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With her hair swept back from her face in a bun today, her cheeks flushed from having prepared the morning meal, anything she said would not be easily ignored. She was a woman of much intelligence. He always listened to her suggestions, usually agreeing with her.
But today he was not sure if he should see the worth in his son’s suggestion and his wife’s agreement. He had to think it over. He had to weigh the good and bad inside his heart before he came to any decisions.
“We shall see. I will give it much serious thought,” he said, cupping Leonida’s chin in his hand. He drew her lips to his and brushed them with his. Then he rose to his feet. “Runner, if we are to get your brother to school on time, we’d best be on our way.”
Thunder Hawk rose to his feet only halfheartedly. Runner reached for his arm and teasingly yanked him to his side. “Come now, brother,” he said, fondly placing an arm around Thunder Hawk’s broad shoulders. “Let’s look at it this way. This time next year, if you behave, schooling will be behind you. Then what will you find to grumble about?”
“If I never have to step inside a schoolroom again, I will never again have cause to be unhappy,” Thunder Hawk said determinedly. “I wish only to be a sheepherder. More respect is given to families who have large herds of sheep that are well cared for.”
“That is so, son,” Sage said dryly. “But much respect is given a man who has a school education.”
All was quiet for a moment, then Leonida went to Thunder Hawk and Runner and gave them each a quick kiss on their cheeks, giggling when Sage whipped an arm around her waist and drew her around, against his hard body.
“My woman,” he whispered, giving her a lingering kiss now that he knew that his sons had left the hogan.
Then he eased her from his arms and walked on away from her. “Ready the blankets for us while I am gone,” he tossed absently over his shoulder. “Tonight we will warm them again with our bodies.”
Leonida wanted to allow herself to be lost in thoughts of passion, but knowing how Sage was so troubled by the Santa Fe train closing in on the Navaho land, she could only worry as he walked away from the hogan.
She hurried outside just as her three men rode off on their horses, silver ornaments on their stamped leather saddles flashing in the sun.
“Be careful,” she shouted, waving as one by one her three loved ones turned and gave her a smile over their shoulders.
Then she looked at Pure Blossom’s hogan. She sighed with relief when she saw smoke spiraling from the chimney. Her daughter was surely busy at work, eating her own breakfast.
“I shan’t bother her,” Leonida whispered to herself. “When she’s ready to take a break from her beloved weaving, she’ll come to me.”
She tried to shake the remembrance of another Pure Blossom of so many years ago from her mind, and how she had slowly faded away. Perhaps if it had not been for the prairie fever that had taken its final toll on her, Pure Blossom would have lived many more years, happy and content with her own special skills at weaving.
Turning, gathering the hem of her skirt into her arms, Leonida went back inside her own hogan. She glanced around, seeing the changes that had been brought to the far reaches of Navaho land by the white settlers. For days Sage and Runner had gone and watched ox teams draw up to various spots near springs and unload axes, saws, and nails. They had seen straight-walled houses being built of logs, with glass windows and iron hardware.
Sage and Runner had returned to the reservation and encouraged their people to begin making houses of thick, sawed logs, instead of poles covered with bark and earth. When they did, they had not kept to the four-sided style. They had laid their logs in six- or eight-sided shapes, so that the inside of the houses would still be circular and fit for Navaho ceremonies.
Leonida’s house was filled with many more comforts of the white settlers, making life easier for her. She was proudest of her huge iron stove that she now used for cooking.
“Oh, Lord, please let Sage make the right decision,” she whispered. “What Runner said made so much sense. He’s such a brilliant young man.”
Every day she thanked the Lord for having been blessed with the opportunity to have seen Runner grow from a young boy of five into a young man of twenty-three. She had to believe that his mother, Carole, was up there in the heavens somewhere, looking down at her son and smiling.
Runner rode his feisty black stallion beside his father’s strawberry roan and gave Sage a quick glance. “I have to think that Damon Stout has some involvement in th
is railroad spur going on past Fort Defiance,” he said, his long, black hair fluttering in the breeze. “That rancher has been nothing but trouble since he settled on land that is part of the reservation. What are treaties for if the government hands out land as though it is candy to ranchers like Damon Stout?”
“The government has watched us cross the treaty boundaries as our sheep need more grazing land, so they see no harm in allowing white men to come onto land that by treaty is ours,” Sage said, frowning at Runner. “Yet what does the government do when our horses are stolen by the likes of this man called Damon? They look past the truth, ignoring it.”
“What are you going to do if our horses continue to be stolen?” Runner asked, his eyes filled with fire at the thought of someone coming under the cover of darkness to steal from the Navaho.
“In time, my son, the one responsible for the stealing will make a wrong move,” Sage said, nodding. “Then he will never steal from anyone again.” He tightened his hold on his reins. “Damon. Damon Stout. He will be caught redhanded one day. Pity him then.”
The small adobe schoolhouse came into view, the sun beating down upon its flat roof. Thunder Hawk emitted a groan, then broke away from Runner and Sage and rode in a hard gallop away from them, toward the school.
They drew a tight rein and stopped their horses. They watched Thunder Hawk tie his horse with the others at the hitching rail, then walk with slumped shoulders into the schoolhouse.
“He does not walk like a man,” Sage complained.
“That will come to him when his education is completed,” Runner said, reaching to clasp his father’s shoulder. “Learning is best for him.”
Sage nodded, covered Runner’s hand with his own, then drew his hand away and gripped the reins again. “Ei-yei! Let us ride, my son,” he shouted, sinking his moccasined heels into the flanks of his horse.
