘I forgot to warn you to be careful.’
Dega began to gather up the pieces. He hoped it was not an omen of how their day would be.
Three
The five Crows were on their way to Bent’s Fort to trade. They had been traveling for fifteen days and were almost through the foothills. They were in no hurry.
Once a year Spotted Wolf and his wife, Buffalo Calf Woman, made the trip. This year they were joined by Tall Bull and his wife, Owl Woman, and by their son, a youth who had barely seen twelve winters, Tangle Hair.
They expected no trouble. For most of the way they were in Crow country, and the vicinity of the trading post was considered neutral ground. Enemies must bury old animosities or have their tribe banned from trading. Since no tribe w
anted that, the truce held. The whites had many marvelous and rare goods, items the Crows and others could get nowhere else.
As usual, Spotted Wolf had a pack horse laden with fine furs. He did not lead the pack horse himself; that was for his woman to do. When they reached Bent’s Fort, they would swap the furs for the glittering trinkets his wife loved so much, for a new knife for him, and whatever else struck their fancy.
Tall Bull was a dozen winters younger than Spotted Wolf. In the robust bloom of his manhood, he sat on his horse straight and proud, a bow and quiver slung across his back, a lance in his hand. His wife, Owl Woman, was shy and only spoke when spoken to.
It was the middle of a sunny morning, and before them stretched the vast plain.
Tall Bull, in the course of a conversation with Spotted Wolf, remarked, ‘I have never trusted the whites as you do. They are not the friends they pretend to be.’
‘They bring us much we never had,’ Spotted Wolf said.
‘That is no reason to trust them,’ Tall Bull replied. ‘They welcome us with smiles only because they want our furs. But there is no warmth in their eyes or in their hearts.’
‘Are we any different?’ Spotted Wolf asked. ‘We only go to them because we want things from them.’
‘That is true,’ Tall Bull conceded.
‘I have never said I have great warmth for them in my heart,’ Spotted Wolf went on. ‘I have more warmth for the Snakes, who are sometimes our enemies and sometimes our friends. The whites are too strange, their ways too different, for me to ever like them as I do those of my own kind.’
‘I feel the same.’
‘The traders mean us no harm. They want only to trade. That is all we are to them. But I do not mind. Trading with them has given us much we would not have otherwise.’ Spotted Wolf patted his rifle and touched his steel-bladed knife. ‘It is worth their fake smiles.’
‘Soon I will have a rifle,’ Tall Bull said. He had wanted one ever since Spotted Wolf showed up in their village three summers ago with his. It was the envy of many a warrior.
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