Sacred Ground (2 page)

"Thunder's having her calf!"

"You're kidding! That's certainly good enough reason for me," she shouted over her shoulder.
Willow
tapped Whirlwind's side and let the horse have her head. With a skill born of instinct and years of experience, she picked their way among the trees and rocks, finding the trail without effort. They returned to the ranch in half the time that it took to leave.

Her feet touched the ground before Whirlwind came to a complete stop. Glancing around at the darkening spring sky, and drawing in a moisture-laden breeze,
Willow
rushed to open the barn doors.

"Help me get Thunder inside," she told Lance. "She won't like it, but I don't want her and her baby getting soaked tonight."
Willow
tapped Thunder's backside gently with a willow stick.

"She's not gonna make it inside, look she’s dropping that calf right now," Lance said, excitement in his voice. "Would you look at that, Mom? Thought you said she's gonna have trouble."

"It's not over. Step back and let her do what comes naturally. We'll help if she needs―"

"Mom!
The hind feet are coming first! The calf is backwards!"

"Easy girl,"
Willow
coaxed Thunder to the ground. She watched the calf's feet slide back into the large animal. "You'd better go call the vet. His number is under the buffalo magnet on the fridge." She soothed Thunder's stomach with large, circular rubs.

Lance ran toward the house, filling her with pride. He took responsibility seriously, a trait not often found in boys his age these days.

"Take it easy, Thunder. You're giving birth to the first buffalo calf on the Arrowhead Ranch, just like my father wanted. Don't let me down, girl."

"Doc Tanner said he'd be here in about an hour," Lance said between breaths. "I told him he needs to come now. He's at the Tumbling T."

"I don't think Thunder will wait an hour. Did you tell Grandpa Antelope Tipi?"

"He's getting some of his potions."

"You go help Grandpa; I'll stay here with Thunder. Remind him to bring the
Bowie
hunting knife and have Grandma Sings Always boil some water."

"She’s making Dutch apple pie, and it smells great. She said we'll celebrate with it."

"I'm hungry already. Go now and help Grandpa," she instructed. "Oh, Lance, bring some rags and old towels from the basement closet."

With concern she watched the huge shaggy animal and thought about what this calf meant to her People. She was glad her husband wasn't here to voice his usual opposition where the buffalo were concerned. She couldn't help feeling a shimmer of guilt at being glad.

As a young girl, she'd always dreamed of marrying for love. But her father described a different destiny. She quickly realized her dream would never be reality. She’d been chosen to protect the sacred, ancient burial grounds of her People, which spread across the backside of Gordon's land. Taking her responsibilities seriously, she married him. It had been the first step, of many, her father had envisioned in regaining the land of their ancestors. Soon step two would be fulfilled with the birth of this buffalo calf, born to the People.

She'd done her duty, but she'd also paid the price. Where Gordon could have been gentle, he'd been violent. Where he could have been bonding, he chose conflict. When he could have been a loving father, he found ways to push his son away.

Although Gordon's death seemed poetic justice, she found herself haunted with guilt. Surely no man deserved to have his body torn apart by wild dogs. She should have felt a loss by his absence the past six months. She should have mourned his passing, but she didn't.

"We're back." Lance ran up to her, breathless.

Willow
jumped, startled from her reverie. Her son had an air of excitement about him. "I'm glad. Thunder missed you."

She nodded to her father, but remained silent. Although a large man, her father possessed great gentleness. He wore a necklace of many colored beads, representing the rainbow, which endowed him with supernatural power and wisdom. He held his head erect, proud. His long black and gray-streaked hair fell loosely upon his shoulders, framing an aged face. His dark penetrating eyes hinted at hidden secrets and knowledge of the old ones, guarded and preserved.

He sat on a blanket more ancient than he. With care and experience, he rolled, between his thumb and index finger several pieces of dried
sweetgrass
, the sacred grass of the People. He chanted, soft and steady, calling out with throaty tones to the sky and earth.

"What is Grandfather doing?" Lance whispered, as her father raised the smoking grass.

"He's showing respect, first above to the Creator, then down to Mother Earth. He'll now do the same to the Spirits of the Directions. Tell me, Lance, what are they?" she asked, continuing her soothing rubs to Thunder's stomach.

"Grandfather will start by facing east. See, I'm right." Lance sat back on his heels. "It's the source of light and understanding."

Willow
noticed the look of satisfaction on the face of her young son. "Now he's facing south. Watch how sincere his movements are."

"South is the direction of youth, where all things are made to grow. It's my favorite direction," Lance said, excitement building in his tone. "I suppose west is your favorite." A teasing look washed over his once serious expression.

"Right."
Willow
made a face at him.
"The direction of old age.
Just remember, it symbolizes wisdom of the elders."

"If Grandfather doesn't hurry, the direction of north is going to get him wet," Lance said, giggling into his palm.

"I agree. That storm's almost here."
Willow
wiped several wet droplets from her face.

Silence settled between them as they watched Grandfather Antelope Tipi direct the smoke to float across the suffering animal.
Willow
felt Thunder relax beneath her palm. Her father had a gift, an ancient gift . . . the power of healing. Some people laughed at his old ways, but she never did.

"How come Doctor Potter isn't here yet?" Lance asked, moving to sit next to his grandfather.

"Good question."
Willow
responded in a hushed tone.

Her father spread a white paste across Thunder's tongue.

"If Mr. Turner knows we need Doc's help for delivering a buffalo calf, we might not see him for hours,” she spat. “You can be sure Mr. Turner wouldn't consider this an emergency."

"You're wrong, as usual," Brett returned her harsh tone with his own.

"What are you doing here?" She jumped to her feet.

"I'm here to help―"

"Like hell you are! You expect me to believe you drove over here to help me, an Indian woman, deliver a buffalo calf? Please! Give me some credit for brains."

"Doctor Potter had some heart arrhythmia while he was out at my place. He's going to be fine, just needs to take it easy for a couple of days. He's the reason it's taken someone so long to get here. He asked me to come and help with the calf. A suffering animal is what matters.
Even if it's a damn buffalo."

"What exactly do you think you can do, that I can't?" she asked, watching him struggle to suppress his anger under the appearance of indifference.

"I have some training in animal science." He leaned over Thunder. "She's acting pretty sluggish. You give her a sedative? That can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."

"Antelope Tipi gave her something to relax her.”
Willow
glanced at Brett and read concern in his expression.

"I'm supposed to trust some ancient mumbo jumbo?"

"Nope.
I didn't ask you to. It's your choice to be here. Leave if you find it too much of a challenge." She fell silent and watched him press Thunder's stomach high, then low. He pulled on long plastic surgical gloves and inserted his hand into the birthing canal. "The calf is presenting itself breech. Both mother and calf are in danger. I'm going to try turning the calf. There's no time to waste. You'll have to help." He hurried to his truck.

Sean slammed the truck door and shuffled toward Lance.

"Hi, guy," she said with forced cheeriness. "You boys better stay at a distance and keep quiet. If things get . . . tense, and I tell you to go to the house, I expect you both to get tracking. Understand?" She looked at the twosome. They both nodded, moving back to sit with their backs against the barn door.

Several cold droplets reminded her of another potential problem. She couldn't think of that now. They’d take one thing at a time. If only Doctor Potter had come instead of Brett Turner. The crunch of gravel made her turn. Brett approached carrying a large black vet bag.

"What do you think you're doing, you're not a veterinarian?"

"You're right, but I'm the next best choice you have at this moment. I've finished all but my job experience hours under a licensed vet, to become one myself." He set out several instruments on a clean towel he'd spread on the ground.

"I didn't know that," she muttered. "But if you haven't had field experience yet, you really don't know what you're doing, do you? I mean, there's a big difference between reading something in a book and knowing what to do. What are those for?" she asked, observing the straight row of ominous looking knives, clamps and needles.

"A C-section.
We need to be ready just in case," he answered, without looking at her.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" His glaring response caused her to fall silent. She had to admit having Brett help was better than no help at all. She didn’t want either animal to die. She swallowed what remained of her pride and asked, "What can I do to help?"

"Tell your father to pack up his feathers and rattles and get out of the way," he said, kneeling behind his patient.

"I guess it's impossible for you to stay civil for more than a few minutes. Why did I expect anything different?" she asked, between clenched teeth. "Thunder needs my father. He stays!"

"There's no time to argue,
Willow
. Pull on a pair of gloves and get down here."

While he pushed and pulled the calf inside Thunder,
Willow
snapped on long latex gloves.

Brent grunted slightly. "Whatever Antelope Tipi gave this animal,
it's
sure effective."

"How's it going?" she asked, dropping to her knees alongside Brett.

"Hold this position while I double check where the cord is," he directed.

She moved in closer. "I've got it," she said, struggling to keep her balance and remain motionless as he moved knowing hands around the birthing cavity. She became aware of his warm breath on the back of her neck.

"Be ready. When I say pull, I want you to give it all you've got," Brett said.

Willow
glanced at him, confused by his sudden change in character. She'd never seen this side of Brett Turner. It made her feel more on-guard than his arguing did. She'd have to distract herself with conversation or her body might betray how his closeness affected her. "Why did you quit school? Too much work for a rich rancher's son?"

"Rich had nothing to do with it," he said, glancing her way. "Hand me that bottle and sponge. This will sterilize the birth opening some. My father was dead set against my becoming a vet. He hated it so
much,
he wouldn't give me a penny toward my schooling."

"Why would he be against something so worthwhile and what you wanted?"
Willow
sat back on her heels to give him more room to work. "How'd you pay for it all?" She drew in a breath of burning
sweetgrass
, and her father's soft chants calmed her.

"I worked two jobs and studied in between. I'll admit it was difficult, but I did what I had to do. It was my dream." He reached his hand back into the laboring buffalo. "This is it,
pull
!"

Willow
pulled on the struggling calf, guiding it through the opening of its mother's body. Brett grabbed her hand in an attempt to help lift the newborn. She glanced at him and paused, finding warm blue eyes staring back at her. Uneasiness washed over her. Once again she realized she didn't know this Brett Turner. She tore her gaze away and settled it on Lance and Sean.