Authors: Madeline Baker
It was late afternoon on a beautiful spring day. Maggie sat on the front porch, her five-year-old daughter, Ashley, sitting on her lap while her seven-year-old son, Adam, showed off his riding skills in the yard. Glen Running Horse, now a tall, lanky young man of eighteen, was instructing two young Lakota boys in the art of the bow and arrow. Other boys could be seen at various endeavors—cleaning the stables, grooming horses, painting the barn, weeding the garden. She heard the sound of laughter as several girls left the house with baskets over their arms. There would be berry pie for dessert tonight, Maggie thought.
She let out a long contented sigh as she bent down to check on baby Amanda sleeping peacefully in the cradle beside her rocking chair.
Maggie looked up and smiled as she saw Hawk rounding the corner of the porch, their twin sons, Stuart and Steve, perched on his broad shoulders. Her heart warmed as she looked at her husband, clad in tight-fitting, well-worn jeans, a white T-shirt, and scuffed boots, his long black hair adorned with a single feather. Each day he grew more handsome, more beloved. She could not have asked for a better father for her children, a more loving husband.
They had harvested quite a crop, she thought with a touch of pride.
At first, they had taken in only boys, but now, in addition to their own five children, there were thirteen Lakota boys and seven Lakota girls between the ages of three and eighteen living on the ranch, and they all idolized Hawk. He was their role model, the epitome of what a Lakota warrior should be. He was proud, resourceful, patient, loving, strong, wise in the ways of his people, honest and even-tempered, firm but fair. The boys imitated him, the girls adored him and his own children thought he could do no wrong.
In the beginning, Maggie had thought Glen would be the only outside addition to their family, but after Glen came Tommy, and then Brent and his younger brother, Greg. Soon the reservation was calling the St. Claire Ranch for help whenever they couldn’t find a home for this boy or that girl.
After the first year, they’d had to hire extra help. After the second year, they’d had to add on to the house. In the third year, they’d built dormitories—one for the girls, one for the boys. But money had never been a problem. Maggie’s books were doing well, the last one had made the
New York Times
Best Seller list, and whenever they needed money in a hurry, Hawk flew to New York and did photo shoots.
Since
Midnight Hearts
had been published, Hawk had become quite a celebrity and romance writers everywhere wanted him on the covers of their books. He’d even made the cover of
GQ
as the hottest male model in America. And his fan mail was staggering—hundreds and hundreds of letters from women of all ages who wanted autographed photos, bookmarks, anything with his picture on it.
Hawk found it all very amusing. He’d once told her he couldn’t imagine white women falling all over themselves to be in his arms, but now it happened every time they left the ranch.
And now Hollywood was after him to star in a movie based on one of Maggie’s novels. She thought it ironic that they wanted Hawk to play himself for the novel they were interested in was the fictionalized account of Hawk’s journey through time.
But the lights and glamour of Hollywood held no appeal for either of them. This was home, this little patch of ground in the shadow of the Black Hills. Everything Maggie had ever hoped for, everything she’d ever dreamed of, was here.
She let her gaze wander over the ranch. Chickens scratched in the dirt, dogs napped in the shade. A few red and white cows grazed in the distance. There were goats and sheep and rabbits. The corrals were filled with horses. Each child who came to the ranch was assigned a horse which they were then expected to look after.
There were even a few head of shaggy buffalo in the east meadow, and every couple of years Hawk took the older boys on a hunt. It was an event that was anticipated for months and talked about for weeks afterward. The kids were all given the opportunity to sample the raw heart and liver, if they desired. Few boys ever refused; few girls, including Maggie, ever accepted. The kids all learned how to skin a buffalo, how to make jerky and pemmican. For days afterward, they had buffalo steak or ribs or tongue for dinner.
When their son Adam started school, Hawk took Maggie aside and asked her to teach him to read and write so that his children would not be ashamed of him. It had not been easy for him. He was still a warrior at heart, proud and stubborn, but eventually he learned to read and to write. Maggie could hardly contain her tears the first time she saw him reading one of her books.
Now, she stood up as Hawk climbed the stairs, lifting her face for his kiss.
Hawk draped his arm around Maggie’s shoulders, feeling the same sense of homecoming he always felt when they were reunited at the end of the day. He knew now that this was where he belonged, where he had always belonged.
Sometimes, late at night, they still talked about it, wondering if Bobby had lived a long and happy life with the Lakota. Maggie was convinced that Hawk and Bobby had both been born in the wrong time, and that Hawk had been called to the present to take his rightful place at her side, while Bobby had been sent back in time where he was meant to be.
And perhaps she was right, he mused. Who was to say?
“Spirit Woman.” He murmured his name for her, his heart quickening as always at her nearness.
The sound of Hawk’s voice moved through her like dark honey; the look in his eyes warmed her to the core of her being, the brush of his lips against her cheek made her pulse race.
They’d been married eight years, Maggie mused, and his touch still had the power to make her heart soar. She hoped the wonder of it, the newness, the rightness, would never grow dull, that his face would always be the first thing she saw in the morning and his voice the last thing she heard at night.
Maggie shivered with anticipation, looking forward to the time when all the children would be safely tucked in for the night, when Hawk would take her by the hand and lead her out to the quiet pool behind the house.
There, in a cocoon of darkness beneath a leafy green umbrella, he would take her in his arms as he had so many times before, renewing the love that was ever new between them.
A secret smile curved Maggie’s lips as she thought of the new life she carried beneath her heart, knowing that Hawk would be pleased when she told him another child was coming to share their happiness.
Hawk smiled at Maggie, the Spirit Woman who was his wife, the mother of his children, and blessed the moonlit night he had entered the Sacred Cave and followed the Spirit Path to Maggie’s arms.
AI - yes
ANPETU - day time
CETÁN - hawk
CETÁN NAGIN - shadow hawk
HAN - darkness
HANBELACHIA - vision hill
HAN-YETU - night time
HAU - hello
HEY-AY-HEE-EE! - a call to the Great Spirit
HEYAH - no
HTAYETU WASTÉ - good evening
HUNONPA - bear
INÁ - mother
INIOWASPE - pit
INYAN - rock
KOLA - friend
MAHPIYA LUTA - Red Cloud
MAKA - earth
MATANYAN YELO -I am fine
MATOHOTA - grizzly bear
MITAWICU - my wife
NAGI TANKA - great spirit
NITUWE HE? - who are you?
NUNWE - so be it
OHITIKA - brave
PAHA SAPA - Black Hills
PILAMAYA - thank you
PTE - buffalo cow
SINTKALA WAKSU - sweat lodge
SKAN - sky
SUNKAKU - younger brother
TATANKA - buffalo bull
TATETOB - the four winds
TUNKASILA - grandfather
UNKTEHI - water monster
WAKÁN ANKANTU - great holy
WAKÁN TANKA - god
WAKINYAN - thunderbird
WANBLEE GALESHKA - spotted eagle
WASICHU - white man
WASICUN WINYAN - white woman
WASTÉ - good
WAZUSTECASA WI - July
WI - sun
WICASA WAKÁN - holy man
WICOTI MITAWA - my village
WINYAN WANAGI - spirit woman
WIWANYANK WACIPI - Sun Dance
WOHITIKA - to be brave
ẂOYUTE - food
YUMNI - whirlwind
YÚTA - eat
Madeline Baker started writing simply for the fun of it. Now she is the award-winning author of more than thirty historical romances and one of the most popular writers of Native American romance. She lives in California, where she was born and raised.
The Spirit Path
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Spirit Path
Copyright © 1993, 2012, 2016 Madeline Baker
Cover design by Roseanna White Designs
Cover photos from shutterstock.com and periodimages.com