Chapter Eighteen

Cupid plays havoc with the hearts of red as well as white people. And—dare I say it?—the love of the red, as a rule, is more lasting, more faithful…

—James Willard Schultz, My Life as an Indian

 

“My wife, the fallen woman.” There was more than a little humor in this observation. But Kali chose to ignore it, which, it appeared, only served to urge him on, for he continued, “Perhaps I should boast to my friends that I have managed to solicit an affair with a married woman.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said. “If you are only going to make fun of me, maybe we should get dressed. After all, there are many things I should be doing.”

Yet when she made a move to rise, he pulled her back down to him. “Where are all these promises?”

“Promises?”

“You are the one who suggested the illicit romance. I am but a helpless victim to your charms, awaiting only your touch and all else that accompanies an affaire d’amour.”

“Soaring Eagle, cease this.”

“What?” he asked, while his hands began to massage her back. “What must I cease? This?” He brought one of his palms around to rub her breast.

She groaned.

“Or this?” He kissed a sensitive spot on her neck.

Kali, already mesmerized, felt like sculptor’s putty. And as she sank back against him, her body molded itself to his.

She groaned. “That feels heavenly.”

“Yes,” he said, “it does.”

The comment made her smile, and lazily, she turned over to face him. “Soaring Eagle,” she said, “please, I…I yearn for more…kisses, I think.”

“Do you?” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, his features softening as he gazed at her. “Then it shall be done, but first you must help me with it, for this is my first affair and I am uncertain of what you might like.”

She sniffled.

“Tell me, should I kiss you like this?” He placed a small peck on the top of her head. “Or like this?” He rubbed his lips over her ear. “Or perhaps like this?” He brought his face close to her, his stare at her and his demeanor intent, his lips coming close, closer, closer until finally he skimmed over her lips completely and placed a tiny kiss on her cheek.

“Would you stop that?”

“What? No more kisses? Have I not pleased you?”

Kali blew out her breath. “Would you be serious?”

“I am serious.”

“No, you’re not. You’re teasing me. What I want is a real kiss.”

“Are you telling me my kisses aren’t real?”

She sent a look up to the heavens.

“Or did you mean for me to kiss you something like this?”

His lips captured hers, fully, completely, his tongue tasting first her upper lip, her lower, then sweeping hungrily into her mouth, sending waves of exhilaration surging through her.

“I think I meant something like that,” she whispered as she came up for breath.

“Oh,” he said, “then let me repeat it.” And he proceeded to do it all over again.

Kali was a willing victim, too. But no matter his urgent kisses or his affectionate murmurings, it wasn’t enough. Like it or not, she had been awakened to the full face of love. And she wanted it all, again…now…

And though the ground beneath her was wet and mushy, she barely noticed. Alas, she was hardly aware of anything else save the hammering fervor of her heart as it pumped life-giving fluid through her veins.

Perhaps, she thought, she had made a tactical error in staying here through the morning. Maybe she should have left last night with all possible speed, rushing back to New England, to safety, to her world as she knew it.

But what was life without a little excitement? Without a little love?

Alas, it was true. She might live to regret her actions this day.

But not now. Goodness, no. Not now…

 

 

She lay on her back, gazing up at him, while Soaring Eagle pressed her hair back from her face. Ah, his love, his sweet, beautiful wife.

He knew she struggled with something he could hardly understand. Indeed, he wondered if she was aware of the exact source of her problem.

She wanted him; he was well aware of that. Yet, she didn’t want to want him. She loved him, too. But he was willing to stake his life on the notion that she didn’t want to love him, either.

It wasn’t an insult. No, and it wasn’t what she said it was, either. Not culture, not race, not even her career.

There was something else. Something she was probably unaware of. It was as though she harbored a deep-seated distrust of him. Why?

In some ways he felt as though he’d known her forever. In other ways…

“Soaring Eagle,” she said, “come here.”

He scooted back up her body, pressing his lips to her ear. “I am here,” he said.

“Tell me,” she said. “Why do I ache so badly?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Stomachache?”

“No.”

“Headache?” He grinned.

“No. I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Ah,” he said, “Does your heart race unsteadily?”

“Yes.”

“And does your pulse soar?”

She nodded.

“Aa, this could be bad, very bad. I know a good Indian remedy.”

“Do you?”

He inclined his head.

“Then please do it and hurry.”

But Soaring Eagle was in no particular rush, nor was he inclined to take her orders. And so, as he kissed and caressed her, he dawdled.

“Soaring Eagle,” she murmured, arching her back, “I think I am ready.”

“I know you are, but, my sweet wife,” he said, “you might be sore. It was not long ago that we enjoyed this same act, and it is a new venture for you. We will take our time, I think.”

“Why?” she asked. “How can you tell if I’m sore if you don’t attempt to find out?”

Despite himself, Soaring Eagle chuckled. He had been told that the white woman was an unresponsive, cold partner when taken to a man’s sleeping robes. Surely, he thought, his sweet wife was proving that remark to be no more than ugly gossip.

“All right,” he said, “but if I am right and you are bruised, we will slow the pace down until the fire within you is so bright, you will not notice when I become one with you. You will tell me.”

She nodded. “I will tell you.”

And with no more haggling to be done, at least for the moment, he joined his body with hers.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said, “but you’re holding back, aren’t you?”

“Aa, yes, my wife. It is easier for a man to reach attainment than it is his wife. As your lover, I would have you experience all the pleasure that I can give you and more. A man must learn control.”

“Oh, really?”

“Aa, yes, really.”

“Humph. I’m not certain I like that. I don’t want you to be ultracontrolled. I want you to ache for me.”

“I do, my wife. I do.”

If she heard him, he would never know. She scooted down until she had positioned her lips over his chest. Before he could ask her not to move, she had sought out one of his flat, sensitive nubs, taking it between her lips. Over and over she kissed him.

He groaned.

But she wasn’t finished. Moving to the other side of him, she made a banquet of that part of him too.

He murmured deep in his throat and drew in his breath, mumbling, “You must cease doing that if you want—”

She stared up into his eyes. “I’ve decided that I definitely don’t like you controlling yourself when you are with me,” she said.

“But a man must—”

“Not now. I want you to yearn for me.”

“But I do,” he said, as though the admission pained him. “I have, I will, I do.” Taking her in his arms, he proceeded to show her exactly what her efforts had wrought…

 

 

Inside Comes Running Bird’s lodge, rattles beat time on a buffalo hide. “To imitate the sound of a beaver’s tail hitting water,” Soaring Eagle explained.

Drums pounded out a rhythm so loud that she and Soaring Eagle were forced to lean close in order that they be heard over the noise.

“The drums echo the sound of the grouse,” said Soaring Eagle. “It is an important part of the Medicine Pipe ceremony, for the grouse gave its power to the pipe.”

“I see. Why are the drums painted?” she asked.

“They represent different dreams which are part of the ceremony.”

“Oh. May I take a picture?”

“Yes.”

She arose quickly and stepped behind him to where her camera was set up. Quickly she inserted a glass plate, adjusted the shot in the viewfinder, held the flash stick in her hand, and snap!

Swiftly, with the skill and care of a professional, Kali removed the plate, put it in a packet and inserted another plate, all in the matter of a few seconds. She’d best get another shot, since she couldn’t be certain how many of these pictures would develop well. Once more, she wasn’t being helped by the lighting arrangements in the lodge. They were poor at best.

Snap.

Bending, she came to squat down again, positioning herself slightly behind Soaring Eagle, between him and the camera. Oddly enough, Comes Running Bird had placed Kali next to Soaring Eagle—an extremely unusual affair, Soaring Eagle had told her, since it was the custom that men and women would sit separately within a lodge…especially during a ceremony.

But hers was an unusual circumstance, because of her work and because of Soaring Eagle’s duty to direct her in the matter of the photographs.

As she had feared, she and Soaring Eagle had missed the initial procession that had accompanied the new and old Medicine Pipe owners. However, luckily enough for Kali, the ceremony itself had yet to begin.

True to his word, Soaring Eagle had set up her equipment within the lodge itself. He had even loaded one plate into the camera, which had been a godsend for Kali, since she had lost precious work time to her riverside romp.

Of course, before she and Soaring Eagle had left that area, there had been a few incidents. Soaring Eagle had hidden her change of clothes, had even pretended her clothing had been carried off by a deer. But in the end, Kali had prevailed, and she was now clothed in a long cotton gown which had been donated by Soaring Eagle’s grandmother.

It was still early morning and the sky was very much in darkness. Moments before they had entered the lodge, Kali, looking up, had beheld the morning star arising brightly over the prairie, and had estimated the time to be about four o’clock. If that was correct, it meant that she and Soaring Eagle were about an hour late for the ceremony.

What had she missed?

Very little, according to Soaring Eagle. Besides, he had gone on to explain, no one here lived by a time clock. Each person would attend the ceremony when he was able, and if someone came late, no one frowned or commented on it. The only thing missed by tardiness, perhaps, was a choice seat.

Soaring Eagle had discreetly pointed out each of the main players in the ceremony: Comes Running Bird, who was relinquishing the pipe; Sitting Beaver, who was the recipient; the seven Medicine Pipe singers; and the wives of both Comes Running Bird and Sitting Beaver.

Leaning toward Soaring Eagle, she whispered, “May I take a picture of Sitting Beaver, since he is the recipient of the pipe?”

Soaring Eagle glanced at her from over his shoulder. “Perhaps. But I must ask him. Wait here.”

And in one fluid movement, he stood. Bending at the waist, he went around the outside of the circle, past the seven Medicine Pipe men, and squatted down next to the man who sat in the place of honor, his position toward the back of the lodge.

Looking around the circle at them, Kali had to admit that the man was, indeed, a magnificent-looking individual, with a noble profile, a dignified bearing and a rugged face that, although weather-beaten, was still very handsome. At present he held a woolen blanket over his shoulders, a beautiful covering of orange, blue and black stripes.

Oh, she thought, to capture this moment on film.

Kali watched as Soaring Eagle spoke to Sitting Beaver. Then, with a nod, Soaring Eagle made his way back to her.

As soon as he came within voice range, he said, “You may take pictures as soon as the Medicine Pipe bundle is opened and Sitting Beaver has donned the regalia that goes with the Medicine Pipe. It will be soon.”

Kali bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

She stared off to her right, toward the back of the circle, paying particular attention to the bundle itself, which had been placed in the seat of honor directly across from the tepee’s entrance. Next to the bundle sat Soaring Eagle’s father, Comes Running Bird, with Sitting Beaver, the receiver of the pipe, seated on his right.

The air was heavily scented with sweet pine, the incense used for the ceremony. At present, a large piece of the herb sat smoking on an open coal, and as the smoke from it grew larger and larger, ever so gradually the rhythm of the drumming changed. All at once, Comes Running Bird sat forward along with a woman.

“That is my mother, Many Shots Woman,” murmured Soaring Eagle to Kali, who was still squatting next to him.

Kali nodded.

“Soon, my father and mother will began to sing, placing their hands at the same time into the rising smoke. Gradually the seven singers will join in song with them. When that happens, they will be singing Thunder songs.”

“Thunder songs?”

“Aa. Do you remember that it was Thunder who first gave our people the Medicine Pipe?”

“Oh yes, that’s right.”

“Now, do you see my mother and father making the sign for the buffalo?”

“You mean with the curved fingers?”

“Aa. It is during this song that Sitting Beaver and his wife may begin to open the Medicine Pipe bundle. Listen; now is being sung the Antelope song. Do you see how the singers’ hand motions have changed, now imitating the grace of the antelope? This is because they are opening the bundle wrapped in antelope skin. And now comes the song of the elk.”

“Why are your mother and Sitting Beaver’s wife shaking their heads?”

“That is in imitation of the male elk when he is preparing to charge. It is being done as if the bundle were to be opened by the antlers of the elk.”

“Oh,” said Kali. “How fascinating.”

“Soon,” continued Soaring Eagle, “Sitting Beaver will take off the clothes he now wears beneath his robe. Then he will dress himself in the sacred regalia of the Medicine Pipe bundle. When this is done, that is the time when you may take his picture. Only one may be snapped and then no more for the rest of the ceremony. Do you understand?”

Kali nodded.

“You must wait to take this picture until I give you a signal that it may be done.”

“All right.”

Kali scooted back toward her tripod and camera, and came up onto her knees. If she had only one chance to obtain a picture, she wanted to ensure all was in readiness. To this end she checked the glass-plate film, her flash stick and clicker. Coming around to the back of the camera, she checked her foreground and picture composition in the viewfinder.

And that’s when it happened.

Something caught her eye.

Looking up, away from the camera, she blinked, sucking in her breath.

Sitting Beaver had changed clothes. And now placed high atop his head was the yellow and blue headdress. The same one she had seen when the vision of Comes Running Bird had flashed before her eyes—only hours ago.

Surely it wasn’t the same one.

Yet there in the center of the headdress, as she had related to Soaring Eagle, was the black and yellow circle, beaded in small seed beads.

Was she dreaming? Had she imagined this?

Surely these things weren’t possible. Or were they?

No wonder Soaring Eagle had looked at her curiously, she thought. Her insight had included not only an image of his father, but the ceremonial headdress as well.

Did it mean anything? And if it did, what?

Cautiously, as though afraid she might discover something else unexplainable, she surveyed the rest of Sitting Beaver’s new Medicine Pipe regalia, from the fringed, painted shirt he now wore to the leggings, which were beaded in black, blue and yellow. Since Sitting Beaver reclined not far away from her, she could see that his moccasins were decorated in the same color motif.

Soaring Eagle, glancing over his shoulder, motioned her close once more. And when she had come forward, he said, “In addition to the clothes that you see Sitting Beaver wearing, my father has given him the horse, along with all its possessions, which also belongs to the pipe.”

Kali nodded.

“Notice that Sitting Beaver’s wife is also wearing the same colors as that of the Medicine Pipe regalia. This dress she is given must be worn by her only during ceremonies given by the pipe.”

Again Kali acknowledged with the inclination of her head.

Soon, in came the spectators, who were each one announced along with his gift. Kali’s eyes went wide as she recognized the value of many of these gifts. From beautiful buffalo robes, painted and exquisitely sewn, to food, to horses. In fact, one of the Blackfeet societies gave fifty horses, as well as a pile of clothing.

Stranger yet was to see Sitting Beaver in turn give these gifts over to Comes Running Bird.

“It is a fee to my father for the transfer of the pipe,” explained Soaring Eagle.

“I see,” she said as silently as possible, although in truth, she didn’t. Why would a person give away the best of their presents?

But she had no time to ponder the question. Sitting Beaver had given a slight motion of his head toward Soaring Eagle. In turn, Soaring Eagle rose slightly and scooted toward Kali.

“You may now take a picture. But be quick about it.”

“Right,” said Kali, not needing to be told twice. “One, two, three.” She said the numbers almost to herself, for to say them aloud, within others’ hearing, might be the height of ill manners. Snap, flash, click.

It was done. Kali removed the glass plate, folded it gently into a packet, and laid her camera aside. Still kneeling, she crawled into position right behind Soaring Eagle and squatted down.

And as though on cue, the dancing began. By this time, the sun was beginning to make its first appearance in the sky, and as a tepee’s entrance always faced east, the first pinkish-gold rays of light began streaking into the lodge, painting all they reached in a luminous, soft pink glow.

“Anyone who desires to make a vow,” said Soaring Eagle over his shoulder, “will now dance.”

“I see,” said Kali, hardly daring to breathe.

Odd how her body began to sway to the beat of the drums. Stranger yet how excited she felt when she accidentally brushed against Soaring Eagle. She wanted more; more touching, more feeling. And the drums seemed to urge her on.

Her hand crept forward as though it might initiate the action, even if she—or he—would not.

She brought her face close to his face, and blood pounded in her ears, madness racing over her nervous system. It was as though she needed to kiss this man—now.

She was playing with fire. She knew it, but heaven help her, she was filled with need. Alas, the rest of the world, the dancing, the ceremony, was quickly fading for her.

And then she did it. She touched him. It was barely anything, her arm simply coming in contact with his shirt, her hand brushing his… And yet that part of her hand next to his burned with awareness.

He must have felt it too, for he turned his head slightly toward her, a few tendrils of his hair coming in contact with her lips.

At the contact, smoldering fire swept through her.

He whispered, “When the dancing starts, watch closely. For each person who has made a vow will rise up and will dance over the skin of an animal—these represent the shadow, or the spirit of the animal. Then, when the dance is ended, the dancer will give that skin to Sitting Beaver. Watch.”

Kali did as she was bidden.

There were many dances: one to the antelope, one to the crane, one to the swan, to name a few. There were more, even a song and a dance to the muskrat. In all that time, Kali sat behind Soaring Eagle, touching, sometimes arm to arm, sometimes lips to cheek, if he were leaning back to tell her something.

And then something stranger happened to her. It was the drums again. Something about them, their steady rhythm, began to elicit an odd response within Kali. It was as though she wanted to dance; as though she needed to dance…with Soaring Eagle. Oh, what she would do if only she had the nerve. She’d dance to him, dance with him, around him. She’d make him her own.

Swaying slowly, she inched forward as though she had to do it. She had to dance. She reached out, her fingers encircling Soaring Eagle’s hand. Maybe no one would notice her; after all, there were other people standing, dancing.

Keeping time to the rhythm, she came up onto her feet and rocked to and fro. All at once Soaring Eagle was there beside her, standing, placing something in her hand. Keeping hold of a part of it himself, he began to dance with her.

Quietly, he said, “This is an antelope skin.”

She raised questioning eyes to his.

“A Medicine Pipe performer must dance with the skin of an animal. I am giving you the hide of the antelope because it suits you. An antelope is almost as graceful as you.”

Kali pressed her lips together. What a wonderful thing for him to say.

The drums pounded in her ears; the men’s voices rang out through the air, filling the tepee with sound. Together she and Soaring Eagle bent forward and back, to the side, back again, making sweeping, majestic motions. It was as though their movements, their steps, along with the drums, were a prayer.

What was it Soaring Eagle had said? A dancer performed for someone, took a vow for someone?

For whom did she dance? For herself? For Soaring Eagle? For them both, or was it for lovers everywhere?

The drumbeat caught hold of her, became part of her, as though she and it were one and the same. It pushed her toward something…

Glancing up, she stared hard at Soaring Eagle, and it seemed the right thing to do that she speak what was in her heart, before she lost her nerve. And so it was that she found herself uttering the words, “I love you.”

For a moment, Soaring Eagle shut his eyes, as though he might be overcome with emotion. But when he at last opened them and gazed upon her, Kali was left in no doubt as to his feelings for her.

Softly, for her ears alone, he whispered, “Kitsikakomimmo.”

 

 

Someone called a short break even while Kali felt as though the ground below her had disappeared. What had happened to her? What was happening to her?

Glancing around at the assembled guests, Kali thought some of the Indians might have eyed her suspiciously, since in a manner of speaking she was invading their ceremony. However, such was not the case. No one paid her much attention. And those who did catch her eye nodded at her, as though they approved of her in some way.

Soaring Eagle placed the antelope hide in front of Sitting Beaver and led Kali back to their place in the circle. As one, they sat down.

A pipe, an ordinary pipe, was sent on its way around the circle. Soaring Eagle sat up straight, received the pipe, and after smoking it, passed the object down along the line of men, ignoring Kali at first.

However, turning to her, he said, “A woman’s pipe will be offered soon. You should smoke then.”

She nodded. “Why?”

“It is expected of you. You have now danced in the ceremony.”

“But I have never smoked in my life…anything. Will that matter?”

“No. You must not refuse.”

Kali nodded.

Gradually, the mood of the assembled guests grew quiet. Kali glanced up to see what, if anything, was happening.

Comes Running Bird had stood and had barely gained his full height when he began to sing. But whatever he was saying might remain a mystery to Kali forever, as the words were in Blackfeet. After a moment, however, he stopped singing and spoke in English. “Come…Kalifornia Wallace.”

What? Her?

Had she heard that correctly?

Comes Running Bird repeated the request. “Stand up, Kalifornia Wallace. Come…stand…beside me.”

How did Comes Running Bird know her full name?

Kali knew instinctively that she should arise, but she was afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have danced. Was she in trouble because of it?

She had little time to consider her plight, however. Comes Running Bird was continuing to speak, saying in English, “Soaring Eagle, my son, come…also.”

Soaring Eagle stood.

“Come forward, Kalifornia Wallace.”

In a daze, Kali struggled to her feet. “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself.

Comes Running Bird nodded.

Although Kali felt slightly disconnected from the ceremony, and in particular from her body, she nonetheless made her way to where Comes Running Bird was awaiting her.

“Stand…here.” Comes Running Bird pointed.

Kali did as asked, and stood to his left.

“My son, stand…this side.” He pointed to his other side.

Soaring Eagle complied.

Comes Running Bird then held out the pipe to Soaring Eagle. “You will smoke now.”

Soaring Eagle did as asked, handing the pipe back to his father.

Many Shots Woman stepped forward, producing another pipe, which Kali suspected might be the women’s pipe that Soaring Eagle had mentioned. Many Shots Woman handed the pipe to Comes Running Bird.

“Now…you, Kalifornia. You…smoke…too.”

Kali took hold of the pipe. Her hands were shaking. Looking up at Comes Running Bird, she asked, “Has there been some mistake?”

He shook his head. “There…no mistake. Hold pipe…this way.” He showed her the proper grip, one hand holding the pipe close to the stem, the other farther out, toward the pipe’s bowl.

Kali swallowed, noisily and hard, certain the racket she made could be heard by the others. Her knees shook.

At last, she brought the pipe to her lips, inhaled…and coughed.

“Again,” instructed Comes Running Bird.

Nodding, feeling more than a little sick to her stomach, Kali took one more puff.

The drums began again, this time softly.

“Mat’-ah-kwi tam-ap-i-ni-po-ke-mi-o-sin. Waai’tomo…” The old man spoke on and on in hushed tones, but whatever it was that he said remained unknown to Kali.

At last he ceased speaking and bent to pick out two feathers from the unrolled bundle. They were eagle feathers. One of these he gave to Soaring Eagle. The other he gave to her.

Next came a blessing. Waving a burning piece of sage first over Soaring Eagle and then her, Comes Running Bird honored them, weaving the smoke up and down Soaring Eagle’s body, then hers. Up over the head again. Down over the shoulders to the feet. Up again.

At last, Comes Running Bird took back one feather and then the other, laying both at the feet of Sitting Beaver.

“Iniiyi’taki,” he said, then in English. “The spirits are now happy.”

And it was done, but what it was exactly that was done Kali couldn’t have said.

More than a little curious, she ached with the need to ask a torrent of questions.

Good manners, however, forbade her doing anything more than taking her seat. The rest of the ceremony blurred for her, and she barely heard or saw anything further.

She sat stiffly. Even the drums ceased to stir her mood, and she no longer touched Soaring Eagle. In truth, she was afraid to.

The drumming went on and on. The singing went on and on. Dancers stood up, danced and were again seated. At last it was sunset, and the ceremony was about to come to an end.

And it couldn’t have come fast enough for Kali.

Comes Running Bird arose and led Sitting Beaver and his wife out of the lodge, where they all, in turn, faced the four directions, chanting.

It was the signal to the guests that the ceremony had, at last, come to a conclusion. At long last.

Kali made to rise, her stiff muscles protesting at the movement.

Soaring Eagle, however, held her back. “Not yet,” he said. “Remain where you are and keep smiling.”

“All right. But why?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You will see soon enough.”

One by one the people filed out of the lodge, all except for herself and Soaring Eagle. The two of them remained seated.

Kali waited.

One by one the people returned, each person bearing a gift, which they gave either to Kali or to Soaring Eagle.

“Is this for me?” she asked Soaring Eagle after a woman had placed a beautifully beaded dress at her feet.

“Aa,” he said.

“But I can’t—”

“Sh-h-h. Here comes another.”

It was a dark-haired, elderly woman, and like all the rest, she held a present in her hand: a beautifully beaded pair of moccasins. She squatted beside and a little behind Kali, and leaning forward, began chattering away in Blackfeet. All the while she drew Kali into her arms, hugging her.

Taking Kali’s face into her hands, she stared at her for some moments before again beginning to prattle. And when she smiled, it was a big, wide affair, one that showed a missing tooth. “Wel…come…” she said in English, tears in her eyes. And with a final hug, she rose to her feet and left.

“My grandmother,” supplied Soaring Eagle.

Kali gave him a wide-eyed stare as the pieces suddenly fell into place. She said, “They know, about us.” It was no question.

He nodded.

Dumbfounded, Kali’s voice mirrored her confusion. “It was a marriage ceremony that your father performed, wasn’t it?”

Soaring Eagle once more inclined his head, saying, “He did as the spirits directed him.”

“As the spirits directed him… And yet, the spirits married us first.”

“But you did not believe.”

Kali gulped. “Why would they care? And what spirits?”

“The spirits of my ancestors, perhaps yours, too.”

“Mine? I have no relatives here.”

Soaring Eagle turned toward her, his gaze seeking out hers in what was a long, studious look, as though he might be looking at her for the first time. He said, “Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain.”

He didn’t say a word, and it was some time before he turned his sights away from her, staring out into the dying embers of the lodge fire. And he uttered, almost under his breath, “I, for one, no longer am.”

“You are no longer what?”

He sighed. “My sweet wife, I am no longer certain that you are completely white, at least not spiritually…”