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As Echohawk entered the village, he felt the presence of many on all sides of him. He did not have to see to know that these were Chief Silver Wing’s people coming to gaze and to ask questions about those who were arriving so downtrodden.
But if he could see, he knew that he would recognize many of these faces, having joined them in feasting and celebrating on various occasions this past year, his father so proudly sitting at Chief Silver Wing’s right side.
But that was in the past, those good times of camaraderie with his beloved father. Now all that he had were memories—wondrous, precious memories.
It was hard for him to accept what his education had taught him—that death is but a change for the better, and that it is unworthy and womanish to shun it.
Oh, but if only his father had been able to shun death this time, as he had in the past.
When Chief Silver Wing’s large domed conical lodge of bark and reed mats was reached, Helping Bear and Yellow Wolf stepped away from Echohawk. “We will return now to our journey to Fort Snelling,” Helping Bear said, placing a friendly hand on Echohawk’s shoulder. “Nee-gee, friend, let hope fill your heart, not despair.”
Yellow Wolf took Helping Bear’s place before Echohawk as Helping Bear stepped aside. He embraced Echohawk, then stepped back from him. “May the Great Spirit bless you with sight again soon, my brother,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.
“In time I will see again,” Echohawk said firmly. “Pity then those who have gone against my people.”
There were more fond embraces and words of thanks, and then Wise Owl escorted Echohawk, alone, inside Chief Silver Wing’s dwelling.
Chief Silver Wing was sitting at the fire in the center of the room, carving a pipe stem. On Echohawk’s entrance, he looked up, startled. “Nee-gee, friend, what has happened?” he said, stunned to see Echohawk’s wound, and also his eyes, which seemed to be blank.
Wise Owl guided Echohawk over to Chief Silver Wing. Echohawk looked down at the chief, seeing only shadows of what he knew was a man of fifty-seven winters, a man of dignity and reserve, with graying hair and lined face.
“It was the chee-mo-ko-man, white men,” he said between gritted teeth. “They came and burned and killed. My father. He was one of those who is now entering the Land of the Hereafter.”
Chief Silver Wing shook his head with grave sorrow, then waved his wife over to Echohawk.
Nee-kah knew what he asked of her even though he had not voiced it aloud. She cast a glance of recognition on Echohawk and spread a robe for him to sit on. Wise Owl led him down onto the robe, and Nee-kah then removed Echohawk’s moccasins and gave him another pair for present use.
She then went and stood obediently behind her husband, feeling Echohawk’s pain as she gazed sadly down at him. He was a man much younger than her husband, and had she not already been wedded to Chief Silver Wing, she would have offered herself to Echohawk to be his wife. She had never seen such a handsome Chippewa as he.
As for her husband, she had been chosen by him, a much younger person than he, to bear him children that his other wives had failed to. She placed a hand on her abdomen, smiling, knowing that even now that child he wanted was growing within her womb.
She prayed that it would be a son. That would please her husband twofold!
“It is with a sorrowful heart that I have heard of the misfortune of your people and of your father’s passing,” Chief Silver Wing said. “My village is now your village. Your people will live as one with my people until you see fit to leave.”
“That is kind,” Echohawk said, nodding. Then he spoke with more anguish. “Chief Silver Wing, my father is dead! My eyes are dry and I want something to make the tears come in them!”
; “In time, my son, tears will come to you,” Chief Silver Wing said solemnly. “Then all of your sadness will be washed from your heart.” He leaned closer, studying Echohawk’s eyes. He waved a hand before them, seeing only a slight sense of reflex on Echohawk’s part. “You do not see. Why is that?”
“That is something I am living with,” Echohawk said in a grumble. “When I was wounded, my eyesight was impaired.”
Chief Silver Wing gazed at the head wound, then turned and looked up at his wife. “Mah-szhon, go. Take Echohawk to the wigwam that was yours before our marriage,” he said softly. “You will see to his comforts. Tend to his wound. Give him food. Until he is better, my wife, he is yours. Do you understand?”
Nee-kah’s dark eyes widened as she glanced over at Echohawk, then down at her husband. “Ay-uh, I understand,” she murmured. “I will do this for you, my husband.”
Chief Silver Wing turned his attention back to Echohawk. “I lend you my wife for a while,” he said, smiling. “She is my fourth wife, but can cook better than all other three put together.” He took Nee-kah’s hand and urged her to a kneeling position beside him. “And, Echohawk, finally I have a wife who is capable of bearing me a child. She is four months pregnant. She makes me proud. So very proud.”
Such talk of wives and children catapulted Echohawk’s thoughts back to the time when he was so proud to boast of his wife being with child. It tore at his heart, this absence of a wife—and of a child that would never be.
“That is good,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “And may the Great Spirit bless you more than once with children.” He recalled Nee-kah in his mind’s eye, and her innocent loveliness, and smiled as he felt her presence at his side as she stepped up next to him. “And your beautiful wife will bear you beautiful children.”
Nee-kah cast her eyes downward, her face burning with a blush.
And then she took Echohawk’s hand. “Mah-bee-szhon, come. I will now take you to your dwelling,” she said, her voice lilting. “You must mend quickly, for your people need you. I will help in that mending.”
Wise Owl stepped aside as Nee-kah led Echohawk outside and slowly to his assigned wigwam.
