Savage Illusions

Brown Elk's eyes lo­we­red to ke­ep from re­ve­aling the sud­den sad­ness that was cre­eping in­to them. At this ti­me he co­uldn't help thin­king of his son.

"This old man has known the joy of hol­ding only one in­fant to his bre­ast in his li­fe­ti­me," Brown Elk sa­id. "And he is go­ne from me now, as Jole­na was go­ne from me when she was sto­len by pe­op­le with the whi­te skins."

Brown Elk lo­oked slowly up at Spot­ted Eag­le. "I lo­ok for­ward to hol­ding an in­fant aga­in next to my he­art," he sa­id. "Ma­ke ba­bi­es so­on, Spot­ted Eag­le, so this old man can watch the child grow so­me sum­mers be­fo­re wan­de­ring off to the Sand Hills to jo­in his an­ces­tors."

"There will be sons and da­ug­h­ters so­on to fill yo­ur arms," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, smi­ling. "My wo­man­yo­ur da­ug­h­ter­will ma­ke be­a­uti­ful da­ug­h­ters and strong, co­ura­ge­o­us sons. You will be pro­ud, and yes, you will be drawn in­to the­ir li­ves and yo­ur da­ug­h­ter's and mi­ne as tho­ugh we we­re of one he­art and so­ul. My chil­d­ren will be bles­sed to ha­ve such a gran­d­fat­her as Brown Elk!"

Brown Elk's eyes dan­ced as he le­aned clo­ser to Spot­ted Eag­le. "Jole­na will so­on erect her lod­ge in the cen­ter of the vil­la­ge. The­re I will pla­ce her dowry, for yo­ur ta­king. I ho­pe what I cho­ose for this dowry will be ade­qu­ate to show my ad­mi­ra­ti­on for the man my da­ug­h­ter is to marry!"

"Having yo­ur da­ug­h­ter as my wi­fe is dowry eno­ugh for this man," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, chuc­k­ling low. He ro­se to his fe­et and went aro­und the fi­re and em­b­ra­ced Brown Elk as he ro­se and sto­od be­fo­re him.

"It will be go­od to ha­ve two fat­hers," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, step­ping back from Brown Elk. "I fe­ar that my true fat­her's sum­mers are les­se­ning much too qu­ickly. He may not see his first gran­d­c­hild. That sad­dens me."

"Do not bring such sad­ness in­to yo­ur he­art un­til it hap­pens and you are for­ced to ac­cept it," Brown Elk sa­id. "Che­rish the ti­me now with him, so that when he pas­ses to the ot­her si­de you will not be as he­art sick over the loss."

"That I will do," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, then nod- ded a si­lent fa­re­well. He went to the en­t­ran­ce flap and ra­ised it, only to find him­self pe­ering down in­to the eyes of his be­lo­ved.

Jolena blus­hed and lo­we­red her eyes, fe­eling aw­k­ward at this mo­ment be­ca­use of what was ta­king pla­ce bet­we­en her and Spot­ted Eag­le. For the first ti­me in her li­fe that she co­uld re­call, she was ac­tu­al­ly fe­eling bas­h­ful! She sa­id not­hing, nor did he, and she slip­ped past him in­to the te­pee, la­ug­hing softly as she tur­ned a won­de­ring lo­ok at Mo­on Flo­wer.

"This is such fun," she sa­id, clas­ping her hands be­fo­re her. "I sud­denly fe­el mo­re li­ke a child than a wo­man pre­pa­ring for mar­ri­age. It all se­ems so sec­re­ti­ve. It ma­kes it all se­em sos­pe­ci­al, so­me­how."

"It is go­od to see yo­ur eyes shi­ning and to he­ar the ex­ci­te­ment in yo­ur vo­ice," Brown Elk sa­id, go­ing to Jole­na.

He drew her in­to his arms and held her to him. "My da­ug­h­ter," he sa­id fondly. "Do you know how go­od it is to hold you? For so long this was de­ni­ed me!"

"I, too, enj­oy be­ing h

eld by you," Jole­na mur­mu­red, clin­ging to him. "You are ever­y­t­hing I wo­uld ever want in a fat­her."

Brown Elk step­ped away from her and knelt down be­fo­re a trunk that he was slowly un­co­ve­ring by lif­ting one blan­ket and then anot­her away from it. "This fat­her has gifts for you from myself and yo­ur mot­her," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. He cast Jole­na a glan­ce and nod­ded for her to jo­in him at the trunk. " Ok-yi. Co­me. See. They are yo­urs to we­ar on yo­ur wed­ding day."

Her pul­se ra­cing, an­xi­o­us to know what co­uld be in the trunk that co­uld be from her mot­her as well as her fat­her, Jole­na sat down on a thick cus­hi­on of pelts be­si­de Brown Elk. Her eyes we­re glu­ed to the lid of the trunk as her fat­her's trem­b­ling fin­gers be­gan ra­ising it.

Her eyes wi­de­ned when she saw the be­a­uti­ful things in­si­de the trunk, la­id out so ca­re­ful­ly. The light of the fi­re ref­lec­ted on leg­gings ador­ned with many co­lor­ful be­ads and bells and brass but­tons. As her fat­her lif­ted the gar­ment from the trunk and la­id it on Jole­na's lap, she saw that it was ma­de of de­er­s­kin and was he­avily frin­ged, as well as be­a­uti­ful­ly de­co­ra­ted.

She gently to­uc­hed the leg­gings, sig­hing as she dis­co­ve­red the sof­t­ness of the buc­k­s­kin, but her eyes we­re el­sew­he­re as her fat­her slowly lif­ted a be­a­uti­ful In­di­an dress from the trunk. It was ma­de of an­te­lo­pe skin and was as whi­te as snow and or­na­men­ted with at le­ast three hun­d­red be­ads ma­de from elk tusks!

This, too, was la­id ac­ross Jole­na's lap for her to ga­ze upon and to to­uch, but aga­in her at­ten­ti­on was drawn to so­met­hing el­se her fat­her was ta­king from the trunk.

It was a sum­mer blan­ket ma­de of elk skin, well tan­ned, wit­ho­ut the ha­ir, and with the dew-claws left on.

Brown Elk re­ac­hed in­to the trunk one last ti­me and drew out a be­a­uti­ful pa­ir of black moc­ca­sins. They we­re of de­er­s­kin with par­f­lec­he so­les and wor­ked with por­cu­pi­ne qu­il­ls. "The­se we­re yo­ur mot­her's on the day of her mar­ri­age to yo­ur fat­her," Brown Elk sa­id, gently stro­king his hand down the full length of Jole­na's un­b­ra­ided ha­ir. "This old man ne­ver tho­ught the­re co­uld be anot­her wo­man as lo­vely as yo­ur mot­her… not un­til now. Not un­til you. You will be as be­a­uti­ful. And yo­ur mot­her will be wat­c­hing from her pla­ce in the he­avens as you be­co­me a ra­di­ant wi­fe to Spot­ted Eag­le. She will bless this mar­ri­age, as I ha­ve al­re­ady."

Jolena was at a loss for words. Te­ars splas­hed from her eyes. She felt both happy and sad. The clot­hes ga­ve her a sen­se of her mot­her's ne­ar­ness, yet they al­so ma­de it all the mo­re re­al that Swe­et Do­ve was not the­re to wit­ness her da­ug­h­ter's hap­pi­ness!

At this mo­ment, Jole­na re­ali­zed just how che­ated she had be­en by fa­te. Her mot­her had be­en ta­ken from her be­fo­re she had known the won­ders of her to­uch, her kiss, her bles­sin­g­se­ven be­fo­re Jole­na had be­en ab­le to drink that first drop of milk from her mot­her's bre­ast!

She tur­ned her eyes from Brown Elk, wil­ling her­self to stop crying!

This was a ti­me me­ant for happy tho­ughts, not a past that she had ne­ver had any con­t­rol over!

When the te­ars had dri­ed, she tur­ned a smi­le to her fat­her. "I lo­ve them all," she mur­mu­red. "Thank you, fat­her, for al­lo­wing me to we­ar the clot­hes my mot­her wo­re when she be­ca­me yo­ur wi­fe. I we­ar them with much pri­de and lo­ve."

A soft vo­ice out­si­de the te­pee spe­aking Brown Elk's na­me ma­de him smi­le bro­adly. He ro­se to his fe­et and wal­ked to­ward the en­t­ran­ce. Then he nod­ded at Mo­on Flo­wer. "Go to Jole­na," he sa­id softly. "Ta­ke the clot­hes from her arms. Her arms must be free to ac­cept the gift One Who Walks With A Limp has ma­de for her. Lay the clot­hes asi­de and go with Jole­na and as­sist her in set­ting up her lod­ge, for she has no know­led­ge yet of how this is do­ne."

Brown Elk ga­ve Jole­na a glan­ce over his sho­ul­der. " Ok-yi. Co­me, my da­ug­h­ter," he sa­id. "Co­me and see what One Who Walks With A Limp has bro­ught you."

Moon Flo­wer went to Jole­na and ca­re­ful­ly to­ok the clot­hes from her arms, then ga­ve her a qu­i­et smi­le as Jole­na got to her fe­et and mo­ved to­ward her fat­her with soft steps.