Fireblossom (30 page)

He laughed, stroking Watson's silken flanks. "You're talking about
wasna,
and it's considered a real delicacy." He shook a finger at her in mock reproval. "Your new friends surely thought they were doing you a favor by teaching you that recipe, so keep your opinion between us!"

"Oh, I wouldn't hurt Strong's feelings for anything. What a wonderful day I had! When the real work was done, all the women bathed together in the stream, and it was such fun! They laughed and splashed one another and played like fish, and soon I was playing, too, as if it were the most natural thing in the world."

"It is," he said dryly.

Maddie blushed. "I know that's true, but it's hard to undo the habits of a lifetime." She fell silent for a time, thinking of the quiet activities that had filled the women's afternoon. During this hot part of the day, the entire village relaxed, either napping or resting together, or occupying the time with tasks like moccasin making or beadwork. Most of the men came back and either lay down with their families or fashioned arrows or other articles of war. The promise of battle hung always in the air. "What did you do this afternoon?" Maddie asked Fox. "I thought you might come back to our tipi."

"Kills Hungry Bear and I, along with some other men, unpacked the rifles from the crates and I showed them all how to load them. There are nearly six hundred warriors here, so there are still not enough guns for all, but they'll be a help." Straightening, Fox stared out over the prairie and sighed harshly. "Of course, the eventual outcome is inevitable. Perhaps it's not a favor to delay it."

Maddie's heart hurt at the thought that these people were doomed. Disturbed, she sought to change the subject. "Fox?..."

"Hmm?" Suddenly he looked tired and came over to lean against the side of the wagon, his arm brushing hers.

"I saw a woman today who was most unusual. At least, I think it was a woman. It must have been, because she was called Woman's Dress and wore a dress and was helping the other women to make hash... but she had a deep voice and broad shoulders—"

Fox's laughter cut her off. "You are charming. Did Woman's Dress bathe with the rest of you?... I thought not. She, or more accurately
he,
is what the Lakota people call a
wintke.
There are just as many men like Woman's Dress among the whites, but they are usually forced to pretend to be other than the way they were born. The Indians have a wonderful philosophy about
wintkes.
They believe that each man's destiny is revealed to him in a dream provided by the Great Spirit—at about the time boys begin to become men. If some men behave more like women, it is accepted and they have an important place among the people." As the clouds darkened and swelled in the west, Fox shaded his eyes, watching as he continued,
"Wintkes
help to take care of the women in the village when all the men are away. Often they tend to the wounded after a battle. Thinking back, I remember meeting Woman's Dress a few years ago. Someone mentioned him and I expected a woman when I heard the name. As I recall, Woman's Dress was a childhood friend of Crazy Horse's, called Pretty One then. It would seem that they've remained friends." He smiled. "The Lakota people have a basic respect for God. They aren't quick to ridicule His creations."

Maddie listened with wide eyes. "Indians have an astonishing gift for living!" she exclaimed at last. "How wise they are."

"We can learn a great deal from them," he agreed, "but don't elevate all of them to sainthood. These people are as human as you are." He paused as he realized that she was not receptive to his words. Everything and everyone here was so new to Maddie—no wonder she was a bit spellbound. "You're happy, aren't you?"

"Very." She gave him a radiant smile.

"It's hard to believe that you are the same stiff-backed proper
lady
I met just a few weeks ago." Slowly Fox trailed a fingertip down her slim arm, then raised her hand and kissed the palm.

"I was never stiff-backed," Maddie protested weakly.

"My
dear Miss Avery, you most certainly
were!"
He narrowed his eyes at the clouds again, then appeared to smell the breeze. "I think a storm may be brewing. Shall we go back to the village?"

"First, can I ask you about one other person?"

As he led the mules and Watson to the shelter of the Cottonwood trees, Fox looked back over his shoulder. "I'm listening, sweet."

The casual endearment made her heart skitter. Trailing in his wake, she described the woman she'd seen last night, so soon after their arrival in the village. "Is she mad, do you think? I saw her again today and she looked just as hideous as before. Why doesn't someone help her? Under the filth, she's pretty, but I could swear that her legs and arms are scarred, and that she's rubbed mud or something into the wounds! There may be bugs living in her hair, but when we all bathed today, she just sat on the shore and watched." Maddie paused for breath, then hurried on. "She needed a bath more than all the other women combined, but she didn't even wash her face, and no one seemed to think that this was the slightest bit unusual. Now, don't tell me
she's
a winky, or whatever you called them, because it's very obvious that she's a female!"

"Now what could you mean by that?" Fox teased. Slipping an arm around Maddie's waist, he grinned and gave her a squeeze, then let his fingers drift caressingly over her hip and, more daringly, her bottom. "Is that what you mean?"

"Stop that and answer me," she scolded with mock severity.

The smell of meat cooking wafted out to them on the evening air, and Fox suddenly realized that he was ravenous. "The woman you describe is almost certainly in mourning," he explained while guiding Maddie back toward the village. "That's the way Lakota wives behave when they've lost their husbands. It's normal, which is why none of the other women appear disturbed by her appearance. New widows wail and cut themselves and generally wallow in their own dirt for about a year—"

"What?" Maddie interjected, horrified. "But, that's so... so uncivilized!"

Before Fox could elaborate further, his attention was diverted by the sight of a cloud of dust moving rapidly across the prairie. Now he could make out a horse and rider, galloping like the wind toward the village from the south. The approaching Indian rode bareback and brandished a lance in one raised hand, and his dark hair flew behind him like a banner. Others in the village had also sighted the rider. Cries of welcome multiplied as people emerged from their tipis and rushed to meet the man.

"What's happening?" Maddie asked, filled with fresh curiosity. "Who is that? Do you know? Is he dangerous—or important?"

"You might say that," Fox replied cryptically. "That's Crazy Horse."

Chapter 18

August 7, 1876

Everyone was curious to see what plunder Crazy Horse had brought back from
Paha Sapa,
the sacred hills now overrun by whites. However, after sliding from the back of his yellow pinto, Crazy Horse spoke not to the adults but sent the village's crier to bring the children to him.

Fox and Maddie were caught up in the crowd of people who rushed toward the stream to meet the great Oglala warrior. He removed the things he had slung over his pony's back and now led the animal to drink, standing quietly to one side. Maddie saw that Crazy Horse did not have the commanding physical size she had expected of so renowned a warrior and hero. Of barely medium height, he was lithe, with dark hair that might have been more brown than black, a high, sharp nose, and ebony eyes that remained alert despite the long day's travel.

He wore paint: a lightning streak on the side of his face and hail marks on his body. A single spotted eagle feather at the back of his head substituted for the innumerable feathers he could have claimed if he were counting coup for each enemy he had struck down in battle. Around his neck, Crazy Horse wore a war whistle fashioned from the wing bone of an eagle.

Hanging back with the other women, Maddie was struck by his manner of dignified intelligence. A kind of weary valor seemed to radiate from his bronzed body. His burdens were many, but Crazy Horse's courage and strength appeared to be unflagging.

Fox, who stood a short distance from Maddie, spoke as if to himself, "An extraordinary man."

The children were crowding near now, and Crazy Horse smiled, lifting two large skin bags from the assorted items that included his Winchester rifle, a war club, and an artfully crafted bow and quiver of arrows. Now, opening the bags wide, everyone could see that they bulged with raisins, which he invited the children to eat. Their little hands plunged in to gather samples of the treat, but they were careful not to be greedy in the presence of this man whose stubborn bravery sustained the entire village.

Strong, Maddie's new friend, had come up beside her. "He loves the children more because his own daughter died," she said.

Maddie looked over in surprise. "How sad! What happened to her?"

"One of your race's sicknesses..." Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember the word. "Cholera? Yes. So sad, but grief made Crazy Horse stronger in his will to fight back against the whites. And grief brought him closer to his wife, Black Shawl." Strong nodded toward the woman who stood waiting outside Crazy Horse's tipi. Maddie recognized her as one of those who'd been making hash that afternoon. It surprised her somehow to think of Crazy Horse as a family man. As if reading her mind, Strong added, with a small smile, "Black Shawl's mother lives in their tipi, too. They take very good care of their man."

Maddie found that she wanted to know more about this side of Crazy Horse. "Was his daughter very young when she died? What was her name?"

"She was called They-Are-Afraid-Of-Her. I believe that Crazy Horse made her name," Strong replied. "She was at the age when a child is easiest to love when death took her. Crazy Horse was a devoted father. He heard her first words and delighted in watching her learn to walk, then teaching her to dance."

Strong sat down beside a cottonwood tree, as if waiting for the excitement to subside, and Maddie joined her. Strong related the story of another occasion when Crazy Horse returned to his village from a raid against the whites. In his absence, the village had moved from a spot near the Little Bighorn River to a site by the Tongue River. He and the other members of his war party tracked them there only to learn that They-Are-Afraid-Of-Her had fallen sick and died before the village moved.

"How long ago was this?" Maddie asked.

Strong shrugged. "I only learned about your time when I stayed at the agency. It was in the time you call summer, when Long Hair and his bluecoats were making the Thieves' Road to
Paha Sapa.
I think it was Crazy Horse's grief that kept him from fighting more to keep Long Hair from invading our sacred ground."

"Custer's expedition into the Black Hills was in 1874," Maddie said. "Two years ago."

"A dark time for us," Strong replied. "And Crazy Horse... when he learned about They-Are-Afraid-Of-Her, he made his father tell him where the little girl's scaffold was. It was far away, a dangerous place in Crow country, but he went there all the same. When he found it after two days, Crazy Horse climbed up beside They-Are-Afraid-Of-Her and lay beside her for three nights and days. She was very tiny, wrapped in a buffalo robe..."

Maddie's eyes brimmed with tears. "That is a very sad story."

Shrugging again, Strong said, "Yes, but it made Crazy Horse a bigger man. He has never wanted power, only to fight for his people. Every blow that he has suffered as a man has made him stronger, quieter, and more modest, yet wilder and rasher in his acts of defiance against the whites." Standing again, Strong brushed off her butter-soft buckskin skirt and added, "So you see, Crazy Horse is not an easy man to know. Yet without him, I do not know what would become of all of us who are not only from his band, the Oglala, but all the other bands of Lakota as well as Cheyenne and more. Anyone who wishes to fight rather than surrender meekly to the whites can join forces with Crazy Horse. He makes miracles...."

* * *

Maddie loved the cozy interior of the tipi she shared with Fox, especially now that night had fallen. She enjoyed the small tasks that let her feel she was taking care of him: folding his clothes, arranging their food and supplies, and keeping things tidy. They had just finished a satisfying meal of dried meat and one of the prickly pears the women had brought back from the prairie, and now, as she watched Fox laze on their bed, bathed in the golden light of the fire, she told of her earlier conversation with Strong.

"I wish you would stop making your nest and come and sit with me while you talk," he suggested at length.

Maddie was delighted to comply. Putting away the supplies, she reclined against him and basked in the feeling of his warm, strong arm circled around her waist. Softly, she continued her story, ending with Strong's final words: "He makes miracles..."

Fox listened quietly, his smile tinged with irony. "Miracles, yes," he agreed ruefully, "but I fear that even miracles and Crazy Horse can't hold off the army forever. There simply are too many soldiers."