Proud Wolf's Woman (32 page)

Tahiska chuckled and Neeheeowee, shaking his head, smiled.

The afternoon stretched out warm and sunny before them. Both Kristina and Julia reclined beneath the shade of a cottonwood tree, the heat keeping the women from engaging in too strenuous a task. Kristina worked over a pair of moccasins, ornamenting them for her son, while Julia relaxed against the tree. A clear, effervescing stream rushed past them as though in a hurry to get somewhere, the constant gurgling and babbling of its waters a welcome background noise to the women’s talk. Julia sat up, and, rising to her feet, walked a few steps down to the water. She dipped a hand into its cool depth and sighed.

“Did you know,” Kristina said, looking up, “that the Indians believe that it is water that gives life? It is why each morning the young girls refill the water bags. Water that has sat all day is considered ‘dead.’”

Julia smiled. “No, I didn’t know that. I guess that explains why Neeheeowee refilled the water bags every morning as we journeyed. You have learned many of their beliefs, I see. What do you think of their convictions? Don’t you consider them primitive?”

Kristina gazed away, seemingly lost in thought for a time. Finally, she said, “Some of their beliefs I consider primitive, yes, for they are based on fear and superstition. But I have found their religion to be much the same as ours; there is no idol worship and there is so much good that I see here in their everyday life, so much understanding of life that I wonder if our own civilization wouldn’t be better if we understood the Indian a little more.”

Julia said nothing, simply gazing back at her friend, and, after a while, Kristina put down the moccasins she had been working on and sat forward. “For instance,” Kristina began, “have you noticed the way the Indians handle their children? It is incredible. I had never witnessed anything like it. Whipping is unheard of here, and a parent who would do it would be shunned and perhaps ostracized by the rest of the tribe. Children are taught by appealing to their sense of duty and to their desire to help and contribute to the family. They are rarely scolded, but as soon as they have their senses about them, they are talked to as though they were adult, they are told that such and such behavior will either benefit them in later life or not. The Indian appeals to the child’s desire to take pride in himself, showing the youngsters examples of bravery and stellar behavior that are revered throughout the tribe. In such a way the child grows up deciding for himself what is a correct action or what is not.”

“Truly,” Julia said, “that is good. I have seen this, too, in Neeheeowee. I have found Neeheeowee to be wise beyond his years. Plus,” she said, “he has never treated me with anything but kindness. It is odd…” Julia straightened away to look more directly at Kristina, “…he is everything a man should be, honorable and honest beyond belief, brave and willing to risk his life, and yet, in all his dealings with me, he listens without scolding, often taking my advice. I have never known anyone like him.”

Kristina grinned.
“Ma!
So spoken like a woman in love. I am glad to hear it.”

Julia grimaced and shook her head.

At that moment, Keya, or Turtle, Kristina’s youngest child, rushed up to his mother, his sister, Wowaste, in quick pursuit. Julia surveyed the young boy and his sister, deciding that both had the best, yet different features of their parents.

Keya had the coloring of his father, while his sister’s skin color looked just slightly darker than Kristina’s. The young boy’s hair boasted golden highlights in its dark depth, a legacy from his mother, while his sister’s was a deep, rich black. Julia had noticed that both girls had inherited the coal-black eyes from their father, while Keya’s were a bright green. In all three children the combination of white and Indian blood had created startling beauty, and Julia felt certain that in years to come, all three offspring might become the breakers of hearts. Certainly, she thought, there would be no absence of suitors.

But for the time being, the boy needed the comfort of his mother’s arms, whom he sought out often, while his sister, four years older, always accompanied him, it being her duty to watch over him. Wowaste came to sit by Julia, while her younger sister, Cikala Peta, who usually played with other girls her own age, decided to join her mother, too, taking her place quietly at her mother’s feet. Perhaps it was curiosity about their newest aunt which kept them so close to their mother’s side this day. The cause of it didn’t matter to Julia. She enjoyed each moment she spent with the children.

Julia had observed that Kristina followed the many Indian traditions in the raising of her children, though there was one thing she did that was entirely different from anything else done within the tribe: she taught her children to read, an action that couldn’t help but bring good things not only to her children, but to the rest of her tribe, also.

Her tribe? Julia scoffed at herself. Since when had she begun thinking of Kristina as Indian?

Kristina’s son looked toward Julia now, and, startling Julia, he said,
“Waste Win,”
pretty woman, pointing toward Julia.

And while Kristina crooned softly to the little boy on the ill manners of pointing, Julia grinned down at the lad. He looked at Julia, he stared, and then transferring his attention from his mother to Julia, he hopped off his mother’s lap and came to sit on Julia’s, where he proceeded to play with Julia’s dark hair, the lad murmuring words of no meaning in her ear.

Kristina smiled, and in English she said, “He is so good-hearted, this one. But already, he loves the women, and often goes from woman to woman kissing them. I’m afraid he could cause trouble to a young girl’s heart when he gets a little older.”

Julia laughed. “I think you speak the truth on that.”

Kristina smiled. At length, she sighed. “My life here is good,” she said. “Tahiska thinks I work hard, but look at me. I sit out here, in the cool shade beneath a cottonwood tree, working over a pair of moccasins. The work is not difficult and is not great and no one puts tremendous demands on me, seemingly happy at whatever I manage to produce.” Kristina paused, then looking up at Julia, said, “But I miss my family sometimes, my father. I think next year, if we have a good year hunting, I will take the children and go to see my father. What do you think?”

Julia frowned. “I wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

Julia looked away, her gaze catching onto a piece of rawhide left hanging in the sun to dry. “It is hard to explain. But there is more and more animosity between the white people and the Indian. As Easterners flood our fort going west, they bring with them ever new and unusual prejudices. Often the white people I have encountered do not distinguish between one Indian tribe and another, thinking they can inflict damage on an innocent tribe for the wrongdoing of another. If you go back, Kristina, they might not let you come back here again. People will think you have lost your mind to want to stay with the Indians.”

Julia paused, looking back toward her friend. “When we stopped at Bent’s Fort on our way here,” Julia continued, “there was ever the threat of someone discovering I was white and taking me away from Neeheeowee. It is why I dressed as an Indian. It is why I still am dressed like one.”

“But I have family and friends back there, my father—”

“Let him come and see you. He is a good man. He would not take steps to hurt you. But there are others who would. Kristina, I have seen it. Some white men have strange ideas about the freedom of white women. Hatred grows within the white man’s fort, and I fear that soon it will overwhelm any real attempts to make peace between our two races. If you love your husband and wish to stay with him, do not go back.” Julia tried to ease the harshness of her words by smiling, though ultimately, she began again, saying, “Kristina, if you went back, I’m afraid we’d see Tahiska taking on the entire cavalry in war.” Julia chuckled a little. “It would be something to see though, wouldn’t it?”

Kristina smirked. “In thought, yes. But I think you are right. I do not wish to see such a thing take place in fact. We will see. Maybe I could have scouts go there and see what is there for themselves, or perhaps I could send word back to my father.” She sat back. “I will think of something.”

Julia smiled. “As I will, too, my friend. As I will, too,” she said, pretending fear as Keya got down on his knees to threaten her with an invisible bow and arrow. The young boy laughed as did his two sisters, and before long the children were frolicking about again, ever seeking new adventures.

Chapter Eighteen

Kristina and Julia sat beneath the same cottonwood tree the next day. The temperature was simmering and, to distract them from the heat, Kristina had collected her guitar from her tepee. She, along with her three children and Julia, whiled away the afternoon beside the clear, running stream. Kristina strummed out the many songs she remembered while Julia hummed along, sometimes even singing.

They had just finished one particular melody when Julia said, “I don’t recall you taking your guitar along when you left with Tahiska seven years ago.”

“I didn’t,” Kristina said, scooting over a little when the sun hit her full in the face. “Tahiska traded many a buffalo robe for this at one of the trading posts. He knew how much I missed being able to play music, and so he bargained for this shortly after we were married. My only frustration is that I can hardly keep it in tune.”

“Ah, yes, I can understand that,” Julia said. She looked around her, hearing the ever-present drumming in the background. “You must feel strange here, with all this music that is so monotone and unmelodic—and the dancing—why, it would appear that only the men are allowed to dance, or so it seems to me.”

Kristina grinned. “Actually,” she said, “that isn’t so.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” Kristina said. “I have to admit, when I first came here, I thought their songs lacked melody and inspiration, too. But then I started listening, I started asking questions. And while it’s true that their songs have little harmony as you and I know it, they do have a structure. Here, I’ll show you. Listen carefully. Do you hear the drums in the distance?”

Julia nodded.

“Good, now, do you hear the men singing?”

“Yes.”

“All right now, do you hear that one voice that started singing before the others?”

“Yes,” Julia said, “I think so.”

“Good. That is the lead singer. Now here comes the second voice and then the others. It isn’t the drums that set the pace of the song. It is the lead singer.”

Julia grinned. “Is that so?”

Kristina laughed, nudging Julia with her elbow. “Behave yourself. Now, here is something else you should know,” Kristina said. “Did you hear those three heavy beats in the middle of the song? Those are what the people call honor beats. They are usually in the middle of the song. It has a pace, a sort of movement to it. You see?”

Julia grinned. “That’s remarkable. Leave it to you, Kristina, to figure out the complexities of an Indian song. I will have to listen to the music more carefully and find these things in there myself. I have noticed that Neeheeowee often sings to himself. Sometimes I think he makes up the songs.”

“That is probably true.”

Julia sat back against the cottonwood tree and closed her eyes. “Kristina,” she said, after a moment, “how about dancing? Don’t you miss dancing?”

Kristina smiled. “When you have a husband who looks like mine does in only breechcloth and moccasins, one does not think of dancing too often.”

Julia giggled, Kristina joining in with her. And soon all three young children chimed in, too, just as though they had understood every word the women said, though the women spoke distinctly in English.

“Here,” Kristina said after a while, and transferred Keya to the lap of her eldest daughter. “If you want to know about dancing, let me show you a dance I saw a young girl of the Omaha tribe do. I have heard that it is starting to be a dance women in some of the tribes are doing. I don’t know about that, and no one seems to know where the dance originated, but it is quite pretty.”

“But I thought that Indian women didn’t dance.”

“Nonsense,” Kristina said. “Maybe the women don’t do the wild contortions that the men do, and maybe the women aren’t always allowed within the circle to dance, but we certainly dance,” she said, and Julia smiled as she caught the “we dance” in Kristina’s words.

“Now let me show you this particular step, but I need a robe, preferably a small one to do it. May I use yours?”

Julia nodded and handed Kristina her elk-skin robe, which looked more like a shawl with fringe.

“Now watch.” Kristina waited for the beat of the drum, then, coming up on her toes and stepping in time to the beat, she spread her arms, the shawl fanning out around her as though she had wings. Fringe from her dress, and from the shawl, swayed like prairie grass waving in the wind. And while Julia watched, Kristina swayed, turning in circles, her arms outspread, always in time to the drum.

She stopped, smiled, and said, “See?” before dipping her head in a quick “bow.”

Julia grinned and clapped, singing out a “Hear, hear,” while the children, in perfect imitation of Julia, added to the noise.

“That was a lovely dance,” Julia said, after Kristina had returned to her seat beneath the tree. “What is it called?”

Kristina shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. As I said, we first saw it when someone from the Omaha tribe danced it at the summer get-together last year.”

“Will you teach it to me?”

“Of course,” Kristina said. “Do you want to try now?”

Julia nodded.

“This is good,” Kristina said, coming up onto her knees. “Now the first thing I must tell you about this is that in Indian dancing, a woman must always conduct herself in an honorable, yet proud fashion. Others will look to her to see that she feels pride for herself. To do this, the woman seldom moves from her waist up. Movement is done from her feet, her legs, her knees. It’s an up-and-down movement. Here, watch.”

Again, Kristina rose, indicating the correct way to dance. “Of course,” Kristina said, “to be a really good dancer, a woman must dance from her heart, she must dance what she feels inside. It is not always easy to accomplish both of these things, but if a woman manages to do it, she is greatly admired.”