Charity (22 page)

Little Bull saw Jordis enter the dance. A brightness settled upon his face, and Gustie thought he danced with more joy.

Jordis dipped to one side then the other. The beads across her chest flashed blue between the arc of red made by the shawl, and for an instant, her eyes met Gustie’s over the curve of her arm.

Jordis danced. The red shawl became like fire. Tongues of red flame leapt up as her arms descended, and the flames trailed behind her and flared up all around her as she danced, more and more frenzied, but with some control as if something was contained still within that circle of fire.

The men and boys in the dancing circle, one by one, stopped where they were to watch her. Soon all were still, their eyes on Jordis.

Then she stopped moving. Her body continued to pulse with the drum.

The drummers and singers, knowing that the song was an integral part of the unfolding drama, never wavered, but kept the steady, driving beat.

Jordis stood rock still now and stared at the pale evening sky above Gustie’s head. Her eyes wide, her lips parted, she was rapt in a vision no one else could see, but that everyone there among the native people respected, and the non-Indians bewildered but curious kept quiet and watched to see what would happen next. Whatever it was that Jordis saw caused her to relax a little and drop the shawl. Gustie felt a jolt like something being pulled rudely out of her grasp.

Slowly, Jordis raised her arms straight out from her sides. Little Bull removed his sheath of sacred eagle feathers and brought it to her. He slipped a loop over each of her arms, and the leather thongs in the center he tied gently around her shoulders. She seemed unaware of what he was doing but remained poised with her arms outstretched, just like wings now that she was adorned with the feathers, waiting. Little Bull stepped back. Leonard moved swiftly into the circle, picked up the shawl, and withdrew. The other dancers as one moved to the perimeters of the circle to watch and wait. The deafening throb of the drum continued. The very earth and air pulsated around them.

Suddenly, Jordis smiled a wide, beautiful smile showing her splendid teeth. She threw back her head and laughed. Gustie knew now that Jordis no longer danced for her, and she let her go. Gustie’s eyes filled with tears.

Jordis looked long into the sky again and closed her eyes. Her head came down, her back arched upward, her shoulders moved forward and her arms folded the wings in close to her sides. She held there for a moment, then her head began jerky bird-like movements from side to side. She began the dance of the Eagle.

The drum and voices intensified and picked up speed. Jordis crouched low, spread her wings, and danced the sacred dance with strength and power. Whatever had been contained was set free. The spirit of Eagle had come down, and the woman danced with him. The Two-Spirit Woman danced the Eagle.

Jordis was still in the world of spirit, but Little Bull did not want her to face the scrutiny of the crowd alone when her dance came to an end, as it must. He began to dance, beckoning Leonard back into the circle. Others sensitive to the mystery that was about to come to its conclusion moved back into the circle as well. Men and women and children danced around her, dancing their own dances.

It ended. The final drum beat. Silence.

The dancers stopped and milled around, greeted one another as if nothing extraordinary had happened, and went off to find refreshments. Little Bull was at Jordis’s side, so was Dorcas. He took from her the sheath of feathers. Dorcas wrapped her in the shawl, for a cold wind had come down from the north. Little Bull escorted her off the dancing ground. She seemed not quite of this world yet. He handed her to Gustie who put her arms around her. Together with Dorcas they made their way through the crowd back to Gustie’s wagon where Biddie stood patiently waiting to go home to her bucket of oats.

With surprising agility, Dorcas stepped up into the wagon seat and took up the reins. Gustie helped Jordis up and squeezed in beside her. Biddie pulled them off the fairgrounds out along the winding wagon path that would take them back to Crow Kills.

Happiness played upon Jordis’s face. “I saw him,” she said.

“Who did you see?” Gustie tucked the shawl securely around Jordis so she would not get a chill and kept an arm around her. The heat from Jordis’s body gave off the scent of sage.

“He came down out of the sky like a bird, but he was a man, and his hair was long and stretched far behind him like a road to the ends of the earth.”

“Who?”

“My brother. And he was not a boy. He was a man. The age he would be now if he’d been allowed to grow. He is a man, and he told me to dance the Eagle Dance. He told me he was happy. He told me not to be afraid to dance the Eagle.” Jordis’s eyes were bright.

Gustie tenderly pushed the damp hair off Jordis’s forehead. “Jordis, you laughed.” She spoke softly. “What made you laugh?”

Jordis laughed again, a deep, chesty laugh, and her head came back against Gustie’s shoulder. She laughed. “Because he said he didn’t give a shit about my hair!”

A cold wind swept off the lake. The trees creaked and branches scraped against each other. Leaves rattled under a swiftly darkening sky.

“Smell the rain,” said Dorcas.

As she helped Jordis down from the wagon, Gustie said, “I’ll take the tent tonight.”

Dorcas nodded.

“I’ll see to the horses,” said Gustie, finally giving Jordis over to her grandmother’s care.

Gustie unhitched Biddie and brought her and Moon together down to the lake to drink. On the farther shore, a doe stepped gingerly down to the water’s edge. She gazed at Gustie and the horses without alarm, then disappeared into the blackness behind her. Gustie’s already full heart was moved almost to overflowing at the sight of her.

She tethered the horses close together in the shelter of the trees behind the cabin and fastened a blanket over each of them—some protection if there was hail. She left them each a bucket of oats.

When Gustie returned the cabin was cloudy with aromatic steam from some brew Dorcas had made Jordis drink.

Jordis was already under a blanket on the cot usually occupied by Gustie. She looked half asleep.

Gustie leaned over her and put a hand on her forehead. It was cool and dry. Jordis opened her eyes and whispered, “You going to play at being Indian?”

Gustie smiled and nodded.

“Good luck,” Jordis replied softly and drifted to sleep.

“Take this.” Dorcas handed Gustie a hammer.

“What’s this for?”

“Pound the stakes more. Give ’em an extra whack. Otherwise, you blow away.”

Gustie went out and did as she was told. The wind was now even stronger. Even though Jordis had pitched the tent under the trees, the canvas heaved and strained against the wind. The stakes held.

Inside the tent, Gustie wrapped herself in a blanket and listened as Crow Kills crashed against its boundaries of rock and bank and slapped up against the trees that guarded its shore. She felt quite snug. The thunder rolled across the lake, and a sheet of rain covered everything, muting every other sound, except the voice she heard in her head just before she fell asleep. “When the potatoes boil dry, it means it’s going to storm.”

“You’re back early.” Lena said. She appeared neither glad to see him nor reproachful of his absence. She sat at the kitchen table nibbling a slice of bread.

Will hung up his hat and stamped the dust off his shoes before entering the kitchen. “Yup. Well... I rode Ole Tom pretty hard. I think it’s going to storm. Tried to beat it back.”

He washed his hands and Lena poured his coffee and set a plate and knife before him. Will helped himself to bread and butter.

They chewed and sipped quietly. The wind came up and battered the window panes. Will said, “It’s going to be a real corker.”

Lena carefully brushed errant bread crumbs off the table onto her empty plate and pushed it aside. “Iver stopped by after you left. I gave him all my pies to take to the fairgrounds. Told him to leave them with Alvinia where the ladies were serving lunch. Kept one for us.”

Lena took her plate to the sink, refilled her coffee cup, and sat back down while Will had a second slice of bread and jam. When he was through he said, “A piece of that pie might go good if there’s any more coffee.”

Lena rose to accommodate her husband.

Will began casually, “I don’t think that piker will be hangin’ around here anymore.” He chuckled and enjoyed the telling of Peter Madigan’s fear of the Indians as much as he enjoyed Lena’s pie. When he got to the part about the braying mule he laughed out loud. Even Lena had to smile.

After a pause, he said, “Gustie’s a great gal. Been a good friend to us, all right. No question about that.”

“No one could say any different.”

“Those Indian ladies—they’re nice women. Met the old chief and his son, too. They seem like nice fellas.”

Lena’s neck stiffened, and she felt her lips getting taut.

“And they sure think the world of Gustie,” Will added for good measure.

“Apparently.” Lena had listened to Will’s story, her hurt feelings equal to her interest in this part of Gustie’s life that her friend had kept hidden from her. “I guess she’s spent a lot of time out there with them.” She paused. “And never saw fit to mention it.”

“Nope. I guess not.” Will rubbed his forehead and ran his hand over his hair, ending with a scratch behind his ear. “It was Gustie, you know, put up my bail and hired Pard.” Will had saved that for last.

Lena opened her mouth but could say nothing.

“I know you thought Walt and Oscar and maybe Ma had a part in that, but they never done anything like that for me and never would. I knew it wasn’t them. Dennis and me figured it out. Had to be Gustie. And when I asked Pard, he said that was confidential information. So I figured Gus had a reason to not tell us. I just figured she’d tell you when she got good and ready. Now, I guess I know why she didn’t tell us. But I haven’t got it figured out yet. Something about that woman she came out here with who died. That must have been a rough go, and she didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t know. But I’m tellin’ you now just so you have it in mind.”

Lena’s spine became board straight. “We’ll pay it back. Every penny.” Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup.

“Don’t think she expects that. No telling how long it would take me to pay back that kind of money.” Will peered out the dark kitchen window.

Lena cleared her throat and was about to offer to take in washing to bring in extra money, but Will didn’t let her begin speaking.

“You’re smarter than me, Duchy. Always was. I always knew it and was proud of you for it. You think about things—religion and all—things that don’t mean nothing to me.” Will drained his coffee cup and sat it down with more delicacy than she was used to seeing in him. “I seen people go to church on Sunday and do nothing but meanness Monday through Saturday.”

“Medicine is for the sick, and church is for the sinner,” Lena affirmed.

When she was in one of her righteous moods, Will was no match for her. But this time he gave it extra effort. With a sigh, he said, pushing his empty plate away from him, “Well, I never seen Gustie do anything but good by the people around here. She’s sure been a great pal to me. I know you don’t like Indians and now Gustie’s got them as her friends. Maybe that’s why she didn’t tell you. She knew you wouldn’t like it. Guess she figured what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. Come to think of it, it didn’t either. As far as the Indians go, as far as I can see, they have their good ones and their bad ones like everybody else. I owe her. And I’m not going to see her thrown to the wolves around here.”

“You make it sound like she’s going to be taken out and tarred and feathered or something. That’s foolishness.”

“Well, I know how people can get started on something around here and get carried away with it.”

Lena’s gall was rising. “What would you know about that? You’re always drunk and out of your mind someplace while I have to face this town. Don’t tell me what people chew over. I’ve been chewed over enough! You don’t care about that, though, do you?”

Will was confused. He had been talking about Gustie, and now Lena was in a fit over his drinking. He hadn’t had a drink since the night his Pa was killed, and he swore he’d never have another. That sip of Walter’s whiskey at the open house sure didn’t count for much.

“It’s going to be all over town that Gustie is laying around with those Indians over on the reservation, and it won’t matter that they think the world of her or that she’s your pal or any other blame thing. Being your pal is no great recommendation anyway.” Lena threw her spoon down, and it clattered against her saucer. She almost tipped the chair over as she pushed away from the table and ran into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Will rubbed his face hard and went outside to bed down his horse.