If Mac had ever had any doubts about Ellie, her way of life, or what had made her the unique woman he loved, they were laid to rest now. He stood out on the porch of a small house with a tin roof, a cup of freshly made coffee in hand. He was on the Qualla Reservation, home of Ellie’s mother, Walks With Wolves, and her younger sister, Diana. The late summer fragrances, some from a profusion of wildflowers that surrounded the house deep in the hollar, or meadow, embraced his nostrils.
Taking his other hand out of his pocket, he moved to an old, well-worn porch swing and sat down. Inside the house, he could hear Ellie’s husky laughter combine with the rest of her family’s. They’d arrived two days ago, and after being wooed by the beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains of Cherokee, North Carolina, Mac didn’t ever want to go back to his base in Phoenix. The swing creaked softly and he pushed it slowly back and forth with his weight.
The hollar was surrounded by huge, rounded mountains that stretched as far as he could see. Deep in the woods, a blue jay that had been startled shrieked over the intrusion. Mac saw a black crow winging its way silently across the light blue of the early morning sky. He sipped the coffee carefully, savoring the flavor of the blend.
This morning, he and Ellie were going to be married—by Walks With Wolves. The intervening months had been like a dream come true for Mac, and he could think of no finer way to honor Ellie and her Native American way of life than to be married at her childhood home on the Qualla Reservation. He watched as the veils of silent fog twisted and moved through the thick woods. That was why they were called the Smoky Mountains, because fog was a constant part of this region.
“You look dreamy,” Ellie observed, coming to a halt at the screen door.
Mac roused himself from his reverie and gazed up at Ellie. His mouth curved ruefully. Gesturing for her to come sit with him, he murmured, “I’ve come to the conclusion that this place is magical.”
Smiling, Ellie opened the screen door. She wore a simple yellow cotton skirt, a flowering print blouse, and her hair was in two thick black braids. As usual, Ellie was barefoot as she walked across the aged wood of the porch and joined Mac on the swing.
Entwining her hand with his, she said, “I loved growing up here. We had the woods, the animals and insects as our teachers.”
“No crowded cities, pollution or noise,” he murmured grimly, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it.
Her skin tingled pleasantly as she held his warm gaze. “Now you can begin to understand why I am the way I am.” With a grin, she stuck out her bare feet, which were thickly callused on the soles. “I never wore shoes as a kid. Mama had to force me into wearing them. I hated them. I felt fettered, like a wild horse who had to wear a saddle it hated.”
Mac placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him. “I think that’s what I love about you most—your sense of freedom, your unapologetic individuality.”
Laughing, Ellie pressed a kiss to his recently shaven cheek. How handsome Mac looked in the gray slacks and white silk shirt, open at the collar to reveal a tuft of his dark hair. She sobered and nuzzled his cheek while holding his tender gaze. “It means everything, darling, that you’re here with me.”
He saw the rest of the unsaid statement in her eyes. Ellie had been married to her ex-husband by her mother, and he’d turned around and insisted a real reverend from a recognized church perform the ceremony all over again. Mac wasn’t going to insist on that at all. “Well,” he whispered, capturing her hand with his, “I wanted things perfect—for both of us.”
Tears glimmered in Ellie’s eyes and she laughed and wiped them away. “Sometimes, Mac, I think you’re a dream. You’re magical to me, you know.”
He sat back, contentment washing through him as never before as they swung gently back and forth. “Me? The last three months have been a special hell, if you ask me. I haven’t felt very magical.” With the IG out of the way and with Mac’s squadron getting top honors, life had finally settled down—a little. Things never settled down much in the military, however, and his time with Ellie was always shorter than he wanted.
“You’re magical to me because you honor me for what I am and am not.” She glanced up at his serene features, that face she knew so well, loved so much. “When you asked me to marry you, I never dreamed you’d want Mama to marry us. That means so much to me, Mac. I know my way of life and my beliefs are different from yours, but you have this ability to transcend our differences and make it work.” She shook her head in amazement. “That’s why you’re magical to me, darling.”
He caressed her shoulder. In a few minutes, Ellie would go back into the house and dress in her Cherokee finery for the wedding. “My last marriage taught me a lot,” he told her gravely. “I tried to make Johanna fit into my vision of what she should be in the marriage, and she rebelled. She was right to divorce me. I learned my lesson, Ellie. I’m finding that our differences don’t have to put us at odds with each other—they teach me new things and I like that. I just hope I bring as much wonder, awe and discovery to you from me.”
Smiling, Ellie said, “You do, Mac. You always will.”
“It’s time!” Diana called excitedly from the screen door. “Come on, Ellie. Mama’s got your buckskin dress ready!”
Ellie smiled up at her younger sister, who had already dressed in her ceremonial finery: a gold-colored deerskin dress with beads adorning the neck and sleeves. She gave Mac a quick kiss.
“Are you sure?”
He held her serious, dark eyes. Cupping her cheeks, he said, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Ellie. Go get dressed….”
Ellie rose and moved quickly to the screen door that her younger sister held open for her. Diana resembled their mother in that she was shorter and more curvaceous than Ellie, who had taken after her father in the height department. But of course Ellie still had her mother’s wonderful, rounded figure.
Diana giggled and grabbed her by the arm as they moved through the kitchen. “Wait until you see the dress Mama made for you. Oh, Ellie,” she sighed. “It’s beautiful!”
Mac smiled and heard the women giggling as they went out of earshot. From down the winding, narrow dusty road he saw a number of cars beginning to arrive. In less than half an hour, Walks With Wolves would perform the sunrise wedding ceremony. His heart beat a little faster, but it was with love for Ellie, and a yearning to make her his wife for the rest of his life.
The cars, at least two dozen of them, slowed to a halt near the white picket fence and border of bright red geraniums. The wedding guests—Cherokee friends of Ellie, some of whom she’d grown up with, and others, relatives of their large family—began to emerge. Mac stood up and went to the edge of the porch. He marveled at their laughter, the light dancing in their eyes and their colorful finery. Huge drums were carefully taken out of the trunks of three cars, and set beneath the spreading arms of a huge cottonwood that was at least two hundred years old. The drums were set on special tripods, about a foot off the ground.
Cherokee women, some dressed in modern instead of ceremonial clothes, came carrying dishes for the potluck that would be held afterward. The odors of fried bacon and ham tickled his nostrils. The many children frolicked like happy, unfettered puppies. Mac saw at least another dozen cars coming down the road. He grinned. Walks With Wolves was a greatly loved medicine woman on Qualla, and Ellie had warned him that probably half of the reservation would come to help them celebrate. The Cherokee loved any kind of ceremony. And what could be more joyful and sacred than a wedding?
The older Cherokee women, most of them with steel gray hair, were clearly the leaders of this celebration. Mac realized he was seeing a matriarchal culture at work, and it worked without dissension. The amount of food being taken into the small kitchen was overwhelming! Ellie had told him that Joe Thunder, an elder, had barbecued a quarter of a deer especially for the wedding celebration. Mac thought it must be more than that when it took three stout young men to carry the armloads of the foil-wrapped meat into the kitchen.
Mac saw a young woman wearing a beige-colored buckskin dress begin to play a flute. She was in her teens, but she was beautiful. Mac shook his head as he tried to absorb all the busy activity, the smiling men who came over to shake his hand and congratulate him, and the nonstop laughter that filled the air. Now, he understood why Ellie missed her people, the reservation. It was a way of life. A better way in many respects.
The drummers began to beat the elk-hide drums, which were each at least twenty feet in diameter. They were deep-throated drums, and Mac wondered if Ellie would go into an altered state upon hearing them. He smiled a little. She wouldn’t, of course, because if she felt half as excited as he did, she’d be firmly rooted in the here and now—with him.
The drumming became louder, more resonant, filling the hollow, and the laughter lessened and the children gathered solemnly around the three drummers and their huge instruments. The spreading arms of the cottonwood were so large that they would easily shade everyone—and there had to be at least two hundred people, from what Mac could estimate. There was a new excitement in the air, and he could feel it. He ached to see Ellie, to share these discoveries with her. Mac didn’t feel like an outsider. Instead, everyone was making him feel a part of the tribe. It was a humbling feeling.
Diana was the first to emerge from the house. She grinned and took him by the arm. “Come on, I have to lead you down to where the drummers are sitting.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure. Wait until you see Ellie. She has never looked prettier.”
The Cherokee friends and family parted as Mac and Diana made their way toward the drummers. A table had been erected in front of the drummers. There was a brightly woven cloth over it, and Mac saw a beaded eagle-feather fan with dark red and white fringe hanging down like a tassel from the end of it. He also noted a piece of black pottery and recognized the sacred sage that had been ceremonially wrapped. There was a stalk of freshly cut corn on the table, too.
“Stand here,” Diana said, and pulled him to a halt. “You can face toward the house. Mama and Ellie will be coming in a few minutes.” She smiled happily and took a large armful of sage from one of the older women. Thanking her, Diana held out some to Mac. “Here, hold this sprig of sage throughout the ceremony.” Diana turned and began giving each participant a piece of the cut sage.
The drumming softened, and an old, slightly hunched woman who looked to be in her eighties came forward. Thin as a bird, her face pinched with age, her eyes were fiercely proud and snapping with life and light. She wore a red skirt, white blouse, and red shawl and a necklace of polished agate around her neck. Her thin, white hair was braided with red ribbons. She had a cane, and she hobbled to where Mac was standing. Mac nodded deferentially to the elder, for the old people were greatly respected and well cared for on this reservation. He watched as she slowly straightened her curved back and threw back her shoulders. That aged face, carved with wrinkles of life, began to glow as she lifted her chin and opened her mouth to sing.
The sound that came out of the woman’s throat astounded Mac. The old woman’s voice was like that of a clear, alto bell. He was amazed by the clarity, the strength of it, as she sang a song in Cherokee. The crowd was quiet, respectful, as the song grew in volume, in beauty, and the entire hollow filled with her joy.
Mac felt his heart opening, like a flower, as the old woman sang several songs in a row. He had no idea what they meant, but it didn’t matter. The feeling was all that counted, and this woman, who sang from her heart, left no one untouched by the powerful emotion of her voice. There were tears in nearly everyone’s eyes—including his own.
Just as the last song ended, the drums picked up the beat, sounding like rhythmic thunder. Mac looked toward the porch. His heart lurched, and he held his breath for a moment. Ellie was dressed in a white deer-skin dress. Her black hair was still braided, but now fluffy white eagle feathers adorned the end of each braid. The sunlight, just peeking above the mountains, glinted off her hair, giving it blue highlights, making the purity of the dress even more dramatic, if possible.
The white deerskin dress had colorful beaded work across the neck, down the shoulders and around the bottom of it. Fringe, thick and long, hung at least two feet from the end of each sleeve, and moved like wheat being lulled by the wind around her feet. Ellie wore white deerskin boots trimmed with intricate beaded designs. They were knee-high, and small brass hawk bells and a colorful array of glass beads hung from the fringe that encircled the tops of them.
With each step, the faint tinkle of the hawk bells could be heard. Ellie carried a large, dark brown wing of a golden eagle between her hands. The bottom of it was wrapped in bright red leather, fully beaded, with red and white fringe hanging at least two feet below it. She wore large abalone disc earrings, with small, fluffy white eagle feathers suspended from each one by colorful red leather. In her hair she wore two large brown feathers with white spots near the base, the leather and beads curving across her skull and hanging over her left ear.
Mac felt dizzied by the picture Ellie presented. She was no longer a modern-day woman, but a Cherokee shamaness of immense power and unrivaled beauty. With each step she took, made in time with the sonorous beat of the drums, the fringe of the dress moved. She looked as if she was floating, not walking on solid earth. Everything moved with her, in unison, and Mac began to understand what Ellie meant by being in harmony with one’s self and with everything else.
She wore no makeup. The flush of her cheeks, the radiant golden glow of her skin, combined with her dark, velvet-brown eyes made her look incredibly beautiful to Mac. Their eyes met. His heart almost burst with such a fierce feeling of love, he couldn’t breathe momentarily. Ellie’s gaze was shy, the light in her eyes gold with hope, shining with love for him.
He was so stunned, so riveted on Ellie, on her slow movement toward him, that he barely realized that Walks With Wolves proudly followed behind her daughter. She, too, wore a beautiful buckskin ceremonial dress, only it was gold colored, and far simpler in design. No, Ellie was the center of attention, and Mac smiled to himself. Her mother had worked for years on this special ceremonial dress, after Ellie’s divorce. Because Walks With Wolves was clairvoyant, she could often see into the future for a person. She’d told Ellie that this time, when her wedding dress was worn, it would be forever. Never had Mac wanted anything more than to have Ellie as his wife—forever.
Walks With Wolves, large and rotund, moved with a flowing grace as the drums continued their respectful beat. She raised the wing of an eagle high into the air, and a chorus of old women standing to the left of the drummers began. Their voices rose high, warbling, and echoed throughout the hollar. Then a chorus of men, who stood on the other side of the drummers, began to sing. The song was joyful, vibrating and blanketing the entire assembly.
Mac automatically reached out as Ellie drew near. She shifted the eagle wing to her left hand and reached for his. He couldn’t stop smiling or looking into her dark, soft eyes. For an instant, he didn’t feel of this life, but of another. He wasn’t a pilot, but an Indian warrior, and this was the woman he was going to wed. That déjà vu passed quickly as Ellie’s fingers tightened around his and they turned toward the altar, where Walks With Wolves had taken her place behind it.
The thundering drums began resonating more quickly. Walks With Wolves lit the sacred, ceremonially gathered sage, the white plumes of fragrant smoke leaping into the air. She smudged herself with the smoke by using the eagle-feather fan on the table. Then, coming around the altar, she smudged Mac and Ellie, both front and back, with the sacred smoke. Finally she walked in a slow, sunward circle, the sage lifted high. The breeze was playful, and everyone watched as the smoke moved first to the east, then to the south, to the west, and finally to the north.
Walks With Wolves grinned and nodded. That was a good sign. She went back behind her altar and placed the sage in the black pottery bowl, the smoke continuing to purl and twist into almost animal or human forms. The song ended, and the drumming halted.
“Osiyo,” she greeted everyone, “it is a good day to die. It is a good day to live.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked around the assemblage. Picking up the eagle-feather fan, she pointed toward the couple. “Sunrise means the beginning of all things. Father Sun rises in the east to give us his light so that we may live. Let Mac Stanford walk forth this day with my daughter, Iya, Pumpkin, hand in hand. Heart with heart.”
Smiling, she turned and faced the east, the feather raised above her head. “Awohali, eagle of the east, we ask your blessing upon this couple that stands before you. The man is of eagle parentage, like you, Awohali. Bless him with the insight into Iya’s heart and soul. Let him always realize that as he must fly free, so must she. Bless their union with one another.” She turned back to Mac and Ellie. “You face the east because this is the point where all things begin, good or bad. It is the point of birth and rebirth.”
She turned to the south, the feather raised in that direction. “Grandfather Coyote, we pray to you to bless this couple that stands before you. Give them the hearts of children, give them laughter and the humor to laugh at themselves. Let them both realize that pride and ego are unwanted in marriage.” She turned to them. “The south energy is about growing, about being a child. Too many adults lose their ability to laugh. You will cry together. Be sure to laugh together, too.”
Mac felt a lump in his throat as Walks With Wolves turned to the west, the direction that lay directly behind them. He gently squeezed Ellie’s fingers and saw, as she lifted her chin to look at him, that she was crying. In that moment, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and hold her forever.
“Grandmother Medicine Bear,” Walks With Wolves intoned, “I ask you to bless this couple that stands before you. Grandmother, you are about dying, and I ask that you help this couple to release anything that would hurt their love for one another, to let it die a natural death between them. Take whatever bad memories or wounds that still might linger in their hearts and dissolve them with your healing power.” She turned to them. “The west is about death and transformation. A good marriage goes through many ups and downs, but through it all, the man and woman must agree to let some things die between them that no longer serve in a positive manner to their marriage. If they do this, then there is always room for new growth. The west is about continued growth throughout life. Let the seeds planted in the east grow in the south and come to maturity in the west.”
Ellie sniffed and self-consciously released Mac’s hand to wipe her eyes. Diana leaned over and pressed a white linen handkerchief into her sister’s hands. Ellie smiled weakly and dabbed her eyes. Clenching the handkerchief, she felt Mac’s dry, warm hand enclose hers once again.
“Great White Buffalo,” Walks With Wolves called, facing north. “We ask you to bless this couple that stands before you. Give them the wisdom of their years, the wisdom and clarity of their experiences to guide them through the trials that await them.” She looked at them gravely. “The north always reminds us of our responsibility to others, to our family, and to all our relations. It is the point of clarity, common sense and practicality. It is where all your experiences go to become maturity, and then, ageless wisdom. The north tells us that the seed of your love, planted in the east, growing rapidly in the south and coming to fruition in the west, will be harvested in the north.”
Walks With Wolves moved around the table once more and pressed the brown and white feathers of the eagle fan against Mac’s chest. “May his heart—” and she moved the feathers to Ellie’s breast “—and her heart become one. May they beat with the same rhythm of love.” She touched Mac’s brow and Ellie’s brow with the feathers. “May their thoughts be of their love and respect for one another.” She touched Mac’s heart and Ellie’s abdomen. “May their love bring children who will be greatly loved into this world.”
She put the fan on the altar and picked up the large ear of ripe corn. Placing the corn between them, she asked them each to place one hand upon it. “Corn is sacred to us. It is about fertility, about life, about food and surviving. She is always female, always woman, and it is the Great Spirit who blesses the Cherokee people with such fertile abundance. I pray that this abundance is passed on to each of you, to your hearts, to your children to make you strong for one another.”
Ellie took the ear of corn.
“I believe you have a ring to give her, eh?” Walks With Wolves said in a sweet, beguiling voice, her smile large with expectation.
Mac nodded, and gulped. He was on the verge of tears, something quite rare for him. He fumbled for and finally found the ring in his pocket. It wasn’t an ordinary kind of wedding ring. Mac had gone to a jeweler who had found an exquisite tourmaline gemstone that had the rainbow colors of pink, green and blue in it. Ellie had told him many times about the rainbow bridge, that passage that stood like a vast, beautiful opening between earth and heaven. In her work as a shamaness, she had helped many people over that bridge. The symbology was beautiful, and Mac had had a ring fashioned out of gold to hold the square-cut, highly faceted gem.
Ellie was his rainbow. His joy. His pot of gold.
Walks With Wolves eyed Mac pointedly as Mac took Ellie’s finger to slip the ring on it. “You had something to say, maybe?”
“Oh…yes…” Mac grinned a little, embarrassed. The ceremony, the singing and drums, had been overwhelming to his senses, and he’d nearly forgotten that he’d asked Walks With Wolves for a moment to say something personal to Ellie as he placed the ring on her finger. Mac felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and he saw Ellie smiling tenderly up at him.
Clearing his throat, he rasped, “This ring symbolizes how I feel about you, Ellie. The pink is about my love for you, the green about growth that we’ll share between us.” He smiled. “Maybe the growth of a baby or two…”
There were sighs and expressions of agreement all around them, and Mac saw tears of joy come to Ellie’s eyes. “And—” he gulped “—the blue is the sky that I fly in, which has become a second love compared to the love I feel for you.” He slipped the ring on her finger and then whispered, “I’ll love you forever….”
Tears spilled down her cheeks and Ellie heard the collective sigh of all the women around them as she lifted her arms and placed them around Mac’s neck. He held her tightly, his face buried against her hair. “And I love you, too,” she said softly, leaning back just enough to kiss him on the mouth.
His mouth captured hers in a swift, hot, indelible kiss that seared her heart and burned into her soul. The drums began a hard, startling fast beat. Both male and female singers sang. All Ellie was aware of was Mac’s strong arms about her, holding her tightly against him, and his worshiping mouth taking hers, giving back to her, in those golden moments of time.
Dizzily, she felt Mac release her just enough to allow her to put her feet back on the ground. Walks With Wolves grinned broadly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wet with tears. Without a word, Ellie put her arms around her mother, held her, thanked her. The people began to dance in a large circle about the altar, swaying, moving and singing. They linked hands, their feet shuffling softly in the green grass, their voices lifted up in unison and joy.
Diana hugged Ellie and then smiled through her tears. Ellie whispered her thanks to her sister and gave her the eagle wing and the sacred corn. Taking Mac’s hand, Ellie led him to the circle and the people allowed them in. Mac didn’t know the dance step, but he tried, and after a moment, caught on to the simple toe to heel movement.
Mac had eyes only for Ellie, for the way she swayed with the drumbeat, with the thundering sound echoing and reechoing throughout the hollar. Her brown eyes sparkled with tears and love. Her mouth, soft from his branding kiss, made him ache to take her away from here and make hot, melting love with her. Mac knew that would have to wait until at least sundown, when the marriage feast would end. For the rest of the day, there would be a tournament of horseshoes which he was expected to take part in, one of the Cherokee’s favorite games. There would also be softball, volleyball and other competitive sports, followed by feasting, more singing and more dancing. He didn’t mind because through it all, Ellie would be at his side.
When the sun sank behind the Great Smoky Mountains, and the shadows of the night moved silently across Father Sky, they would leave for a cabin deep in the Qualla Boundary Reservation—a special cabin owned by Ellie’s parents. It was an old cabin Ellie’s hardworking father had built before she was born. As the children arrived, he’d built a newer and larger home in the hollar. Mac had seen the old, wooden cabin, and was eager to be up there with Ellie in the embrace of thick woods and the meandering stream that flowed beside it. There was an old, creaky brass bed that had a brand-new quilt on it, a wedding gift worked on throughout the summer by the women elders of the tribe. Mac was stunned by the outpouring of gifts and generosity from the Cherokee.
As he fell into the slow dance step, with the circle of people moving in a clockwise order with the drumming, Mac laughed. The sound was drowned out by the whoops, the yells and warbles of the people. Ellie laughed with him. He gripped her hand solidly in his. She was his wife! Finally. Forever…