Savage Illusions

After a long mo­ment of pe­ace­ful si­len­ce, Brown Elk be­gan to talk. "The­re are many win­ters in this old man," he sa­id. "But on­ce I was yo­ung, and I had a yo­ung wi­fe. Her na­me was Swe­et Do­ve, the most be­a­uti­ful wo­man of the Blac­k­fo­ot, Cree, Crow, and Sna­ke tri­bes of the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory. When she ag­re­ed to be­co­me my wi­fe, I ga­ve a ce­leb­ra­ti­on that las­ted for many days and nights."

He swal­lo­wed hard. "We spent many nights sha­ring blan­ket warmth, and then she told me she was with child," he sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a pro­ud smi­le. "Ne­ver was a Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or as happy as when that an­no­un­ce­ment was ma­de to me. I pam­pe­red my wo­man, and every night I spo­ke to my child thro­ugh the walls of my wi­fe's sto­mach. I told my child that this fat­her al­re­ady lo­ved her very much."

He lo­oked qu­ickly away as te

­ars be­gan sil­ve­ring his eyes. "Yes, even then I saw the child as a da­ug­h­ter," he sa­id, his vo­ice tra­iling away. "And then ca­me the day for this child to be born. Fo­olishly I al­lo­wed my wi­fe to go from this vil­la­ge to ha­ve the child alo­ne, as Blac­k­fo­ot wi­ves do. Ne­ver did the li­fe of my child se­em thre­ate­ned, nor that of my wi­fe. Swe­et Do­ve was he­althy and strong. But not strong eno­ugh, it se­ems."

Brown Elk res­ted his fa­ce in his hands and be­gan sha­king his he­ad back and forth mo­ur­n­ful­ly. "She must ha­ve suf­fe­red much be­fo­re she re­le­ased the child from her womb," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "The blo­od… the­re was so much blo­od when she was fo­und…"

Jolena mo­ved to her fat­her and to­ok his hands from his fa­ce and le­aned in­to his arms. "No mo­re," she cri­ed. "Ple­ase don't say any mo­re. It isn't fa­ir of me to ask you to go thro­ugh this aga­in, as tho­ugh it we­re to­day in­s­te­ad of eig­h­te­en sum­mers ago. Ple­ase say no mo­re, Fat­her."

In her mind's eye, Jole­na was trying des­pe­ra­tely to block out the sight of her mot­her lying in a po­ol of her li­fe's blo­od wit­ho­ut fe­eling to bla­me, even tho­ugh she had be­en a me­re ba­be, in­no­cent of ever­y­t­hing as she had la­in be­si­de her dying mot­her, who had gi­ven her li­fe to gi­ve birth to her. She was so glad that her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her did not see her as the ca­use of his wi­fe's de­ath.

Jolena clen­c­hed her eye­lids clo­sed, ha­ving le­ar­ned so­met­hing from this ex­pe­ri­en­ce. She knew that whe­ne­ver she was he­avy with child, she wo­uld most de­fi­ni­tely bre­ak away from the old tra­di­ti­on of go­ing from the vil­la­ge to gi­ve birth to the child alo­ne! She wo­uld want her be­lo­ved Spot­ted Eag­le at her si­de du­ring her ti­me of la­bor and bir­t­hing. She wo­uld not let his­tory re­pe­at it­self.

Her eyes flut­te­red open, re­ali­zing whe­re her tho­ughts had just ta­ken her! She was mar­ve­ling at how she co­uld think that far ahe­ad and con­si­der chil­d­ren with Spot­ted Eag­le when she wasn't even yet his wi­fe!

Someone crying just out­si­de the te­pee drew Jole­na and Brown Elk apart. They both rus­hed to the­ir fe­et and went to the en­t­ran­ce. Jole­na wat­c­hed an­xi­o­usly as her fat­her lif­ted the flap, gas­ping when she fo­und Mo­on Flo­wer the­re, trem­b­ling and crying.

"I ha­ve be­en ba­nis­hed from my pa­rents' lod­ge," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, sob­bing as she ga­zed from Jole­na to Brown Elk. "Whe­re can I go? What am I to do? My pa­rents di­sown me."

Brown Elk re­ac­hed qu­ickly to Mo­on Flo­wer. He pla­ced an arm aro­und her wa­ist and drew her in­to the te­pee. "Tell us what has hap­pe­ned to ca­use such tro­ub­le bet­we­en yo­ur­self and yo­ur pa­rents," he sa­id, hel­ping her down on­to the co­uch cus­hi­oned with many pelts.

Jolena fol­lo­wed and sat down on one si­de of Mo­on Flo­wer as her fat­her sat down on the ot­her si­de of the dis­t­ra­ught yo­ung wo­man.

Moon Flo­wer bu­ri­ed her fa­ce in her hands, her who­le body sha­king as she con­ti­nu­ed crying. "I told my pa­rents that I was with child!" she cri­ed. "I as­ked for the­ir pity and… told them that a child born to me now wo­uld be born of a da­ug­h­ter still un­mar­ri­ed!"

"You are with child?" Jole­na sa­id, trying to ke­ep the alarm that she was fe­eling from her vo­ice. She knew of Mo­on Flo­wer's lo­ve for Two Rid­ges. The child co­uld be no­ne ot­her than his!

"Yes, and I am pro­ud, not as­ha­med!" Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a de­fi­ant lo­ok. "Had Two Rid­ges not di­ed, he wo­uld ha­ve mar­ri­ed me! I… had not fo­und the co­ura­ge yet to tell him abo­ut the… child."

She lo­we­red her eyes and wept aga­in. "And ne­ver shall I be ab­le to!" she wa­iled.

"You did not ha­ve the co­ura­ge al­so to tell yo­ur pa­rents un­til now?" Brown Elk sa­id, re­ac­hing a hand to Mo­on Flo­wer's brow, smo­ot­hing so­me fal­len dark locks of ha­ir back in­to pla­ce.

"I did not want to tell them un­til I had ex­c­han­ged vows with Two Rid­ges and then the preg­nancy wo­uld be le­gi­ti­ma­te in the eyes of my pa­rents and my pe­op­le," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, snif­fling as she wi­ped her no­se with the back of a hand. "I had tho­ught to run away af­ter his bu­ri­al and stay away un­til I had the child. I did not think my pa­rents co­uld turn the­ir backs on a da­ug­h­ter who was of­fe­ring a tiny child to its gran­d­pa­rents for lo­ving and un­der­s­tan­ding. But to­day I co­uld not be­ar the tho­ught of le­aving, nor co­uld I be­ar the tho­ught of car­rying this bur­den wit­hin my he­art any lon­ger. I re­ve­aled the truth of my con­di­ti­on to my mot­her and fat­her, and ne­it­her em­b­ra­ced the kno­wing. Both are as­ha­med and they po­in­ted to the do­or and or­de­red me to le­ave."

Knowing that Two Rid­ges had ne­ver had any true fe­elings for Mo­on Flo­wer, Jole­na was torn in her fe­elings abo­ut kno­wing that the child Mo­on Flo­wer was car­rying was his.

Now a part of this hor­rib­le man wo­uld be ali­ve fo­re­ver!

Yet she co­uld not shun this wo­man who­se li­fe had be­en al­te­red fo­re­ver by Two Rid­ges' ne­ed to con­qu­er as many wo­men as he co­uld to pro­ve his pro­wess.

This wo­man had not be­en as lucky as Jole­na­to find a man who was ho­no­rab­le in every way!

Also, this un­born child was in part re­la­ted to Jole­na! She wo­uld be the child's aunt!

She glan­ced at her fat­her, se­e­ing how he wo­re this know­led­ge he­avy in the depths of his eyes­to know that a son had fat­he­red a child and had not wed the wo­man first!

She co­uld see a mix­tu­re of alarm and sha­me in his ex­p­res­si­on and was glad when he ope­ned his arms to Mo­on Flo­wer, su­rely re­ady to ac­cept this wo­man in­to his li­fe as he wo­uld his gran­d­c­hild on­ce it was born.

"You ne­ed go no far­t­her than my te­pee," Brown Elk sa­id, em­b­ra­cing Mo­on Flo­wer as she clung des­pe­ra­tely to him. "I shall ta­ke over the du­ti­es of my son. You will li­ve with me. The child will ha­ve a pla­ce to li­ve. Yo­ur child will be de­arly lo­ved."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Mo­on Flo­wer sob­bed. "I pro­mi­se that I will find many ways to re­pay yo­ur kin­d­ness."

"You ne­ed not worry abo­ut re­pay­ment," Brown Elk sa­id, pat­ting her back. "That you we­re ho­nest eno­ugh to re­ve­al the truth to me, the un­born child's gran­d­pa­rent, is pay­ment eno­ugh. Sho­uld you ha­ve left the vil­la­ge, ne­ver wo­uld I ha­ve be­en gi­ven the chan­ce to hold my gran­d­c­hild, nor to gi­ve it the lo­ve it de­ser­ves from a gran­d­pa­rent."

He pa­used, then sa­id, "Yo­ur mot­her and fat­her will envy this gran­d­pa­rent when they see he holds the child up on the day of its birth for all to see!"