Between Earth and Sky(71)
A shadow fleeted over them. Alma looked up. A great eagle circled overhead, its wings golden against the blue backdrop of the sky. It dipped and soared effortlessly, cradled in the arms of the wind.
“Maeq-Awaetok, the Great Spirit, made the first man from a bear. But he was alone.” pointed at the sky. “So the bear called to Kine’u, the eagle, and said, ‘Come join me, brother.’ And Maeq-Awaetok made the eagle a man, too.”
Alma sucked in a deep breath and wiped her eyes. The eagle continued to circle high above them, as if it owned the whole sky. “Then what?”
“Nama’kukiu, the beaver, joined them as well. Noma’eu, the sturgeon. Omas’kos, the elk. Moqwai’o, the wolf. Ota’tshia, the crane. These became the clans of the Menominee people.”
“Which clan do you belong to?”
“I am a Thunderer, of the Eagle clan. Some forget their clans now that we are caged on the reservation. But I will always be a Thunderer.”
He sat down, then took his coat and spread it over the ground beside him. She knelt atop the navy-blue fabric and tucked her skirt around her. Her mother would notice a mud stain. More importantly, it gave her reason to look away. She felt foolish for reading affection in his touch, devotion in his kiss.
He brushed her cheek with his hand.
“Stop saying that. I don’t know what it means.”
He laughed. “It is the name one calls his lover.”
Alma’s entire body hummed. “You love me?”
“Have I not showed you this?”
“You never said so.”
“Why? Better to know through action, no?”
“Wouldn’t you like to hear the words?”
He laughed again and shrugged.
Alma patted her hair and raised her chin. “Fine. I shan’t say so either, then.”
He leaned in and kissed her. She held out, fighting the urge to match the rhythm of his lips for five solid seconds, then gave in.
“I know you love me, Azaadiins.” He kissed her once more, then laced his hands under his head and lay back atop the tufts of grass. “I feel it in your touch. I see it in your face when you look at me.”
Her body went suddenly cold. “Do you think everyone else can tell?”
“No.”
She wrung her hands and glanced at the sun, tracking its progression through the sky since their departure from the schoolhouse. “We’re careful, right?”
He worked a finger inside the cuff of her sleeve and tugged playfully. “Nobody besides us two knows.”
“Umm . . . I might have let a word or two slip to Minowe and . And Asku might know too. But they’d never say anything to anyone.”
He snickered. She lay down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. His soap and wood smell filled her senses. She could drink that scent forever and still desire more. With his hands behind his head, his shirt stretched taut over his chest. The outline of a necklace caught her eye beneath the white fabric. She ran her finger atop it. “What’s this?”
He unfastened the top buttons of his shirt and pulled out a long pendant. Alma’s eyes grazed the smooth dark skin of his chest before taking in the necklace. It was made with black beads the size of cherry pits strung between long pieces of porcupine quill. At its base hung a medallion of tiny colored beads threaded together to create the image of the sun. She remembered it from his first day at Stover when he’d stood above her and called her enemy.
“My father gave it to me before he died,” he said.
He had told her of his father before, of his death in a lumber accident when was young. “You’ve kept it hidden all this time?”
“I saw they would burn my clothes, that first day I came, so I hid it.”
“They never noticed at inspection? You’d get in so much trouble.”
His lips curved into a wry smile. “Every mornings Mr. Simms and your father look me up and down. Every mornings, but they never see.”
She traced the outline of the sun with her finger. “It’s beautiful.”
He flattened his hand over hers and looked up at the wide blue above them. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. “What are we going to do?”
“You could come north with me, to the reservation.”
“I’m being serious. Please say you’ll stay.”
His jaw tightened and lips flattened. “It’s not so easy. Our worlds are like the sky and earth, Azaadiins. They get very close, but never touch.”
“We share in the same world, don’t you see?”
“You say these words, but you’ve never lived anything but the ways of the white man.”
“Are our ways so bad?”
He answered neither yes nor no, but pulled her tightly to his chest—so tightly she struggled to draw air. But it didn’t matter. They were more than close. They were touching.
CHAPTER 30
Wisconsin, 1890
At the cry of the bugle, the Indians marched from the schoolhouse double file. Scarlet and blue banners festooned the veranda. The students paraded down the freshly painted stairs and across the yard.
Alma watched their synchronized approach from her seat at the piano, carried out to the lawn for the occasion. One hand shielded her eyes from the bright midmorning sun while the other rested atop the ivory keys.