The Fire Within

Joseph spoke through the cabin door above the howling wind in his grandfather's native tongue. As he shuddered open the door, the snow swirled and stung our faces, but we caught a glimpse of the elder with a powder gun pointed at us. I fell backward in the snow. Redhawk and Thad each took an arm and plucked me from the snow. The boy stood between us and his grandfather, hands in the air.

Redhawk whispered in my ear. "The boy told me the gun does not work. It's meant to scare us."

Clutching Bear, the boys pet dog, I stuck my head toward the opening like a gopher would gaze at a hawk.

The elderly Indian man sat in a rocking chair, his back to the fireplace, gnarled hands, holding a rusted relic of a gun. With his hair white as wool, his blind cue ball eyes looked through us.

"Grandfather! Wich'akichop'i Kin! I brought friends who wish to share a meal with us."

Joseph went over to him and pried the gun from his hands. The grandfather spoke in his Lakota tongue. "T'a nuns' e."

Joseph interpreted for us. "My grandfather says, "He's nearly dead, with little life left. He feared you were spirits of the dead."

Redhawk stepped inside with the venison slung over his shoulders. "We offer food if you will give us shelter from the storm." He set about to use a large pot to boil water from the snow.

Joseph repeated the message. The old man's leathery face allowed the crease of a smile and words in broken English. All three of us were glad to be inside, having closed the door, and left the wind to seek it's own entrance. Above us, snow leaked from the roof. Flakes danced harmlessly between us and melted at our feet.

Redhawk spoke for the three of us. "We come from south of the river across the open plains to the and forested woods for fire."

The pup leaped from me and circled around the grandfather and nestled on rug by the fire. The elder seemed to sense my presence. "I hear a woman. I can smell her fragrance like orchids in the wind."

I approached him, partly to draw warmth from the fire. "Perhaps we were meant to meet. Do you believe things happen for a reason?"

"You make a good medicine woman. Have you come to tell me what you see?"

"I know of a father in heaven who had sent his only son and took on the form of man. He is the one who speaks to the Great Spirit for me."

The men, Thad and Redhawk were busy holding up a blanket and allowing the boy to get out of his frozen clothes. But both men craned their necks, caught in the moment, as my conversation rose above the crackle of the fire.

The Indian leaned forward in his rocking chair. "You must stay. I will hear more. I can see without eyes. My name is Standing Bear. Once a proud elder of Lakota."

He seemed to understand enough English, perhaps because of his grandson's teachings. I introduced myself and my two friends. "My name is a Jane Taylor. My friends are Redhawk, a former Cheyenne scout. And this is Thaddeus, who is a ranch hand and former slave of the white man. We like you and your grandson have had to find a not so snug place in this world."

The grandfather held a lost look. His grandson, Peter spoke up. "ai'khoyak! That is the word in Lakota for someone who finds a place to belong."


The old man blinked, and tears fell from his eyes. "The Spirit of the wind brought you. Therefore, you must stay. I fear I must go to...happy hunting grounds soon. But grandson...know not how to live between two worlds."


As Redhawk took his knife and sliced venison into a pot for a stew, he promised Standing Bear he would teach him how to hunt and trap. It was then as I looked into Redhawk's hazel eyes, I knew he latched on to the boy as a son the scout never had. He yearned to be a bridge for the boy. Thad and I looked at each other knowing we'd have to make snowshoes and march across the plains without him.

It all appeared to make Standing Bear relax and sink back in his chair.

Redhawk put together some spuds and wintergreen leaves to make for a hearty stew. It was set to boil on a bar above the fire. Standing Bear drifted in and out of sleep.

Outside, it was hard to tell if the sun had set, as the snow created a blanket of darkness. But there was a warm peace with all of us. A fire burned inside me to see my family. It was a pang inside me to think of my husband and son, not able to run my fingers through my son's waxen hair and kiss him on his forehead goodnight.


The venison stew lifted our spirits. We ate from clay bowls without spoons. After a hearty meal, I made my pallet near the corner by the fireplace. Thad gathered more wood from outside to keep the fire hot.

I drifted into a deep sleep, surrounded by Indians. Women touching my hair, smelling my clothes. I was told I had to marry the chief. I told them I was married. I told them I had a son."

The crackle of the fire awakened me. From the dim firelight, I found everyone curled up in their own corner. I willed myself to sleep, so I could be ready to trek back home where my heart would always be.