“Go to my lodge and wait for me,” Thunder Horse said, searching her eyes. “What I must do must be done alone. Even my sister and nephew cannot join me as I prepare my father for burial. It is the duty of a son. I . . . am . . . that micinski, that son.”
He quickly drew her into his arms and gave her one last embrace, then turned and went back inside the tepee where his father awaited him.
Jessie hugged Sweet Willow and Lone Wing, then went alone to Thunder Horse’s tepee, where she began gathering things and packing blankets and clothes in parfleche bags for the long journey ahead. She did not want Thunder Horse to have to do this after burying his father. She was his woman and she would perform a wife’s duties for the man she would soon marry.
The thought of marrying Thunder Horse made these moments less sad, for soon she would be the wife of a wonderful, caring, powerful Sioux chief.
“Sioux chief,” she whispered, knowing that just a few weeks ago she would have been astonished to learn that one day she would be the wife of a powerful Sioux chief. That was not an ordinary thing—a white woman with an Indian, much less a chief.
But things had happened that made this so, and now she could not see how her life could ever be any other way than intertwined with Thunder Horse’s forever.
“I will always be here for you,” she whispered as she picked up one of his fringed shirts and held it tenderly to her bosom. “My love, oh, my love, I wish I could do something to help erase the pain of your loss, for I know how deep it goes. I have lost many I love, too.”
As she remembered the loved ones who had died such untimely deaths, and in such horrible ways, Jessie’s thoughts went to her one remaining relative.
Reginald Vineyard.
It did not seem right to have such a man as a relative. He had become a stranger to her in every way.
A shudder raced across her flesh as she thought about what Reginald might do in a desperate attempt to get rid of his nightmares. She was afraid of what he might do now that the Sioux had refused to lift the curse from him.
And, Lord, where was Lee-Lee? And how was Jade?
Would Reginald be cruel to Jade now that Lee-Lee had disappeared?
She felt as though she had let Jade down by not helping her escape her cousin’s madness. But doing so would have jeopardized her own bid for freedom.
With so many concerns weighing on her mind, Jessie put her head in her hands and cried while Thunder Horse knelt beside his father and prepared him for burial.
He gently and lovingly placed new embroidered moccasins on his father’s feet, as well as a new robe, also with fancy embroidery work to match his moccasins, all of which Sweet Willow had prepared for her father’s burial.
After taking one long last look at his father, Thunder Horse slowly wrapped him in a red death robe, for in the Sioux culture, red was the color of honor.
When all of this was done, and prayers had been said over his father, Thunder Horse stepped outside and beckoned eight of his heftiest warriors to come to him. When they did, he gave them instructions about how to carry their late chief’s body to the sacred cave.
After they went into the tepee to await him, Thunder Horse announced to his people that the time had come. All but a few guards and the elderly, who must save their energies for the long trip ahead, would go to the cave for interment.
Jessie went to stand with Sweet Willow and Lone Wing as Thunder Horse stepped back inside his father’s tepee. Before long he reappeared, helping to carry the body of his beloved father.
With moans and wailing filling the air, the slow procession started off toward the sacred cave.
Jessie felt chilled through and through although it was a warm, bright day, with only a few soft, puffy white clouds floating overhead in the blue sky.
Birds sang their sweet songs in the trees and eagles soared peacefully overhead, following the procession as though they knew the powerful man who would soon be placed with the other fallen chiefs of the Fox band.
To Jessie, it all seemed magical, mystical. She had a strange feeling that something was about to happen.
She looked slowly around her, at the people whose faces were like masks of sadness, and then sought the warriors who seemed to be lagging behind for a purpose, their powerful bows in one hand, their quivers of arrows on their backs. Their eyes seemed ever searching, and that added to Jessie’s apprehension.
She hugged herself with her arms, then walked onward, trying to banish such concerns from her mind and think only of Thunder Horse’s sorrow. He was carrying more than one burden on those powerful broad shoulders today.
The procession seemed to take forever, but finally she saw the entrance to a cave up ahead. She stopped suddenly when Thunder Horse and the others abruptly came to a halt. She smelled the smoke of a campfire, and wondered where it came from, and who had built it.
She watched as Thunder Horse stepped away from the warriors who held his father’s body. Her eyes widened when other warriors went to him and stood around him, talking and glancing toward the cave’s entrance.
And then suddenly they went inside, their bowstrings notched with arrows. Everyone waited, looking questioning at each other.
Sweet Willow stepped closer to Jessie. “It appears that someone is inside the cave.”