Sacajawea (58 page)

“I’m glad you are home,” said Willow Bud.

At that moment Sacajawea wished she could turn back the years, see her father strong and laughing once more, hoisting her to his shoulder, carrying her around the camp while he pretended to be a horse and she clutched at his hair and laughed and kicked his ribs. She wished she did not belong to Charbonneau, had never traveled with the white men, had never seen the Minnetarees and Mandans.

“It’s life. It has to be,” said Willow Bud, wiping away Sacajawea’s tears, her voice low and sad, but calm. Sacajawea remembered her own mother saying, “If it has to be done, then it has to be done.” It was as if the Agaidüka women had a pact with fate, as if they said, “What must be, will be, but nothing will ever defeat us.”

Then Willow Bud said, “Each day you look more like yourself. I think it is because you gave away all your clothes and now wear those of the poor Agaidüka Shoshoni. You are one of us.”

“That is what I want to talk about,” said Sacajawea impulsively. “I want to know if I can stay in your lodge if my man goes on with the white men over the mountains.”

“But he will stay here with some of the white men for the winter. The chief—your brother—thinks they will bring us food and keep the Blackfeet out of our camps.”

“So—that is it!” Sacajawea saw things more clearly. She understood why Charbonneau insisted on wearing the ermine collar and why Black Gun was so friendly to him. Charbonneau did not want to go. He was a big man here. “But my man has promised the white men he will go as far as they go. He cannot stay.” Then, looking at Willow Bud, she said, “I can stay. The white men needed me to lead them to this camp so they could buy horses to get over the mountains. Now my work with them is finished.” She made the cut-off sign for emphasis.

Willow Bud moved backward a step or two. “I have not thought about this. I know my man would not be happy to have another woman to feed, especially one that has a white man’s child with her. The child will have to eat. In this lodge there is hardly enough to feed the two of us in winter.” Willow Bud hung her head and kicked at the earth beneath her feet. “Why not go to Spotted Bear’s lodge and talk with his woman. If you stay there, we will visit back and forth.”

“Ai,”
Sacajawea said. “I will.”

“Let me know what she says.” Willow Bud looked up. Sacajawea had already turned and was walking slowly toward her brother’s tepee.

Cries Alone was inside with Shoogan. Sacajawea pulled a red blanket from her shoulders and took Pomp out of its folds so that he could sit near Shoogan. “See how they like each other,” she began. “Cousins, they are nearly like brothers.”

In the end, Cries Alone sent Sacajawea to Chief Black Gun’s lodge, explaining that Spotted Bear also had all the mouths he could possibly feed, but Black Gun was not only her brother but the chief, and he would surely find room for her and her half-white child.

Sacajawea shook her shoulders as if shaking off her thoughts, and picked up Pomp. She tried to see that it was for the best. Still, all the old ways had returned to tempt her. She thought she had only to say she wanted to stay and she would be welcome—freely, gladly, tenderly welcome. She thought of the paths her feet knew—across the rocks, to the meadow, to the creek, up the ridge to the clearing, to the berry bushes, to the tepees, to the cook fires, to the sleeping couch.

But as she thought about the peacefulness and security she had known as a child, she knew deep beyond the thinking that she could not stay, and she knew that the peaceful feeling would not last—it actually had not lasted through her childhood, she thought, remembering the raid of the Minnetarees. So, even as she thought of the familiar pathways, she remembered the good food among the white men and the good hides for clothing. She had gone on a journey, and she could not turn back; she had a man and a child.

As Sacajawea stopped in front of Black Gun’s lodge, Dancer came out to greet her. “Um,” said Dancer, “there is no need to ask. I know your brother would not let you stay in this lodge. But then, he would be glad to see you here if you stayed with your own man in a tepee of your own and your man went out for winter meat. All the white men should stay.”

Sacajawea nodded. She had half expected that answer. She was welcome if she stayed in the camp of the white men with her half-white child. “Well, then, if you want, you could help pack some of the baggage over the foothills. The white men are going west. Has an Agaiüdka been as far as the big sea?”

“No, because it is a bad journey, with hardships and only the mountain sheep.” Dancer reached out a strip of dried meat toward Pomp.

“I am going to see that big sea and taste its salty water,” said Sacajawea stubbornly.

Dancer’s eyes grew large, and she made the sign for a split tongue. She said she could not believe a woman would go on such a trip.

Sacajawea could not be angry with these women; they had done what was expected of them. But she felt an inner disquiet; she was deeply shaken. To have been turned down by her best friend and relatives went against every courtesy she felt the People should have shown. She did not stop to ask anyone else to carry goods over the foothills but went back to her camp and Charbonneau.

The next morning Captain Lewis carried out the remainder of his plan. He gave Charbonneau a tomahawk and an old pair of woolen leggings and told him to buy a horse for Sacajawea.

“By gar, if we aren’t staying the winter here with my brother-in-law and his people, maybe I ought to have a horse, too.”

“Oh, Lord, I should have thought of this,” said Lewis. He gave Charbonneau another tomahawk and a couple of steel knives. Charbonneau was able to buy two horses and a mule from some men he had entertained with hunting stories.

Sacajawea’s having a horse of her own caused some commotion among the women. They had never seen a woman riding a horse around the camp. Their tongues wagged. This was Boinaiv, who seemed to have a way of doing what no woman did. Sacajawea looked around at their faces and wondered why they had not thought of using a horse to carry the water jugs from the creek and back to the tepees. It was a long walk. She asked for jugs and shortly had them all filled and tied to the sides of her horse. Others came with their jugs. The women stood in line during the afternoon laughing and gossiping, half-afraid their men would come back from the hunt, see them doing this new thing, and accuse them of being lazy.

“Boinaiv does not see a woman’s place as we do,” said one woman, clicking her teeth. “I should say not,” said another within Sacajawea’s hearing. “She behaves like a man. Look, she can carry a pack for the white men on her horse, and we promised her to carry packs on our backs.” Someone tittered.
“Ai,
I saw that man of hers cooking, so I should not be surprised if he were the one to go to the birth lodge. She is the brave; he is the squaw.” More tittering and some loud tee-hees could easily be heard.

Nothing they could have done, however, could have hardened Sacajawea’s stubbornness more. At first, the laughter pierced her and hurt; slowly it became simply a sound, a concert of sound. She stood alone. It was pride that came to her rescue, pride that refused to be humbled. She felt publicly humiliated and stoned with words. Standing, listening, it came to her that these women were like half-grown children. She felt shame for them, and pity. Then to herself she thought, You cannot recover childhood, nor can you ever find your home in your past. Slowly she led her horse to the other side of the camp where York was entertaining some children by dancing barefoot in the dust, wiping a bit of red paint from his body and daubing it here and there on theirs.

The children gathered about her, admiring the horse. York was kind and commiserated with her. “We’se both without folks. But we’se lucky to have acquaintances in two nations, ours and the white man’s.” Then he said, bristling with indignation, “I’d like to take a hickory stick to those spiteful women.” Sobering, he predicted, “Troubles never come singly. There’s some in those mountains. I’se getting hunched. These damned Shoshonis know there are hazards up there. I’se been praying: Lord, hold the buzzards back so we’se get out of here safe and sound and be on our way home to the States come another year.”

Sacajawea followed his words as best she could. “Buzzards?”

“I’se don’t lie to you, Janey. I’se scared. Those mountains are pure rock and straight up.”

She straightened Pomp more comfortably on her back and made hand signs, saying, “I’m a rolling stone, pulled by whatever new thing lies over the mountains.”

“Janey, you’se stubborn. If I said not to jump over that yonder fire pit, you’d jump clean over it before anyone told you it was impossible.”

Now she laughed. And the children laughed as York jigged around the horse.

Three days after Captain Lewis had lost patience with Chief Black Gun, the remainder of the expedition started out to catch up with Captain Clark and his party. Many Agaidüka women carried heavy packs on their backs, and the few horses the men had purchased were loaded heavily. Willow Bud carried Pomp. Sacajawea led her horse which was also packed high with supplies. Many of the Agaidüka men rode their horses beside the white men. They would stay until Chief Red Hair was found. The Agaidüka men considered themselves degraded if compelled to walk any distance. Were a Shoshoni warrior so poor as to possess only two horses, he would ride the best horse and leave the other for his baggage and his women and children. If there was much baggage, the women followed on foot carrying the remainder. The children walked or rode on the drag.

The trail was short because Captain Lewis was called back several miles to attend Pete Wiser, who had become quite ill. At about the same time, the Agaidüka woman who had been leading two packhorses stopped beside a small creek, a mile behind the main party. She did not return, although she sent the horses along with another squaw.

Sacajawea asked her brother, “What has happened to the woman?”

Chief Black Gun looked unconcerned, but replied, “My sister, called Boinaiv, where are your eyes? Her time was at hand. She will meet us soon.”

The men had dismounted and led their horses to graze near a spring where the grass was green. They would wait for Captain Lewis. Sacajawea and Willow Bud sat on the parched buffalo grass beside the trail.

Sacajawea nursed Pomp before he whimpered with the first midmorning hunger pangs. The child’s eyes closed as he suckled lazily, his small brown hand walking on his mother’s chin. Willow Bud sang softly, something she made up about the trees looking over the small animals and good friends.

They waited several hours for the return of Captain Lewis. Then the chief ordered that camp be set up for the night.

The Agaidüka woman came into camp carrying her newborn papoose in a tattered robe slung across her back. “I am here,” she said, a grin crinkling the skin around her eyes.

Sacajawea laid Pomp on the grass and hurried to see the new infant. She begged the mother to lie down and rest while she had this opportunity, and brought her a bowl of broth that she sweetened with sugar. The new mother seemed grateful for the nourishment and the fussing around her, but she repeated that she was fine and ready to start again. She looked at her tiny daughter, then hitched her dress up a little to check the goose-down packing she had used on herself. She pointed to the parfleche beside her. “I have collected the breath feathers all summer for this time,” she explained.

In the grayish cast of the short twilight, Captain Lewis returned with Pete Wiser, who was recovering slowly from an attack of stomach cramps by medicating himself with small doses of peppermint and laudanum. He found there was no moving on; the Agaidükas had set up camp for the night. “Lord in a bush,” Lewis swore under his breath, “we could have made ten miles more before sundown. The damn Shoshonis don’t want us to leave.”

“Your brother does not wish to trade with the white men for horses,” said Willow Bud. She sucked her cheeks in and then worked them up and down, scrubbing her teeth with them.

“What?”

“The raids of enemies have taken half our horses. They are our only protection. There are not enough now for all the People to ride. The Flatheads have come to the Three Forks. The hunters must go more than once to the buffalo country before the Season of Deep Snow. They must meet the Flatheads. Every horse our chief trades to the white chiefs may mean the life or captivity of a woman or child.”

Sacajawea winced. A sick feeling took her. “But the men in council said
ai
to the trading.”

“The People do not always think deep,” Willow Bud answered. “They are ruled by the time and how they feel today. Their thoughts do not take them to tomorrow and how they will feel then. A tribe is not held together by feelings alone.”

Something had surely gone wrong. Sacajawea could not figure it out. She’d thought her people could help these white men. Yet on the other hand she could not forget that she had not so long ago been a captive. It was something she would never wish on anyone. The sick feeling tightened like cramps in her belly.

Willow Bud then asked her a painful question. “How long before these traders come?” She waited patiently for the reply. Then she became uneasy at Sacajawea’s silence. “You think many snows?” she asked suspiciously.

Sacajawea nodded. The cramps rose up into her throat.

“So—as I thought. The way is long.”

Thinking of the Agaidüka courage word, Sacajawea used it.
“Puha,”
she said, but the word came thin and puny from her lips.

“Ai, your brother sees the white men have changed you. You no longer think courage in the Agaidüka way. You no longer remember the women’s courtesies. You speak out. You give orders to your man. Your thoughts are traded and confused with those of the whites.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.” Willow Bud sniffled, then sighed. “Two minds trading thoughts cause each mind to grow stronger. In the end each mind loses the identity it had in the beginning. Look at your son. He is fat and beautiful. His beauty comes from the white men and the Agaidüka. He is both; yet he is neither.”