Czanna's almost-mother looked askance at her and smiled. She said, "And yet, love, itself, is a healing power. Love, it is said, can heal any breach."
"Oh? There is a breach?" asked Czanna.
"There is, I fear," answered Sharon. "But, I go before myself. Let me first tell you—if you would like to hear—about how Stands Strong and I came to know one another, for it is this which causes us to be devoted to one another."
"Yes," said Czanna. "Please."
"Soka'pii. This means 'good' in the Blackfoot tongue, by the way. Well, the story starts out in perhaps a bad way, but please do hear me out. It is not bad. Although I think God tries to bring people together smoothly, sometimes it simply isn't possible to do so without a little 'bad' to season the relationship. But, I also believe He knows the injury experienced at first will turn to good, and I have often thought that perhaps the ways in which we find one another might be the only manner He can bring us to know one another."
Czanna felt she was close to tears, so kind and gentle was Stands Strong's almost-mother's voice. Was it any wonder why Stands Strong spoke so highly of her?
Breathing in deeply as though to collect her thoughts, Sharon began, "My story with your husband starts when he was only seven years of age. At the time, I saved Stands Strong's life, and, many days later, he saved mine," said Sharon. "In those days, he was known as Rising Bear. But, this was before he had earned a strong warrior's name. Here, let me dig through my pouch and show you this gift he made for me when he was only seven years old. He fashioned it with my husband's help, I am told, because he wished to give me what the Indians call 'medicine,' and also he thought it would bring me the blessings of his god."
Czanna nodded, looking sideways at this pretty woman. Indeed, she, being about Czanna's height, was unusually beautiful, with her tawny, reddish-blonde hair caught in braids at both sides of her face. She appeared to be in her early thirties, and she was also slim in figure—a feat, considering she had birthed four children within the last fifteen years.
But, Czanna didn't wish to stare—it being the height of bad manners—and she returned her gaze to the front, squinting and staring ahead of her, seeing without really seeing the colorful parade this family made as they rode, skipped or paced forward in this, their journey to connect back to the main branch of the Pikuni tribe.
Gazing back toward her almost-mother-in-law's back, Czanna caught the eye of the babe Sharon was carrying in a cradleboard; this way of carrying a baby left her almost-mother's hands free to look into her parfleche bag. Still looking at the baby as the little girl gazed out upon the world from the safety of her mother's back, Czanna saw a child who appeared to be quite happy. Catching the babe's eye, Czanna smiled and received a grin in return.
"Excuse me, Czanna," said Sharon. "I seem to have left the statue made by Stands Strong with my other things. Please allow me to retrieve it. For a reason I do not quite understand, I think it is important to show it to you. I should be only a moment or two."
Czanna smiled. "Yes, of course. I do hope you will find it; I would like to see it. It must be very precious."
"Indeed, it is," said Sharon. "Excuse me, please." And, with these few words, Czanna's almost-mother-in-law hurried away, her pace quick as she made a path toward her friends and family.
