The Spirit Path (10 page)

Neither noticed as the minutes slid by. Hours might have passed, or only moments, but for Maggie there was nothing else in all the world, only Hawk and the sweet sorcery of his touch, the tenderness in his eyes, the strength of the arms that held her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Soon, they’d have to go back to the house. She’d remember that she was too old for him, that he might disappear at any moment, that he could never be hers. Soon, she thought, but not now.

She was hardly aware that he was moving until he placed her on the damp grass beside the quiet pool on the west side of the house.

Silently, he stretched out beside her and took her in his arms again, holding her close. She breathed in the heady male scent of him, let her fingertips trace the muscles in his back and shoulders as she rained feathery kisses along his neck.

She was drowning in pleasure, floating on an ocean of sensation, and he was doing nothing more than holding her close. Her breasts were crushed against the unyielding wall of his chest, her face was buried in the curve of his neck. She could feel the warm whisper of his breath in her hair as he murmured her name, his voice filled with the same wonder she was feeling, his body trembling with the same passion that was turning her blood to fire.

Releasing a long shuddering sigh, Hawk loosened his hold and drew back a little.

“Mag-gie.” He murmured her name, dazed by the unfamiliar emotions her nearness aroused. He had never made love to a woman. To defile a Lakota woman was unthinkable; to lie with one of the captive women who sometimes exchanged their favors for food and clothing had been distasteful. In truth, he’d had little time for courting or women. He had been too busy learning to be a warrior, a medicine man. And always, in the back of his mind, had been his vision of the Spirit Woman, making all other women seem uninteresting and unimportant.

Abruptly he drew her close and stood up, carrying her with him, afraid if he lay beside her any longer the tight rein he had on his desire might snap, that he might force himself upon her and destroy the bond between them.

Maggie didn’t argue as he carried her back to her chair. Her feelings, the depth of the emotions swirling through her like a restless tide, were too deep for words. She had a terrible feeling that if Hawk hadn’t let her go, she would have willingly surrendered her body, and her heart.

The thought frightened her more than she cared to admit.

It was mid-afternoon the following day when Bobby returned to the ranch.

Hawk met the weary would-be warrior on the front porch, quickly taking in the lines of fatigue on the young man’s face. He knew Bobby’s vision had not come quickly or easily, but it had come.

“It was wonderful,” Bobby said as he joined Hawk. “I don’t know if I can explain it…”

“But you’ve been chosen by
Wakán Tanka
to be the next medicine man.”

Bobby stared at Hawk, a look of amazement on his face. “How did you know?”

“Come,” Hawk said. “Let us walk awhile.”

They made their way out past the barn to a flat stretch of ground bordered by slender pines. Sitting cross-legged on the thick grass, Hawk motioned for Bobby to join him.

Bobby closed his eyes a moment, trying to calm the excitement welling within him. “I did everything you told me to do. The first two days were hard. I couldn’t concentrate. I was hungry and thirsty, the sun was hot.” Bobby shrugged sheepishly. “My mind kept wandering to other things.

“The third day was worse. That night I almost came home. But this morning! Hawk, this morning as the sun climbed over the Hills I saw an eagle. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and I heard it speak to me, telling me that the Eagle would follow the Hawk and finish the journey to the North Country. It was the strangest thing, but I knew somehow that it meant I would follow in your footsteps, that I would become a holy man.”

Hawk smiled, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction as he saw the look of happiness on Bobby’s face.

“But the strangest thing was that, for a time, I felt like
I
was an eagle. And I flew, Hawk, my spirit left my body and I could see for miles, and I felt different. Light. Powerful. It was…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I flew over the Black Hills, and then I was flying northward, and then the strangest thing happened, I passed you and then I was flying toward Canada and I found a nest there, and I knew it was going to be my home. But that doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Hawk shook his head, baffled by the boy’s vision. How could Bobby be the next Lakota medicine man unless he stayed here in the
Paha Sapa
?

“
I
saw the old man again, the one we saw in the sweat lodge. He said I’m to have a new name.” There was a note of awe in Bobby’s voice. “I’m to be called Proud Eagle.”

“Wear it well, my brother. It is an honorable name.”

“You knew all this before I told you, didn’t you?” Bobby said. “How?”

“The old man you saw is Heart-of-the-Wolf. He was a powerful medicine man in our village. I think his spirit has followed me through time. Or it may be that he has come to help you know your own heart. But I feel that he is nearby.”

Bobby nodded. “Do you think…I mean, would it be all right to tell Miss St. Claire about my vision?”

“I think she will insist.”

Maggie watched Hawk’s face, her mind racing, as Bobby related his experience. Imagine, an Indian in the twentieth century receiving a medicine dream! Who would believe it? It sounded so bizarre. And yet, as she searched her heart, she knew that Hawk believed every word. And so did she. One had only to look at Bobby to know that something extraordinary had happened to him.

“I’m happy for you, Bobby,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I know it’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his dark eyes shining with excitement. “I…would you mind if I took a few days off? I’d like to go home and tell my little brother what happened.” A sad smile played over his lips. “My father probably won’t believe me.”

“Take all the time you need, Bobby,” Maggie said, squeezing his hand. “You haven’t had a vacation since you came to work for me.”

“Thanks, Miss St. Claire. If it’s all right then, I may stay for a week or two.”

“Of course.”

Bobby clasped Hawk’s forearm. “
Pilamaya
, Hawk. I never would have found the courage to seek a vision if it hadn’t been for you.”

“You did not need courage,” Hawk said. “Only someone to point you in the right direction.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’m more grateful than I can say.”

Somewhat shyly, Bobby gave Hawk a quick hug, kissed Maggie on the cheek, and hurried from the room before they could see the tears welling in his eyes.

“He’s a good boy,” Maggie said.

Hawk nodded. “He would have made a fine warrior.”

“He’ll make a fine doctor. Veronica’s going to be sorry she didn’t get to say goodbye.”

It was Sunday, Hawk realized. Veronica didn’t come to the ranch on Sundays, but stayed home to catch up on her own chores and go to church with her white husband. Hawk thought it odd that the white man felt the need to go to one of his square houses to pray to his God. But then, perhaps the god of the
wasichu
could not be found in the
Paha Sapa
.
The white man’s religion, like everything else, was hard to understand.

“Well,” Maggie said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Shall we go see what Veronica left us for dinner?”

“If you wish.”

Hawk sat at the table watching as she warmed up the pot of beef stew Veronica had made, noticing for the first time that everything in the kitchen was built low so Maggie could reach it. It did not occur to him to help her. Lakota men were not accustomed to doing women’s work.

Maggie hummed softly as she poured two cups of coffee, filled two big bowls with beef stew, buttered two slices of bread. Two, she thought. It was such a lovely number. She felt very domestic as she pulled two soup spoons from the drawer, placed napkins on the table. For a moment she found herself pretending that Hawk was her husband and they were sitting down to Sunday dinner like any other married couple.

But then she looked at Hawk and all pretense fell away. He would never be like any other husband. He was a man from the past, a warrior, with a warrior’s inborn pride. He would never hold down a nine-to-five job, never be the kind of husband who helped with the dishes and the laundry. She couldn’t imagine him diapering a baby, or mowing the front lawn, or driving the kids to soccer practice. He’d been born to hunt, to roam the plains in search of the buffalo, to fight the Crow and the Pawnee. And the white man. Trying to domesticate him would be like trying to turn a zebra into a riding horse. It simply couldn’t be done.

“What will you do when Bobby goes away to college?” Hawk asked after a while.

“I don’t know.” She guided her wheelchair up to the table and spread a napkin in her lap. “I guess I’ll have to hire someone to take his place.” It shouldn’t be too hard, she thought. There were always young Indian boys who were anxious to work. She was only sorry she couldn’t hire more of them.

“I will look after the animals while I am here,” Hawk offered.

Maggie smiled her thanks. It would not offend his dignity to care for the horses, or feed the chickens, or keep her supplied with firewood.

She cleared the table after dinner, rinsed the dishes, and left them in the sink. Veronica would wash them and put them away in the morning.

When she’d finished in the kitchen, Maggie went into the living room. Hawk was stretched out on the sofa, watching an old Western on television. She placed her chair beside the sofa, thinking that maybe he wasn’t so different from modern men after all. Her father had always gone in the den to watch TV while she and her mother did the dishes, and Westerns had been his favorite shows. He had loved watching
Bonanza
and
Wyatt Earp
and
The Rifleman
.

Hawk liked to watch Westerns too. Sometimes they made him angry and sometimes they made him laugh.

Now he sat up, pointing at the television, as a horde of screaming Indians attacked an Army patrol. “How is it that when the Indian wins the battle is called a massacre, but when the white man wins it is a great victory?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the way it always seems to be.”

Hawk grunted, annoyed by the way his people were portrayed. Always, the red man was ignorant, savage, brutal, while the white man was heroic and noble. The whites who made the movies didn’t seem to know one Indian from another, and he had seen movies where Indian warriors wore Pawnee scalplocks, Lakota war shirts, Cheyenne moccasins and spoke Arapaho. But the message was always the same: the fort, or the ranch, or the woman would never be safe until the Indian was destroyed.

“Would you mind lighting a fire in the fireplace?” Maggie asked, hoping to draw Hawk’s thoughts from the movie. “It’s a little chilly in here.”

She watched Hawk as he knelt before the fireplace, admiring the play of muscles in his broad back and shoulders as he took several pieces of wood from the box beside the hearth and arranged them on the grate. He still wore nothing but his clout and moccasins, and the sight of his bare back, though familiar, still did funny things in the pit of her stomach.

The kindling caught with a soft crackle of flames, the firelight playing over his bronzed skin, and Maggie closed her eyes, imagining Hawk dancing around a campfire, perhaps boasting of his exploits in battle. She could hear the rhythmic sound of drumming, smell the smoke and the dust, hear his voice filled with pride as he recounted how he had counted coup against the enemy.

Even with her eyes closed, she knew when he came to stand beside her. His presence was so strong, so vital, she was sure she could find him even if she were blindfolded in a dark cave.

She opened her eyes as she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder.

“Come,” he said, “sit beside me.” Maggie nodded, unable to speak past the lump that rose in her throat as he lifted her from her chair. She put her arms around his neck, marveling anew at how easily he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing at all.

But he didn’t put her on the sofa. Instead, he sat down holding her in his lap.

It was suddenly hard to breathe and she lowered her gaze to the muscular brown arm lightly circling her waist. How dark his skin was! His hands were callused and strong, his legs were corded with muscle. Was there another man in all the world as tall, as handsome?

His hand cupped her chin, encouraging her to look at him.

“Aren’t you going to put me down?” she asked, her voice sounding uneven and strangely high-pitched.

“Do you want me to?”

Maggie shook her head, thinking she’d like nothing more than to be held in his arms forever.

A million butterflies seemed to be trapped in her stomach as his gaze moved to her lips. He lowered his head toward hers, very slowly, giving her plenty of time to avoid his kiss if she desired.

It was the furthest thing from her mind. She closed her eyes as his lips covered hers, felt his arm tighten around her waist as his kiss deepened. His tongue delved into her mouth, gently exploring.

Desire uncurled deep within her, layer upon layer, unfolding like the petals of a rose. He kissed her for a long while before he drew back. His eyes, as black as ten feet down, smoldered with passion.

Maggie swallowed hard, amazed that something as simple as a kiss could so quickly enflame her senses.

“Ah, Mag-gie.”

Hawk drew a deep breath, released it in a long shuddering sigh. Did she know what she did to him? Looking at her filled him with joy, touching her was the sweetest torment he’d ever known. He wanted to tear away her clothes and take her there, on the floor before the fire. He wanted to undress her slowly and arouse her with infinite care and tenderness. He wanted her.

Maggie read the desire in his eyes, felt it in the pressure of his hands, and it filled her with a sense of wonder. Since the accident, no other man had looked at her with such yearning or made her feel like a woman instead of a cripple.

“What will you do if you can’t get back to your people?”

Hawk shook his head. “I do not know.”

He didn’t speak of his people often, but Maggie knew he must be homesick, that he was worried about his mother and the welfare of his people. No doubt he missed his friends and the familiarity of his own way of life. It was selfish of her to want to keep him here when he so clearly belonged to another time and place. Selfish and uncharitable and no doubt impossible, as well, and yet she needed him so desperately.

“You…you could stay here.”

His dark eyes held hers in a long, measuring glance. “And take Bobby’s place?”

“If you like.” She fidgeted with her skirt as she waited for his answer, knowing life would never be the same without him. He had become important to her. The house had taken on a new life since he’d been there. She had taken on a new life. He didn’t seem to care that she was confined to a wheelchair. When he wanted to go for a walk, he simply picked her up and took her along. It was the same when he wanted to ride. And she began to think maybe it wasn’t so bad being unable to walk. She liked being held in his embrace. She liked the warmth and security of having his arm around her when they rode the big black stallion. Maybe her life wasn’t over. Maybe she
could
have a husband, a family…