With his stomach knotted, he swung his SUV to the west, bumping along a rutted track that shouldnt be called a road by anyones standards.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a dirt driveway and sat for a moment, staring at the one-story clapboard house standing alone on a knoll. The yard was free of clutter with not even a bush to adorn the base of the building. Two naked cottonwood trees edged up out of the dead grass, a poor break against the bitter north wind.
A nondescript house for one of the most respected members of the Painted Rock Tribe. Matoskah, or White Bear, had been the tribal Medicine Man for as long as Joe could remember. His reputation for native cures for common physical ailments had Lakotans from towns scattered across the reservation traveling the lonely back roads to seek his help. But more than the cures for disease and sickness, people sought him out for spiritual healing.
And that was the reason for Joes visit.
With the burden of a childs life weighing on his shoulders, Joe needed focus and a mind clear of emotions, memories and confusion.
A mind clear of Maggie.
How could he still be upset that shed married another man? Hed told her to take a hike, that she had no place in the life of a Lakota. Of this Lakota.
What they had shared was lustdeep, powerful lust. Not enough to maintain a relationship, not on a reservation where poverty and destitution were the norm. For some of his people, lust might be enough. But he and Maggie were from two different worlds. She was white and Joe was a dark-skinned Indian, sworn to uphold the ways of his people and preserve the Lakota bloodline and traditions for future generations.
Memories and regrets punctured his soul the day of his stepbrothers funeral, when hed seen what he could have had. Maggie and her babya family to call his own.
Shoving his shoulders back, he knocked on the faded door and waited in the cold. After one long minute, Joe stepped from the concrete stoop and strode around the house. In the backyard stood a dome-shaped structure. Vapor wafted in the bitter morning air, a hazy fog lifting from the taut hide stretched over arched willow branches.
A smile lifted the edges of Joes lips. Only Matoskah kept his sweat lodge erect year-round, when others were dismantled after powwow and tourist season ended. The buffalo hide, darkened with age and years of smoke, held the secrets, hopes and dreams of many Lakotans, divulged in the way of the ancients.
Joe hesitated to intrude on the shamans meditation.
Enter the womb of our people, Son of Lonewolf. Age did little to diminish the powerful voice of the tribes trusted healer. And how did he always seem to know who stood outside the lodge?
Holding the flap of skin aside, Joe stooped to crawl like an animal into a den, the steam rising from the rocks embracing him. He squatted to the left of the entrance and let his eyes adjust to the light from the fires coals and the little bit filtering through the thick skin overhead. Before the steam could escape, Joe turned to secure the flap, sealing the lodge.
Vapor swirled around him and he inhaled, accepting the surge of power that coursed through his veins. No matter how many times hed been in a sweat lodge, he could count on that blanket of peace permeating his body and soul. Overdressed for tradition, he unzipped his coat as sweat beaded on his upper lip and forehead.
To the right of the entry, a hunched and wrinkled figure sat cross-legged, facing the coals and steaming rocks in the dug out center of the small space. Naked except for a meager loincloth, Matoskah sat staring at the glowing coals. The flap of supple deer skin was his one concession to modesty in the spiritual haven of his ancestors where the Indian was meant to be naked in the womb of the earth.
Joe reached out to grasp the spiritual leaders forearm. Mitaku oyasin, chante wasteya, nape chiyusa pe. My relative, with a good heart, I shake your hand. The words brought back an image of his father sitting across a similar bed of steaming rocks from an eight-year-old Joe. Hed taught him that the words symbolized the importance of family and the completeness of the circleonly one of many lessons his father would teach him of the Lakota way of life, lessons hed promised to pass on to his children and his childrens children.
Matoskah grasped Joes forearm in a firm grip. Hau kola. Hello, my friend.
Forgive me, Matoskah, for intruding on your reflection. I have need of your counsel.
The old man nodded and resumed staring into the coals.
Joe struggled to suppress his impatience. He felt out of place with too many clothes on his skin and too many thoughts churning in his head. But he forced himself to sit as the shaman did, drawing in a long, deep breath of the thick air. He closed his eyes, absorbing the souls of his ancestors, reaching for the combined wisdom of their years.
What makes you as gray as the day outside, Joe Lonewolf? Matoskah asked, the words swirling around the lodge like smoke from a peace pipe.
Joe opened his eyes and stared at the aged man. A child is missing.
Without looking up from the bed of rocks, Matoskahs head dipped in a single nod. I have heard.
Its Maggies child. Joe hadnt meant to say anything about Maggie, but there it was, blurted out like a teenager unable to think before he speaks.
I understand.
What did the old man understand? Joe sat on his tongue, afraid to open his mouth and spew forth more of his hurt and anger. Hed come to cleanse his mind, not to stir the air with his confusion.
This woman is not of our people.
No, shes not. Shes one of the social workers with Indian Child Welfare Association. She works with the reservation teens.
The old man inclined his head. I know of her.
As close-knit as the reservation was, Joe wasnt surprised.
Shes done well for our youth, working with those who abuse drugs and alcohol, Matoskah added.
Yes. Maggie had thrown herself into her job, winning the hearts of many, including Joe. Had he not been so blind, they might have been together today.
You must find this child.
I know. The old man wasnt telling him anything he didnt already believe. Joe wanted him to tell him what to do about Maggie, but the question lodged in his throat.
You fear you will fail?
Was that it? Was he afraid he wouldnt find Maggies baby? Yes.
Is your fear of failure for the child or for the woman?
Joe leaned back. The child, of course.
And if you fail the child, you will not fail the woman?
The answer was obvious, why would the shaman ask it? Joe dragged in a deep breath of the moist air, cleansing his nostrils and lifting the cloud from his head. Yes.
I sense hurt and resentment toward this Maggie.
Joes chin dipped to his chest, his shame an almost overwhelming being seeping into his pores like the steam. Yes. As if the haze cleared, Joe realized some of his confusion stemmed from his anger toward Maggie for marrying his stepbrother. Will my anger cloud my judgment and ability to find her child?
Only you can know this. Do you mistrust her because she is not one of your people? Matoskah had that uncanny way of reading Joes thoughts before hed completely formulated them himself.
I did, Joe admitted, his softly spoken words drifting toward the ceiling with the stone vapor. After a year in the desert country of Iraq hed come to realize he didnt trust himself where Maggie was concerned.