Forever Ecstasy (19 page)

How could an Indian maiden with a simple rearing fit into an aristocratic setting— balls, dinners, theater, and such? He could easily sail anywhere with Morning Star, but he couldn’t take her into his society. His fear wasn’t that she would embarrass him, as the smart female could learn all the correct things. She would be beautiful in a walking dress with a parasol clutched in her dainty hand or in a riding habit racing over their plantation or in an expensive ball gown with her black hair piled atop her head. Yet she would be like a lost child in his world; she could be hurt, humiliated, and scorned. Too many whites feared and despised all Indians, viewing them as savages. What
she
lacked was the background and education to help her become an accepted part of the southern scene she would enter if…

Joe shook his head to clear it of those crazy dreams. He hadn’t ridden far when he realized he might have to make camp soon and possibly lose a day’s travel. He hated for this trip to take even an hour longer than necessary, but it looked as if it couldn’t be helped…

Payaba entered Sun Cloud’s tepee and went to Morning Star’s side. He forced his achy body to kneel beside her mat and his gnarled-fingered hand touched her cheek with gentleness and affection. “Do not fear, precious one,” he coaxed. “All goes as Grandfather plans. Does your body heal?”

The weakened maiden related her sorry condition to the wise old shaman who had been like a grandfather to her, as her natural one had died long before her birth. “I will lose, Payaba. I have not the strength to win.”

Payaba sent her an encouraging smile. “Drink this soup; it will give you the strength you need. Many special herbs are inside.”

Singing Wind returned with water she had fetched.
“Toniktuka he?”

“I am fine, Mother,” Morning Star replied, but knew she was not.

“She must drink the medicine soup. Take her to the water to bathe. It will bring new life to her weary body,” he instructed the older woman.

“She must stay on her mat today, Payaba. She is weak and ill.”

“No, Singing Wind, she must enter the contest. She will win.”

“Was this in your vision, Wise One?” the mother inquired.

The past shaman felt it was not the time to reveal the whole truth. “It is in my heart and head,” he replied. “They say she is the one to be chosen.”

“How can she enter the contest when she cannot walk from her mat?”

“Before the kettle drum summons her challengers, she will be ready.”

The two women watched the elderly man get to his feet with great difficulty and leave their abode.

“Help me to do this, Mother. We must let Grandfather choose.”

Singing Wind assisted her ailing daughter to a private area at the serene lake and helped her bathe. Morning Star donned cleaned garments and her moccasins. Singing Wind brushed her hair and braided it, to prevent it from getting into her eyes during the events. When they returned to their tepee, Night Stalker was awaiting them.

“Father says you are not well, Sister. Do not enter the contest. Do not shame us with your loss. Does this illness not tell you the truth?”

Morning Star could not bear the thought of another woman riding with Joe. “It tells me there are evil forces against me, Brother, but I will win.”

Before they could argue the issue the
can cega
and
wagmula
— the ceremonial drum and rattle— sent forth the message for the contestants to gather for the beginning of the ritual.

Morning Star summoned all of her strength, will, and courage to face what was before her today. The outcome was in the
Great Spirit’s hands. She walked to the crowded area with her mother and brother. Her father joined them, and in a quiet voice questioned her health. She told him she was fine, but both realized she was not at her best.

Ceremonial chief Wolf Eyes stepped to the center of the gathering. There was no purification rite in the sweat lodge as the men participated in before their special rituals, and for that, the weakened Morning Star was grateful.

Wolf Eyes lifted the sacred buffalo skull in his hands. It was used in all important ceremonies. Its horns were wrapped with long grass, on which the life and life-sustaining buffalo grazed. Its interior was stuffed with sweetgrass, herbs, sacred tokens, and spring flowers. The painted images upon its prairie-weathered surface depicted sun, rain, lightning, and hail: all forces of nature that his special vision had said to paint there.

Wolf Eyes raised the skull heavenward and used it to salute the north for life, the east for knowledge, the south for quiet meditation, and the west for danger. “Hear us, Grandfather. Your people call you to witness this great event. Judge the women who enter this contest and choose one to carry out the vision you sent to Payaba long ago.”

The ceremonial chief placed the skull on a short pole.
“Whope,
sacred White Buffalo Calf Woman, who honors girls as they enter womanhood,” he called out. “She who has the power to heal with her touch, whose eyes can pierce the shadows that hide the future, who helped Wakantanka with the creation of His people, watch over and guide your blessed ones this sun.”

Morning Star was anxious for the contest to get underway before the little energy she had regained deserted her, but she did not view the ritual as a waste of time. She felt as if her legs were filled with water. She hoped her tremors weren’t noticeable to others. Beads of moisture made her feel as if she needed a bath rather than she had just taken one. Her fever was gone, as were her other disturbing symptoms, but the illness had left her feeling powerless in body and spirit.

“Who will step forward to attempt this great task?” Wolf Eyes asked.

Flying Feather, granddaughter of Catch the Bear, was first. Gray Squirrel, granddaughter of Tracks Good, was second.
Comes Running, granddaughter of Wolf Eyes, was third. The fourth competitor shocked Morning Star: Buckskin Girl, her best friend and child of Flaming Star. The daughter of Sun Cloud made the fifth and last contestant.

As this was the result of Payaba’s vision and he was one of the few members of the Elk Dreamer Society, he stepped forward to do the ritual dance while the spirits gathered to observe and bless the event. A hair hoop wrapped in flattened and colored porcupine quills with a white downy eagle feather suspended from its center was in a head of white hair, coarse and dulled by age and dryness, above Payaba’s left ear. A circle was painted around his body of sagging muscles to symbolize the Hoop of Life. He carried an Elk Dreamer hoop, called a rainbow, in his left hand. The hoop was made from a flexible willow limb, wrapped in furry elk hide and adorned with clusters of herbs, animal claws, and other special tokens revealed to him in his vision. The power of elk medicine was considered very strong and rare.

As the elderly man chanted and danced about the cleared circle, Morning Star’s renewed strength faded like a sinking sun. She feared she would faint before he finished and the first event began. Her fingers clutched her thighs to control their quiverings. She locked her knees to halt their wobbling. Nervous perspiration broke out all over her body and heat rosed her cheeks.

Payaba ignored his body’s pains to perform the beloved task. His movements were steady, measured, and self-assured. His shoulders and back were bent, and his flowing white hair concealed his lined face as his feet followed a pattern and drumbeat he knew well. When the right moment came, he lifted his head skyward and invoked, “Hear me, Grandfather; Sun Cloud and his people need your help and guidance. Speak to us. Send us a sign.”

Those words echoed through the Red Heart chiefs head from a distant time when he had spoken the same ones during his Sun Dance ordeal. Many images and memories of that tormenting season raced through his mind, but he tried to push them aside.

Before Payaba completed his prayful chant and sacred dance, the reason Joseph Lawrence feared the delay of his journey
neared the camp.

“Icamna lecetkiya,”
Singing Wind whispered.

Morning Star glanced eastward to see the dark clouds moving toward them fast; it was going to storm, as her mother warned. Suspense and joy filled her heart. Surely that was the answer to her desperate prayers, as a violent storm would postpone the contest and give her time to heal.

The others were so attentive to the ritual that they failed to notice the changing weather. But they couldn’t ignore it when the wind suddenly gusted through the trees and clearing. Within minutes, it yanked at hair and garments, stirring up dust. Its power increased rapidly and caused trees to sway and grasses to wave. The sky darkened with speed and vivid flashes of lightning shot across the heaven, followed by a thundering boom. The storm closed in on the encampment, sending forth more streaks of light and loud roars. The sound seemed to echo off the rocks, cliffs, and earth. Large drops of rain began to fall. First the water came down slow, then fast and heavy.

In a short time, everyone was soaked. Drenched garments clung to bodies. Dripping hair stuck to skin. Many women with babies and children raced for their tepees. A dazzling bolt of lightning struck a tree near the edge of camp; it crashed to the ground, and all forces rumbled together. Falling water became as loud as the thunder and the wind.

“It rains too hard!” Wolf Eyes shouted over the combined noises of stormy nature. “The contest must wait until the new sun when it is gone!”

“No! It is bad medicine!” Knife-Slayer shouted. “Payaba used his power and magic to call the storm here to protect Morning Star! She is ill and he fears she will lose! Will it not storm when the winner must do her task at Tanner’s side? This is a good test of her skills!”

The ceremonial chief, whose granddaughter was involved, reasoned, “How can they track when rain washes away trails? It must wait.”

“If Grandfather has halted the test, Wolf Eyes, there is a reason,” the young warrior persisted. “He tells us the test, our help, and a truce are wrong. He shows his anger and prevents it.”

Payaba stepped closer to be heard. “Your words are not true.
I did not call down the storm. My Elk Dreamer hoop does no evil magic. Grandfather has a reason for us to change the test until another day. It is not my doing.”

Three girls shivered and huddled as the chilling rain beat down upon them. Buckskin Girl stood with her father, and Morning Star with hers. The five females, as others still present, could hardly see from the water streaming into their eyes. Mud splattered on everyone’s moccasins and legs. The entrants glanced at each other, but none gave her opinion.

Nor did Sun Cloud want to give his, since his daughter was involved. He waited for council members, who would be judges, to cancel the competition. Within minutes, a verbal vote brought the decision nearly all had hoped for: postponement until the next day, if the weather improved.

“Why can we not continue when the rain stops?” Knife-Slayer reasoned. “The ceremonies are done; the spirits have been called.”

“And they have spoken for another sun,” Payaba responded.

The participants were excused for the day and all raced for their tepees. Sun Cloud grasped his daughter’s arm and assisted her back to her home. He turned his back while Singing Wind helped Morning Star get out of her soaked clothes. She dried off the trembling girl and covered her with a warm buffalo hide after she lay down. Before she let her daughter fall into exhausted sleep, Singing Wind urged more herbal tea down her throat.

Morning Star closed her eyes and relaxed; she was rescued for now. She tried not to worry over Buckskin Girl’s challenge in the contest. Yet she wondered why her best friend would go against her in this matter. Knowing Flaming Star’s daughter, there must be a good reason.

She wondered where Joe was along the trail and how he was doing. She had spent only a short time with him, but she missed him, and longed for his quick and safe return. He inspired such excitement and happiness within her. He made her feel as if she could do anything she attempted. It was as if she were more than only a woman with him. He made her feel braver, smarter, more alive than anyone ever had. With him, she could be her best. She wanted to use and enjoy every moment she could have with him.
If only he were truly Tanner Gaston and had Oglala blood and if only he could remain here forever, she daydreamed. No, her drifting mind told her, that would make them grandchildren of half brothers. Was that kinship too close for joining? Before she could reason on the matter, the herbs, warmth, and her fatigue carried her to slumberland.

As Morning Star napped and Singing Wind sewed, Sun Cloud sat on his mat and reflected. He heard the storm unleashing its fury outside and it brought a similar one to mind. Shortly after his father’s lethal ambush, which had provoked a rivalry with Bright Arrow for the chiefs bonnet, he had submitted to the Sun Dance. A man’s body was all he truly owned and was the most important thing he could offer willingly to the Great spirit as a sacrifice. He had chosen the hanging position which Gray Eagle had endured many seasons earlier. Most warriors used the standing one that allowed their feet to push against the earth to help obtain freedom. The shaman had worried over him participating after just finishing the Sacred Bow ritual and race— which he had won— and subjecting himself to two purification rites in the sweat lodge. He had been tired and weakened, but determined.

The Sun Dance could cost a man his life if his stamina was weak. His chest was pierced with an eagle’s claw and thongs were secured around the freed muscles. Then he was suspended by them in the air from a cottonwood post. Never had he known such physical agony. He had hung there for hours as his flesh refused to tear free and release him. It meant either a victory or death ordeal. His face had been painted with the markings of his name and medicine symbols. Just when he feared failure, as Morning Star had today, a violent storm had arisen. The sacred pole had swayed and his body had twirled, shooting more torment through it.

The shaman had jumped to his feet to dance and chant, and no one had left the scene. A vision for victory over their white foes had been given to him, along with personal messages. Lightning had struck the pole, as it had the spruce today, and freed him, as today’s storm had rescued his daughter from certain defeat. Rain had smeared his facial paint to make it reflect that of his father’s markings. The storm had ceased and the sun
had peeked from behind a large white cloud: nature had created his name and symbol in the sky. Many had thought it was the Great Spirit’s way of displaying His selection of Sun Cloud over his brother for chief.