Desert Hearts (24 page)

She could not go back to sleep and so she sat up against the cottonwood and wrapped the blanket around her. The stars were fading as dawn approached and she was gradually able to make out the hogan. The singing was still going on, but by now she was used to it. She looked to her left and there was Sergeant Burke’s long, lean form, under a blanket, his head pillowed on his saddle. Her eyes fell and she saw a pair of moccasins next to her. Serena had not forgotten. And, oh dear, she was going to have to run, very soon. She quickly slipped the moccasins on and walked around in a little circle to get used to them. They were an almost perfect fit, although the left one seemed a little big for her foot. But they were certainly better than her riding boots.

She became conscious of a foreign sound—a slow, rhythmic rumbling. At first she thought the singers had added some strange variation, and then she giggled. It was Sergeant Burke, snoring.

She tiptoed over to him. He was lying on his back, his mouth hanging open, snoring gently and steadily. Her Thomas snored occasionally, but when he did, it was with great loud gasps. Michael Burke’s snores were quite refined, thought Elizabeth as she suppressed a laugh.

Refined or not, it did not seem very ceremonial to her. Perhaps she could get him to turn over in his sleep, the way she sometimes did with her husband. She knelt down next to him and gently pushed his right shoulder. The snoring stopped for a moment and then started again, but he didn’t move.

“Michael,” she whispered as she pushed again. “Turn over.”

Michael’s eyes fluttered and the snoring stopped but he was clearly half asleep when he muttered something like, “Ah, Mary Ann, are ye wanting more from me this morning.”

Elizabeth blushed. Clearly Sergeant Burke thought he was back in bed with his laundress. As he reached out and grabbed her hand, she gasped and stood up.

“Where are ye, darlin?” he grumbled, his eyes squinting open.

“I am not your ‘darlin,’ ” Elizabeth said in a loud, fierce whisper. “It is Elizabeth and I was merely attempting to stop you from snoring, Michael. It did not seem respectful.”

Michael pulled himself up and rubbed his eyes. “ ‘Snoring,’ was I? How embarrassing.”

What was embarrassing, thought Elizabeth, was to be mistaken for his laundress lover, but she wasn’t about to refer to Mary Ann again.

Michael looked at Elizabeth’s moccasined feet and then up at her face. Flushed with embarrassment, Mrs. Woolcott was even prettier. A stiffening in his groin made him wish that she were flushed with desire and he drew his legs; up to hide the sign of his arousal. He said a quick “Hail, Mary,” hoping that the Queen of Heaven would drive all the sinful thoughts out of his head. He had never wanted a woman so much before and now it seemed there was nothing else he wanted. She was an occasion of sin for him, was Elizabeth Woolcott, and for now, there was nothing he could do about it.

He glanced at the horizon, where a thin band of light was beginning to change the sky from black to rose and orange. Just at that moment, the singing, which had become part of the background, stopped and the blanket over the hogan was pushed open. “I think your moment has come, Elizabeth,” he said, pointing down at the hogan. And thank God for it, he thought as she turned and started to walk toward the hogan.

Serena’s niece came out, gave her shout, and started her final race. There were at least ten who followed her and Elizabeth stood frozen in place as she watched them run east into the dawn. Then she scrambled the rest of the way down the little hill and followed them.

* * * *

Two of the girls in the back of the group looked at her and frowned as she caught up with them and she almost turned back. But then Serena’s niece looked over her shoulder and gave her a look which seemed to hold both goodwill and a challenge. She seemed to be saying, “We’ve let you join us,
bilagaana
. You are welcome. Now let us see what you can endure.”

After what seemed only minutes, Elizabeth was gasping for breath. She realized part of it was from nervousness and she began to pay attention only to her steps and her breath, trying to find a rhythm that would enable her to finish. It was lucky she began to pay attention to her feet, for she missed a wicked-looking cactus by inches. The soles of her moccasins were hardened rawhide, but the spikes of the cactus would have pierced them easily.

At least it was not midday in summer, she thought gratefully as she began to sweat. This
bilagaana
would at least not collapse from sunstroke!

Two young boys had fallen behind her and she realized that she was now in the back of the middle of the runners. And this is where I’ll stay. If I can!

It seemed as if they were running out forever, further and further away from the hogan into the rising sun. And then at last, with another shout, they turned and the runners followed, strung out behind her.

For the first ten minutes after they turned, Elizabeth felt she was holding her own. She had found a rhythm and she could finally see the cluster of trees not too far in front of them. But nothing seemed to be getting closer and she felt she was running in place. She became aware that her left heel hurt where the moccasin was rubbing against it. The two young boys had caught up with her and passed her and now there was only one woman behind her. Serena’s niece was far ahead, running strongly and proudly, her head and shoulders back, her arms pumping easily at her sides. She looked strong and free and Elizabeth was amazed at her ability to end these strenuous days and a sleepless night with such a run.

“I can’t do it,” she thought, slowing down so that she was next to the last runner. The two girls who had given her angry looks saw how she had fallen back and crowed out their satisfaction.

She felt a sudden surge of anger. She had been
invited
, after all. She hadn’t pushed herself into either the ceremony or the race. The
kinaalda
’s mother had asked her and she’d be damned if she would give them the weak
bilagaana
woman they expected. The anger was what carried her for the last five minutes of the race. Digging deep within herself, she found the strength to pull ahead of the last woman and the two boys. As they approached the hogan, she realized that she was just behind one of the mocking girls and she forced herself to ignore the pain in her heels and the aching in her lungs and the feeling that there was no more air in the world, and as Serena’s niece reached the hogan, ending her race, Elizabeth pulled next to and then just ahead and finished between her two tormentors;. To her surprise, instead of reacting with hostility, they looked at her approvingly and with respect. All she wanted to do was collapse, but she made herself nod to them and walked away on shaking legs. She was aware of no one, only her desire to sit down and gulp air and then water. And look at her heel, which she could tell had been rubbed raw.

She felt an arm under her arm, supporting her, and looked up gratefully. Sergeant Burke was smiling down at her and suddenly she was aware of how she must look. She, the former Miss Elizabeth Jane Rush, one of Mrs. Compton’s young ladies, was soaked in sweat, having made a four-mile run across the desert. Her linen blouse was wet and clinging and she was afraid to look down and see what it revealed.

“That was a fine run for a
bilagaana
,” said Serena.

Elizabeth looked over and smiled at her friend. “This
bilagaana
woman almost didn’t make it back running.”

“It is good that you did this, Mrs. Woolcott,” said Antonio, who had joined them. “You have won much respect.”

“Believe me, that is nothing compared to the respect I feel for your niece. She looked so strong and beautiful out there.”

Serena smiled proudly. “My sister’s daughter has done very well. She will make a fine woman.”

“You are limping, Elizabeth,” said Michael with concern in his voice.

“I tried to ignore it, but I think my heel is blistered.”

“Sit down here and I’ll look at it for you.”

Michael knelt in front of her and gently drew off her moccasin. He lifted her foot to examine the heel and Elizabeth felt a small thrill go through her until he touched the blister. Then she flinched and grimaced.

“Indeed, and I’m sure it must hurt,” crooned Michael. Then, realizing how he must sound, he cleared his throat and looked up at Antonio. “Do you have any salve of any sort?”

“I’ll ask the
hataali
,” said Antonio. He returned with a small pot of greasy salve which Michael smeared on Elizabeth’s heel.

“Where is yer riding blouse, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked at him questioningly.

“I need something to bind your foot with or your boot will make it worse.”

“I have a chemise in my pack, Michael,” she said, red-faced.

Michael jumped up and after rummaging through the pack, found a small cotton chemise. He hated to tear it, but her heel had to be protected or she would risk infection.

He tied the strips gently. “I’d keep the moccasins on for a bit, for yer boots will feel too stiff for a while.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

Elizabeth stood up and took a few steps. Her heel still hurt but the bandaging protected it. As she turned back, Michael Burke took a step toward her and before she realized what was happening, she found herself enfolded in his arms, his hand gently holding her head against his chest. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair.

He was holding her the way she had wanted her dream woman to hold her. He was saying what she would have wanted her father or mother to say to her: that they admired and respected who she had become. She could have stayed there forever, listening to the steady beat of his heart, smelling the cumin scent of him, feeling both strong and protected at the same time.

“When he finally let go, neither could look at the other. Elizabeth started babbling to Serena, and Michael ignored Antonio’s questioning look and went over to feed their horses.

There had been singing when they returned from the race, and Elizabeth assumed it had been going on the whole time they were gone. But there had been silence for a minute or two now and then Serena’s niece and the men and women inside the hogan emerged and gathered around the smoking pit. The coals and dirt were brushed off and the corn husks removed and Serena’s sister began to cut the cake. Elizabeth stood by while others were given their pieces but then Serena pulled her into the circle and she took a piece, shyly nodding her thanks. She noticed that the
kinaalda
had not had any yet and whispered a question to her friend.

“The
kinaalda
doesn’t eat her own
aalkan
, my friend.”

Cutting the cake was the signal for breakfast, it seemed, and all sat down to a meal of tortillas and corn mush, the men separate from the women. At one point, Elizabeth noticed one of the older women pointing to her and then to the two girls who had not wanted her to run with them, and laughing.

“What is she saying?”

“She is teasing them about being beaten by a
bilagaana
,” whispered her friend.

“They didn’t look too happy that I was part of the race,” said Elizabeth. “I am sure the teasing doesn’t make them like me anymore!”

“Oh, no, they don’t mind the teasing. One of them beat you. And you gained their respect by pulling ahead of the other. Most of us feel good that you respected the ceremony enough to take a small part.”

“I had an interesting dream last night,” said Elizabeth, softly. “There was a woman in it, dressed in white with a rainbow sash. She was wearing turquoise, but also my mother’s cameo.”

Serena looked at her inquiringly. “Go on.”

“She looked at me with such kindness. But it was very strange…of course, dreams are always strange, but at first she appeared young and beautiful and then old and wrinkled and then young again.”

Serena was silent for a moment and then turned away and said something to one of the old women. Elizabeth felt that she had just shared something special with her friend and had been ignored. Perhaps it wasn’t polite to tell your dreams?

Serena turned back to her. “Can you tell me all the details of the dream, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth repeated what she could remember, while her friend simultaneously translated for the older woman.

The old woman gave a deep sigh and said something to Serena. Serena nodded.

“We think you are very lucky, Elizabeth. It could be that your heart was open to her. That you needed to see her. But we think that you have seen
Asdzaa nadleehe
, the Changing Woman, in your dream.”

“But it wasn’t anything like your story, Serena.”

“No, and that is why we think it is real. I didn’t tell you everything about her. I didn’t tell you how she turns and walks to the east and then to the south and then the west and each time comes back different. But that is what you saw, so it must have been she.”

The women were all looking over at her curiously and Elizabeth dropped her eyes.

“It was a wonderful dream, but it doesn’t seem right that I had it. Surely,
Asdzaa nadleehe
”—Elizabeth struggled over the pronunciation—“should have been visiting the
kinaalda
.”

“Oh, I am sure she did,” said Serena with a smile. “But she also visited you because you needed her.” Serena spoke again to the other women in Navajo and they all murmured sympathetically.

“I told them part of your story, my friend. I hope you don’t mind. We all agree: you had a sad time for your
kenasha
. You lost your mother in a terrible way. And you
bilagaana
women have no sense of the power of your womanhood. So you needed something to help you.”

Serena spoke to the whole circle of women again and then to Elizabeth. “You brought an open heart with you. And a gift, something that had belonged to your mother. Something made of white shell. We all think it is not a—what do you call it when something unexpected happens?”

“A coincidence.”