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s and moon reached down through the umbrella of trees overhead, Echohawk placed tobacco on a rock as a tribute to the Great Spirit, begging the Great Spirit for guidance.
“O Great Spirit, what am I to do?” Echohawk said in a troubled whisper, lifting his eyes to the heavens, yet seeing with his impaired eyesight only the blur of the moon smeared across the sky in strange, quivering whites. “Am I selfish for thinking of a woman now, at a time when my thoughts should only be on my people’s sorrows? I cannot get her off my mind! She is there. Day and night. I have not wanted a woman as much since my beloved wife departed from this earth.”
He swallowed hard, then continued voicing his concerns in agonizing whispers. “I do not want to love a white woman!” he despaired. “In my mind and heart I despise the white race for the cruelty inflicted on my people. Yet No-din is separate from those evil ones! She is not responsible for any of my hurts. Yet somehow I cannot erase from my mind that she is an enemy because her skin is the color of those who are!”
Not getting any signs from the heavens which could give him answers and direction, he spoke awhile longer, telling his sorrows to the rock and stars, then stretched out on the ground, fatigued.
“Wah-bungh, tomorrow,” he whispered to himself. “I shall receive answers tomorrow. I shall stay and wait for those answers!”
A noise behind him drew him to his feet. He whirled around, wary. “Who is there?” he asked guardedly.
“It is I, Proud Thunder,” one of his most valiant braves said. “Echohawk, it is with a sad heart that upon our return from the hunt we braves found our ravaged village. We have searched for you and our people. We have finally found you. Tell us, Echohawk. What of your father, my chief? Echohawk, the Great Spirit has led us to you. We are all here to listen.”
Echohawk reached a hand out and found Proud Thunder’s shoulder and clasped his hand to it. “Ay-uh, the Great Spirit led you to me tonight,” he said softly, marveling over this miracle and feeling guilty that his thoughts only moments ago had been only on No-din!
Not of his people. His braves.
So often of late his thoughts strayed, and always to No-din!
“Proud Thunder,” he said firmly, “let me tell you the extent of our people’s sorrows.”
Chapter 13
My lips pressed themselves involuntarily to hers—
a long, long kiss, burning intense—concentrating
emotion, heart, soul, all the rays of life’s light,
into a single focus.
—Bulwer-Lytton
The wind pushed dark clouds across the autumn sky—a deer paused on a ridge close by. The river was like a clear mirror, the surface only slightly ruffled by the waves made by many canoes slicing through the water, all crewed by women.
Mariah was only half-aware of moving the paddle in and out of the water, Nee-kah sitting beside her in the canoe, doing the same, a woman kneeling at the stern, both paddling and steering the vessel. Mariah’s thoughts were not on the chore at hand—the manomin, wild rice, that she would soon be helping the Chippewa women to harvest.
Mariah had spent a sleepless night, still worrying about Echohawk. And when she had discovered that he had not returned home at all through the night, her worries had increased twofold. She would never forget how defenseless he had been against the rabid wolf that she killed before it got close enough to attack him. Last night the wolves were howling in the distance incessantly. What if they had sniffed out Echohawk while he was absorbed in his meditating?
“Is it not beautiful here in the river, with the autumn foliage reflecting like bursts of sunshine in the water?” Nee-kah said, smiling over at Mariah. “Are you not glad that you came with me? Has it helped get your mind off Echohawk?”
Mariah smiled weakly at Nee-kah, pausing momentarily in her paddling. “It is beautiful here,” she murmured. “But, no, it has not gotten my mind off Echohawk. I doubt if anything would.” She then added quickly, “I do appreciate you asking me. You are ever so kind, always, to me. I’m not sure if I deserve such a friendship as yours.”
“Your friendship is cherished by me, No-din,” Nee-kah said, reaching over to place a hand on Mariah’s shoulder. “Mine to you is enduring, ah-pah-nay, forever.”
Mariah’s eyes wavered and she looked away from Nee-kah, worrying again about Nee-kah’s reaction when she would one day discover exactly who this “friend” was.
Then she looked slowly back over at Nee-kah. “Mine, also, to you is as enduring,” she said, wishing their promises to each other could be true, as everlasting as they both wished.
But too soon so many things could change—especially such friendships.
Her paddle dipped smoothly into the water as they continued traveling upstream between tree-lined banks. The canoes were made with a birchbark box in the middle and used only for the wild-rice harvests, the flails lying in the bottom of the box.
A blue-gray kingfisher that lived along the river, nesting in the banks, swept from a high bank to Mariah’s right and hovered above the river. Then he dived into the water, appearing a moment later with a fish struggling in his long black bill.
And then the wild rice came into view, the canoes moving steadily toward it.
“Ee-nah-bin, look!” Nee-kah said, her eyes beaming. “Have you ever seen such a sight, No-din? See how the wild rice grows so abundantly in the shallow waters of the river? The plants are so heavy with rice this year! And they are the tallest I have ever seen. They must stand twelve feet above the water.”
