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Exhaling a nervous breath, she made herself relax as she continued to observe the curing ritual.
The Mide priest took the feather in his right hand and smoothed out its edges with his left. Settling himself on his haunches beside Echohawk, he leaned forward and wedged the feather in an upright position in the furs that were spread over Echohawk. After placing the feather there, he picked up his drum again and began another song.
Mariah got caught up in the melancholia of this song, finding it beautiful—even mystical. She closed her eyes and let herself get carried away, as though on soft downy clouds above the earth. She experienced many things while in this semitrance state. She could hear so many things—the sighing of the wind as it blows through the tall pines; the soothing sound of waves lapping against the stones on the beach; and the fading noise of an animal crashing its way through the brush.
The song suddenly rose to a high vibrato, wrenching Mariah out of her reverie. Her eyes blinked nervously and her heart pounded, wondering about this moment of strangeness that she had just experienced. It made her fear the priest even more. He did seem to have powers that she had only moments ago scoffed at.
She flinched with alarm when the last drumbeat sounded and the feather jumped from atop Echohawk and fluttered to the floor as though it had a life of its own.
Confessing to herself that she was spellbound by the priest’s performance, Mariah watched almost anxiously as he unwrapped the remainder of the cloth bundle.
Now he held two wooden figures in his hand. One apparently represented a male, the other a female. They were carved out of white ash and had movable heads and arms, and were attached to the bodies in a manner not discernible to her.
The medicine man then smoothed out a square of white cloth on the mat-covered floor and laid the figures on their backs on one half of the cloth, and carefully folded the other half over them so that they were completely covered.
Once again taking up his drum, he sang another song. It consisted of many repetitions of the sound “ho-ho” in a rather deep and guttural tone. As he sang, he closed his eyes and seemed unaware of anything around him. Sweat formed on his brow.
Craning her neck to take a better look, Mariah was startled to see movement under the cloth. The heads seemed to be turning back and forth, and the arms were moving up and down. She did not know if they were actually moving or if she was the victim of some sort of illusion.
Nee-kah leaned over and took her hand. “Do not fear this that you see,” she reassured softly. “The spirits have given the Mide the powers to do these feats of magic. But he is exhausted now. He will go to his medicine lodge and rest.”
Mariah watched almost breathlessly as he picked up his paraphernalia and was gone, leaving the wigwam strangely quiet.
“Let us now go to Echohawk,” Nee-kah said, yanking on Mariah’s hand.
Mariah needed no further encouragement. She was anxious to see how Echohawk had fared during the performance that had mystified, even frightened her. Never had she seen anything like it, and deep within her heart she hoped never to see it again. It seemed to defy all teachings of the Bible that she had absorbed on those long winter nights before her mother had died. She could even now hear the soft, sweet voice of her mother as she had read the verses, explaining the meaning of those that seemed too difficult for a child of four and five.
Her heart thumping wildy, Mariah went with Nee-kah to Echohawk’s side. She had expected him to be asleep, for he had lain so quietly while the medicine man performed over him.
But his eyes were open. His gaze seemed to be burning into her flesh as she knelt beside him, Nee-kah no longer there, instead at the far shadows, picking up some buckskin pouches from the floor.
Mariah breathed anxiously, afraid that at any moment Echohawk would speak accusing, angry words at her. For it did seem as though he was looking not only at her face but also deep into her soul, where her secrets were hidden—secrets that would condemn her in his eyes.
“Nee-kah?” Echohawk said, his voice revealing his weakness. “You have come again to sit at my side? Did you witness, also, the beauty in the Mide’s performance today?”
Realizing that Echohawk did not know her, Mariah sighed with relief, and her heart jumped with a sudden joy, knowing that her plan would be easily carried out under these conditions.
Yet again she was plagued by remorse, seeing firsthand how her father’s blow to Echohawk’s head had affected him. She wondered if he would ever see again.
And his face was so pale. He was so ravaged by fever.
She reached a hand to Echohawk’s brow and touched it soothingly. “No, I am not Nee-kah,” she said softly, seeing a quick, wary puzzlement cross his face.
“It is No-din,” Nee-kah quickly interjected as she came to kneel beside Mariah. “She has come to assist me. She will sit at your side and look after you while I give myself and my unborn child much-needed rest.”
Echohawk squinted his eyes, so badly wanting to see this sweet-voiced woman at Nee-kah’s side, yet still unable to make out anything but movement and shadow.
He again cursed the white man for having impaired his sight.
“I do not know a No-din,” Echohawk said, finding it hard to stay awake, the fever having sapped all of his energy. But at least for the moment he had regained a portion of his senses and could talk as someone not crazed. He had surely worried Nee-kah as he had rambled on in his delerium, saying what, he did not even know himself!
Mariah stiffened and drew her hand from his brow, looking cautiously over at Nee-kah, wondering how she would explain to Echohawk just how she happened to be there, offering her services, when, in truth, she was not of Chippewa descent at all.
“She is not of our band of Chippewa, or yours,” Nee-kah explained softly, sinking a cloth into a basin of water, handing it to Mariah. She nodded silently toward Echohawk, Mariah soon catching the meaning. She took the cloth and smoothed it gently across Echohawk’s hot brow.
“Then from which band is she?” Echohawk said, sighing as he enjoyed the cool cloth on his brow. “Why is she giving of herself to make me more comfortable?”
“She is not Chippewa at all,” Nee-kah said, her voice thin, unsure of his reaction when he discovered that Mariah was white.
