Chapter Thirteen

 

 

Two Moons broke through the forest only to stop dead in his tracks at the edge of the camp. He glanced at Shadow Elk, then back at her as though he was afraid-afraid of the outcome. Nauseating despair churned, rising in Gabrielle's throat. Like a marionette, his movement’s stiff and jerky, Two Moons made his way toward her and stopped. He glanced down at Shadow Elk. Disbelief spread across his face.

She swallowed with difficulty. “I'm sorry.” Her words faded into the silence.

Two Moons fell to his knees. The despairing anguish contorting his face as he stared down at his friend tore at her heart.

“No. It cannot be so.” His words seemed strangled in his throat. Like a madman, his movement’s swift, wild, crazed, he grabbed the arrow buried in Shadow Elk's chest.

“I will not let you die. Hold on, my brother… Kiktá yo.”

Twisting and yanking, he wrenched the deadly weapon free, then threw it to the ground. Torment curled his lower lip. Raw pain swelled in his eyes as he began to shake Shadow Elk's limp body. “I will not let you die. You cannot die. Kiktá yo -- “His voice cracked.

Blood poured from the wound.

Gabrielle watched in horrifying silence. Helplessness and misery, old familiar friends, circled above her like vultures, their gnawing bite, stronger than anything she had ever felt before.

Words tumbled from his mouth; Lakota words she didn't understand, spoken with tenderness, filled with suffering and despair. Two Moons’ broad shoulders heaved as he tried to shake life's breath back into his friend.

“Two Moons. Stop.” She reached out and gripped his arms. He lifted his gaze to hers; a hollow gaze, as lifeless as the man whose body he held in his hands. “It's over. Please. Let him rest,” she whispered.

He shuddered, drew in a sharp breath. Seemingly seeing, yet hearing nothing, he stared at her, his black eyes dull. Then he placed Shadow Elk to the ground.

Her fingers slowly slipped from his arms as he drew away from her and stood. He turned into the shadows, away from the light of the fire. His shoulders slumped. His head bowed and the tears, Gabrielle knew he tried to hide, fell in silence.

Time seemed suspended. The darkness consumed her. She felt his tears in her own eyes. She started to rise, but hesitated. What could she say? That she knew what it was like to lose someone you loved? That she understood his pain? Would he welcome her comfort or shun her?

He turned, his face a mask of apathy. He slipped out his knife. Again, he fell to his knees before Shadow Elk.

Then, before she could anticipate his next move, let alone stop him, he began to gouge his arms.

Horrified, she jumped up and ran to his side. “Oh my God. Stop. What are you doing?” She reached out to stop him.

The blade froze on his arm. His eyes riveted, his message was only too clear: stay back, mind your own business.

She clamped her trembling hand over her mouth, sickened by the blood running down his elbows.

He sliced off the leather fringes that hung from his buckskin pants, the feathers and beads that hung from his hair. To endure the agony of those self-inflicted slashes, to give up all those worldly adornments, that was his way of showing his respect and grief.

The fire crackled. A damp breeze pricked the hair on her arms. Gabrielle shivered, but not from the cold. Death was knocking on her door once again, wrenching at her heart, dredging up memories-so many painful memories. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Did you find-”

“No.”

Stoically he stood and trudged toward the trees to begin the long and tedious labor of preparing a scaffold, where they would lay Shadow Elk’s body to rest.

Gabrielle hurried to his side. With open arms, she offered her help. Without a word he cut the branches from the young saplings and placed the slender limbs across her forearms. She worked by his side holding the branches together as he interweaved rope and wood to form the platform. With tears in her eyes, she watched as he prepared Shadow Elk's body, dressing him in his finest clothes-a warrior's clothing, always kept at his side to proudly wear in battle or to meet his maker.

Two Moons dressed his friend's hair with beaded ornaments and wrapped Shadow Elk, along with his knife, bow, arrow and shield in several robes of buffalo hides. He placed him on the platform and with ropes, he had slung over the branches of a big tree, he hoisted the body to the high boughs to keep it safe from animals.

With his arms raised to the sky, he began to pray. His heart-piercing cries tore through the early morning’s stillness.

For hours Gabrielle sat before the scaffold, listening to Two Moons' prayers. Finally, at the point of being voiceless, he stopped. Exhausted, he lowered his arms, collapsed to his knees and hung his head in silence. Inhaling deeply, his shoulders slumped for a final time; then he straightened. He reached for the fur strip that bound his hair and untied his braids, all but one thin braid that hung to his chest from the nape of his neck.

Gabrielle knew that above all else, a Sioux’s pride and joy was his hair. They believed their hair was somehow connected to the mystery of life; it was an extension of their soul and held great power. To give up a part was to weaken their defenses.

He brought the knife to his ear.

Her breath held in her throat. She wanted to reach out and stop him. She clenched her fist by her side. Her fingernails cut into her palm. He knew what he was doing.

The scalp, or lock of hair in the hands of an enemy could cause destruction and allow his adversary supremacy over all.

His braid fell to the ground.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched him stiffly walk away and mount his horse.

With just a flick of his wrist, that simple act of total surrender said more about the man than all the bloody slices crisscrossing up and down his arms. Two Moons in a final tribute of his love and devotion, gave up to his friend a part of his own safety-a part of his life.

He beckoned that she come to him, and she did.

With Shadow Elk's horse following slowly behind them, Gabrielle and Two Moons rode away, leaving Shadow Elk alone in respectful solitude, as the pink glow of sunrise spilled over the horizon, welcoming the new day to come.

 

****

 

Despite the bright sunlight shining in through the skylight above him, Roy awoke feeling strangely depressed. He couldn't really find a reason for feeling the way he did. His truck was fixable and he, other than a few bumps and bruises, was alive. He had lived through a lot worse. So why the deep melancholy? The overwhelming sadness swelling in the hollow of his chest felt so familiar. He closed his eyes.

An image of his mother's smiling face filled the darkness. She threw him a ball and he could see himself swing. He could almost hear her laughter as she tried in vain to tag him out, allowing him to run to home base; just another day in a six-year-old's life.

His eyes misted as an image of his mother slumped over a table, with an empty whiskey bottle in one hand and an empty glass in the other, replaced his happy memory. Opening his eyes, he came back to reality.

He sat up.

“You must learn from the past.”

The old man's words threw him completely. “What?”

John Raven Wing entered the room, shuffled over and handed him a cup of tea. “The value of remembering the past is in taking that knowledge and learning from it.”

Roy stared up at him, noticing for the first time that the iris in one of John's eyes was so dark that it blended with his pupil; while the other eye, a lighter brown, was flecked with gold.

John turned away without a word and ambled over to a table tucked in the corner of the room.

Strange eyes, for a very strange man, Roy thought as he watched him amble away.

“I didn't get a chance last night to use your phone. I need to call a tow truck.”

“There is no need.”

Pensively, Roy stared. What was it with this guy? “I really have to make that call.” He clasped then unclasped his hand.

“There is no phone.” John took a sip of tea. “So, do not worry, my friend stops in every day to visit. He will tow your truck.”

“Great. OK. I hope he wouldn't mind giving me a lift into town. I need to get to the reservation, to the headquarters there.”

“It is closed.”

“For how long?”

“Until it needs to be opened.”

Roy shoved his hand into his pocket. He had to get back to work. This was the last place he wanted to be. Something about this old man and his knowing smile irked him.

“By any chance, have you seen this woman?” Roy pulled the photo from his pocket and held out the picture of Gabrielle.

For a minute, he thought he saw a glimpse of recognition in the old man's eyes.

“You writing a story about her?”

Roy’s brows shot up in surprise. “How did you know I was a reporter?”

John pushed his chair from the table and stood. “Too much thinking.” He shook his head as he hobbled away. “Too much. Come.” Without looking back, he waved his hand over his shoulder.

The old man seemed to slow his steps as Roy passed by the geometric painting on the wall. Even in the morning's light, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness surrounding that picture.

“Some thoughts can't be fully explained with words.”

Roy drew his attention away from the painting.

His host continued. “So to fully understand you must explore. There are no such things as accidents, or coincidence. Come with me and we will talk.”

Roy hesitated a moment before he stepped up beside John. “Are you saying my accident happened on purpose?”

“Everything happens for a reason. Life is a lesson. Learning is a process of remembering the past. So perhaps you are here to learn.” With a flick of his wrist a small black bird appeared in the old man's hand.

Roy grinned. “You're a magician.”

John opened the front door and the bird flew out. He turned. “Magic. What is magic? A TV or electricity hundreds of years ago would have been thought of as magic. So I ask you: Is magic just a word for something not understood today, which will become a knowing wisdom in years to come?”

The old man stepped outside. Roy followed.

“So what is fate? Is it fate that you happen to be here, your destiny? Or has your life's path already been planned for you by a greater force than you or I?”

“We make our own choices and paths in life. No one knows what the future holds,” Roy answered cynically.

“No. But one can travel back through time and walk old paths to learn how to make the future better.”

Roy rubbed his chin. If he wasn't confused before, he was now. “When you say travel back through time you mean remembering past experiences, like your childhood or what happened yesterday, right?”

“Your childhood. Yes, and those before.”

“Those before meaning what? Are we talking about past lives, because I don't believe in reincarnation-”

“Those that are unwilling to even consider the possibility, have allowed their misconceptions to cloud all possible thoughts on the subject.”

Roy shook his head. “No. We're here. We live. We die. Maybe there's a heaven, maybe not.”

“So, you are smart, but you do not see. The Great Spirit of life is a great mystery like the air.” John raised his fingers to the sky. “It is here. You can see it moving the grass and touching the leaves; you can feel it, but you cannot see it. Does that mean it cannot be so?”

“No, but-”

“Energy. Can you see it? Do you feel it? So, there are many forms and expressions of energy. Is that not true?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone tell your heart to keep on beating? It is run by energy, innate energy. Your soul is energy. Can it not radiate to a higher level? So who is to say it cannot continue somewhere else in life's circle?”

Roy raked his fingers through his hair and let out a long audible breath. What was he doing here discussing the philosophy of life?

“If we lived before, as you say, why wouldn’t we remember this past life?”

“To handle the present and remember the past would be too much for our minds to handle.” John shook his head. “Too overwhelming.”

Roy rubbed the back of his taut neck. And to think, whenever he couldn’t handle something, past or present, the booze usually did the trick. At least it had, then. Nowadays he took one day at a time. Last thing he wanted was to think back to the “good old days.” He’d put his past behind him. Getting stuck here with John and dredging up old memories couldn’t be a good thing. Roy stood. It was time to leave.

 

****

 

Gabrielle and Two Moons reached the village at dusk. Everyone crowded around them as they rode into the center of camp. The shrieking welcome of the children, the barking dogs scampering around at the horse's feet and the sharp, loud chattering of questions thrown, gushed in from all directions, battering her. The tension and anxiety that had been building between them throughout the day, like a bubbling hot volcano, threatened to erupt.

Two Moons gripped the reins tighter. The veins on the top of his hands bulged. The muscles in his arms hardened against her waist and Gabrielle knew without seeing his face, he was just as tense as she was.

Was he thinking her thoughts? Wondering how to get through the day without breaking down, or wishing he had never met her. How could she face Chahanpi? Or look into the faces of Shadow Elk's parents and not feel the guilt at seeing their pain? It was her fault. Her fault he was dead. If only she hadn't gone with Little Wolf, Two Moons wouldn't have followed and Shadow Elk would still be alive.

From her place on horseback, she could see Chahanpi running toward them. She broke through the crowd. Her glance went to Shadow Elk's horse now painted with red mourning blotches. Her smile faded. The spark of excitement and anticipation died, leaving only questions, then anguish in her dark eyes. Her expression was like someone who had been hit in the face, stunned, traumatized. She stifled a sob with the back of her hand.

A woman's bellowing moans tore through the air. Gabrielle recognized Shadow Elk's parents as they stepped through the crowd. Women gathered around She Who Sings, offering their comfort, offering their support.

Two Moons slid down from his horse. His movements strained and unnatural, like a sleepwalker, he stepped up to Standing Bear and handed him the reins of Shadow Elk's horse. Gabrielle could see the silent suffering in the old man's eyes. With a nod, Standing Bear turned and She Who Sings followed behind.

“Get down,” Two Moons ordered as the congregation broke apart.

“I-”

“Get down.” He clasped his hand, then unclasped his hand.

She was afraid of falling, had never gotten down from a horse without help, but the anger she heard in his voice and saw in his eyes kept the words at the bottom of her throat. Cautiously, she leaned forward, lowering her upper torso until it rested against the horse's mane. The animal shook his head. She gasped and jerked back up to a sitting position.

“This I cannot believe. You are afraid of a horse?” Rough hands reached up and pulled her down. “I do not know what to think of you.” He reached around her, grabbed his horse's reins and pulled.

She stepped out of the beast's way.

“And right now I do not have the desire to think.” Two Moons pivoted on his heel.

“It wasn't my fault,” she shouted as he began to stalk away. But it was-it was. Those two silent words echoed back at her.

He came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around, facing her. “If not for you, who then?” His voice thundered as he came closer. “If we had not come looking for you, Shadow Elk would be alive.” He thrust his arm out and pointed to Chahanpi's tepee at the end of camp. “He would right now, be sharing his blanket with the woman he loves-would right now, be speaking soft words of marriage in her ear. Chahanpi's heart would be light with happiness, not heavy with pain and sorrow.”

A deafening stillness grew around her as she became aware of many eyes on her and Two Moons. Without looking she knew supper was cooking and old men sat together with their heads bent in conversation, but ears were listening and voices were quiet. They all blamed her.

“Damn it! Not again. Not this time. I'm not taking all the blame for this. You seem to forget I had your stupid medicine bag because you had a temper tantrum and threw me in the water! If you had listened to me in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

A spasm of anger crossed Two Moons’ face. He clenched his hand. “And had you left my lodge when you were supposed to, I would not have had to put you in your place. And my bag-”

“You still think I stole it, don't you?”

“I did not say you stole it.”

“You didn't have to. I can see it all over your face.”

“You do not know my heart,” he replied, his voice cold, bitter. “You know nothing.”

“That's right. I'm just a stupid squaw with a college education, but hey,” she cast her hands into the air, “you're right. What do I know? Why don't you just leave poor little stupid me alone and go fight a battle, or whatever it is that you macho men do.”

“It is what I shall do, for I have no desire to listen to your words.”

“Fine with me,” she shouted as he stormed out of sight. She pivoted on her heels. Her insides felt like mush. Her knees beneath her skirt quivered. But she held her shoulders high as she walked past Rattling Blanket and a group of her peers. Heading for her tepee, she prayed to be just left alone.

 

 

It wasn't the vibrating snores of Rattling Blanket that kept Gabrielle up all night, or for the next night for that matter; it was her thoughts. Thus far she’d managed to avoid Chahanpi, although that had been easily accomplished since Chahanpi and Shadow Elk's parents had left camp upon the news of Shadow Elk's death. But from the distant bluffs their lamenting cries of utter misery could be heard throughout the camp from morning till dawn.

This morning, however, a chill silence surrounded her. Reluctantly Gabrielle stepped outside her tepee. At the sight of Chahanpi walking toward her, a new anguish seared her heart. Chahanpi's luxurious long hair had been chopped short and hung ragged near her ears. Her face showed lines of sleeplessness and distress. The last thing Gabrielle expected her to do was smile.

“A new day has begun my friend, come and together we will greet it.” Chahanpi held out her hand.

“Your hair-”

“It is our way of showing grief. As the pain passes, so will it grow.”

“Why would you want to spend time with me? How could you?” Gabrielle glanced away, ashamed, guilt ridden. Her own mother hadn't forgiven her for her brother's death. How could she, in such a short time?

“Do not blame yourself, for I do not.”

“How could you not blame me? If I hadn't been stupid enough to follow Little Wolf-”

“There is no blame, as there is no knowing when the Great Spirit calls a person to his home. Just as the winged birds above, my loved one has flown to a higher place and as does the winged ones, he too shall return.” Chahanpi's voice was soft. Her words were filled with love and promise.

“I will see him again. He will visit me in my dreams. I will hear his voice in the music of the river where we spent many a day, and the Great Spirit will send his presence to me on the arms of the wind. So do not let your heart be heavy for me.”

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. You don't understand. I seem to cause nothing but heartache to those around me.”

Hadn't she managed to destroy the life of her tutor, Jeffery? Thanks to her, she’d heard, the only job he could get was bussing tables at some greasy spoon somewhere in Iowa. And her brother, Charles. God. He was five years old when he died. What good was traveling back in time, when future actions repeated themselves in the past? She had hoped that things would be different. “Even here I've managed to ruin your life and Two Moons. I'm better off alone. And you'd be better off without me.”

Chahanpi placed a warm hand on Gabrielle's shoulder. “I have made you my friend. In Lakota, to make a friend is the hardest. Once you make a friend, a friend never leaves; not when sorrowed, not in anger, not even in death.”

With a light squeeze to Gabrielle's shoulder, Chahanpi dropped her hand. “So my friend, do you follow me? Our warriors have gone to fight with Crazy Horse against Gray Fox. Soon they will return and we must welcome them.”

“Did you say Gray Fox?” A heart stopping realization hit Gabrielle head on. Gray Fox was the Native American name given to General Crook. “All this time Two Moons’ has been fighting in the Battle of the Rosebud.” Her words, more a statement than a question, slipped from her mouth. She had told Two Moons to go and fight. She’d read more than thirty warriors died in that battle. Over sixty were badly wounded. She never dreamed…

“My God. He could be dead.” Her voice cracked. She stared down at the ground seeing nothing but a shallow grave.

“Two Moons? No.” Chahanpi shook her head. “He is our finest warrior and has strong medicine. Do not fear for him.”

Fear for him? She was furious-at herself-at him. Gabrielle snapped her gaze from the ground. He had left without a word. And she hadn't warned him. No. Hadn't begged him not to go. She couldn't lose him. Not now, not when she was just beginning to realize how deeply she cared for him. She needed him, wanted him for reasons that didn't make any sense.

“I know what is in your heart.” Chahanpi's words were soft and filled with compassion.

Gabrielle turned her head to find Chahanpi studying her.

“Your path has been joined with Two Moons' for a purpose. He is a lonely man. His spirit is broken. A hurt man is full of anger and revenge. Soften his heart, make him walk down the path of life with you. You can open his eyes and make him see he is not alone. It is up to you, with your strong medicine to heal his wounds.”

A dog howled. The throbbing of the drums boomed throughout the camp. Its pulsating rhythm increased in tempo, pounding like her racing worried heart. She drew her gaze away from the drums and tried to focus her attention back to Chahanpi's words.

“Make him see through your eyes that he cannot and will not survive in this changing land if he does not let go of the demons burning in his heart. Teach him to forgive and to understand. The gods have brought you together. They smile on their angel, do they not?” Chahanpi questioned. “I do not believe they will pull you apart.”

Angel. Angel of hell, maybe. Gabrielle wound her fingers through her hair. She knew so much and what could she do? Could she have stopped Two Moons from fighting? Not likely. “Do you know what's in store for your people? They are fighting a battle they cannot win. How can you ask me to make Two Moons forget and forgive, when right now I don't know if I can?” She sighed, frustrated. “My people are destroying your way of life and that is something I never could condone. There are no excuses for the way the whites have treated you. What can I say to Two Moons?”

Dark eyes, full of knowing and wisdom met, Gabrielle's. “We cannot change the setting sun. We cannot change our destiny. Though I am saddened, I must survive. We all must survive.”

She did see. Gabrielle's heart ached for her. Chahanpi did know where her future lay.

Chahanpi continued, her expression, one of controlled pain, one of tolerance. “We must keep our stories and our ways alive for our children, so that their children and their children's children will learn and understand. This is what will keep my people's breath alive long after you and I are gone.”

Rumbling like thunder, a drum resounded, echoing off the distant mountains.

“The sound you hear is the heartbeat of mother earth, the heartbeat of my people. It must continue to be heard.”

Chahanpi paused for a moment. Her gaze roamed the village and lifted beyond to the open plains. “The white man may rob us of our home, but he will never take away our pride.” She looked back at Gabrielle. “Pride will be our war shield against them. Two Moons, has a lot to teach our children. You must make him see that.”

Gabrielle let out a long sigh. “I don't know if I can.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I'll try.”