Walks the Fire (16 page)

“Have you ever seen the ponies, Father?”

“Once, when I was hunting in the Black Hills, I thought I caught a glimpse of them. But before Wind and I could catch them, they rose again into the sky, taking the thunder and lightning with them to another place.”

When Two Mothers was six, Jesse had long since begun to speak her new language fluently. She thought of herself as Walks the Fire and was often surprised at some reminder that she had lived most of her life as part of another culture. The reminders came less frequently as she adapted to the ways of the Lakota. Now she could start a fire quickly, whenever it was required. She rode Red Star without a thought of the old fears. She tanned hides and decorated clothing for her family. But she longed for the opportunity to begin a new cradle board, to fashion tiny moccasins, to have the village women give her advice as they did every expectant mother among them.

Two Mothers raced his friends in footraces, threw rocks at every available target, and pretended to hunt with the bow and arrow fashioned by Rides the Wind. In winter he coasted down hills on a sled made from buffalo ribs, “skated” over the ice in his fur-lined moccasins, and stalked hapless rabbits across the snow-covered prairie.

Rides the Wind told stories of bravery. “We returned victorious, but I was sad, for I had been forced to leave Wind on the battlefield where he had fallen under the enemy’s arrows. He could not rise again.”

“But, Father, Wind is here with us now…”

“Ah, yes, but I left him that day on the battlefield, for I thought he was dead. And so, when I rode into camp behind White Eagle, I went to my tepee with great heaviness in my heart. My best friend had been lost. I knew that praises would be sung about the campfire for the lost pony, but still, my heart was sad.

“The feasting lasted for days, and then the other villages began to fold up their tepees and return to their own hunting grounds. At last, everyone was gone, and my village returned to quiet living. All was well. Evening was coming, and I had just finished working with my newest pony when I saw in the distance something that I could not believe. It seemed that a ghost-horse was coming to me across the prairie. For there, in the distance, was Wind. He was walking slowly and his head was drooping. The people all came from their tepees to watch. He came to me, and I saw that a terrible wound still ran along his side. I could not believe my eyes, and yet, I must believe it, for my faithful horse had come back to me.

“Remember, my son, that when you have such a friend it is a rare gift from the Father. Ever since that day, Wind has been my best friend.” Rides the Wind paused and looked across the fire at Jesse. “Until, of course, I found a certain white woman on the prairie.”

He stared at Jesse, who answered playfully, “My dear husband, what an honor it is to know that I rank above your horse.”

Two Mothers looked from one face to the other. He had often heard the story of how Walks the Fire had come to live among the Lakota. Sometimes he was teased about his mother’s fair skin. But in the tepees of some of his friends, he had heard shouting and ugly words. He was grateful for the affection between his father and mother. It didn’t matter that she was white. She was a good mother and a good wife.

As Two Mothers grew, Rides the Wind joyfully took on the task of teaching his son. He had held his infant son in front of him as they rode Wind and had fashioned a tiny bow and arrow for him from soft woods that grew along the creek. As the boy became older, Two Mothers learned to scramble up on his own pony. Then began the serious business of learning to ride. He fell so many times that Jesse despaired of his welfare, but Rides the Wind refused sympathy and insisted that he always try again. Jesse remembered her own experience of learning to ride, and Rides the Wind’s stony reaction to her tears. She decided not to interfere with the training of her Lakota son.

One evening Two Mothers came in, his face and arms covered with scratches. He grudgingly admitted that he had fallen off his new pony and had rolled down a steep bank covered with thorny bushes. Jesse cooed sympathy, but Two Mothers would not have it. He was ashamed for having fallen, and Jesse thought she detected a little fear at the prospect of mounting his spirited pony again the next day.

Rides the Wind examined his son’s wounds carefully, removed a few thorns, and then proceeded to paint each scrape with red paint. “Now Two Mothers appears as a brave warrior returning from defeating the enemy.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “And tomorrow you will ride the pony again, and everyone will know that you are the bravest of the sons in our village.”

Two Mothers rose early the next morning, having slept little in fearful anticipation of the day. But he successfully controlled the willful pony’s dashes for freedom, and he did not fall off again. That evening, the campfire in their tepee illuminated the faces of one very tired Lakota boy and three very proud adults.

“You were right to insist that he try again,” Jesse whispered when Rides the Wind stretched out beside her in the dark. Rides the Wind buried his face in Jesse’s long hair and inhaled deeply.

“You gathered
Sikpe-ta-wote
today, my wife… its sweetness lingers in your hair. Let us talk no more of our son’s riding,” he whispered. “Let us talk no more.”

By the time Two Mothers was seven, Jesse’s longing for a child had become a burden that she carried through every day. She counted the moons and when each one passed with no sign of pregnancy, she grew despondent. Old One concocted foul-tasting teas to help, and Prairie Flower advised Jesse to seek the help of the medicine man. Jesse could not bring herself to do the latter. She carried her longing to the Lord. “Father, I am nearly thirty years old—please, Father, a child for Rides the Wind.” When it seemed that His answer was
no,
she thought she could not bear it

Rides the Wind sensed her unhappiness and misinterpreted it. He waited for her to speak of her sorrow, and when she said nothing, he believed she was longing to leave the village. The tension between them mounted until, one night, he reached out for her and she feigned sleep. He got up abruptly, strapped on his hunting gear, and strode out of the tepee. Jesse waited for him to come back, but it was three days before she saw Wind back in the herd. Even then, Rides the Wind did not join his family at the fire.

On the evening of the third day, Jesse walked away from the village at twilight. In the west the horizon glowed a deep pink that faded upward into a pale blue. The blue darkened to a rich violet and there, in the sky, shone one bright star. It was a still night, and no moon was visible.

Lord,
Jesse prayed,
you said, “Children are an heritage of the Lord and the fruit of the womb is his reward… As arrows are in
the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.
Happy
is the man that hath his quiver full of them.” Why, Lord? Why do you not give us children? I try not to ask for too much. I have tried to be content. But, Lord, is it too much to ask for a child?
She
heard a coyote howl, the sound of the ponies munching grass and stamping their feet, but no answer. She expected some verse of Scripture to come to mind to bring her comfort, but nothing came to mind except her own longing. The emptiness of the prairie and the vastness of the sky were reminders of her barrenness. She wept quietly, and sat in the dirt, holding her bowed head in her hands.

Footsteps behind her in the dark startled her out of her misery. She automatically reached for her knife, but a familiar voice broke the stillness.

“The stars say that it is not safe for women to be out alone.” He did not sit down beside her, but waited for her to get up.

Jesse straightened her back, wiped away tears, and stayed seated. “I needed to be alone… away from… I needed to pray.”

“Then I will leave you to your prayers.” Something was gone from the well-known voice. Gentle concern had always been there for her. Where was it, now, when she needed it so much?

He had already turned to go. She knew he would not go far. He would wait out of sight, watching to see that she was safe. But she did not want him out of sight “No, I am finished. I…” her voice wavered. “There is no answer to my prayers.”

“There is always an answer. But the answer is not always what we want to hear.”

The truth of the simple reply cut deep. The answer to her plea for children was
no.
She couldn’t understand it. She didn’t want to accept it. But for years, now, the answer had been there. She knew it, but she couldn’t bear it. Tears welled fresh in her eyes. He couldn’t see them. The dark offered protection and enabled Rides the Wind to speak his fears.

“I have had prayers too. I have prayed that you would learn to be happy among the Lakota. But you tell me of the white man’s count of years. You talk of all the time that you have been here. I have not wanted to hear the answer to my prayers. The answer is
no,
I have prayed to know how to make the smile return to your face.” The voice grew so quiet that she could barely hear the words, “Now I see that I cannot. You must tell me what you wish. Two Mothers is grown, now. You have done well among the people. You do not need to fear telling me that it is time for you to go. I am not like the others… I will not make you stay.” He cleared his throat and forced the words out calmly. “The line of your people crossing the prairie never stops. We are a small band. We have tried to stay away from them. Now, I will take you to them.”

Jesse could find no words to bridge the darkness between them. He had seen her unhappiness and wrongly blamed himself. She had sensed his distancing himself from her and had wrongly guessed her childlessness to be the cause. Words failed, but she found a way to bridge the darkness. He had turned to go, but she was there, wrapping her arms about him and laying her head on his shoulder, her own body shaking with the effort to hold back her tears.

His arms held her, but there was little warmth in them until she managed the words to tell him how the absence of children plagued her… how she had failed him… how useless she felt. The broken words poured out and the chasm was crossed. Loving arms enfolded her. His head bowed low as he placed his own wind-hardened cheek next to hers and waited for her to spill out the cause of her sadness.

As she shared her grief, Rides the Wind’s heart was made glad. He interrupted the torrent of words. “This is nothing, Walks the Fire. My anger came when you would not speak of your sadness. I thought you longed for the whites, that you cared nothing for us, that you feared telling me. To have many sons would be a wonderful thing. I cannot lie about that. But if having many sons means I must take another woman, then I would choose no sons and keep Walks the Fire in my tepee. Your heart cries out for children… my heart cries out only for you, best-beloved.”

The vastness of the prairie and the wide expanse of sky had been reminders of her emptiness, but she was no longer empty. God had filled the emptiness with his love poured out through Rides the Wind. In the days that followed God began to heal the wound. Jesse still prayed for a child, but the desperation was gone. She began to find fulfillment in Two Mothers, in her friends, in her husband. Something approaching contentment grew within, and the smile that Rides the Wind had longed to see returned to the face of Walks the Fire.

Fifteen

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
—
Isaiah 40:30-31

When Two Mothers turned eight,
Rides the Wind presented him with an elk horn bow. The boy had watched his father fashion it with glowing eyes, not daring to presume that he would merit such a fine bow. The horn was boiled until soft and then split into shape, the pieces joined together at notches. Wet sinew was wound about the joint of the bow. It contained a natural glue, and when it dried, it glued itself in place. Joined in this way, the joint was stronger even than if the nails used by the whites held the pieces together. When Rides the Wind had finished the bow, he strung it with a fresh buffalo sinew and presented it to his son without ceremony.

Two Mothers was barely able to contain his excitement. He stammered his thanks and prepared to rush outside to show the gift to his friends. But Rides the Wind stopped him. “There will be time to boast when you bring home your first deer… let us make new arrows before we hunt. Let us see how you have grown since the last moon.”

Rides the Wind measured his son’s arm. The distance from the elbow joint to the tip of the middle finger and then back to the wrist would be the length of Two Mothers’ arrows. Together they searched for suitable feathers, fastening them to the arrows with sinew. Two Mothers looked longingly at the turkey feathers that adorned his father’s arrows, but turkey feathers were scarce. He would have to be content with the offerings from the duck and the prairie chicken.