Stay, beseeched his heart.
He grimaced. What was his path to be?
He had little way of knowing. The only certainty he grasped at the moment was that he needed to cleanse himself, and to that end, he began to sing again. The melody was a healing song, and yet he changed the words slightly, instinctively knowing it was the right thing to do. He sang, in English:
“Come out,come out, my angel
Come out and sing with me.
Show yourself, my angel
Come forth, that I may see,
The angel that I dream of,
The one who spies on me.”
He watchedas she glanced around her, as though looking for some other being. He shook his head. Did she honestly think he would serenade another? Nevertheless, he continued to sing, saying directly to her…
“Come out,come out, Angelia,
Come out and sing with me.
Together we may be stronger,
Than I alone could be.
Come out, come out, Angelia,
Come forth and sing with me.”
At last she stood up.She was not naked, as he had supposed. He did wonder if she knew that the simple shift she wore hid nothing from his view, not her breasts, not her hips,not the wisp of matted hair, there at the junction of her legs. Nothing…
At the sight, Swift Hawk drew in his breath, and that portion of his body most masculine twitched in a way he understood all too well.
This was not helping. This was not helping at all.
Even as he watched her, her image began to change. Golden light encircled her, and she was no longer standing before him practically naked, but rather she was adorned in Indian garb. Nor was she alone. In her arms was a babe, by her side a youngster of perhaps two winters in age, the child looking much like Swift Hawk’s own father.
Swift Hawk didn’t rub his eyes to be certain of what he saw, for with the wisdom passed down from beings wiser than he, Swift Hawk knew this image was a gift from the Creator. It was His way of showing Swift Hawk the future—and she was part of it.
Swift Hawk’s throat constricted, and closing his eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts. But it was impossible, and when he opened his eyes again, the image was gone.
There she was, beautiful Angelia, standing before him, down by the water, looking practically naked and lovelier than he had ever seen her. He knew what he would do, what he had to do.
Grabbing hold of his weapons and crouching to his knees, Swift Hawk climbed down from the bluff, and pulling on his quiver and bow quickly, he stepped toward her. She was his. Maybe not in body, not yet…for he would be a fool to take her as a wife here, beneath the prejudiced eye of the white man; a fool, as well, to betray his own vow.
That last idea stopped him. But would he betray it? Was this not the Creator’s way of releasing him from a promise made so long ago?
Realization dawned, and as it did, a sense of freedom enveloped him, a kind of ease he hadn’t felt in many a year. Shewas his. He didn’t know how this could be; he didn’t even know why. But in some inexplicable way, she belonged to him.
Chapter
Eleven
Women and children were the objects of care among the [people] and as far as their environment permitted they lived sheltered lives.
—LUTHER STANDING BEAR,LAND OF THE SPOTTED EAGLE
