Nakoa's Woman (24 page)

“Now that I lived, what would I do with my life? Had I walked to the end of my path, and remained on earth a ghost, as Mahtatohpa had refused to do? I knew this was not true. I knew that I lived with reason. I had felt the second kiss for a reason, and I saw from within myself, and not through the eyes of my people, that I could be their leader. I would know my last son, and in my dying days he would lead, and take my place as head chief.

“Ten winters have passed since this day of my death. My son has become powerful and leads the Mutsik three years earlier than I did. His voice has been strong in the council lodge: His path has been straight and his heart is warm to his people. His voice to them could have been louder than mine—but now, it will never be.”

“I have destroyed your wish,” Maria said sadly.

“No. Nakoa walks his own path. His path is not my path, and I accept this. His path is not your path either, my daughter, and you too will accept this.”

“No,” Maria said. “You were touched by the white man’s disease, but left unmarked. I am touched by your words and think you a great and a good man, Natosin, but I too am unmarked. I am weak and my hands are still empty. I will not accept Nakoa’s marriage to Nitanna.” She rose to go. “Kennyaie ki anetoyi imitaiks—” she started gently, in age-old custom among the Pikuni that a friendly conversation had ended. “And now the dogs are all scattered…”

Natosin interrupted her. “Your hands are not empty. You do not see them with your eyes, but with those who live in the land of the rising sun.”

Chapter Twenty One

The day of Nakoa’s and Nitanna’s marriage dawned bright and clear. It would be a beautiful day, and the night of their ceremony would be a beautiful night, with the moon just twenty-four hours from being full.

It had been four days since Maria had gone to Natosin, and every hour of that time Maria thought that Nakoa would come to her and tell her that he would not take Nitanna for a wife, that the pain in her heart did not have to be. But now her suffering was the only real pain; the sun burned her without pity. Before another dawn he would take this awful Indian woman to his bed and in his lawful right he would make Maria an outcast, a perpetual mistress, a whore to be used and not caressed.

That morning she tried to bead moccasins, but she soon put them down, for her tears would not let her see the beads. She walked with the other women to the lake. Anatsa saw her but let her walk alone. Maria’s agony was too great for any words. Even the warmth of the sun was a cross, for it would be gone soon and in the night he would mate with another. The lake lay cool and placid beneath her touch, and in its reflection she could not stand sign of her nakedness. The long hair with its touches of the sun, the breasts that he said were beautiful: What good were they when she would be trapped forever in a pit of shame and rejection? Walking back to the village she passed Siksikai, but she passed him without thought, looking at him indifferently.

The sun burned on, hot and relentlessly. The dogs ate and dozed: Did they know their own emptiness? Atsitsi was gone. Inside Atsitsi’s lodge Maria sat upon her couch alone, looking at the light of the afternoon against the cowskin walls. She covered her face with her hands, and shrank deeply into the pit of herself, seeking, seeking the spring that Natosin had found in his long death. “Dear God,” she moaned. “Give me help.”

“The white woman calls to the Great Spirit,” a voice said softly.

Maria turned toward the door and, seeing a tall, slender woman in its light, sat up in surprise.

“Who are you?” Maria asked.

“I am Nitanna,” the slender form said. With slow dignity, as if she were hostess instead of intruder, she moved to the other couch, and sat upon it, facing Maria. They studied each other carefully. “You are a beautiful woman,” Nitanna said.

“So are you,” Maria replied, meaning her words. Nitanna was indeed beautiful. Her form was more slender than Maria’s; her build was boyish, but they were of the same height. Nitanna’s hair was worn severely in the Indian fashion; her nose was straight, her teeth even and very white. Her eyes were large, long lashed and very beautiful, and if there was any flaw in her face at all, it was the slight thinness of her lips. In studying her, Maria saw that there was a cruelty to the mouth, a lack of softness to the body.

“Why does the white woman call to the Great Spirit?” Nitanna asked.

“My name is Maria. Do not call me the white woman.”

“You called to your God.”

“He is not my God. He hears my tongue as He hears yours.”

“I have seen you before,” Nitanna said. “I heard of your capture and your beauty even before we left for this village.”

Maria grew uncomfortable under Nitanna’s appraisal. “We have looked at each other,” she said. “I thought it was not the Indian way to stare. You look at me as if we were creatures apart!”

“We are,” Nitanna answered. “We are women apart. Let us look at each other and know this.”

“Why are we women apart?” Maria asked angrily. “Are we not to have the same husband?”

Nitanna revealed anger herself and then her face again became a smooth mask. “I have heard that this is not the white man’s way” she said.

“It is not,” Maria said hotly.

“You do not want to be second wife to Nakoa?”

“No!”

“You have already lain with him,” Nitanna said bitterly.

Maria felt shock and then sudden rage.

“You beg him with your body. Do you not know you are different? It is only the difference he wants! He will hate what attracts him now!”

“Will he?” Maria asked. “Well for all the times I have lain with him—he isn’t tired of me yet.”

“I knew he had not kept you clean. Where have you lain with him?” she asked, looking at Maria wrathfully.

Maria remembered Atsitsi’s description of Nakoa’s and Nitanna’s lovemaking. “His favorite place is by the river,” Maria answered candidly. “He loves to lie with me upon the cool green ferns.”

Nitanna rose and paced the floor, her eyes flashing fire. “I thought this!” she said in rage. She stopped her pacing and stood over Maria’s couch looking down at her with open hatred. “Tonight I will be his wife. When a man has eaten, he is no longer hungry.”

“It depends upon his appetite!” Maria taunted. “And the diet he has become accustomed to!” Maria rose to confront the Indian girl and suddenly felt shame. “Nitanna,” she said, “my words were not straight. I have not lain with Nakoa.”

“I do not believe this.”

“All right. But I speak with a straight tongue now. I do not want to be his second wife. I cannot share him with another woman. It is not my way, and I could not bear it.”

“You do not have to accept this,” Nitanna said softly.

“I do not? What do you suggest I do? Kill myself?”

“You can escape. You can go free.”

“How?” Maria asked sorrowfully. “Even Natosin could not set me free.”

Nitanna sat down upon the couch, and her eyes became lit with an unholy fire. “I do not want to share my husband,” she said. “I will not share Nakoa with a white woman. I will give you your freedom.”

Maria began to tremble. “Nitanna’s how could you set me free?” she asked.

Nitanna grasped Maria’s arm. “Tonight you can ride to the land of the Nez Perces! They are warm to the white man and do trade with him all the time. They can take you south to the white man’s trail. I can hide a horse for you, and upon it I will have food for three days.”

“It will take me three days to reach the Nez Perces?”

“Yes. Only three days. The horse I will hide for you was stolen from them, and it will know the trail back to their village. Upon him I will have robes, pemmican, a knife, and a fire horn. You will have to ride all of the first night, but the next night you can have a fire, and no animal will harm you. Upon the trail there will be no other Indians until you reach the Nez Perces. They speak your tongue. With promise of a reward, they will take you back to your own kind. You will be free.”

“I cannot ride as fast as a Blackfoot,” Maria said slowly. “I will be followed and recaptured.”

Nitanna stood again and silently paced the floor. “There is one way you will not be followed,” she said finally.

“What is this way?” Maria asked.

“You can leave at night.”

“Your hunters ride at night!”

“Not through the burial grounds.”

“What?” Maria asked, aghast.

“The trail to the Nez Perces is reached only through the burial grounds. And you know the grounds are forbidden to the Blackfoot at night.”

“I do not want to go through them either.”

“Why? Is it your belief, too, that the dead walk?”

“No. But two people have been killed without reason!”

“They did not die in the burial grounds. They died on the path that you still walk every day to the river.” Nitanna looked nervously toward the door. “Think upon this quickly. Atsitsi will be coming back, and I do not want it known that I have been here.”

“I do not know what to do.”

“Do you want to escape or not?”

“Yes!”

“Then I will have a horse waiting for you at the entrance of the burial grounds tonight. You can ride through them quickly—upon the horse nothing will be able to harm you.”

“No, I will not leave tonight. I will see you and Nakoa marry, and then I will seek the freedom you offer.”

“Do you think we will not marry?” Nitanna asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Maria said.

“Then come to the ceremony and see us as man and wife,” Nitanna said.

“When I have seen this then, I will go,” Maria said quietly.

Nitanna went to the door and looked out of it. “I have more words,” she said. “I am Indian, and I do not speak with a forked tongue. Nakoa marries me tonight. But he will not wait even the five-day period to take a second wife. He has told me that you will go to his lodge tomorrow night. This is pain and outrage to me!”

“It is outrage to me also,” Maria answered. “After he has married you, every ceremony with me would be false. I do not want your husband. As you have said, I am not his kind.”

“Then you will leave tomorrow night?”

“If you marry him, my wedding gift to you both will be my escape.”

“Then hear and remember my words. Do not approach the burial grounds until after dusk, for they are patrolled until then. I will have your horse picketed at the entrance, and it will be as white as winter snow so you can see him easily.”

“How can you bring the horse there?”

“I can do it easily. But remember if you enter the grounds before dusk, the Mutsik will just bring you back, and you will have to belong to my husband!”

Maria looked into the black eyes alive with fury again. “You do not accept the Indian way either, do you Nitanna?” she asked.

Nitanna moved her head haughtily, the white pendants at her ears almost flashing. “Not with a white woman!” she said scornfully.

Maria smiled, her full lips and beautiful eyes sensual. “Not with me!” she amended softly, and Nitanna turned quickly from her and left the lodge.

The moon rose early upon the prairie. The marriage tipi of Nakoa and Nitanna had been erected and stood near the great council lodge where the wedding feast was to take place. Crowds had gathered by it already. Few wanted to miss the sight of Nakoa and his bride and the dignitaries of both the Kainah and the Pikuni in their finest ceremonial robes.

Mequesapa was invited to attend the banquet with his daughter, Sikapischis, but he did not have the heart for a marriage dinner; he did not have the heart for any joy. He sat near the lodge upon the warm brown earth, and in his hands he held his deerskin flute, but he would never play it again. The last note of music had left his world.

The blind old man searched vainly around him, listening to the voices of the waiting crowd, straining to hear in each boy’s voice the voice of Siyeh. He listened to the stirring of the little night creatures in the grass. The night was warm and fragrant, and in its deep sensuality, he wondered if the mists still lingered by the river. He did not want a shroud to hide the moon from little Siyeh, for he remembered how, as a young boy, he himself had thrilled to its pale majesty upon the prairie and the mountain, how he had loved to watch the river divide the living from the dead with its line of molten silver.

The wedding guests were beginning to arrive, and he could tell how magnificently they were dressed by the sudden silence of the men around him, the gasping of the women. Atsitsi passed him, moving closer to where Nakoa and Nitanna would walk their wedding path. The white woman whom Siyeh had thought so beautiful was not with her, and the old man grieved that she could not see this marriage. He wondered how deep her acceptance was, how unknown her depths were to herself.

He heard Apikunni’s voice and knew his little bride walked with him, Anatsa whose crippled walk he knew as well as the thunder upon the prairie. They would be honored wedding guests, for Apikunni and Nakoa had always been as blood brothers. Then in a hushing, he heard the step of Inneocose, Iron Horn, and Chief of the Kainah, as proud and regal as his beautiful daughter. But Natosin did not walk with him, and this must be a strangeness to everyone, because it was always custom for chiefs to enter the lodge together. Now Isokinuhkin, Medicine Man, passed, and Mequesapa’s heart lurched in bitterness. Of what use was his sacred drum, his voice to the Great Spirit? Was the Father so unhearing that the drum had to beat loud enough to drown out a boy’s feeble heart? Siyeh was dead, and he would never know music again.

All the guests had arrived, and the spectators grew restive. Where were the bride and groom? A strangeness grew in the air. Something was wrong.

A woman walked toward them alone; a beautiful woman dressed in bridal white. All eyes turned toward her. In the moonlight the long tushes that fringed her dress and sleeves caught flashings of silver. Her hair was neatly braided in its Indian style, and in her quiet hands she carried a single flower of white. There was awe for Nitanna’s beauty; never had she looked so lovely. But it was not custom for a bride to approach the marriage banquet without the groom; as an Indian princess why would Nitanna go to the wedding in such a strange way?

She walked slowly and regally. Long pendants gleamed from her ears; elk teeth shone at her slender throat, enhancing the vivid beauty of form and face. Dimly, they could see the smile upon the lovely lips, the love in the shadowed eyes. It was not Nitanna, but the white woman.

Maria walked between them all, and stood waiting by the door of the council lodge. Shocked silence settled over the spectators. Some of them could see the petals of the white flower shaking in her hands and knew that the serene face masked fear. All eyes were on her, so Nakoa and Nitanna’s approach was known only by Mequesapa.