Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (106 page)

Emily, in her doeskin dress, knelt with Shines as they scraped the last bit of flesh from the two deer hides staked out in front of Shines’ lodge. They’d seldom spoken but had occasionally glanced at one another—Emily’s face saturated with fermenting anxiety and Shines’ with painful empathy. Emily had repeatedly blocked thoughts of Isna’s approaching departure; but each time, they quickly reappeared, saddened her to the point of tears. She knew he had to lead his men back to the Lakota, knew with equal certainty, she could not prevent it even if she were selfish enough to try, so she grudgingly accepted both realities though they pressed her heart like an ever-tightening thumbscrew. ’Tis a cruel yet inescapable truth, she reasoned, that Isna, the man I love with every grain of my being, will leave, and no less cruel and inescapable that I am to have a child by an evil man I hate yet must rely on for whatever future awaits me—a man I must, today or tomorrow, again lie with and surrender my body to. So would it not be nobler, and less painful to both Isna and me, if I confronted reality and parted with him now before he tries to kill Tayler and loses his life on my behalf? I could not bear such . . . forsooth, I would kill myself. And regardless of what I do, my condition will soon be evident to all; and I’ll be branded an adulterous whore, shunned, without friends, banished from the colony . . . in spite of
what Tayler wants. Where will I go? What will I do? How will my child and I live? Oh, God, how will I care for my child?

She stopped scraping, sat up, stared into oblivion. Will it be a boy or a girl . . . like me or like Tayler? Who will it look like? She shook her head, forced the thoughts from her mind, resumed scraping, again thought of Isna’s departure. She then visualized herself in Isna’s arms two days before, a hair’s width from abandoning restraint, wished now she’d yielded to her heart, knew her surrender would have melted Isna’s iron will like butter in a hot cook pan. Damned inescapable morality . . . Mother’s doing . . . Isna’s, too . . . and how can I ignore God’s commandments then ask for his help?

She felt Shines’ eyes upon her, forced a tepid smile while her mind wrestled with the thought of ending her relationship with Isna that very afternoon. But, dear Lord, how?

Shines suddenly smiled, looked up at something behind Emily.

Emily turned, saw Isna looking down at her with his wry smile. She sprang to her feet, lunged to his arms, leaned her face against his chest, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Isna, my love . . . please, never leave me . . . never.” Her resolve to end their relationship evaporated like steam from a boiling kettle. Desire flooded her mind; she decided she was incapable of anything but total, abiding love for him, no matter what pain was imposed by his leaving, determined to revel in his presence for as long as it lasted, ignore her life’s daunting tribulations.

Lieutenant Waters’ boundaries did not apply to the Chesapeakes and Lakota, so Emily decided she was Lakota when she was with Isna. Thus, the two again sat by the stream at her special place; and though she felt vulnerable to the Powhatans, she decided that dying with Isna at their hands was preferable to watching him walk away forever. She smiled coyly as she reached into the canvas bag on the ground beside her, stole a quick glance at Isna, then suddenly turned her back toward him to block his view as he peered around to see what she was doing. “Perhaps Isna will be patient and not try to see what he is not yet meant to see.”

Isna recoiled, frowned, looked away with an insulted scowl.

Emily removed something from the bag, quickly held it to her chest, shielding it with her hands. “ Isna may now look.” She turned toward him, smiled, handed him a shiny metal hatchet with an eighteen-inch-long wooden handle and a nine-inch head, one end of which was a four-inch-wide cutting edge, and the other, a three-inch spike. Her eyes sparkled as Isna looked at her, slowly slid the hatchet from her hand.

He gripped the handle in his right hand, made several thrusting motions in different directions, rubbed the thumb of his left hand across the cutting edge, nodded, smiled. “Light . . . good balance . . . sharp. Isna has never seen such an axe. What rock is it made of?”

“It is called iron. We build all our weapons with it. ’Tis more difficult to break and much lighter than stone. We call it a hatchet, but the Chesapeakes and the other peoples here call it a tamahaac.”

He nodded, smiled. “It is a good gift. Isna thanks Emily. He will kill many enemies with it . . . perhaps even Tayler.”

A wisp of alarm blew across Emily’s face. She opened her mouth to admonish him, sighed instead, shook her head with a futile look, then smiled. “Here.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a knife with an eight-inch blade and wooden handle, the blade and part of the handle encased in a buckskin sheath decorated with red, yellow, and blue designs. “This is for Isna’s other hand . . . when he fights Lakota enemies.”

He took the knife, pulled it from the sheath, made slicing and thrusting motions, again tested the balance and edge, then slid it back into the sheath. “Emily gives Isna another good gift. He again thanks Emily.” He studied the artwork on the sheath. “Good colors. Did Emily make the sheath?”

She beamed. “Yes. Shines showed Emily how to sew it and make the colors from berries and animal fat. Here, look at this.” She rolled over so Isna could see her back, pointed at a similar sheath and knife tucked in her belt at the small of her back.

Isna smiled as she rolled back toward him. “As Lakota women do—out of the way for work but quick to find when needed.” He studied her eyes for a lengthy moment, gradually trading his smile for a somber, reflective look. “But Emily is not like a Lakota woman.”

She gasped; her eyes widened with shock then misted; her lower lip curled downward in a pout. “But Isna said Emily possesses all the virtues of a Lakota woman.” She unconsciously rubbed her eyes.

Isna reached out, touched her cheek, softly brushed the tears from beneath her eyes. “Isna spoke poorly. Emily possesses
all four
Lakota virtues . . . and she is
better
than
any
Lakota woman. It is in good ways that she is not like a Lakota woman.”

Emily raised a suspicious eyebrow, pressed her lips together, then relaxed into a cautious half smile. “What does Isna mean?”

He smiled. “Emily looks into Isna’s eyes. Lakota women do not look into the eyes of a man they are not related to . . . and sometimes not even into their husband’s eyes.”

Her smile deepened.

“Lakota women do not give gifts to a warrior until they are married. Nor do they speak to him, other than secretly with their eyes.”

Deeper smile.

“And Lakota women
always
do as their husbands command.” He shook his head. “ Isna thinks Emily will not be like this.”

Wide, beaming smile. “Isna is right. Emily is a Lakota woman in
spirit
, but the rest of her is English. ’Twould be impossible for Emily to be otherwise.”

“Isna understands this . . . he loves Emily as she is . . . he does not ask her to change.”

They smiled softly, silently at one another for half a minute before Emily abruptly turned, pulled yet another item from the bag—a grainy, gray stone about four-inches square and an inch thick—handed it to him. “This is for Isna to sharpen his tamahaac and knife . . . so they do as he commands, quickly and cleanly.” She abruptly turned away, dabbed sudden tears, sniffled. “Each of these things Emily gives Isna so he will remember her . . . as she will remember
him
with her doeskin dress . . . when he returns to his people.”

Isna studied her with concerned eyes; slowly extended his hand, touched her cheek; slid the hand down her neck to her shoulder, pulled her to his side. “Isna’s leaving troubles Emily.”

She snuggled close, reached her arm around his waist, nodded slowly with closed eyes.

“It troubles Isna, as well, for we are past the
Moon-of-Popping-Trees
and have begun the Lakota
Moon-of-Sore-Eyes
that brings bright, shiny snow that blinds the eyes—the moon the people here call the planting moon.” He eased her back, touched her eyelids, gently raised them, and stared into her sad eyes. “Certain Lakota talk of returning to the people in this moon . . . for it will take nearly
two
moons to reach them; and by then it will be the end of the
Moon-of-Tender-Grass
, and time for hunting, fishing . . . and for fighting Lakota enemies. All warriors are needed for these things . . . but still, Isna is uncertain.”

Emily looked up at him. “Why is Isna uncertain? He must do what is right for his people.”

“Like all human beings, Isna’s spirit is his truth-bearer—the one who tells him what
to
do, but never what
not
to do. So Isna alone must decide what to do after his truth-bearer has spoken.” He looked silently at the forest then back at Emily. “ Isna’s vision showed him what would happen in his life; part of it he understood and has fulfilled; but other parts remain mysteries and have
not
been fulfilled and
cannot
be fulfilled if Isna, who owns the spirit of Grizzly, is not with the little white fawn; for in the vision and in Emily’s dream, Grizzly and the little white fawn are together before all else happens. So Isna’s uncertainty is how his vision can be fulfilled if he leaves the little white fawn and returns to his people, as he must.” He shook his head, breathed deeply, searched her eyes, then suddenly smiled. “But while this leaving confuses Isna, he knows he yet has many years to understand and fulfil his vision—and Emily’s dream—for Isna knows he will live to be an old man and count many coup before he dies.”

Emily again raised an eyebrow. “How can Isna know this?”

“Because Striped Face has told him.”

“Striped Face?”

“Striped Face . . . though he stands close to the ground and is not large, he is the most ferocious four-legged, next to Grizzly. He possesses great strength and knowledge of things to come; and if a man kills a Striped Face, lays him on his back, cuts him open, carefully removes his insides without
spilling his blood, lets the blood thicken, then looks inside, he will see an image of himself. If the image is of a
young
man, the warrior will die young; but if the image is that of an
old
man, the warrior will live to be very old. Isna did this as a young boy, and he saw the face of an old man. This is how Isna knows.”

Emily grinned. “We have many such beliefs. We call them superstitions; sometimes they are right, and sometimes they are wrong.”

Isna didn’t smile. “Isna has never known Striped Face to be wrong; thus, he knows he will count many coup, kill many enemies, and live to be an old man with a walking cane in his hand. So he also knows he has much time to be with Emily and understand and fulfil the spirit vision.” A thread of doubt suddenly wove its way into his expression. “But since Isna, who owns the spirit of Grizzly, must
now
return to the Lakota, how can he be with Emily, the first little white fawn in the vision . . . to honor and protect her for all her life . . . unless . . . unless he returns to her
here
? For if Grizzly and the
first
little white fawn are
not
together, how can the later brown and white fawns—their children—appear and follow them for a time before they go off on their own? And without that, how can all the fawns vanish, except for the one brown fawn that turns into the old woman with the two black stones around her neck and Isna’s vision pipe in her hands? And without the old woman, how can the
new
little white fawn appear beside her; so the old woman can place her hand on its head and a moment later vanish, along with the pipe and two black stones? And then, unless the old woman vanishes, how can the
last
little white fawn be left alone, grow into a mother blacktail who has her own little white fawn, who then has Isna’s pipe and the two black stones that suddenly appear around
her
neck? She cannot.” He sighed, shook his head. “But Wakan Tanka and Isna’s truth-bearer have told him
only
that he must return to the Lakota . . . and that the vision will one day be fulfilled—not how or when. Isna’s confusion is that he cannot see how
both
can happen, unless he returns
here
to Emily . . . but Wakan Tanka and Isna’s truth-bearer have not yet told him to do this . . . which means, in time, they must tell him to do so . . . or to do something else.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps they themselves do not yet know what to tell Isna and so, will wait until they do.”

Emily’s face bloomed with hope. “Does Isna say he could stay with his people for a time then return here to be with Emily?”

“It is
possible
. . . for Isna
wants
to be with Emily more than his words can speak.”

Her cautious smile brightened to outright delight. “Emily loves Isna the same, wants with all her heart to fulfil the vision with him; she prays to Wakan Tanka that it be so.”

He deliberated for a moment before his lips curved into a broad smile. “ Lakota men live in the family circle of their wives, so why should this not be true for Isna and Emily?”