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The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday—
—JOHN CLARE
The next morning everything was solemn again between Sage and Leonida as they ate their early-morning meal. Leonida understood Sage’s silence as he sat staring into the flames of the fire, after scarcely touching his food. Soon they would be placing his beloved sister in the ground, far from the place where their ancestors had been buried.
This too seemed to tear at Sage’s insides. Resentment toward the white man burned within him like a fire spreading. Suddenly he turned to Leonida. “There is much to be asked of you today,” he said.
Leonida’s eyebrows rose questioningly. She set her wooden platter aside, her own food half-eaten. “What do you mean?” she murmured. “What are you going to ask me to do?”
“Last night you spoke of helping prepare my sister for burial,” Sage said, gently placing a hand to her cheek. “My wife, I must ask more of you than that. I must ask you to prepare my sister for burial alone.”
“Alone?” she gasped. She had dreaded even assisting the other women, yet she felt that it was required of her because the dead was Sage’s sister. “Why must I do this alone? Everyone loved Pure Blossom. There will be many of your women who will want to care for her.”
“As time goes on, there will be many customs of my people that you will learn,” Sage said thickly. He caressed her chin with his thumb, then moved his hand away from her face. “Today you will learn one of the most important customs of the Navaho.”
“And that is?” Leonida prodded, yet she dreaded hearing the answer. The thought of being alone with Pure Blossom, readying her body for burial, frightened her.
And how was she to know what to do? It would be bad enough to be with Pure Blossom now, seeing her so stone-cold in death and remembering how vital she had been even with her affliction. But to take on the duties of readying her for her grave?
Yet how could she say no to her husband?
“The Navaho people are very hesitant to touch a dead person, and outsiders, non-Navaho, have always been recruited to prepare the dead and to remove the corpses from their dwellings,” he explained, his eyelids heavy as he gazed at her.
“But how could that be possible?” Leonida asked softly. “The Navaho live a secluded life, away from the others.”
“It has not always been that way,” Sage said bitterly. “I recall the neighboring Pueblo, who when I was a child were always ready to come to the aid of their friends, the Navaho. And although so many Kiowa were our enemy, there were some friendly bands with whom we exchanged favors.”
Sage doubled his hand into a tight fist at his side. “But now there are none we can call friends or allies,” he said in a hiss. “The white people have seen to that. Those who once allied themselves with the Navaho are now scattered like blowing grains of sand in all directions of this earth. The customs of the Navaho must change because of this.”
His eyes softened and he took her hand in his, squeezing it lovingly. “But today there is one among us who can help as my sister is prepared to travel to the Country of the Ghosts, the destination of human beings after death. You, my wife, are the one we will depend on today. Can you do this for your husband and his people?”
Leonida swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Yes, I will do this for you,” she said, flinging herself into his arms and hugging him tightly. She still dreading her task with all her might, but if this could help lighten his burden, then so be it. She must do it. Yet a thought struck her that made her pull away from Sage.
“But I don’t know what to do,” she blurted, timidly looking up at him. “How can I do this if I am not shown?”
“You will not be shown, but you will be instructed by Gay Heart, a close friend of Pure Blossom’s,” he said, his voice breaking. “She will tell you what to do. Everything.”
“Oh, I see,” Leonida said, though she still did not feel any better about it. The responsibility frightened her, for what if she did something wrong? Would this affect the burial rites? Would this change the course of Pure Blossom’s journey to the “Country of the Ghosts”?
Her thoughts were catapulted back in time, to the day before her mother’s funeral. Although Leonida had not been very old, she had been forced to accompany her father to the mortuary. Her knees had trembled as she stood at his side while he made the burial arrangements and chose the casket. It had been so morbid to her, she had become ill, choking back the urge to retch as her father ushered her quickly out of the dark and gloomy mortuary.
She shivered at the memory of standing aside and watching as her mother was prepared for her final resting place in the casket. Several women had fussed over her mother in her bedroom while preparing her for her casket. Earlier, the women had chosen the dress that she would wear. It was black and sequined, nothing at all like her mother would ever have had in her wardrobe.
Leonida had shuddered as they combed her mother’s hair into a tight bun atop her head. She had been proud of her long, flowing golden hair.
But it was the makeup on her mother’s face that made Leonida want to shout at the women to get away from her. With all the makeup they put on her porcelain-white face, these women made her mother look like a circus clown instead of the sweet and soft-spoken person she had always been.
Remembering these things made it easier for Leonida to accept the responsibility of Pure Blossom’s appearance. She would let no one make her look like a clown. She would make sure that Pure Blossom was not a mockery of the way she had been in true life, so sweet and giving, so loved.
“There is someone else that I must approach about Pure Blossom’s burial,” Sage said, his jaw tightening, his eyes suddenly filled with tormented anger.
“Who?” Leonida asked, moving to her feet along with Sage. As he dressed himself in his dark velveteen breeches, and a velveteen shirt to match, Leonida also dressed in a garment devoid of bright colors and frills. It was a full-skirted gingham dress with a high collar and long sleeves. As she waited for Sage to respond, she brushed her hair until it lay across her shoulders and down her back in glistening, golden waves.
Sage bent over and pulled on a knee-high buckskin moccasin. “Kit Carson is aware of the Navaho’s tradition as well,” he said, pulling on his other moccasin. “I must go to him. I must seek his help. If he agrees, then tonight, as the sun sets, we will make bargains between us that will best suit us both.”
“You’re not going to ask him to help with the ceremony?” Leonida gasped. She went to him and put a hand on his arm. “Sage, surely you wouldn’t.”
