Warrior in Her Bed (4 page)

She expressed surprise that no admission fee was charged and kept looking over her shoulder as if someone might ask her to leave. Their first stop was at a concessionaire's where Johnny bought her a cola and a sample of the fry bread that always took him back to a childhood home that might have been described as a hovel had it not been filled with the sound of his grandmother's humming and the pride she instilled in her grandchildren as patiently and meticulously as the fancy beadwork she sold to make ends meet. For himself, Johnny ordered a “Big Indian”, a hamburger concoction served on fry bread that spilled over the edges of a large dinner plate.

Glistening with the inquisitiveness of a sparrow, Annie's blue eyes darted everywhere, reminding Johnny of the excitement he felt the first time he had
attended a powwow. Even though Johnny warned her that she would end up a sticky mess, she nonetheless decided to fill her fry bread with honey. Moaning in delight over the concoction, she appeared to have absolutely no idea how delectable she herself appeared with a spot of sweet stuff dribbling down her chin.

“Here,” Johnny said, stopping her in her tracks and pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Let me help you.”

Annie felt like an errant child only until the next moment when his eyes locked upon hers and the rest of the world faded away. Suddenly there was nothing between them but an expression of totally unexpected and inappropriate longing shimmering beneath the blue sky for anyone happening by to see. Annie tipped her chin up as if inviting a kiss. Johnny paused, considering the wisdom of licking the offending honey from her flesh before dragging her off to one of the surrounding tepees and making passionate love right then and there. Instead he put his forefinger beneath her chin and with staggering tenderness wiped away the sweet trickle with the corner of his handkerchief.

Annie felt herself sway precariously. She put a hand upon his broad chest to steady herself as the earth moved beneath her feet. Once again, her body acted as a conduit for the energy pent up inside Johnny, and she found herself all atingle, tangled up in a battle of hormones in which she knew there would be no survivors if she ever succumbed to her primal instincts.

“Let's go see the dancing,” she suggested, sounding as if she were out of breath.

Annie thought she might just as well have said, “Let's get naked,” for all the hunger reflected in a gaze that could not be as easily pulled away as her hand from the hard planes of his upper body. That is, as easily as pulling two powerful magnets apart.

“Dancing, eh?” Johnny asked, a twinkle in his eye lightening the mood. “So you're into feathers and paint, are you?”

Grateful to have the conversation turn to something else, Annie accepted the playful nature of his remark without taking exception to the innuendo. She knew that dancing was central to a powwow, but as they made their way to the arena, Johnny explained it was truly the celebration of culture that drew people from all over the country to such events. According to him, visiting with family and friends was the real focus of all the surrounding festivities. It was a point driven home when seemingly everybody stopped by to talk to him. To Annie's surprise, not a single person made her feel out of place or unwelcome in any way. In fact, everyone seemed more than happy to share his or her culture, food and jokes with her.

A number of tourists and visitors greatly added to the native population assembled. Johnny maintained that the latest census counted the residents of the Wind River Reservation at approximately fifteen thousand, give or take a goodly number. Though he scoffed at Annie's suggestion that they must have all come together for the day, her enthusiasm was contagious. Any doubts Johnny had about her looking down that pretty little nose at something he dearly cherished dissipated in the surrounding chatter.

A short while later Crimson Dawn appeared at An
nie's elbow. She was wearing an incredible leather dress decorated in beads, dyed porcupine quills and elk teeth. The handwork was exquisite, and Annie had no doubt but that the heirloom was of museum quality. Shyly Crimson told her teacher that it had been passed down to her from her great-grandmother. In spite of Annie's repeated promises to herself not to allow herself to become caught up in her students' lives, something tender inside her chest twisted around her heart when the girl asked if she mightn't like watching her compete in the fancy dance.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Annie told her in all sincerity.

She was rewarded with a bashful smile that reflected the beauty of the soul within. As Crimson made her way to line up with the other dancers, Annie wondered aloud how it was possible that the girl didn't seem to realize how pretty she was. Or talented.

“Don't go giving her the big head now,” Johnny responded, repeating verbatim his sister's words and echoing a cultural belief that the gifts one receives from the universe belong not to the individual but to the entire tribe. Despite his admonition to Annie, his own chest puffed out and tugged at the snaps of his shirt when his niece entered the arena.

The multicolored fringe of her bright-blue shawl swayed rhythmically to the soft beat of drums in the background as all the dancers promenaded into the show grounds. Painted war bonnets decorated either side of the announcer's booth. The real kind hung along some of the wooden beams supporting the covered seating. Tepees surrounded the circular structure lending a sense of timelessness to the setting. In the
background the Wind River Mountains cast a benevolent shadow.

The announcer identified the event as the junior girls' fancy dance. Though most appeared to be in their teens, a couple of little ones interspersed in their midst were real crowd pleasers. The grace and beauty of their movements moved Annie beyond words as past and present merged in ancient song. She could almost feel the earth trembling in harmony beneath her own feet as the drumbeat increased in tempo and intensity. Feeling completely alive and aware of every intricate detail surrounding her senses, she allowed herself to become a part of the experience.

The intensity upon Crimson Dawn's face reflected her joy. Her footsteps were measured and seemingly weightless. Color was everywhere as the dancers twirled their shawls, replicating the fluttering of many butterflies against a cloudless Wyoming sky. The music ebbed far too soon for Annie. The moisture in her eyes was evidence of an unexpected spiritual awakening that cracked her chest open and left her feeling one with the universe.

The long searching look that Johnny gave her seemed to pierce Annie's very essence. Stripped of her usual reserve, she felt naked. Vulnerable.

He leaned close as if to murmur some secret in her ear. His breath was sweet and cool upon her skin. Sighing, Annie closed her eyes, imagining against the backdrop of a growing crowd that they were the only two people on earth. Ancient urgings arose in her being, reminding her that despite all attempts to hide the fact, she was indeed a sensual creature.

As fragile as spun glass, the mood was shattered by a loud voice singling Annie out of the multitude.

“Hey, you, teacher lady,” the shrill voice called out. “I've got some bones to pick with you.”

The look of determination on the woman's weathered face as she parted the crowd reminded Annie of a wolverine zeroing in on its prey. Heaving a heavy sigh, Johnny made a military decision to retreat immediately.

“Not now, sis,” he interjected, grabbing Annie by the arm and deliberately pulling her into the arena—and presumably out of harm's way.

“But I don't know how to dance to this kind of music,” she hissed in embarrassment, caught like a wishbone between two opposing forces.

It had never occurred to Annie that she would be asked to do anything other than be an observer in the day's festivities, and she wasn't eager to make a fool of herself in public. Clearly she was going to have to deal with Crimson Dawn's mother sooner or later. Experience had taught her that postponing confrontation never solved anything. Besides, in her mind she had nothing whatsoever to apologize for.

Johnny, who had seen his fair share of combat, was not so inclined. Maintaining neutrality would be nigh unto impossible in such a situation, and he simply wanted to enjoy a rare day off without incident.

“Trust me,” he told Annie, steering her into a blur of color and movement. “Just follow what I do and you'll be fine. We'll both take it one step at a time.”

And one heartbeat at a time, she silently added, vowing to do her best not to embarrass either one of them if she could help it.

Literally turning to face the music, Annie was inexorably drawn in by the steady pulse of drums echoing her own heart's long-forgotten song.

F
or a big man, Johnny Lonebear was surprisingly light on his feet. So light, in fact, that Annie found her own feet leaden as he pulled her deep inside a growing ring of dancers and began moving in time to the music. Entranced by his movements, Annie paid little attention to the fancy bustles, headdresses and geometric designs weaving past her like so many spinning tops. She was too busy focusing her energies on the magnificent man in the denim shirt who was urging her to abandon her inhibitions and join in the fun.

Self-consciously shuffling her feet and doing her best to blend in, Annie was startled when Johnny wrapped his arms around her and drew her so close against his chest that she could actually feel his heart pumping. Strong and compelling, its beat rivaled the big drum setting a faster and faster pace for the danc
ers twirling in a flurry of vibrant purples, turquoises, pinks, blacks, reds and oranges.

Johnny pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across Annie's eyes and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned in close to whisper, “If it would make you more comfortable, I'd be glad to slow dance with you.”

His breath was sweet and cool. His lips barely brushed one vulnerable, sensitive earlobe. Despite the intense heat, Annie shivered. The way her body fitted so perfectly against the hard planes of his body made her inclined to believe that slow dancing with Johnny Lonebear would be guaranteed public torture. The thought of initiating a kiss played with her imagination, but considering her unfamiliar surroundings, Annie knew such bravado on her part was better left to fantasy.

“I doubt that would make me feel any more
comfortable,
” she admitted with a little sigh that bespoke her frustration with her body's traitorous reaction.

As much as she longed to remain in the protective circle of Johnny's arms, Annie worried that it would somehow be disrespectful to impose a more modern style of dance in the midst of music made for a far more jubilant expression of self. Not to mention that she didn't want to look any more conspicuous than she already felt. Or subject herself to any more temptation than she could handle.

“Have it your way, then,” Johnny told her.

His white teeth shone against his bronze complexion. Laughing, he lifted Annie off her feet in a giant bear hug and spun her around and around in a circle as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. By the time he set her back on firm ground and let go of
her, she was breathless and dizzy. There was no doubt in her mind that it was not Johnny's sudden display of exuberance that was affecting her sense of equilibrium so drastically but rather the man himself.

Letting out a war whoop that was more festive than fierce, Johnny caught the mood of the celebration and began whirling in tight circles. How he managed to maintain his intricate pattern of footwork was amazing to Annie who stood back in awe. As the sun broke through a cloud that had momentarily crossed its face to throw a spotlight upon him, she realized that even without the fancy costumes of the other dancers, Johnny Lonebear stood out as a natural athlete in their midst. His movements were as aesthetic as they were acrobatic.

Witnessing him connect with his ancestors on a spiritual plane as he danced with such abandon, Annie felt deeply moved. The thrum of the drum reached into her own being, vibrating loose some primordial spirit buried deep inside her psyche. On the way over, Johnny had mentioned that much of the regalia was inspired by dreams. He explained how many of the movements incorporated in the dances themselves came from animal moves and stories handed down from elders. The valor of a warrior's deeds was reflected in their dances.

Mesmerized by Johnny's moves, Annie was struck by the feral nature of the man who at the moment was imitating the actions of a hunter stalking his prey through tall grass in what she believed to be called a “sneak-up” dance.

That she felt herself his prey at this very moment was at the same time both frightening and exhilarating.

From what Johnny had told her, it appeared each category of dance had different step and dress requirements. Annie was glad when the announcer invited everyone to set aside any self-consciousness and join in the round dance circle. He assured the crowd that neither costumes nor cultural ties were necessary in this particular social dance. It was simply intended to get everyone up on his or her feet regardless of age, ability or race.

As an Arapaho chant rose on the breeze like a hawk circling the great plains, Johnny took Annie's hand into his own to lead her in what the announcer deemed an Indian waltz. That now-all-too-familiar zing of electricity at his touch surged through her making her forget all about trying to keep time by looking down at her feet. Instead, Annie simply succumbed to the lure of the drum and followed her partner's lead.

People entered in from all directions. A little girl of no more than ten years smiled up at Annie as she reached up to take her free hand. Her dress was decorated with silver bells fashioned from tightly rolled tobacco lids that were intended to represent each day of the year. With each step she took, they jiggled merrily like so many tiny tambourines. A necklace of polished elk teeth clicked softly against a dress of red and black velvet worn by an old woman dancing stiffly and proudly next to her precocious granddaughter. She carried herself with regal bearing. Directly across from Annie was a handsome young man with a fearsome yellow star painted over one eye. The roach he wore on top of his head was covered with porcupine quills. Feathers were arranged on the
backs of other dancers in great fan-like bursts of color.

Beaded moccasins stepped in time to the music as fringed leather imitated the swaying of tall grass in the breeze. Of the six young men beating a huge drum, only four were in full regalia. Annie wondered if they would be entering the contest dancing later in the day. The other two wore simple T-shirts that were beginning to show stains of sweat from the sustained effort to set a strong beat that did not overshadow the melody of the song itself. A woman who was a champion singer was invited to join in the chanting. Annie thought her voice personified the flight of swallows.

Never before had she felt such a part of something so beautiful and so sacred.

“Having fun?” Johnny asked her.

She nodded, surprised to find that she actually was having more fun than she could remember in a long, long while. One would truly have to be in a depressed state of mind not to enjoy such a joyous celebration of life.

With hands joined, everyone pulled each other along like a colorful chain, weaving clockwise in tighter and tighter loops. Arms went up in the air as the whole group split apart to let the tribal leaders through. Annie was reminded of Moses parting the Red Sea. An old man wearing a full eagle-feather headdress decorated elaborately with fancy beadwork led the way, dancing as nimbly as if his soul itself was unloosed from a body tired and stooped from the weight of many years.

When the drums stopped abruptly, the friendship dance continued as singers sustained their chanting.
Sombrous and deep, it gave one a glimpse of the value and direction that this glorious tradition provided its people. She was honored to be a part of it.

The dust was so oppressive that a water truck had to be called in to hose the area down to keep from choking participants and visitors alike. Before such a break was officially proclaimed over the intercom, the announcer stepped forward, playing to the crowd. Fastened with silver medallions, twin braids tinged with gray hung down the front of the man's colorful costume, which was adorned with feathers from head to toe. He said his name was Stormy Big Shield, and he wielded the microphone with casual ease.

“Before the actual money competition gets under way, I'd like to take this opportunity to recognize a few special guests in attendance today.”

He began by introducing the littlest of the dancers, among them his own niece, Cheyenna, a tiny tot whose broad grin accentuated two missing front teeth. Beginning to squirm uncomfortably on the seat beside her, Johnny asked Annie if she wouldn't like to go get a soft drink before long lines formed at the concessionaires.

“I wouldn't dream of insulting the speaker like that,” she said, tugging at his elbow and entreating him to sit still.

He complied with a bottomless sigh. Stormy Big Shield continued speaking, emphasizing in his lyric up-and-down cadence the patriotic pride his people felt for their native country. Considering the history of oppression their ancestors endured for centuries, Annie was touched by the American loyalty reverberating in the crowd.

“I now want to take a moment to honor our vet
erans,” Stormy announced solemnly. “Would all the veterans in the audience please stand up and be recognized?”

Survivors of World War II rose to their feet to join those of the Korean and Vietnam Wars and Desert Storm, the youngest among them home from active duty fighting terrorists in Afghanistan. After thunderous applause, Stormy made note of the Native Americans in their midst, including himself, who had so valiantly served their country. Had someone not forcibly nudged Johnny squarely in the back, Annie suspected she might never have discovered his patriotic involvement at this event.

He looked decidedly uncomfortable, but that modesty didn't stop him from being on the receiving end of some friendly, good-natured teasing. Though he hastened to sit down again, Stormy bade him remain standing.

“Don't let my good friend's bashfulness fool you. Not only was this man a world-class winner as a dancer in his youth, he also came back from his tour of duty with a chestful of medals of honor. Some people attribute his bravery to the ancestral warrior blood running through his veins. Some will tell you that he's a direct descendent of Crazy Horse, but overseas we just called him Crazy Guy.”

The hoot of laughter that went up at this further encouraged Stormy, who was obviously having a great time at his friend's expense. Good-naturedly, Johnny merely shook his head and mutely threw up his hands to the crowd.

“I hope you were lucky enough to catch sight of him dancing earlier. Let me make note of the fact that he comes from a long line of “wolf” dancers.
In case you don't know what that means, I'll give you a brief explanation. In the old days, wolf dancers were respected warriors who led groups of their people as their tribes migrated across the high plains. Let's have a round of applause for Johnny Lonebear, a modern-day warrior who came home from his tour of duty with a Purple Heart and the desire to lead our young people across new territory, teaching them how to embrace the new ways without forsaking the old.”

Annie was so startled by this announcement she almost forgot to applaud. Jewell had told her that in addition to being the most sought-after bachelor on the reservation, Johnny was well respected in the community. She had neglected to mention that her new boss was also the local hero. A seemingly simple ogre, Johnny Lonebear was transforming into a very complex man right before her eyes.

“I'm impressed,” she told him honestly as he was finally allowed to take his seat again.

The unintelligible grunt he gave her in response indicated all too clearly that he did not want to pursue the subject any further. “Have you had enough for one day?” he asked, his earlier good mood vanishing.

Annie hadn't. In fact, she was having such a wonderful time that she hated to broach the subject of leaving, but it seemed the polite thing to consider his feelings. “Are you by any chance ready to go?”

“I really am. That is, if you think you've got enough ideas to help you finish your stained-glass piece?” he added as an afterthought.

“Enough for the one I'm working on and at least a dozen more,” Annie replied with a smile that soft
ened the blue of her eyes to match the hue of the sky above.

“I hate to tear you away when you seem to be having such fun. It's just that as much as I appreciate the recognition, it brings back some painful memories,” Johnny admitted.

Surprised that he would include her in his confidence even this much, Annie looked up to see a baby grinning at her over her mother's shoulder. She ached to reach out and take the infant in her arms and smell the scent of its freshly bathed skin.

“Some memories can be debilitating,” she said, empathetically feeling a twinge of compassion.

Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn't opening my past up to conversation,” he told her sternly.

Having already been cast in the role of a meddler by his sister, Annie was more than willing to change the subject to accommodate his need for privacy.

“Fine by me.”

She was relieved that he had no idea that she had been referring to her own memories.

“How about buying me a pop for the road?” she asked.

“Great idea. In spite of what my war buddy might think, the less we talk about the past, the better off you and I will both be.”

Although Annie's background in counseling told her otherwise, she wisely kept that to herself. Having never believed in forcing people to reveal pieces of themselves when they didn't want to, she figured that the time would naturally come when Johnny would be ready to talk. Her suspicion that that would be
long after she was a presence on the reservation made her inexplicably sad.

Recalling her vow not to become entrenched in other people's problems, Annie made herself focus on the ice-cold soda burning as it slid down her throat and slaked her thirst. She held the can to her forehead to help cool off her feverish body. As silly as she might have felt in a cowboy hat, it would have provided welcome respite from the sun. The dry air and higher altitude made skin as fair as hers more susceptible to damaging rays.

“You should have worn some sunscreen, little pale face,” Johnny told her. “You're burning up.”

From the inside out!
she was tempted to admit.

Instead Annie simply joked back in kind. “I guess that makes me more of a redskin than you, then.”