Proud Wolf's Woman (22 page)

“I must fight the Pawnee,” he said. “I must find those Pawnee warriors who killed my wife, and I must ensure none of them walk the road to the hereafter.”

Julia took a moment before speaking. But at last, gazing up at Neeheeowee, she said, “Give me time to comprehend this, Neeheeowee, for I find this hard to understand. You see, I do not believe as you do. Now, tell me again, why must you do this?”

“My wife and child died horrible deaths,” he said. “I had been away from our hunting camp while the Pawnee stole into it, killing all who were there, including my wife and child.” He paused and Julia noted how distant he looked as he continued, “Sometimes the dead will not leave to go on their path to the afterlife if their dying is too terrible. And so it is with my wife and my child. When such a thing happens, it is up to the nearest relative to seek revenge upon their enemies. As I said before, I was a man without a vision, and when this happened, I knew why Maheoo, God over all the Cheyenne, had never allowed me to dream. My life’s fulfillment will be to kill the Pawnee. It is why I live.”

Julia didn’t dare blink. She nodded instead, asking, “And when you kill these men, what will you do with your life, then?”

“I may die seeking their revenge.”

“And if you do not die?”

“Then I will return to my people and live to be an old man.”

Julia shook back her hair, looking away. And though all her ingrained beliefs begged her to shout out to him, “Pagan,” she didn’t. He believed what he told her; it was enough.

It took her several minutes to respond, but at last, she said, “I find what you tell me hard to comprehend because I do not believe as you do about the dead. It is my contention that it is not up to you to salvage these people, though I know you loved them. I believe that it is the life that they led here on earth that will either speak for them or not. And I do not believe in ghosts, Neeheeowee.”

He looked taken aback. He hesitated, seeming to choose his words well before he said, “Many of my people have talked of the white man, have said that this man is unable to see beyond this world. But I had never believed it…until now. Is it true? Have you never talked to the dead?”

“I do not believe in such things, Neeheeowee—no ghosts, no spirits that walk upon the earth—only what you, yourself, keep alive.”

“I see,” he said, moving back away from her, if only a little bit. He peered at her. “How is it that you do not know this? Is the white man so disconnected from all things spiritual that he thinks nothing lives on after death?”

“Yes, but not in this world, not—”

“They live,” he said, emphasizing his words by pointing to his chest, to his heart. “They live on, trapped here to the physical world, yet apart from it. I vowed to them I would free them, I vowed to them to bring the Pawnee murderers to justice and I promised them I would never marry again, that I would always hold their memory above all else, at least until they are freed to walk the path to the afterlife. These are things I am set to do. And do not mistake me. I will keep my promises.”

Julia took a moment to gather her thoughts, and though there were many things in his speech she found disturbing, only one of his statements stood out from the rest: He could never marry…at least not while his wife’s and child’s spirits roamed the earth.

But Julia knew such things were ridiculous, that such things didn’t exist. And he might as well have said to her that he could not marry her—ever, for that is how she understood it.

She felt stunned, and not just with the weight of their different beliefs. He would not marry her. He could not marry her.

Again she felt as though her world tilted, all out of control.

She’d never heard any viewpoint like this—ever. And she wondered, was Neeheeowee saying these things just to avoid marriage to her? Or did he truly believe them? Ghosts?

She looked at him, wondering for a moment as to his sanity and her own inability to observe such things in another, but upon gazing up into his eyes, viewing there his dark, steady gaze at her, she realized she saw not insanity, but rather difference in viewpoint. She sighed.

She didn’t understand. His beliefs were too different from her own. And she wondered: Were there more to these Indian customs which bound him?

To her credit, Julia tried to put aside her own opinions on such things, trying to understand his. But she had been raised all her life to a white man’s view of the world, and she found she could not grasp the idea of a dead person influencing another as though living, nor a ghost acting as though it were still a part of their world. And though she felt the urge to guide Neeheeowee toward what was for her a truer point of view, she didn’t. She held back what she might have said, clearing her throat instead before she said, “Neeheeowee, if you are this indebted to your wife and child, perhaps,” she said, “you do not truly need me. If I were you, I would see me as an obstacle in your purpose in life. I do not fit into this, Neeheeowee. I am afraid I see no place in your life for me.”

“No,” he said, lifting his hand to run his fingers down her cheek, so very, very slowly, downward and back, brushing her hair, stroking her cheek, the edge of her ear.

She shut her eyes, taking a shaky breath, and still he touched her, his fingers caressing her face, her lips, his touch roaming downward, over the curve of her neck.

“I am a man with a past,” he said, his voice husky, “but it does not mean that these things are more to me than you. I tell you only what I can and cannot do. But do not mistake me,
Nemene’hehe,
I will find a place for you within my life if you decide to stay with me. I must, for you see, you,
Nemene’hehe,
hold my heart and without you, I…”

Julia jerked her head away from him, away from his touch, his words. She didn’t want to hear what he said. He played her unfairly. He spoke words of love, yet none of permanent attachment. And Julia knew she needed both: She felt a war beginning to wage within her. She loved this man. She wanted to stay with him. And oh, how she wished there were within her that spark of adventure that would allow her to follow him no matter their relationship. But she found she couldn’t.

All her life, she had been raised with stories of morality, of goodness and faith. These were not things she could ignore simply because she loved a man. Was Neeheeowee turning away from his beliefs or his vows?

No, nor would she expect him to. But within that same breath whispered the idea that neither should she. She squeezed her eyes shut, opening them only when she took a deep breath. At last she was able to speak, but even then, she only asked, “What does it mean,
Nemene’hehe?”

He took his time answering, as though he, too, needed a moment to shift his attention away from that subject most prevalent. Finally, he said, “Singing Woman. It means Singing Woman.”

“Ah,” she said, turning her head back toward him. “That is right. I remember,” she said softly, lifting her gaze slowly, her eyes at last meeting his. “I was humming along with the tune from the camps that evening not so long ago.”

He nodded, bringing a hand up to play with a stray lock of her hair. “You brought me much happiness that day, the music of your voice remaining with me long after we had gone to sleep. I will always remember it,
Nemene’hehe,
as I have always remembered you.”

Julia caught her breath, his words, his intent a heady mixture, for as he said it, one of his hands played with her hair, the other stroked his necklace. The necklace she had given him. She breathed out a heavy sigh, suddenly reminded that through her necklace, he had kept her in memory all these years.

She shut her eyes briefly, opening them almost at once. What could she say to him? That she loved him? Most assuredly. That she wished to stay with him? Without doubt.

But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain her self-respect.

Julia almost wept. Not from grief, not from anger, but rather from pure emotion. Never had she felt so much love for another person, yet never had she needed to turn away from someone more.

The firelight shimmered over them, casting shadows over the ground as she sat before him. A tear fell softly down her cheek, and Neeheeowee wiped it gently away.

She knew she should tell him to go. She knew she
should
go. But she didn’t. She couldn’t, the conflicting emotions within her almost crippling her. And so she did the only thing she could do right now: She wept.

“Neeheeowee, my proud, Proud Wolf,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder, not with his touch still caressing her face, her cheeks, her tears. “Neeheeowee, please,” she said. “I do not know if I can follow you.”

“I know,” he said. “You must make your choice—and soon, for I am destined to continue my search for the Pawnee. I only tell you about me so that you know what the life ahead of you would be. If I could, I would give you more. I cannot.”

Julia nodded, her hair falling forward with the action.

“Nemene’hehe?”
he asked, and when Julia looked up, he ran his hand lightly over the darkish-red highlights of her hair. “I wish to honor you. You have a troublesome decision before you and you take it well. I am proud of you. You have thought well on all this, despite the differences in the way we each one view the world. You have much courage, and I honor you.”

Julia paused for a moment, Neeheeowee’s touch still a warm caress upon her body, and then she couldn’t keep it in any longer. She cried.

Chapter Eleven

“Come, Julia, it’s time to get ready for church.”

“Yes, mother.”

Her mother smiled, brushing her hands through Julia’s dark locks. In the background the smell of smoke and of Sunday dinner cooking made Julia’s mouth water. “You must hurry,” her mother said. “We can’t have you growing up to be a heathen, can we?”

Julia giggled. “There’s very little chance of that.”

Julia gazed down at herself in a dreamlike haze, at her buckskin gown, the moccasins upon her feet. She ran her hands through her hair; hair pulled into braids, with buckskin tying them back.

“No, Julia, bright beads like that are for women of ill repute or for savages, they are one and the same, you know. Here now.” Her mother gathered up the necklaces Julia had been making. “Julia,” her mother reminded her, “no more of this beadwork. You embarrass me. Do you want friends of your father’s to wonder if you’ve gone Indian? Why don’t I get you some silk or perhaps some taffeta material? You could make yourself a lovely gown instead of…
”

Julia gazed down at the brilliant beadwork on the Indian regalia that she wore. Blue, yellow, and red trade beads lay in intricate designs all over her dress and moccasins. Bold patterns and bright beads mixed together in her vision, swimming before her eyes.

Outside, a church bell tolled.

“Come, now, Julia, it’s time for us to go to church.” Her mother took Julia’s hand in her own, both ladies walking with the army lieutenant, Julia’s father, along the wooden planks toward the chapel.

Her mother gasped all at once. “What are those heathens doing going into our church?”

Her father answered her mother while Julia watched the Indians with interest, unaware of what the two adults said. To Julia the Indians did not look heathen; they seemed to her to be dark and proud and certainly, to a youngster’s eye, they looked magnificent. They dressed with more color than she had ever seen on anyone, and they lavished themselves with jewelry that caught a young girl’s fancy. Frankly, she was impressed.

“Stay away from them, Julia,” her mother admonished, reading correctly the admiration there within her daughter’s gaze. “Those Indians would kill you if you get close to them. They have customs we will never understand, ceremonies that are pagan to us, and their women are nothing but slaves when they aren’t outright…well, a proper woman doesn’t mention such things. Be careful when you go near them, Julia, for no white woman has ever come away from their camp with her purity intact.”

Julia gazed upward to find a mirror and gradually, so very gradually, she looked over to it until she saw the image staring back at her. She screamed. It couldn’t be. She looked into the eyes of an Indian. An Indian—herself.

Julia awoke with a start, Neeheeowee coming up on his elbows beside her.

“What has happened,
Nemene’hehe?”

“Nothing, I…I just had a bad dream,” she said in English, then remembering, translated it into Lakota.

He soothed back her hair, comforting her with the touch of his fingers. He smiled down at her, saying, “Do you wish to talk of it?”

“No. I…I cannot.”

He nodded and at length, said, “Sometimes the things we like the least only visit us in dreams. They have no meaning and have no effect on us. They are not like the visions or dreams that my people seek for wisdom. Sleep now, and we will talk some more of this in the morning if you wish it. Do you think that you can?”

Julia nodded.

“Good, then,” he said, and, bringing her in toward him, he cradled her up within the warmth of his body. “I will hold you through the night. Come, rest now.”

Julia tried to sleep. She closed her eyes, she moved little, she tried to think of other things besides her own problems. She couldn’t make herself fall asleep and finally she settled down, her eyes open, to think over her predicament.

Her heart longed to stay with Neeheeowee. Logic, the moral fiber with which she had been raised demanded she leave. These were not things she could put aside.

Besides, if she went with Neeheeowee now, she had only the security of the moment; no friends or relatives to care for her if something should happen. Nor would she be able to lift her head in either Indian or civilized society, always troubled that she lived not quite within her own moral standing.

But it wasn’t any of these things that bothered her most. It was her dream that unsettled her—seeing herself as an Indian. Did she want to live and die amongst a people to whom she had not been born?