The Powder River by Win Blevins Page B

fragile creature. The girl even had a fancy cloth dress, undoubtedly taken in a raid, to make her seem more beautiful. Somewhere in the middle of the vigil Elaine realized that she had a new … sister?
    Rain was some kind of family. The last several years of warring and dying; sickness had killed her parents. She was wed to Red Hand because her sister was his first wife. Now they were dead, and Rain had only her dead husband’s family. That’s all the child had, too, a child so far nameless.
    Near dawn, after eating a little broth, she was able to talk. She spoke softly, sometimes hesitantly, often looking at the infant sleeping in her lap. Though she kept her eyes down, modestly, Elaine could see how intently she meant every word. “I was about to give birth in an open place, afraid the soldiers would find me. Perhaps kill me, and rip the child out of my belly with the long knives. Like Sand Creek.” Calling Eagle gave Elaine a hard look.
    “Just as he … came out, a big soldier did come. I couldn’t do anything—couldn’t run, couldn’t defend myself.” Elaine knew that Cheyenne women were very modest, and intensely private about childbirth—poor Rain must have been terrified.
    “But I was not afraid,” Rain went on. “I thought the birth would kill me anyway, and my child would die from lack of care. So I had given up on living. I just wanted to get him out into the air and hold him and lift him to the four directions, to let him see the earth and feel the powers while he breathed.” She touched her son’s head delicately.
    “But the big soldier just watched me. He didn’t say anything, or do anything.
    “Then I understood. He was not merely a soldier—he couldn’t be, he would have killed me—he was a spirit in the form of a soldier.
    “Such power frightened me a little. More than a little. But I knew everything would be all right, everything would be blessed.” Then the words came in a soft, quick rustle. “I pushed the child out, held him up to the four directions, the sky, and the earth, and he was alive and made special by this spirit and I was profoundly happy.” She was silent awhile.
    “But I couldn’t nurse him. My dress was closed.” She opened the blanket on her shoulders and indicated the bodice of her fancy dress, which was ripped open to the waist. She closed the blanket modestly. “So I asked the spirit to undo the buttons.” She used the English words buttons , since Cheyenne had no equivalent. “Instead the spirit cut open my dress the way you see. It made me feel … shaky”—she shivered just remembering—“to let the blade come so close. Shaky but grand.” She hesitated, and when she spoke looked transcendent. “Then I simply exposed my breasts in front of him and all the world, and nursed my son. I knew the spirit would not hurt me.
    “No, he helped me. He cut the dress open for me. And then went away. Without a word. He didn’t give me a song, or show me a dance, he just walked away.
    “I am awed at this appearance, this power at the birth of my son. A warrior took care of him. He will be a great warrior. I have named him”—she used the English words—“Big Soldier.”
    By noon the mother and child looked better, much better. Smith and Elaine had taken them to the family fire and were still keeping a close watch on them.
    A dog soldier, Calling Eagle reported, had stolen some cavalry horses during the night, and one set of saddlebags held a little ammunition, and another held lots of dollars. Now it would be easier to get horses and guns.
    At noon the soldiers were pulling out in the direction of the agency. Cheyenne warriors stood exposed within shooting range, but did not shoot. Elaine stood tremulously between Adam and Calling Eagle and watched them go.
    “Maybe the powers were with us here,” murmured Adam.
    “We are very lucky,” said Elaine. “All of us,” she said, thinking of Bain and Big Soldier.
    Calling Eagle looked at her piteously.
    The