Holding on to Heaven (12 page)

A short laugh came from his lips. "No, but I'm trying my damnedest to be."

"Thank you," she whispered and didn't mean
that
at all.

* * * *

Against a lurid sun, the outline of lodges appeared in the distance. Pale ribbons of smoke snaked skyward and appeared to touch the clouds. The screech of the raven announced their arrival, and yet Sage knew it wasn't a black bird, but a human voice mimicking its cry.

A noisy chorus of chatter punctuated by an undulating echo rang through the air as they rode in to the Winnebago camp. En masse, the bronze bodies converged, surrounded their mounts, and sent ripples of panic crashing through her.

She kept her eyes on Wanapaya as he maneuvered Dancer to her side, the look in his eyes assuaging her alarm. "The People welcome you as friend. Do not fear."

Their horses came to a halt before an oval-shaped lodge, a wigwam type structure made of woven rush mats upon a framework of poles. A woman emerged from the dwelling, her arms spread wide, her uplifted face stained with tears. Short and stout, her body shook with sobs as she clutched the brave's leg with one hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the other. His mother, Sage surmised, was elated to see her son again.

The woman spoke in their native tongue, the heartfelt words falling from her lips as her son slid from Dancer and embraced her. Long minutes later, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, his words low and soothing.

The crowd had trailed them, their sun-kissed faces etched with relief and joy. Sage scanned the sea of bronze faces, her gaze drawn to a magnificent man who stood beyond the jubilation, apart from his brethren.

Dressed in doeskin from neck to foot, a hawk's feather sprouted from behind his left ear. Tall and solidly built, a mass of ebony hair streaked with gray touched his broad shoulders. Majestic in stance, superior in demeanor, he took in the scene with a passive expression.

Wanapaya walked toward him, followed by his mother who clucked around him like an overprotective nester. When the stoic man embraced him, Sage breathed a sigh of relief. Before they arrived in the village, Wanapaya spoke of his family as well as the time of his birth. She recalled his parents' names now, Otter Woman and Storm Cloud.

His father, a member of the great Sioux Nation, had taken a Winnebago woman as his wife. Unable to leave her People, Otter Woman convinced Storm Cloud to share his life with her here. Wanapaya had said, 'My father has not regretted a single day.' Their only child, him, had entered the world In the Moon of the Chokeberries.

'What do we name your son?' she asked my father.

'His name will be Wanapaya, the Pursuer.'

'Why do you wish to give him such a strange name?'

'He will be a tracker for the People, a hunter when their bellies swell from hunger and the animals have gone into hiding.'

'It is a good name,' his mother had agreed.

The celebration of Wanapaya's return lasted long into the night. Sage discovered the People celebrated everything in their lives, needing little encouragement to spread joy. Reenactments of his ordeal and his miraculous survival were played out a hundred times before the night ended. Embellished by his dramatic gestures, his audience rewarded him with the appropriate
oohs
and
aahs
and then asked him to retell the story one more time.

Weary from the journey and overwhelmed by the festivities, Sage offered little argument when Otter Woman tapped her on the shoulder and motioned her toward the lodge. Inside, a layer of fresh pine boughs covered in animal furs beckoned her. Similar berths lay close to the fire, for Wanapaya and his parents she assumed.

Before leaving, the woman turned to her with tears in her eyes and signed with her hands. Otter Woman's message of gratitude was clear—if Sage had not helped him, her son would have died in the forest.

When the woman embraced her, Sage whispered, "You are welcome."

She disappeared through the flap and Sage slumped to the makeshift bed on the ground. The scent of pine needles and acrid smoke spiraled up her nose, familiar aromas that reminded her of home.

Her last thoughts before drifting off were of Grandmother and Peter Pa.

Chapter Seven

Sage looked down at her clothing. The buckskin trousers and shirt hugged her waist and hips, yet allowed freedom of movement. Matching knee-high moccasins completed the ensemble.

Four weeks ago, Wanapaya had delivered the garments into her hands. "Today we begin your lessons, and you will need the new clothing."

"What lessons?"

"Change your clothing and I will show you."

Since that day, every muscle in her body had endured rigorous training. She had the aches and bruises to prove it. He approached her
lessons
as he did everything in life, with infinite patience. The competent tutor and the willing pupil stumbled, wrangled, and at times faltered, but by the end of two weeks, Sage became adept at riding bareback. Moreover, she mastered the complicated feat of mounting and dismounting while the pony was on a dead run, sans a broken neck. She studied the ancient craft of arrow making, and in the process, learned how to shoot a bow.

Today she'd accompanied him on her first hunt—a successful first hunt, if their heavily-laden mounts were any indication. An elk lay across Dancer's flank and a deer across Withers'. Now for the hard work, gutting and tanning.

Stooped over the doe’s carcass, a pair of moccasins appeared in her line of sight. She looked up and gazed upon the face of Swan and the cherubic infant wailing in her arms.

"It is the bellyache." The woman passed her the disgruntled child.

Sage took the babe in her arms and looked at Wanapaya. "Go," he said. "I will finish."

In the lodge, Sage pummeled garlic and ginger root together, added ample water and dispensed the mixture through a hollow reed.

"We call it colic." Sage smiled. "Soon, the child will be at peace."

"Swan thanks White-Woman-With-Strong-Medicine," the woman said with a shy smile.

"What did you call me?"

"White-Woman-With-Strong-Medicine. It is the name the People call you now."

Tears came to her eyes. The People had honored her by bequeathing her a name. Since her arrival in the village, word spread quickly about her knowledge of herbs. Countless times, the elders appeared at Storm Cloud's lodge seeking cures. Constipation, stiff joints and toothaches were among the ailments that delivered them, and if she didn't have to pull the infected tooth, she applied a poultice of catnip leaves and cloves to draw out the infection. Minor wounds she treated with a poultice of blackberry seeds and comfrey leaves, plucked from a reservoir of plants growing in the woods. Too many times to count, she'd stitched torn flesh, once or twice set broken bones, and helped deliver a dozen babies. She escorted Swan and her babe outside and returned to the task awaiting her with a smile on her face.

"You are happy with your new name?" Wanapaya asked.

She turned to him. "You knew?"

Resting on his haunches, he nodded without taking his eyes from the dead elk at his feet.

"Why did you not tell me? This is a great honor the—"

He rose, tossed his knife on the ground and bit out the words. "Must I tell you to open your eyes to what is around you?"

Rendered mute by his curt words and the tone of his voice, she stared at him for a lengthy time before speaking. "I've displeased you in some way."

"No." He looked away from her. "I am displeased with myself."

"But why?"

He advanced so abruptly, she took a step back. "Displeased I must lie beside you in my father's lodge every night. Displeased my body grows hard every time I look at you. Displeased I have taken this honorable path, and . . . and I no longer wish to walk it!"

She brought a hand to her throat and faltered on the words. "I-I did not know. I never meant to cause you—"

"I have built my own lodge and you will join me there. You decide whether it will be as my wife."

Her heart leaped and a smile found her.

"You mock me now?" He turned from her and stormed off.

Finally finding her tongue, she called out to him. "I’ll marry you, today, tomorrow, tell me when!"

He stopped and spun around to face her. "Two suns from now. I will tell my mother and she will tell Dark Lodge and then the whole village will know."

"Wait! Where is your lodge?"

He walked toward her again like a great beast sniffing out his prey. "It is best you do not know unless you wish to join me there
now
."

She flung an arm out, hoping the gesture would stop him.

"I did not think so."

She watched him walk through the village until she could no longer see him and then she spread her arms out and spun around. She had called him forth from her dreams and he had come.

In two days, she’d marry Wanapaya.

* * * *

Otter Woman entered the lodge with a white ceremonial dress draped over her arms, and tears flooded Sage's eyes. Coming to her feet, the bride-to-be took the hand-sewn garment from the woman and ran her hands down the soft hide. Her fingers lingered near several rows of intricate beads across the breast and near the hem. Never had she seen such an exquisite garment. She shucked her clothing, slipped the white doeskin dress over her head, and spun around in a half-circle.

Also fringed with aqua-blue and red beads, the sleeves mimicked the waist sash. Otter Woman handed her a pair of white, knee-length moccasins and as a final touch, the woman fastened a sacred amulet of aqua-blue stones around her neck.

For once, her future mother-in-law grew silent, the woman's dark eyes brimming with tears as she surveyed the sight before her. Lacking a full-length mirror, Sage relied on Otter Woman's awestruck expression to confirm she looked stunning.

Garbed in tan deerskin leggings, a breechclout and short moccasins, The Pursuer personified virility. A shirt of the same fabric graced his muscular form, and his long hair was tied back with a leather thong.

Birds twittered from the trees and the clouds rolled overhead, but Sage scarcely heard them as she faced Wanapaya. The Holy Man placed the ceremonial stick on the ground between them and spoke in his native tongue. Occasionally, the dark warrior nodded and she'd say yes, never fully comprehending what she'd agreed to. Triumphant cries and cheers resonated through camp when the Holy Man removed the stick from the ground.

"It is finished," her new husband said. "We are man and wife."

The People gathered around the great circle of fire to celebrate. Braves lined up before maidens and for a few precious moments, they danced face-to-face beneath a blanket. As quickly as the intimate interlude began, it ended, and the maidens moved on to the next young brave in line. Other tribal members danced alone. They dipped, twisted and twirled to the beat of the drums, their feet flying through the sacred steps with the grace of a herd of gazelles.

In the wee hours of the morning, Wanapaya signaled their departure and a select group of elders escorted them to their new lodge on the outskirts of the village. Wanapaya pulled back the flap, Sage entered and a mixture of sweet aromas greeted her¾fresh pine needles, sweet prairie grass, and stalks of wild heather.

Finished gazing at her new surroundings, she looked across the short distance separating them and really looked at her husband, her protector, the man of her every dream.

He motioned her forward and she obeyed, certain it had been one of the things she answered
yes
to today. He cupped her face in his hands and her body responded to his kiss with feverish passion. His hand brushed her breast arousing her so quickly it stunned her.

He eased the dress up her hips and deftly over her shoulders until she stood naked before him. She should have been mortified, or at the very least timid, but those emotions were far from her mind. His tongue swept through her mouth and she shuddered, again when he brushed a nipple with his thumb and slid his hand over her hips and bottom.

His essence filled her. His lips moved with lightness over hers and drifted to the tender flesh above her collarbone, lingering at the tremulous pulse in her throat. He twined his fingers in hers and led her to the soft bed of animal pelts, lowered her gently and followed with his body.

After removing his clothing, a gasp came from his beautiful mouth when his hot skin connected with hers. His body trembled and she surmised he struggled to control the wild passion between them.

Excruciating need and intense hunger filled her, yet he withheld the full power of his love. "I’m not a fragile bird."

"No, more like a delicate flower whose essence should be savored."

She emitted a frustrated groan.

"I do not want to hurt you."

"You make it sound as if I'm about to be drawn and quartered." She laughed and grew serious when he didn't respond. "Wanapaya?"

He buried his face in her neck and failed at stifling a laugh. "I cannot lie to you. What can I do to make it hurt less?"

She thought long, weighed her options and finally spoke. "Grandmother says if you have committed to engage in something be quick about it."

His laughter echoed around them and mingled with hers. She clutched a length of his hair in her hand, forcing him to look at her. "Be quick about it then."

He seduced her with sweet words of love, kissing every inch of her naked skin until her tense body relaxed. A hand slipped between her thighs and gently, he slipped a finger inside her. Shivers racked her body. She clung to his shoulders and moaned into his mouth.

"I love you." She reveled in the words she longed to hear from his lips.

He removed his finger, cupped her bottom and eased into her one slow inch at a time. Encountering a barrier, he grew still as if waiting for her reaction.

Her voice husky and low, she said, "Do you call this quick?"

With his gaze riveted on her face, he drove in deeper. Her body tensed briefly and a small moan escaped her.