Bound by Blood and Brimstone (8 page)

was full of questions. The look they’d shared, what was that about? And what did they know that

I didn’t?

She was waiting on the porch as I neared the stone steps, Wovoka standing guard by her

side. His tail wagged furiously, his wolfish grin, inviting, as I approached to embrace his

mistress. Since Wonnie had so hopelessly spoiled him, he’d probably forgotten his days as a

creature of the wild.

“Osada svhiyeyi,
Great Grandmother,” I said. “Good Morning.”

“Running Deer,” she cried, grasping my hand warmly and leading me across the

threshold. “You came!”

“Well of course I came,” I said, breathing in the familiar scents of herbs and earth and

leather. “Daddy said you sent for me.” Wonnie’s primitive cabin was one room, sparsely

furnished, but made bright and colorful by hand-woven rugs and gleaming copper pots over the

mantle.

“He told me you needed to see me about something important,” I said, taking a seat on a

three-legged stool by the hearth, where a huge cast iron kettle was suspended over the fire.

“Yes, very important,” she murmured, her slim back to me as she leaned over to examine

the contents of the kettle. As I watched, she dipped small dough-wrapped packets into the hot

grease and paused for the sizzle. Immediately, the aromas of spice and apple filled the air, and

Wovoka lifted his snout, sniffing appreciatively.

“We can take these with us after they cool,” Wonnie said, spooning out the first of the

crusty pies on a wooden plate. I didn’t bother asking where we might be going. Any moment

spent with Wonnie was stolen treasure, and it didn’t matter to me how we spent our day as long

as we were together somewhere in the woods or in her cabin.

I’d fairly flown through the woods to her cabin when Daddy had summoned me, eager

for the break from unanswered questions and Lorrie Beth’s constant needs. Only Daddy seemed

to grasp how vital Wonnie’s presence was to my peace of mind.

She finished dipping the last of the fried pies from the pot, humming off-key as she

worked. I watched, admiring her wiry body and the feline grace of her movements. Wonnie

could still swim like a fish, and no one in the county was a better shot with a rifle.

She set the plate of fried pies on her small table and covered it with a clean towel,

cocking a thick eyebrow at me. “You are a woman now. Your body is one with the moon cycle.”

I realized she was referring to my latest humiliation, and I wondered how she could’ve known,

since I was certain Daddy wouldn’t have discussed such a thing with her.

I snorted. “Oh, that. I hate it, Grandma. It makes my belly hurt and my head ache, and

Momma hadn’t even told me about it. I thought I’d scratched myself or something!” With

Wonnie, I could let it all out, even if the telling of it meant Momma would come out looking bad.

She nodded. “Your mother does not see many things,” she said calmly. “She walks in a

cave with no sun.”

“I feel so alone in that house sometimes,” I confided. If it weren’t for Daddy, I’d have no

one who understands me.”

Her dark eyes were intense as they regarded me solemnly. “Your father allows her to stay

in that cave because of his great love for her. It shadows his sight, as well.” Sympathy clouded

the depth of her gaze, and I suppressed the urge to squirm on my stool. I wasn’t accustomed to

hearing anyone speak so acutely about my parents.

“But you see many things.” She stepped closer and reached for my hand, pulling me to

my feet. “It is lonely for you.” She grasped both my hands in her dry, warm palms. Somehow,

her unexpected revelation clogged my throat with unshed tears, and I felt almost violated as if

she’d peered inside my skull while I was sleeping.

“How did you know that I...” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the question. After all, I’d

never consciously put it into words for myself. She gazed at me steadily.

“Because I see also,” she said. “We are the same. When I am gone, it will be left for you

to take my eyes.” With those cryptic words, she dropped my hands and turned on her heel to

begin preparing for our day.

I banked the fire while Wonnie packed a meal for us. In a worn leather pouch she put the

cloth-wrapped apple pies, parched corn, and strips of her seasoned deer jerky, a closely guarded

secret she delighted in keeping. She wore hand-stitched moccasins, which reached her denim-

clad knees, and a linen tunic, belted and adorned with her pouch. After adding her knife to the

belt, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and said, “Wait, I must show you something before we

go. I think the time is right for this.”

Having no idea what was coming, I followed her to the far side of the room where she

slept. On the floor lay her pallet of quilts spread over a thin corn shuck mattress. Stepping lightly

over the rough bed, she reached for a stack of furs always present in her cabin. She trapped and

tanned them herself and sometimes traded or sold them in town for money or staples.

Wonnie had built somewhat of a reputation for the quality of her fox and rabbit furs, and

even mink, on occasion. Many times, I’d envisioned some rich city woman wearing a coat or

stole fashioned by my great grandmother’s hands.

Tossing them aside, she uncovered a small, plain trunk of cedar. She lifted the lid and

pulled out another rolled quilt bound with leather strips. The strips were untied, and the quilt

rolled open. There, before me, lay the most beautiful garment I’d ever seen.

It was a slim tunic sewn together with delicate stitches of rawhide. The material was

smooth and supple, faded to the color of eggshells. Wonnie watched as I gathered its weight in

my hands to admire its fluid ripple.

“Doeskin,” she said. The hem and armholes were fringed, adorned above with a single

row of black and white down from eagle feathers. An intricate design formed from tiny red and

white beads had been sewn to the bodice. Red, I knew, had been a sacred color to the Cherokee.

It was a stunning piece of workmanship, and its beauty and simplicity moved me. “Where

did you get this, Grandma?” I asked, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.

She nodded. “It was my wedding dress,” she said softly.
What a beautiful bride you

must’ve been,
I thought, picturing her black hair against the pale garment. “Today, it passes to

Running Deer.”

I blinked, snapping out of my daydream. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Grandma?”

“This dress must go to the females of my blood. My daughter is dead. William was her

only child, and you are next in line.”

“What about Lorrie Beth? We’re the same age,” I interjected, feeling light-headed and

dazed. Wonnie’s black eyes sparkled with mischief. She knew she’d shaken me.

“Your sister is not yet a
ge-ya
, a woman.” She reached the dress to me and held it up to

my childish body. Her eyes were moist as she appraised me. “You must never be ashamed of

becoming a woman. There is sacred power in the cycle of the moon. Because of it, women have

strength not given to men, the strength of the Creator.”

“Do you really think women are stronger than men?” I asked, intrigued by the notion.

She smiled indulgently, as though dealing with a child who required much patience. “The

women of my people were governors over the clan,” she said. “The greatest of them were

members of the Council of Women and had much wisdom. Many winters ago I was one of

them.”

I was astounded, awed by this woman’s history and proud to be part of her. Overcome

with emotion, I threw my arms around her slender neck and gave her cheek a quick peck. “Thank

you so much for the dress. I’ll treasure it.”

“I will not live many more winters to see you wear it,” she mused, “but you will stand

proud in it, Running Deer.”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” I said, and once again, I was fighting tears for the hundredth time in

two days.

With the heat of mid-morning and the pace Wonnie had set, I was sweating when we

stopped to eat near a creek bank. Wovoka dropped like a stone at Wonnie’s feet, panting, waiting

for his share. While Wonnie unstrapped her pouch, I washed my hands in the running water and

stretched my legs. A flat rock made the perfect table for our banquet.

The savory jerky was tender, the parched corn, crispy, and the apple pies, a bit of heaven.

My belly full, my internal storms calmed, I lay on the rock and dangled my feet in the cool water

while Wonnie pulled out her pipe and tobacco pouch. She rarely smoked except for special

occasions, but I asked no questions as she lit up.

All was serene in my world, when suddenly, out of the woods behind us, a deliberate

crackling was heard, as if a stealthy foot had trod upon fallen leaves. Wonnie’s head snapped up,

her darting eyes searching, her hand on her rifle. I froze. The thick tuft on the back of Wovoka’s

neck stood at attention with his ears, and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

Like a shot, Wonnie was off the rock, disappearing through the trees, sure-footed as a

mink in her moccasins. Wovoka’s powerful body was rigid, trembling with the instinct to give

chase, but forbidden by Wonnie’s command. Icy pin-pricks trickled down my spine in a single

thread.

Unbidden, Reese Watkins’ hateful words rang in my head like a bell of doom. “Someone

could get hurt,” he’d warned. I clutched a handful of Wovoka’s fur to steady me as my thoughts

raced at breakneck speed.
Was he serious about the county being against Wonnie? Could people

really be mean enough to hurt an old woman just because she’s different? Who could be that

mean and ugly?

After a small eternity, Wonnie returned, her face grim. “We were being followed,” she

said. My face must’ve been a window to my fears, for she patted the rock and motioned for me

to sit, speaking in soothing tones. “They are gone, for now. Our fear is food for some, and I will

not feed them.”

She insisted on smoking another bowl of tobacco and on my eating another apple pie. Her

movements were calm and deliberate, designed to slow my racing heart and cool the hot blood

pounding my temples. She never mentioned it, but I wondered if she’d thought of Reese’s

warning or taken it seriously.

After a while, she tapped her pipe and snugged it back in her pocket, but made no move

to leave. Instead, she turned to me and smiled, her face suffused with earnest hope. Beside us, the

creek sang lightly over its rocks, adding its soft music to Wovoka’s panting.

“Do you remember when I told you that, as a twin, you are blessed with special gifts? In

the olden days my people would call you
a-tsa-s-gi-li.”
When I frowned at the unfamiliar word,

she grinned. “It means Witch.” My eyes must’ve bugged out a bit at that because she laughed.

“Not to worry. I do not hold to
all
of the old ways.”

“Okay, so you don’t really believe I’m some kind of witch, do you?” I asked, teasing her.

Abruptly, her expression changed from playful to intent, and she grasped my hand

urgently. “I believe you have power,” she said. Her beseeching gaze brushed me, boring into me

as though she could read my thoughts. Unsettled, I hastily withdrew my hand from her grasp and

tried for a light tone.

“Grandma, this is the twentieth century. Now, you know I don’t have any magic powers,

and I don’t believe all that superstitious stuff.”

She sighed and reached to stroke Wovoka’s head, averting her eyes for a moment before

responding. She seemed to be framing her next words with care. When she faced me again, her

eyes had lost their intensity and she spoke gently.

“I, too, do not hold to magic and superstition, only good medicine put here by the Great

Spirit, our Father, and nurtured by the earth. The earth was a mother to my people. I called for

you today because you will learn of these medicines.”

Fascinated in spite of myself, I was helpless to prevent a gasp of surprise, followed by a

nervous giggle. “Me? Why should I learn about these medicines?”

“She gave Wovoka a final pat and shot me a wicked grin. “You will take my place as a

healer and midwife and bring new life into the world. I will teach you all you need to know. We

start today and will work every week until you are ready.”

I watched as she stood and gathered our things, her nimble fingers retying the pouch

around her waist. I’d been rendered temporarily speechless by her words, but my thoughts were a

whirlwind.
She’s going to teach me to be a midwife and a healer? I’m a ten-year-old kid! How

can she possibly think I could deliver a baby, and even if I could, who, with a sane mind, would

let me?

Giving her hands one last wash in the creek, she glanced at me over her shoulder and said

casually, “There will come a time soon when your skills will be needed and asked for.”

On the way to our first lesson, Wonnie kept up a steady stream of chatter, her sharp eyes