CHAPTER
24 
On shaking legs and wrapped in a buffalo skin, I ducked beneath the door of the sweat lodge. Falling Stars Woman, Aén
hé’ke, and Bob Johnson were arranging Kindle’s unconscious form on the floor on the opposite side from the door, in the same position he’d been in during the medicine ceremony. I walked clockwise around the lodge and sat near Kindle’s head, as Aénhé’ke had instructed outside while the lodge keeper smudged me with smoking sage and sweetgrass. I sat cross-legged and wrapped the animal skin tight around me as four other Cheyenne entered and took their places.
Using forked tree limbs, the lodge keeper brought hot rocks into the lodge and placed them in the rectangular hole in the center of the area. Finally, the hole was full and she returned with a bucket and a buffalo-tail brush, which she dipped in the water and swept over the hot rocks. The flap over the door closed, throwing us into near darkness. Steam rose and soon surrounded us.
The stones hissed and popped in the silence. The chant started low, and though I didn’t understand a word, I knew it for a prayer. I let the rhythm of the words soothe me. My skin was soon slicked with sweat. Rivulets ran down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. It trickled between my breasts and down my spine. The air was heavy with water and the smell of sage. I inhaled the scented air in great gulps and a sense of great calm settled over me. My mind quieted and the world dropped away.
I walked across the plains, humming as my hands skimmed along the tops of the tall buffalo grass. I passed one buffalo, and another, and another, until the beasts roamed around me, occasionally looking up, before returning to their grazing. The grasses evaporated and were replaced by a landscape of low scrub and cacti. Red boulders dotted the ground, but as I got closer they were revealed to be the carcasses of dead, skinned buffalo. Flies buzzed around the carcasses; a buzzard landed on the mound of stinking meat, pecked at its dinner, and fought off others who got too close.
A large cone-shaped mountain loomed before me. I followed a well-worn hunting path across the foothills to the mouth of a cave, where I paused. The familiar smell of Irish stew and the sound of a woman singing floated from within. I stepped inside.
The cave was roughly ten feet in diameter, with a large, well-scrubbed wooden table and four chairs in the center. A fireplace was set into the back wall, in front of which a woman stood, stirring the contents of a large cast-iron pot.
“Maureen?”
She turned and smiled. “Katie, my girl, I’ve been waiting an age. Sit down, stew’s almost ready.”
I glanced around. From the corner of my eye the cave was bursting with items, foreign and familiar: my father’s favorite wing chair, my medical bag, a smoldering wagon wheel, a trunk overflowing with colorful silk gowns, Kindle whittling a stick. When I tried to look at the items straight on, they disappeared, leaving only the bare cave walls covered in primitive drawings that seemed to spiral out from a central point. With my finger, I traced the nautilus from its beginning image: a man, woman, and child; man and child; the child on a ship; lines of men aiming guns at one another, a caduceus. When I saw the woman running from a hangman’s noose I realized I was reading the story of my life. I carried on with equal parts dread and anticipation, realizing this wall would foretell my future. The images spiraled on up into the dark roof of the cave, but the ones of the future were blurred and jumbled, indistinct, but clearly there.
Maureen was at my elbow, wiping her hands on a towel. “You will have a long life, Katie Girl.”
“I’m not sure I want a long life.”
“’Course you do.”
The images on the wall came alive, and with jerky, awkward movements replayed what I endured on the Canadian. I watched, rapt, with tears streaming down my face, until a hand reached out and wiped the images from the wall.
“Enough.”
I turned. Maureen was gone, replaced by a beautiful woman in a pale green silk gown, her strawberry-blond hair pulled to the side and cascading across her heaving bosom. “Dwelling on it won’t change it,” Camille King said.
“Don’t tell me to move past it.”
“You’re already past it.”
“I’m not.”
She grabbed me by the arms and shook me, her eyes steely. “You are. You survived, Catherine.” She released me and lifted her chin to look down her nose at me. “You want to play the victim.”
“I am not a victim.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
I heard a clap behind me, then another, and another, and realized it was applause. I turned and found Cotter Black sitting at Maureen’s kitchen table, feet kicked up, applauding. There was a large hole in his forehead and dried blood and dirt caked his face.
“Honest to God,” Cotter Black said. “I can’t believe you and Billy made it this far.”
I lunged across the table, grabbed Black by the throat, and squeezed. His faced puffed and turned purple. Blood filled his eyes and the left one popped out and rolled onto the floor. I released him and jumped back, staring at the eye, which looked up at me accusingly, blaming me for its fate.
“Laura.”
It was the Kindle from my dream. Dressed for dinner, sitting at a piano, playing Bach. He nodded for me to join him on the bench and I did. He continued to play, softly, beautifully. I was mesmerized by his dancing fingers, until his hands smashed the keys down.
I looked up. Camille, one eyebrow arched and an amused expression on her face, sat across the table from me.
“I never knew you were so spiritual, Catherine.”
“I’m not.”
Camille looked around the cave and settled her gaze back on me with a wry grin. She leaned forward and took my hands. “Remember what I told you?”
“You told me quite a lot I’d rather forget.”
“My bedroom advice will come in handy, and soon enough. But, that isn’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
“Don’t play the victim.”
She shook her head. “Men are savages. White, red, black, yellow. Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same, in the end. They’re driven by power.”
Her expression turned to one of pity, as if I had failed a test she expected me to pass with flying colors. She squeezed my hand. “They only have power over you if you give it to them.” She sat back. “Men are pathetically easy to manipulate, to control.” She dipped her head and stared at me with eyes glittering with malice. “It’s the women you need to worry about.”
“Laura,” said a man’s voice behind me.
I turned and opened my eyes. The cave was gone, replaced by a dim lodge, empty save a hole full of steaming rocks and Kindle, sitting hunched beneath an animal skin next to me. I reached out and touched his pale face. “Are you real?”
He grasped my hand and kissed my palm. “Yes.”
“Are you well?”
“I’m awake.”
The flap of the sweat lodge opened and Aénhé’ke ducked into the room. “Come.”
She and I helped Kindle stand, walk around the stones, and outside. Aénhé’ke led us to the river and took our skins from our shoulders. Naked, we stood in the moonlight, the night air chilling our sweat-covered skin. Four or five Cheyenne men and women who had been in the sweat lodge with us were in the river. They beckoned for us to join them. Leaning heavily on me, Kindle walked with me to the river and I made sure he was safely settled before crouching down and letting the cool water envelop me. I lifted my head and stared up at the blanket of stars above us. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes, submerged completely, and let the Canadian River wash my past away.