"What will we do with him?"
"Keep him. You'll need help when the child is born. This one can work for you."
"Will you adopt him?"
"No. We will have a son of our own soon." Wanderer had no doubts about that. "Adopting this one will make life complicated when our son grows up."
The boy looked about ten years old. An unruly pile of wiry black hair obscured big round eyes that stared wildly around him. He wore faded brown cotton pants, many sizes too large and tied around his narrow waist with a frayed cord. His shirt had been patched and repatched with scraps of different colors. Each patch had been appliqued from the inside, the edges of the holes neatly turned under, until the shirt looked like an intricate piece of artwork. Someone cared about him.
Wanderer tied him onto one of the extra mules, and the band resumed its travels, still to the north and now westwardly.
"Where are we going?" asked Naduah.
"To the Cimarron River to collect salt. It's only a few days' ride. There's a plain covered with salt. It looks like snow that has melted and refrozen into ice. It glitters in the sun. As long as we're this far north we might as well get some."
"And then?"
"We'll go to Medicine Bluff."
"To the east of here?" Naduah had heard of it, but had never seen it.
"Yes. I want to pray to the spirits for a son."
"Medicine Woman once told me why you were named Wanderer. I never realized how right she was."
"Would you rather stay in one place?" He looked over at her. "Are you unhappy?"
"Of course not."
Unhappy? She spent her days in the company of Wanderer and her closest friends. She watched the awesome, immense landscape change subtly daily and from day to day. She watched the sun shine in shifting patterns alternating with the shadows of the huge, billowing clouds overhead. She saw the wind approach from far off, riding on rippling waves through the grass. She felt it arrive, cool on her cheeks and hair.
Even Wind and Night were behaving like colts in spring. Night would kick out and whinny. He swerved to bump into Wind, who butted him back. Naduah laid her hand on her own stomach and felt the small bulge there. No. She wasn't unhappy.
Naduah stood with her feet spread, one on each side of the shallow hole in the birth lodge. She grasped the stake to brace herself, giving herself leverage to push. She contracted her muscles and helped the child toward the light. The pains were close together now. Tawia Petih, Wears Out Moccasins, squatted next to her, her large, square hands held between Naduah's legs to ease the baby into the fur-lined depression. Star Name wiped the sweat from her sister's brow with a rag dipped in cool water. The tent was fragrant with the sage burned to purify it.
Naduah missed Medicine Woman often, but never more than now. She tried to imagine her grandmother's low voice soothing her as the baby moved toward birth. And she regretted that there was no grandfather waiting outside to ask the sex of his grandchild. They had not seen Iron Shirt since they had left his village in the fall, six months ago. It was Wanderer who stood outside, pacing back and forth, as he had been all night, waiting for word. Deep Water and Sore-Backed Horse waited with him.
"Here comes the head." Wears Out Moccasins was a big, solid woman who had followed them when they set out on their own. "Every band needs a medicine woman," she had said. "And besides, my son, the great war leader, wants me to stay home and help his wife with the children. I like children, but I've raised my own. I want to travel, to raid. I've been an obedient daughter, wife, and mother for fifty-five years. Now I want to try something different."
Naduah doubted that Wears Out Moccasins had ever been obedient, but she let that pass. It did no good to argue with her. And she was a welcome addition to the band. She was a powerful shaman. Her name meant Wears Out Moccasins And Throws Them Away. And she didn't wear her moccasins out by being an obedient wife and mother. She went raiding often with the men. Her horse herd was as big as any man's among them. But she didn't have Medicine Woman's soft voice or gentle laugh. Her hands were large and rough. Her manner was rough too. She had a way of reducing people to the size of children when she was angry with them. Her son had probably been glad to see her go. Her daughter-in-law was undoubtedly happy about it.
"Here he comes," she said.
"Is he a boy?" Naduah craned to see.
"He's not far enough out to tell yet. But he will be. Wanderer asked me to make medicine to be sure." Perhaps the People had so much faith in Wears Out Moccasins' medicine because she did.
The baby cleared the torn tunnel and dropped into her hands. She lowered him slowly into the silky rabbit and ermine furs. Her hands were more than gentle enough as she bit the cord through and tied it.
"It's a boy, Sister!" said Star Name. Wears Out Moccasins lumbered to the doorway.
"E-hait-sma, your close friend," she called out. There was a whoop outside and the sound of feet running. Lance could already be heard chanting the news, and the drums had started, picking it up.
Wears Out Moccasins cradled the squalling child in her huge arms and laid a big hand along Naduah's wet cheek. It was a brief touch, not lingering long enough to be accused of affection. Star Name tucked the coiled, bloody umbilical cord into the small beaded bag to hang in a hackberry tree. Wears Out Moccasins carried the baby to the nearby stream to wash him. Naduah could hear his cries rise to a shriek when the cold water hit him. She walked stiffly to the pile of thick robes and sat wearily, leaning propped against the willow-withe back support. Star Name handed her a rag dampened with warm water, and she washed off the drying blood and placental fluid.
When Wears Out Moccasins returned, she rubbed the baby with bear fat and started to give him to his mother. He screwed his tiny face up and began to wail again. Wears Out Moccasins held his nose tightly closed been her thick fingers. His face turned pink, then red, then purple as he tried to cry and breathe at the same time. When he gave up the crying and chose to breathe instead, she let his nose go. He immediately began to cry. She repeated the process once, then again, until Naduah feared she would kill the child. When Wears Out Moccasins let go of his nose the third time, the baby was silent. She handed him to his mother.
"Now he's cured of crying."
"I was afraid he wouldn't survive the lesson."
"It seems that way. That's why mother's can't be trusted to teach their own babies."
Naduah looked down at his fuzzy black head while he nuzzled her breast. Star Name burned more sage and cleaned up the lodge. She carried out the hide of bloody water that had been heated for the birth. Women began arriving to admire the baby. Wears Out Moccasins boiled roots and onions and roasted bread on flat stones next to the fire. Naduah couldn't eat meat during the time of childbirth, and she nibbled on dried plums as her son nursed. Then she rocked him to sleep, crooning to him as he lay nestled in her arms.
She'd seen many babies, but she'd never looked at one this way before. She was awed and elated by his perfection. She picked up one of his hands, inspecting the tiny fingers, each one tipped with a miniature nail. Then she cupped one delicate foot in her hand and wiggled the toes, as though to assure herself that everything was in working order. He would be a strong, healthy baby.
Three days later, Naduah left the birth lodge to wash herself and her son in the river. Then she walked to her own tent. A black spot had been painted on the door to announce the birth of a boy. Wanderer sat outside, smoking with Deep Water, Sore-Backed Horse and Spaniard. Wanderer only nodded to her. But Sore-Backed Horse reached out for the child. A father wasn't supposed to pay much attention to his son, but an uncle or grandfather could. And Sore-Backed Horse had elected himself uncle. He bounced the baby in his arms, careful to support the child's neck, in spite of his apparent nonchalance.
"What a handsome brave. Look at him. When are you going to produce a man like this?" he asked Deep Water. Sore-Backed Horse himself had fathered two girls. "In a year or two he'll be a herder for us."
"I
think it'll take at least three or four years before he's ready, Sore-Backed Horse." Naduah retrieved the baby and carried him inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness in the lodge, she saw that the new cradle board had a miniature bow and arrows and lance hanging from it. There was also a stuffed bat dangling for good luck. She recognized the bat. It was of Wears Out Moccasins' making, and Naduah smiled. She could imagine Wears Out Moccasins stamping into the lodge, thrusting it gruffly into Wanderer's hand, then spinning heavily on her heels and thudding out again. And Wanderer must have spent the past three days making the tiny weapons. They were perfect in detail.
It was evident he hadn't spent the time cleaning up. In the three days she had been gone, he and their new Mexican slave, Tso-me, Gathered Up, had made a shambles of the lodge. Torn moccasins and clothes lay in heaps. The sleeping robes were scattered. There was a pile of gnawed bones next to the fire, and scraps of leather and thongs and shavings lying around. But it was good to see her things again.
Her beautiful silver mirror hung from a pole. Her clothes hung on a line. There was the saddle that Sunrise and Takes Down had made her, and her lion skin was folded and draped across it. She saw the Spanish bridle inlaid with silver, and the beaded moccasins that Star Name had given her.
With Star Name helping, she had spent days making the cradle board, working around the bulging belly. She had hammered rows of brass tacks along the two narrow boards that formed the V-shaped frame. The soft leather wrappings were solidly beaded, laced up the front, and hung with long luxuriant fringe. Strings of blue and white pony beads dangled among the fringes. The beads were large and lumpy and brightly colored. They had made their way across the plains on the backs of traders' ponies, hence their name.
The light in the lodge dimmed slightly as Wanderer stood in the doorway. Naduah held his son up for him to see, but instead of just looking at him, Wanderer took him from her. While Naduah prepared a meal, he sat by the fire with him. He rocked the baby in his hard, muscular arms and crooned in a low, pleasant voice. The infant seemed to be inspecting his father too. He stared fixedly up at him before his eyelids drooped and he slept.
Just before the meal was ready, Gathered Up came in. The boy's snakebite had healed quickly and he had taken almost as quickly to the People's life. He seemed to enjoy being in charge of Wanderer's herd. He had just come from the pasture, where he had watered them and checked their tethers. He leaned over Wanderer's shoulder and lifted the robe slightly to peer into the baby's face.
"He looks like his father," he said, his big dark eyes solemn. Gathered Up had learned the People's language over the winter, but he still spoke it with a slight Mexican accent. His ragged clothes had been replaced by breechclout and moccasins.
"Sit," said Naduah, waving at him with her ladle.
Wanderer found the bag of pulverized dry rot gathered from cottonwood trees. He powdered the baby's bottom with it, then wrapped him in a rabbit-fur robe. He carefully laid the child, still asleep, inside the stiff rawhide tube that had been laced up one side to form a conical cradle. It would keep him from harm as he lay between his parents at night.
There was no particular ceremony when the child was shown to his father for the first time. And the father rarely had much to do with his children's early training and care. But Wanderer had shown, without words, how he felt about his new son. He would never again perform a mother's tasks. But his doing it once told Naduah a great deal. She served him and Gathered Up the steaming stew and sat between them to eat. She wondered briefly if there was anyone as happy as she at that moment.
CHAPTER 41
Wanderer and Naduah lay together in a field of fire. The meadow was ablaze with masses of bright orange daisies. The smell of them overwhelmed everything else. She was on her side, her head resting on his shoulder, with her arm thrown across his bare chest. His head was propped in the crook of his free elbow, and their bare legs were entwined. Leaning against a plum bush nearby was their month-old son's cradle board. His bright eyes peered out from the layers of wrapping, and he seemed to be studying everything. He was especially fascinated with the birds that fluttered and sang in the bushes around him. Dog lay next to him, her nose on her paws. She was guarding the child, as she always did.
Naduah closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The flowers' aroma was so sweet and heady it made her a little dizzy. She tried to separate the odors of the different kinds. The bright orange ones were easy. There were thousands of them, and their smell was strong. They were like daisies trying to be gardenias. And the furry red balls on the sensitive vines had a distinctive odor too, like roses. But the others, the primroses and bluebonnets, clammy weed and larkspurs growing waist high, all blended into one intoxicating medley of smells. Naduah gave up trying to identify them with her nose.
"Quanah. We'll call him Quanah," she murmured against Wanderer's warm skin.
"Quanah, Fragrant." He tested the name out loud. "If that's what you want to call him, that's what his name will be." It wasn't the usual way to name a male-child, but Wanderer didn't question her decision. He felt, deep inside himself, that she had medicine too. That someday she would be as powerful a healer as Medicine Woman, as respected a shaman as Wears Out Moccasins. If she wanted to name the child, he would forego the usual naming ceremony.
He breathed in the fragrance of her hair, the smell of grass and flowers and sunlight. He took his arm from beneath his head and caressed the long, golden tendrils of it, combing them smooth with his fingers. He ran his hand down her side and up to the curve of her hip. He caught the hem of her dress as it lay high on her leg and pulled it up farther, slipping his hand underneath it. He stroked her firm thigh, and pushed her gently over onto her back. He rolled on his side to lean over her.
"Your skin is as smooth and pleasant to the touch as a snake's belly when he's warmed himself on a rock in the sun."
He raised her dress almost to her waist and studied the curly golden nest between her legs. It always fascinated him. He played with the coils of delicate gold hair, twining it around his fingers. Then he ran his fingertips lightly over the down on her thighs. She lay quietly, totally lost in the sensation of his touch. His hands sent shivers over her body. "My wolf, my lone wolf," she murmured.
She reached out and pulled his face toward her. She pressed her mouth to his. Like the gold between her legs, kissing was alien to Wanderer, but he had developed a taste for it. He continued stroking her as they kissed. Her tongue explored his lips, his teeth, his mouth. She twisted and moaned under his hands, loosening his breechclout and caressing him in turn. He rolled lightly over her. Gathered Up and a gang of boys on ponies thundered past the thicket where they lay hidden, but Wanderer and Naduah no longer cared if they were seen or not.
When they finished, they lay wrapped in each other's arms, drowsy and content. Naduah was almost asleep when they heard a shrill whinny from the horse pasture.
"That was Night."
"I know." Naduah was on her feet and reaching for the cradle board. "It doesn't sound like his trouble call, though." She swung the board onto her back, adjusting the straps and shifting it into place while Wanderer collected his bow and quiver. He sprinted up the rise and down the gentle slope to the river bottom where the ponies were grazing. When Naduah and Quanah and Dog arrived, he was pulling the placental sac from a wet, gangly foal and wiping the fluid from his nostrils. Wind still lay on her side, and Night pawed and paced nearby. He came closer to sniff his son and began licking him dry.
"You took your time, didn't you?" Wanderer lifted one of the foal's long, loosely jointed legs. "It's a colt. And he's black like his father." While they watched, another sac, slick and shiny and purple, bulged from under Wind's tail.
"Twins!" Naduah kicked a twisted cedar log to scatter any scorpions that might be hiding in it. Then she sat down, braced Quanah's cradle board between her knees, and studied Wind through the forked frame. "I thought I'd counted more than four legs kicking inside her. And she's been huge."
The second foal, a female, struggled out of her sac while the first one swayed his large head on his thin neck, trying to avoid the bright sunlight. He was soaking wet, and even in the warm spring air he was shaking with cold. Wind and Night began licking the foals dry, massaging them with their tongues and imprinting them with their scent.
Wanderer and Naduah watched. In half an hour the colt should be standing. They wanted to make sure he and his sister were all right. The colt gathered his awkward legs under him and tried to surge to his feet. His front legs splayed out to the sides and his rear ones buckled. He lay a moment, collecting himself, then mustered his forces for another attempt.
"He'll be a replacement for Night." Wanderer studied the colt intently. "He'll have what it takes."
"Night can carry you for many years yet."
"It'll take that long to train this one."
"Do you think he'll be as good?" asked Naduah.
"I don't know."
The colt had finally mastered his own legs and had pricked his ears in triumph. He tottered toward his mother, bumping into her and almost falling down again. He began nuzzling along her side, searching for the food supply. Naduah picked up Quanah. Then she and Wanderer and Dog headed back toward the village.
It had rained a few days before, and the rolling hills were a rich, lush green dotted with darker copses of bushes and patches of timber. Wanderer's people were on the move again. The long procession wound over the hills like an enormous black snake gliding across a green carpet. As they rode, Naduah chewed a piece of jerky into mush. She scooped it out and reached down to feed it to Quanah, whose cradle board swung from her pommel. As his mouth clamped down on her fingers, she thought she felt the hard nub of a tooth under the surface of his gums.
In front of them a buffalo loomed from the dust cloud of the wallow where he had been rolling on his back, his legs thrashing the air. He looked like a ship emerging from a thick fog. Black mud dripped from his back, covering the raw skin laid bare in patches by shedding and scratching. The mud would harden into a protective shell, keeping away insects. A cloud of thwarted gnats swarmed around his face.
Ride the Wind Page 49