Although a fine scent of smoke and finely roasted buffalo ribs encompassed the entire lodge he shared with Otahki, its sweet aroma did not comfort him this night. Looking forward at the gaily painted tepee liner that encircled the entire lodge, he did not see any joy in the liner's art this evening. Instead, his entire being was awash with a sense of loss.
She will leave me. She cannot and will not ever be a second wife.
First Rider was seated next to Otahki, there on her side of the lodge, though he lingered slightly behind her. Because they were anticipating his almost-sister and her husband visiting them tonight, Otahki was busy cooking the evening meal, and she was, at present, sitting next to the large stones surrounding the fire.
He listened to Otahki's happy conversation while she worked, and all the while the feeling of impending gloom hung heavily upon him. Of course, he smiled at her in all the right places when he was expected to do so. But, his mind was turned in upon itself, and the only thoughts in his head were centered upon how he might tell Otahki about his first wife still being alive; that is, how to tell her without losing her.
Turning toward him, Otahki changed positions so she might pass the roasted buffalo ribs to him on a white man's plate—a plate he had recently obtained for her from the white man's post. As she did so, she touched his hand gently and smiledbefore she said, "I be lookin' forward to spendin' the evening with your almost-sister and her man. Does thou know she be with babe?"
First Rider nodded, his gaze centered downward because there was a tear in his eye, and he didn't wish her to see it.
Luckily, there came a scratch upon the entrance flap, and Otahki looked away from him for an instant as she called out, "Ipii,come in!"
Happily, and with a good amount of teasing about Otahki and him spending each evening alone, First Rider found he could laugh along with them. But, from his tongue came no playful rejoinder.
Although the food was good and the conversation light and jovial, the evening passed in a blur for him. He could barely listen to the conversation from his almost-brother-in-law, and he responded to none of it. All he could think about, all of his attention was centered upon his woman and his almost-sister as they laughed together, speaking of the future and of the many lodges and parfleche bags they would make.
Was there going to be a future for Otahki's friendship with his almost-sister? Unless he could somehow keep Otahki with him, their friendship would fade over time.
At last, his almost-brother-in-law gave up on him as a conversational partner and joined in the merry talk of the women, even though there was much to be discussed between them as men, including the weather, hunting and the many problems within the camp. Perhaps he should have tried harder to keep up his end of the chatter.
Unfortunately for First Rider, not taking part in the conversation allowed him to look too deeply within himself, and he could barely think of what lay in the future for him and Otahki. He couldn't bear it.
I will lose her.
With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he knew how bleak his future would be without her. How was he to speak to her, knowing that if he were to be truthful with her and tell her about the very real possibility of his first wife being still alive, Otahki would have no choice but to leave him?
If I tell her, I will lose her.
She could not be a second wife. Her God forbade it. He knew it. She knew it. And, she would, of course, follow the teachings of her faith. Nor would he try to steer her away from her beliefs, knowing that if he were to do so, he might break her.
In vain, he tried to return his attention to the banter of the others so he could respond intelligently if pressed to speak. But, it was impossible to do so, so lost was he within his own thoughts.
Could he keep this knowledge about his first wife to himself? He could, of course, do so.
But, Otahki was a part of him; she would know from his introversion something was wrong. Oh, she would not be aware of the specifics, of course. But, she would sense the pain within his heart, and she would ask him about it. And, he would have to answer her with the truth.
But, in his heart, he wished he did not have to tell her.
Then, from out of nowhere, Otahki elbowed him in the ribs. When he looked up at her, she smiled and said in English, "Thou be very quiet tonight."
His answer to her was an attempt at a smile.
Then, as he had known she would, she gave him a long look and asked, "Are thou feelin' ill?"
"I…am well." Again, he smiled.
But, she frowned. "There be somethin' wrong, right enough. But, we can speak of it later?"
Again, he nodded and grinned at her as best as he was able.
At last, the evening wore on and their guests, becoming tired, departed. However, his almost-sister had no more than stepped over the lodge's entrance flap when Otahki turned to him and again smiled at him.
It was too much. The pain in his heart was too overwhelming. And so, he rose up and took a step away from her, his intention being to pace toward the other side of the lodge.
But then, she, too, came up to her feet and touched his arm. As she did so, a feeling much like a lightning strike swept through him. He stopped. He didn't turn around. He couldn't. In truth, there were tears in his eyes, and he feared his lips were shaking, also.
She asked, "Now, me own husband, what be upsettin' thee? And, don't thou be a-tellin' me 'tis nothin'."
His back was to her, and he knew if he turned around, she would see, she would somehow know the truth. Oh, she wouldn't be aware of the specifics of his trouble, of course, he would then have to tell her. But, how to tell her without causing her…and him pain?
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he at last spun around to face her. However, he hadn't counted on her reaction to him. As soon as he faced her, she threw herself into his arms, obliging him to place his arms around her waist and pull her in toward him.
Having her stand so closely to him was a moment of bliss, true. Yet, it was painful too, knowing he would have to let her go when she learned the truth.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that he might not have the chance to hold her in the future which was his undoing. Bending his head to her shoulder, he cried for a moment before he murmured, "She is alive."
"She is alive?" Otahki repeated. "Who is she?"
"Tsistsaki. She is alive."
