Do I stay?
Do I go?
I love him so; I must stay with him.
But, to stay means I must again change who I am.
And, I cannot. I will not.
Dear God, help me to understand what I must do.
Do I stay?
Do I go?
I love him so, and yet to stay requires of me to change who I am.
Dear God, help me to understand what I must do…
The song continued on in a like manner; the timbre of her voice was clear, yet so sad, so exquisite, Stands Strong felt his own heart was breaking by simply listening to her. Again he wondered: was he really the cause of so much sadness within her?
Yes, he admitted; his words, though not unkind, had been laced with the fervor of jealousy. Seeing his wife laugh so merrily with a white—and handsome—man had truly stirred up his vehemence.
But, conversely, there had been some truth in his words. She couldn't go about doing as she had most likely done in her life before coming here. This environment did not allow a woman to speak to a man with such obvious delight, since a man, both Indian and white, would look upon her as a prize to be won, not someone to speak with in mere conversation.
Even considering she did not wish to be such a prize and so would need his protection, he could not be with her every moment of every day. Honor bid him to help his tribe by scouting. Duty caused him to leave every day on the hunt.
If she continued to talk to any man as she wished, and with nary a thought to the consequences, she could be taken over by a man's superior strength and forced into servitude to the man or worse. If only she could defend herself like a man.
He paused, frowning.Defend herself like a man…
Was this a possible means to resolve this matter between them? When he was required to be away from camp, either hunting or scouting, could he demand she carry a rifle, a gun and several knives…maybe even a hatchet?
Perhaps. But, she would have to know how to use those weapons without hesitation, and, being female, her nature mightmake her hesitate to damage another, allowing the stronger power of a man to take her weapons from her and use them against her.
Yes, he could demand she arm herself, but if she were to be safe in carrying this kind of equipment, he would have to teach her how to use the weapons, as well as educate her into the mindset where she would not hesitate to use them. If he could do this, and if she would allow him to teach her, perhaps then she could talk to another man without injury to herself and without him personally and constantly being worried about her, or worse, having to defend her honor.
Still, though he wished to bring comfort to her now, he didn't disturb her nor her song. Instead, he continued to linger out of her sight, watching over her, guarding her. And, his heart broke each time he heard her cries. But, still he didn't disrupt her, realizing she needed this time to be alone.
He watched as she stood away from the overlooking cliff where she had been perched and then reached out for his pony, who stood at her side. Gathering up the pony's reins, she began the trek back toward their camp. Still Stands Strong didn't announce himself, although he followed her at a distance and kept to a much slower stride.
Once back in the encampment, she didn't at once return to their shared lodge. Instead, as she came in sight of his almost-parents' tepee, she stopped, announced herself, and, leaving his pony outside their lodge, she entered it. When he heard the welcome greetings from within, he knew it was only a matter of time before she would return to their own lodge.
Good. It was good.
He stepped slowly forward toward his almost-parents' tepee to ensure his pony was tied up securely there; then, with this done, he trod toward his own home. And, upon entering into their lodge, he began to think of various ways he might present this idea of carrying arms to her until, at a loss to broach the subject, he gaveup his wondering. He would have to let their love for one another dictate what would be and what should be said.
Reaching into one of his parfleche bags, he withdrew his flute which he had fashioned by hand. A Lakota man, since time out of mind, was well known to play the sad notes of the flute when he went courting the woman of his heart. Hence, Stands Strong had carved out this flute many years ago, knowing there might come a time when he would need its strength.
Perhaps its magic might work its wonders yet this night.
****
The sad notes of a flute reached out to Czanna, and she stared around the Indian camp. Where was it coming from? And, who was playing it? Its scale was in a minor key, and its sad, beautiful and forlorn notes tugged at her heart.
So strange. The sound vibrations of the flute seemed to mimic the lyrical refrains of the European instrument, with which she was familiar.
But, a flute? Here? In an Indian camp?
