Tiopa Ki Lakota (40 page)

Shaking her head in disapproval, Rachel looked sidelong at her eldest child. "Do ye know what the Widow Smythe has to say about it?"

Burning with anger, the blonde's eyes flashed. "
No
, mum. And I don't
care
to know. I've told ye before, I'll not marry again. Least of all, the Widow Smythe." Kathleen pushed away from the table, her cup still sitting full. "I'm to bed. It's late."

She was halfway up the ladder when she heard her name called. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her mother.
Sweet Jesus, she's gettin' old!

"I love ye, Kath. Ye know that...?"

Kathleen ducked her head a moment before peering down at her mother once again. "Aye, mum. I know. Ye want what's best for me and mine, just as I want what's best for Teca."

Rachel awkwardly nodded, not liking the comparison but accepting it nonetheless.

"Good night, mum."

"Good night, Kath."

The Commanche horse thieves had been put down, the stolen ponies returned and the warriors victorious against a vicious foe. Anpo had put down two of the enemy herself, shining through the battle with furious skill. The celebratory feast was in full swing as night fell. The council fire burned high and the
wicasa
danced about it, dressed in their finest clothing and reenacting their deeds of the day.

Despite the noise of drums, flutes, singing and whooping, a bubble of stillness surrounded Anpo. She sat with her family and friends, smiling pleasantly and responding to their comments. But, the warrior did not participate in the celebration, preferring to float along as a spectator.

It had been many moons since her return home. Now, the air was heavy with late summer, hot and dry in defiance of the evening breeze. Summer camp and the Sun Dance ceremony had come and gone. In that time, Anpo had basked in the love of her family, regaining her emotional equilibrium. But she never laughed and rarely spoke first.

And she never danced.

A
koskalaka

wore a mask over his face as he entered the cleared area around the fire. The lower half of it was painted white, two red and yellow thunder bolts drawn beneath. He danced about the fire, his hair free flowing and wearing a yellow shirt, chasing the 'enemy.' Two 'died' under his knife and the surrounding spectators cheered, their eyes drawn to who the dance was representing.

Anpo accepted their praise with grace, a slight smile on her face. Not many noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes. And no one knew how heavy her heart was.
I still live.

Eventually, it became late and the elders drifted away into the darkness. Young mothers brought their children away to sleep. And, as soon as it was polite to do so, Anpo left as well.

The warrior didn't know where she was going. Her only goal was to remain away from the
ti ikceya
for as long as possible. She let her moccasins guide her, following a game trail once she was away from the encampment. Anpo found herself on a small hill near a tree. Here, she settled down to watch the camp, long fingers idly shredding twigs.

The memory of another tree, another vigil came to mind and the warrior couldn't help but allow a sad smile cross her face.
My maiden vision quest.
And, after sitting there all day, she had had nothing to show for it.
I was so determined to have a vision. Nothing else would do.
The smile faded and her face relaxed into its now normal distracted frown.
My vision was my curse. I should never have demanded it.

Anpo sighed heavily and watched as the merriment at the council fire continued, a slightly wistful look to her eyes. As usual, her thoughts rambled over the same well-worn path. The one that took her to where she didn't want to go.

Would it have been different if I did not have the vision? If I did not kill
tatanka

ska

?
Her ate's voice filled her head.
"Be still in your heart,
cunksi

. Do not worry the vision so. It will not change and will only make you crazy with grief and fear."

"
Ohan

. I am crazy with grief and fear," she whispered aloud, her voice harsh in the quiet.

Her father had been wrong. The vision had changed, her
cinksi
becoming entangled in her dreams as he held his mother's hand. And now it had changed again, never giving her peace.

The woman wore the dress of her people, green gingham, her hair long and hanging free. A man had his arm about her waist, grinning at Anpo as she knelt in the dirt. It was a stranger, leering and possessive of the blonde, his meaty hands holding her close.

"Mahasanni ki," the warrior croaked out, her voice ragged. She raised a bloody hand in supplication, a sharp pain in her side from where she'd speared tatanka ska.

The woman either did not hear or ignored the cry. She turned away, walking into the brilliant light on the arm of the man with her, a sweet smile on her face.

And Teca was nowhere to be seen.

Anpo shook her head to clear the vision. With weary eyes, she looked up at the moon. "Take this vision from me." Silence was her only answer and she sighed heavily, bowing her neck and staring into her hands as another twig was shredded. "Please...."

It was dark, the breeze coming off the nearby creek cooling the oppressive heat of summer. Kathleen lay on her back, staring up at the moon as she finished her tale. Nearby, Stewart sat with his long legs crossed at the ankles, leaning back on his hands. The boy had his head pillowed on the blonde's stomach, his eyes closed and his breathing even. The three had fled the cabin after a fine Sunday supper, preferring to be away from their elders and the heated interior.

Kathleen gently brushed long dark hair from her son's forehead, her other hand supporting her head.
He's grown so big!
she marveled. A melancholy washed over her.
I wish Anpo could see him. She would be so proud!

"What does that word mean?" Stewart asked. "
Inyan
?"

Distracted from her thoughts, the blonde craned her neck to peer over at her brother. She could barely see him in the dark. "It means 'stone'."

Puzzlement crossed the young man's handsome face. "Isn't that the same word you use when you tell about the creation of the world?"

The woman nodded, pleased her sibling had made the connection. "Yes, it is." She relaxed her neck to look back up at the lunar orb hanging far away. "Inyan didn't used to be like it is, brittle and hard. It was the first and began creation by draining its blood to create Maka."

"Earth," Stewart supplied.

"Aye, the Earth. And, as more things were needed for Maka, Inyan continued to drain its blood, losing its energy along the way." Kathleen inhaled deeply of the cool air. "When everything had been made, Inyan was scattered all over the world."

A comfortable silence fell between them. Teca mumbled and rolled over, tucking a hand beneath his chin. His breathing deepened as he slipped into the land of dreams. Kathleen continued to gently caress his temple, brushing the soft hair away from his face. Her brother sat forward and pulled out a pipe and tobacco.

The months had been long, longer than Kathleen could ever remember them being. Never a day went by that she didn't think of her warrior. Her initial thoughts of abandonment and anger had given way to a deep sorrow that wouldn't let go. The blonde felt so hollow some days that it hardly seemed worth getting out of bed. Only Teca kept her going. His welfare and well being was above all other considerations.

I'd have been dead long ago without him.

To pass the time, Kathleen resumed old chores within the household, helping her mother with the work. She'd also spent quite a deal of time trying to change Stewart's mind about the 'heathens'. The blonde had even gotten him to begin speaking Lakota - but only when he wasn't around their parents. There was plenty enough stress regarding that little foible already.

There had been three suitors that her parents had paraded before her. Kathleen had scorned them all, much to her mother's distress and fury. "Ye've got to have a husband, Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!" the older woman would exclaim.

"Why won't ye remarry, Kath?" came the soft question from the dark.

Kathleen closed her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat. "I've told ye before, Stew. I belong to another."

The man puffed his pipe in thought. "Aye. That ye've said. But ye haven't told me who. Or why yer
here
instead of with him." More silence broken only the crickets in the coolness. "It's eatin' ye up inside, lass! Ye've got to know that ye can talk to me about anything!"

Inhaling deeply, her breath hitching in her chest as she fought off tears, the blonde nodded. "I know, Stew," she whispered, barely audible. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, her heart heavy with emotion.

Stewart scooted closer, peering down at his sister, his pipe forgotten in one hand. "And don't think ye can distract me from the subject again," he informed her in all seriousness. "I'll not be chased away this night."

Kathleen didn't know if she should laugh at his tenacity or cry. She opted for neither, preferring to worry her lower lip.
Ye've got to tell someone, lass. Question is, what will the brat think of ye now? Fallin' in love with a woman, for pity's sake. Marryin' her....
She closed her eyes, smelling Anpo in the night breeze, feeling warm skin against hers, holding her, protecting her.
God, I miss her so much!

"Kath...?"

Opening her eyes, the blonde looked up at her brother silhouetted against the moon. She studied him closely, not knowing what she was looking for, nor if she found it.

Stewart's voice lowered. "Sis...? It'll be okay, I swear it." The pain and concern for her was evident as he reached out a hand to brush his knuckles against her temple.

Despite herself, a sob welled up from Kathleen's throat at the touch. She sat up, gently easing Teca's head into her lap as she fought with the tears. Her back was now to Stewart and she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"I love ye, ye know," the young man murmured. "I want to see ye happy, Kathleen. And yer
not
happy here. Tell me...?"

"Ye've already met who has my heart."

Stewart's hand continued to rub his sister's shoulder as he turned that around in his head. He searched his memory, trying to figure out the cryptic statement.
There's only one other Indian I've met
, he thought with puzzlement. A picture developed of a native woman wearing men's clothing, a yellow shirt and angry dark eyes glaring at him.
But that would mean...

The hand on her shoulder froze as did Kathleen's heart.
He knows. He understands now.

"That Indian you came with...? Anpo?" Stewart asked, confusion in his tone.

The blonde could only nod, the struggle with her tears capturing her voice.

"B... but... Anpo's a
woman
, Kath. Ye can't belong to her." He felt the woman pull away from his hand.
Can she?

Damp blue eyes glared over her shoulder at him. "I
do
belong to her!" Kathleen insisted. "She might have thrown me away, but she owns my heart and soul."
She threw me away!
The thought echoed in her head and she turned back around as tears began to course down her face.
I was so stupid!

Stewart discarded his pipe and scooted closer, pulling the crying woman into his arms. "Shhh," he murmured as she relaxed into his embrace, babbling.

"I was
so
stupid that night, Stew. I should never have left her alone, left her to sleep in the barn. I should have told ye and mum and da about what she meant to me from the beginning. Anpo tried, I know, but I kept interruptin' and changin' the subject. I didn't know what to say, what to
do
." Kathleen finally buried her face in his chest as she wept. "She thinks I don't love her. I can never forgive myself."

The crying went on for some time, though Kathleen's sobs were quiet. Stewart had heard them before, late at night when his sister had thought all were asleep. His mind was awhirl with thoughts, connections being made, sorrow that his sibling had so much pain in her heart. There was movement and he looked down to see his nephew watching, dark eyes concerned.

"
Ina
?" Teca whispered, his little hand reaching up to touch his mother's cheek. "Do not cry.
Inanup
loves you. And she loves me, too."

This only served to strengthen Kathleen's tears. She gathered her son into her arms and the three of them cuddled together to support her maelstrom of emotion.

1783

She approached the figure huddled on the hillside, pulling her shawl closer with aching fingers. It was inadequate protection against the icy tendrils of wind that whipped about her, freezing her very soul as it howled. Coldness also gripped her heart as she neared the familiar figure. The warrior's back was to her, a thin robe ruffling loosely as the wind teased its edges.

"Mahasanni ki?" she breathed.

There was no answer. With hesitant hand, she reached out to touch the warrior's shoulder, to urge her awake, to make some sort of contact.

The warrior was ice.

Unable to pull away, to flee what she knew she would find, she shook the warrior. With absurd slowness, the warrior toppled backwards into the snow. The naturally dark skin was pale and gray, the eyes open and unseeing with a thin layer of frost covering the lenses.

Feeling as if she'd been punched in the stomach, she stumbled back a step, gasping for air. Her lungs ached from the winter cold and she whirled around to run away.