Destiny's Bride (21 page)

“I know, but I just want to be close to her. She is not strong like our women.”

Broken Feather put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “From what you tell me she has been through, I wouldn’t say she lacks strength.”

Lone Eagle pondered his words. “You are right, my father. She has courage that I have overlooked. I will ask Wakan Tanka to watch over her.”

“That is good, my son. Leave this to the Great Spirit while you and I go to your lodge and warm ourselves.”

The fire inside provided heated escape from the stinging wind. Instead of relaxing by the fire, Lone Eagle paced back and forth like a cornered animal. He worried something would go wrong. Regardless of prayer, sometimes complications arose and mothers and babies died, so he bargained with the Great Spirit to keep his wife safe.

Finally, he sat next to his father, hoping for some words of wisdom. Instead, the two sat and listened to the wind rushing through the village and watched the smoke from the fire spiral upwards and out of the tepee.

Gazing across the room, Lone Eagle noticed the small, half-decorated pine. Necklaces, lying on the floor next to it, revealed what Cecile was doing when her birthing time began. At first he was puzzled, but then he remembered her story about the white man’s Christmas and the decorated tree. He crawled over, picked up the string of beads, and following Cecile’s lead, gently entwined them through the small branches.

Broken Feather watched with raised brows. “What are you doing, my son?”

Lone Eagle inched back to his father. “Let me see if I can explain this as well as Green Eyes. There is a festive time the white man celebrates, called Christ Day. Their Christ is a holy spirit to whom they pray like we pray to Wakan Tanka. I’m not sure what part the tree plays in their celebration, but it is part of their custom.”

Lone Eagle decided to end his explanation at that point before his father asked questions he couldn’t answer.

“Oh. One should never question another’s customs,” Broken Feather said and turned his attention to watching the fire.

For what seemed like endless hours, they sat around the fire pit waiting to hear something. Broken Feather tried to make time go faster by telling every story he could recall from his youth. “Your grandfather, Walks with Turtles, once captured a wolf…”

Half-listening, Lone Eagle rested his head in his hands. The words “captured a wolf” prompted him to stop his father. “You’ve already told that story.”

Broken Feather erupted into laughter. “Well, I truly hope the child is born before long. I am running out of tales to tell.”

***

Cecile’s labor intensified. She pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the scream rising in her throat. Another horrid cramp wrenched through her, and she bit into her knuckles, praying that God would make the pain go away. Her body bore down, trying to expel the baby, as relentless aching wracked her body.

Rain Woman stood ready to receive the child. “Push with all your might, my daughter. Your child is almost here.”

Cecile wanted to scream—needed to scream. “Get it out, please, please get it out! If I push any harder I’m going to turn myself inside out.”  Recollections of Raven Wing’s delivery and her bravery flashed in Cecile’s mind.  She stifled her panic and kept her voice low.  She refused to shame these beloved women.

While she crouched over the earthen pit in front of the labor stake, Little Dove gently massaged Cecile’s abdomen in an attempt to move the baby. With each pain, she tightened her grip and strained with all her might. The hours seemed like an eternity and the pain never ending. “I can’t go on…I’m too tired,” she finally declared.

The pushing became involuntary, and groaning and grunting, she used what she thought was her last breath and thrust her baby into the world. All discomfort was forgotten when she heard its healthy cry.

Rivulets of perspiration peppered Cecile’s face and trickled between her breasts. Breathing a sigh of relief, she released her grasp from the pole and fell back onto the comfort of a bed of buffalo robes. Worn out from hours of labor, she fought to stay awake. “Is it a girl or a boy? Let me see my baby.” She craned her neck to see across the room where the old grandmother cleaned the babe.

“Be patient, little mother. You will have him soon enough.” Rain Woman readied the turtle pouch.

“It’s a boy?” Cecile mustered energy enough to assure she’d heard right.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched Singing Sparrow cut the umbilical cord and Rain Woman place part of it in the sacred pouch. Little Dove massaged Cecile’s abdomen to aid in the passage of the placenta while Rain Woman went back to cleaning the flailing newborn with sweet grass soaked in warm water. Afterwards, she wrapped him in a rabbit skin blanket and handed him to his mother. “Here is your strong, healthy son.”

Cecile beheld her child for the first time, her fingers splaying through the thatch of dark hair on his head. “He’s beautiful, isn‘t he?”

Little eyes not yet focused seemed to search her face as she scanned his red, pudgy one. He suckled his fist and cooed while she opened his blanket and checked him from head to toe. Happy tears welled in her eyes at his perfection, and she re-wrapped him and whispered her thanks to God for a healthy son

Memory of the pains now obscured by her precious gift, Cecile held her son close and enjoyed her new maternal feelings. Her mind scanned time, trying to compute how many hours had passed. By her calculations today was Christmas and she had produced the most wonderful gift of all for her husband—a fine, strong son. If only she could share the news with Lone Eagle.

“Little Dove, you must run and tell your brother he has a son,” Singing Sparrow urged.

Cecile rose, propped on her elbows. “No! Please, let me tell him. It’s a special day for me and I want to be the one to share the news.”

She was bone-tired and weak but determined. Just the thought of seeing the look on his face renewed her energy.

“But, you must stay here for four days. It is custom.” Rain Woman was adamant, her eyes narrowing. “Besides, you are tired and need to regain your strength.”

“You don’t understand,” Cecile insisted. “I have to do this, and I have to do it today or the meaning will be lost.”

“Green Eyes, you must stay here. You just gave birth and need to rest.” Singing Sparrow supported Rain Woman.

“I’m fine, my mother. I will feel stronger once I tell Lone Eagle he has a son. I know you don’t understand, but today is Christmas Day, a very special time for me.”

Rain Woman’s eyes clouded with confusion, but she relented, and mumbling under her breath, she washed Cecile and helped her change into a clean dress. Cecile could hardly wait.

The women bundled her and handed her the baby, his little face barely visible beneath the warm blankets. Singing Sparrow held the flap aside and Rain Woman peered out. “It is a good thing the wind has blown itself out so our daughter can journey to her husband’s side and test the spirits.” Her annoyance reflected in her tone.

After taking her first steps, Cecile felt light-headed and dizzy. The birthing experience left her extremely sore and the moss padding between her legs made walking awkward. Maybe it would have been wise, had she listened to her elders, to stay in bed, but garnering her last bit of strength, she walked on, reminding herself with each step that she had an important Christmas gift to deliver!

Chapter Twenty-one

Lone Eagle stretched out across the bed, joining his wife and new son, and marveled at the baby’s tiny hands and feet. As little fingers curled around Lone Eagle’s larger one, the feeling reinforced his belief that the child’s true parentage seemed even less important. His gaze rested on the innocent face, knowing that this was the child of his heart.

He looked at his wife.  “You must know you have drained me of my power and made my weapons useless should we engage in any kind of battle.”

“Because I left the women’s lodge?  That’s ridiculous.  Men in the town I came from lived with their wives everyday of the month, and no one ever complained that their gun didn’t shoot or—”

He put his finger to her lips.  “Say no more.  For the sake of meeting our child, I would gladly test the spirits.  Besides, we have waited long enough for your bleeding to pass and it is time to name this baby. In four days we will have a feast to honor our son. Everyone will be invited to eat, celebrate, and dance. I will announce his name for everyone to hear and remember.”

“And my dear husband, what will that name be, if I am allowed to ask…or is this another ritual I don’t understand?”

“A child is expected to be called after an elder, so I have decided to honor my grandfather, Gray Cloud, who walks in the spirit world. Our son’s name will be Two Clouds.”

She smiled and nodded, pondering his choice. “Two Clouds. I think that’s a fine name, and a most appropriate one, too. The first thing I saw the day I bore the child was two wispy clouds hanging low in the gray winter sky.”

“Hello, Two Clouds,” she whispered, brushing a kiss against the baby’s forehead.  “I like it more each time I say it.”

It is a fine name for a child, but I wonder what he will be called after his vision quest.”  Lone Eagle stared blankly, as if trying to foresee the future.

“Whoa, slow down. He isn’t even a month old yet.”

He puffed out his chest. “I cannot help myself. I already picture the pride in people’s eyes when they call our son’s name. It is only natural to wonder what my son will be called when he becomes a mighty chieftain of the Sioux nation.”

Two Clouds made a soft gurgling noise and Lone Eagle’s attention. He stroked the child’s forehead, and smiled as tiny fingers curled around his large ones.  His emotions rendered him helpless to the love of this infant, and his vision blurred with tears.

“Did you notice your tree?” He attempted to draw her attention away long enough to wipe the wetness from his face.

She turned and looked. “Oh, you finished decorating it...” A yawn interrupted her words and she nestled back down. “Thank you.”

He kissed the palm of her hand and started to tell her about the experience, but as he opened his mouth, she closed her eyes and lolled her head to the side.  He stretched to kiss her forehead, and covered her with a blanket.  “Sleep well, little mother,” he whispered.  “And you, too, my son,” he add, noticing Two Clouds had fallen asleep as well.

Being careful not to awaken mother and child, he stoked the fire and added another log. While kneeling next to the crackling flames, he envisioned the rituals that lay ahead for his son and smiled.  Months ago he thought his life was over at the hands of a white man, and now he’d found it had just begun with a woman of the same pale skin.

***

Motherhood proved more difficult than Cecile imagined. Two Clouds, a hearty eater, cried to be fed constantly. She constantly had the baby at one breast or the other, keeping her nipples cracked and sore. Along with the discomfort, she contended with continual leakage that kept her dress wet most of the time. As the baby grew older, her strength returned and the soreness subsided.

Having a baby changed her lifestyle. There was only so much to do inside and Two Clouds’ needs determined her freedom—her life centered on one tiny person who cried far more than she’d expected.

For a while, the tribal women brought meals and aided with the daily chores, but the help gradually stopped. The laundry needed attention and she felt up to it. Rain Woman was kind enough to stay with the baby, allowing Cecile to venture out since the weather remained too cold for a baby so young.  Of course, the old grandmother chided her about being too overprotective, and regaled her with tales of Lakota women who traveled in snow up to their thighs while babes nestled in cradleboards on their back.  Cecile took the story to heart, but welcomed something as mundane as laundry.

The winter sky remained overcast and gray, but the air was fresh and tingling. Cecile took a deep breath, happy there wasn’t more snow on the ground. Handling the cold was one thing, but trekking through slush would make the trip to the stream worse. She knelt and chipped at the thin layer of ice next to the shore, longing for the old washtub she’d used after she married Walt.

Pounding a wet dress against the flat stone with more vigor than needed, she puzzled over why Two Clouds was so discontented. What was she doing wrong? How did the other mothers in the village manage? She ached for her own mother and fought welling tears.

She stepped inside her lodge and found a rare quietness. Two Clouds slept. Rain Woman had gone and Lone Eagle dozed against his backrest, next to the fire. Although he spent more time indoors, he didn’t do much more than offer encouraging words. Most chores revolved around the baby, and his grimacing showed he still felt uneasy holding a baby, especially one so unhappy most of the time.

As if sensing her presence, Two Clouds woke and started to cry. Startled from his own nap, Lone Eagle sprang upright. He eyed her with a sheepish grin, rising to take the laundry basket from her. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

She cast him a stony stare. “Yes, you can go away and stop being underfoot constantly.” She snatched up Two Clouds, dropped the front of her dress and offered him her breast.