The Savage Ones

Lying still, I tried to understand what woke me, for normally I slept deeply until morning. From far away I heard the faint call of an owl, layered below the chirping of the insects, and the sighing breeze. Propping myself up on one elbow, I looked around the small living room below my loft, but nothing stirred. The embers from the fire still glowed, but faintly, casting a dying red haze across the hearth. Laying down again, I listened to the sounds of the night, letting the wild call of the owl soothe me. Then I bolted upright, shivers running up and down my arms.

Pushing back my covers, I slid from bed and crept noiselessly down the ladder to the floor, peeking over at the closed bedroom door that separated Mamma and Frank's room. Tiptoeing to the door, I pulled the latch. The hinges were quiet and I eased outside into the crisp night air, closing the door behind me. Taking off at a run, my feet carried me toward the brook, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The owl hushed his calls, the grasshoppers and crickets shushing their songs as I went by. It total silence I came upon the spot I last met Wind Runner, looking cautiously around.

"Hao, little one." His voice came from the trees, and I watched as his silhouette stepped into sight. "I was not certain you would understand it was I."

"I did not at first," guardedly I approached a few more steps. "Then I realized there was an echo to the owl's call. Real owls do not echo."

"Hahn (yes)?" I could hear the smile in his voice. "How does such a young girl know these things?"

"Ah-day-wah'yea kee (my father)." I made no move to retreat as he came closer, closing the distance between us to a few feet. The language of my people was a balm on my restless spirit.

"The white man?" he indicated the cabin where Frank slept, but I shook my head.

"Napayshini. He is the father of my heart, of my blood."

It was too dark to see his expression, but Wind Runner was silent for a long moment, then he knelt before me, coming level with my eyes. For the first time I saw his features, the clear, strong cheekbones, the straight nose, fine lips. The moonlight reflected in silver waves off the raven black length of his hair.

"Napayshni has no child. That is well known among the nation."

"I was taken away, by my white mother." Defensive, I crossed my arms. "I do not tell untruth regarding this."

"Taku enee see yapi hey? (what is your name)"

"Kimimela."

"Little Butterfly." Wind Runner smiled widely, his eyes lighting up. "I have heard that name spoken of in whispers, in shadow. I did not believe."

"I am not a spirit, not a shade of smoke." Disbelief filled my voice. "I am Kimimela, daughter of Napayshni."

"Your father was a great warrior, a good man."

"Was?" at the word my voice caught, tightness constricting my ribcage until I couldn't breathe. "Does he live?"

Wind Runner stood up, backing away without answering me. When he moved toward the small brook, I was at his side. In silence, we knelt at the bank, and I instinctively copied his movements as he dipped his fingers into the water. With ceremonial dignity, he waved them solemnly in the air, humming a soft chant under his breath. Without looking at me, he spoke.

"It is not polite to speak of the dead, but as you are a child, and away from the fires of your people, I will speak of him this one time. Napayshni sits at the council fires of his ancestors now, in the peace of the spirit land. He fell in battle against the Blue Coats, but he died with great honor."

Distraught, feeling anger and despair climbing up my throat, I balled my fists tight, trying to keep from trembling. It felt as though the earth had split from beneath my feet, the bottom dropping out from under my world. Blinded by tears, roaring in my ears, I sat motionless, unseeing, unhearing. All the memories of my father washed before my eyes, his smile, his laugh, the black depth of his eyes, his voice, his touch, it all fled from me like night before the onslaught of dawn. I choked back a broken cry, a wail that threatened to betray my shattered heart, but it would not be contained. My howls echoed across the land as I lost myself to heartache.

Quivering as though I would fly apart, I felt gentle arms encircle me. That crumbled what little control I had left, and I sobbed, keening loudly of my sorrow. Among my people, I had been taught that a person's true character emerges in grief, and that mourners should try to be as virtuous as they can in the face of great loss. In that moment though, all my early training left me and I wept openly, shattered. The body next to me was warm, and calm, soothing me with quiet murmurs, and I felt no shame in my grief. The sun was edging over the horizon when I finally ceased crying, wiping my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve.

"Are you alright now?"

Frank's gentle voice made me jerk back, startled, flushed with shame that he had seen me so weak. Rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes I pushed away, getting up.

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked first." He shifted a little to face me, but did not rise, or attempt to approach. "Are you okay? You hurt?"

"No-" I had to stop, because tears gathered again, spilling down my cheeks, for I was hurt. My heart was broken into little pieces, and the pain was almost unbearable.

"What are you doing out here alone? What's got you crying?" his concern was genuine, and I cast my eyes quickly around but Wind Runner was nowhere in sight. Frank noticed and I saw something dark flash across his face.

"Did he hurt you." It wasn't a question, but a sharp demand. Hugging my shoulders, I shook my head, my eyes aching from the crushing grief.

"He yay, ah-day-wah'yea kee...He is gone." I tried to be strong, tried to stop my tears but I could not. Pain ripped through me again like the sharp edge of a knife, and I gasped, biting hard on my bottom lip.

"The Indian boy told you Napayshni is dead?"

"Yes."

"You believe him?"

"Hahn (yes)."

"I'm sorry little Butterfly," Frank was serious, soothing. "I truly am."

"I won't see him again, he's gone!" More tears came, flooding down my cheeks.

"You will. Don't your people believe in the spirit world? He waits for you, at the fires of your people."

"I will never get there." Sadness ravaged my heart, leaving me hollow, empty. "Without my father to guide me, I can never belong there."

Frank cautiously came near, putting his arms around me again. I was stiff at first, but my anguish outweighed my pride. Nestled into his chest, I buried my face and cried. How long I wept I was not certain, but when Mamma's voice carried from the house, looking for her husband and child, I tried to choke back my sorrow. Hastily trying to dry my face, I looked around, making certain she was not in sight.

"Mamma! She will not understand!"

"Easy Butterfly, its alright..."

"She will be angry-"

"She'll understand." He soothed me, lifting me into his arms as he rose. My first inclination was to fight, but I was too tired, too stricken, so I let him carry me home. Mamma caught sight of us, and her face went pale with worry.

"Frank! Jaynie, oh my goodness, are you hurt?"

Her arms swept me from Frank's, holding me close to her soft, sweet smelling skin. I burrowed into her warmth and closed my eyes, more wetness seeping through my lashes while Frank told her. Mamma listened in silence, her heartbeat increasing its pace beneath my ear. When he finished, she carried me inside, settling into her rocker. Still holding me in her arms, she began to rock, caressing my hair, humming under her breath. I wasn't certain if she was angry, but what I wanted most I got...her love and assurance. After a long time she put her lips against my ear.

"Honey, are you alright?"

"No," I resettled, laying my cheek against her shoulder. "Papa is gone."

"Yes." Her answer was tight, but held neither joy nor grief. "I know how much you miss him, Jaynie."

"Are you angry, Mamma?" I couldn't make myself look up at her, but I felt her shake her head, her fingers in my hair.

"No. It is good that you loved him so much. I wish you would have told me about this strange boy, but Jaynie..." she stopped as if searching for the right words. "I've been giving this a lot of thought, ever since last week when we quarreled. I cannot pretend you have no part of your father in you, and maybe I've been pushing too hard to make you forget. It's not going to be easy, you know, proudly showing your Indian heritage, but I want you to know, I'll always be here for you."

"You still love me then?"

"Love you?" pulling back, her fingers slid under my chin, tilting my head up. "Of course I do! Don't ever doubt that, sweetheart, ever."

"Even though I'm not white?"

"I love you just as you are, Jaynie. I'm sorry you had reason to question that."

"What if your baby is a girl? What then?" I pressed, finally able to express my deepest fear, comfortable in her embrace. Mamma searched my face, her green eyes startled, puzzled.

"I will not love you less, Jaynie. You are first daughter of my heart, no one can take that from you."

Nuzzling back into her arms, I breathed a sigh of relief, the sting of my father's loss still there, but lessened a little by her love. Sniffling, I wiped my nose with my sleeve, more tears dribbling down my face. Frank was in the doorway, watching, and my eyes shifted that way, finding his. We held that moment for a while, and I felt a subtle shifting inside me, the beginning warmth of gratitude. With a quick wink at me, he spoke to my mother.

"I'll go tend the chores. Holler if you need me."

"Frank?" Mamma's voice made him turn. "Jaynie should stay home with me, just for today."

"If that's what you think is best, I got no issue with it." He glanced at me, then back at her. "She looks tuckered out."

Tightening her arms around me, Mamma kissed the top of my head.

"My little girl just needs some time, then she'll be herself again. Won't you honey."

Nodding, I wrapped my arms around her neck. It felt so good to be near her, to know that she loved me, and I never wanted this moment to end. Once Frank was gone I leaned up and fiercely kissed her cheek, holding on tight. Pressing my nose to hers, our eyes met.

"I love you Mamma."

"I love you too baby." She brushed hair from my face, tucking the strands behind my ear. "You are so beautiful, my little Butterfly."

"Butterfly! You knew?!" pulling back, I gaped at her, startled. She smiled, a little sadly.

"Of course I knew. Your father told me what Kimimela meant, and I always thought it suited you, when you weren't busy running and fighting like a boy." Her smile softened the words.

"Can you call me that always?" our closeness made me comfortable to ask her, for the first time the barriers between us gone.

"Jaynie- honey, Kimimela is just too different." She tried to explain, to be kind, and I tried to listen and understand. "Everything is against you right now, and an Indian name will not help. I do it to protect you, to soften the way people will look at you, and react to you."

"Maybe...maybe you can call me Butterfly instead, sometimes."

"Perhaps," she smiled, loving, yielding. "If you think, maybe, you can learn to not curl your nose up when I call you Jaynie."

"I do not!"

"Oh yes you do!" she tweaked my nose playfully and we both giggled. After a moment, she cupped my chin in her hands. "Now, tell me about this boy."

"Well..." I thought about it for a moment then lay back against her, toying with her fingers. More moisture built in my eyes. "His name is Wind Runner, and he reminds me of Papa, mostly in his eyes..."