Chapter Text
When the Lakota found her after her family was murdered by the Pawnee, she lost her name. Without a name or a family or a place in the tribe, she became the village servant, doing chores that no one wanted and walking to the furthest corners of camp each day to run errands. Most mornings, women would send her with buffalo stomachs to the river to gather their water for the day. It was brutal work for a girl so small, but the girl with no name enjoyed it; in the early hours before most of the village was awake, she was alone with the birds’ song and the soft mist in the air.
It was on these walks that she met Wakes with the Sun. As indicated by his name, he was well known for being the first one awake within the tribe. Unlike the girl with no name, he had no chores to accomplish this early, but still he rose each day and sat at the banks of the river watching the sun rise as she filled the skins.
For months they never spoke, just gave each other cordial nods and eventually small smiles when they crossed paths. This changed one day when the sky was covered in dense and ominous rain clouds that poured down upon the village. Although the sun was hidden, the girl with no name got up as usual before dawn to fill the water skins. She managed to make it to the river with little incident, but trudging back to camp, her arms ached with the weight of the water as her feet slipped and sank into the mud with each step. Weary and alone, she was beginning to think she lost her way when she saw a figure emerge from the dark. Wakes with the Sun, his own hair drenched, approached her wordlessly and took the water skins from her trembling fingers. With him leading, they arrived back at the village as the rain began to let up. He passed the water back to her and walked off like nothing had happened.
For weeks, it was all the girl with no name could think of and everytime they crossed paths, they shared a secret smile and she remembered his kindness. As the weeks went by, the girl with no name grew into Stands with a Fist and the scared, scorned white girl became a strong, smart Lakota woman.
Adopted officially into Kicking Bird’s family, she was no longer obligated to serve the village at large and instead spent most of her day with his wife Black Shawl and daughter Sings at the Moon. She spent long hours with them and the other women of the tribe learning about Lakota life and skills. Before long, no one remembered a time when she was the girl with no name, Stands with a Fist was one of them in every way that counted.
Although she no longer required to fetch water each morning, old habits die hard and she found herself awake before her family with great regularity. Whenever she did, she would wander down to the river to find Wakes with the Sun waiting for her in their usual spot. They would sit together for as long as they could-- sometimes speaking, sometimes in silence-- before their respective obligations called to them and they parted ways. By this time, Stands with a Fist had fully mastered the Lakota language and they could discuss anything from the buffalo migration to their deepest thoughts and dreams.
As she grew into womanhood, the question of marriage soon arose. Kicking Bird was a man of great influence and to marry a member of his family, even a white one, was a great honor. By the time Stands with a Fist turned 18, the age of legal adulthood, her brother Red Feather had already married, making her the next eligible family member. Many men from their village came to request her hand from Kicking Bird; they brought as gifts majestic horses, exquisite beadwork, and hand-carved peace pipes. Her father acknowledged the gifts, but refused to accept any offers until he conferred with the Great Spirit and, more importantly, his wife.
Black Shawl was impressed as well by the wide array of goods the men had provided, and they were all good men, that was certain. But she knew that Stands with a Fist’s heart lay with someone else. Although the girl did not know it, the woman saw her each morning she left to meet with Wakes with the Sun and saw the way he looked at her daughter. So when he appeared before Kicking Bird to ask for his daughter’s hand, it was Black Shawl’s nod of approval that granted his request.
As with all Lakota weddings, the preparations began immediately. The gifts to the bride’s family were accepted graciously and the two families met that night to confirm the engagement. While their parents talked of logistics and marital tipis, the young couple met eyes across the fire and smiled.
After only a few brief weeks, the two were wed. As the medicine man of the tribe, Kicking Bird officiated the ceremony, offering words of praise to the Great Spirit for bringing two souls together in harmony. He reminded them of their obligations to one another: for the man to provide his wife with plenty of buffalo and protect her with his life; for the woman to care for her husband with a warm tipi and bless their family with children. Sealing their promises with a kiss, the couple departed the exuberant festivities to celebrate their marriage in private.
Sex was a natural and accepted aspect of Lakota culture, and while neither of them had engaged in it before, they knew from their elders the ways in which a man and a woman became one. While clumsy and fumbling at times, they rejoiced in being as close with one another as humanly possible. Finally when their bodies demanded food and respite, they exited their home to receive well wishes from their families and the village.
Stands with a Fist loved her husband dearly. Every morning they woke together at dawn and walked hand in hand down to the river. During the day, they would each be busy with their duties to the tribe, but their thoughts were never far from one another. Each night, Wakes with the Sun took his wife to bed and lavished her with love and affection, which she returned fervently. Even after many months of marriage, their devotion remained strong and their passion undamped. The only disappointment to darken their door came once a month when Stands with a Fist would wake with blood between her legs, a sign that she was still not with child. Although they longed to expand their family, Wakes with the Sun told his wife time and time again that he was a patient man and had no desire to rush the Great Spirit’s plan.
It seemed, in these moments, that there was nothing that could disturb the life they had built until a year into their marriage, they received word from their Chyenne allies that a Pawnee war party was swiftly approaching. Bidding his wife a tender goodbye, Wakes with the Sun accompanied the rest of the warriors to meet them. Stands with a Fist waited anxiously with the rest of the village for news of their fate and prayed constantly for her husband’s safe return. But it was not to be. When Wind in His Hair, her husband’s best friend, gently laid his body down in front of her, Stands with a Fist collapsed in utter despair.
Not even when her family had been killed could she remember such anguish, such heartbreak, and it seemed as if there was no way to escape the darkness threatening to crush her very soul. For days, she laid despondent in her family’s tipi, unable and unwilling to drink or eat much of anything. She was trapped within her own sorrows, thinking back on their life together with regret and longing. In such a place that she could bear no longer, she came to the conclusion that she would rather live in the next life with him than in this one without him.
Early one morning, as the rest of the village slept, Stands with a Fist took her husband’s knife and ran towards the east, finding a lone tree where she could make her journey in peace. She wept again, mourning the life that had been so cruelly snatched from her and the future she would never have. Her hands shook as she moved the knife closer to her body, trembling with fear and anticipation when a sudden noise caused her hand to slip, leaving a deep slash down her stomach.
Turning, she saw a strange man approaching her on horseback, his skin white like her own and his clothing strange. She cried out and attempted to run, but her days with little nourishment had left her weak as did the blood she was losing. He spoke to her in the language of the white men, one that brought her mind to another time of sadness and loss in her life. Unable to understand him, she continued to fight in vain, though she did not know why she was doing so. Weakened as she was, she began to collapse, the knife dropping from her hand as she finally lost consciousness.
When she awoke next, it was back in Black Shawl’s tipi, with Sings at the Moon and Pretty Shield, a village elder, at her side. The smell of healing sage was strong in the air and her body felt rested in a way it hadn’t in days. She sat up tentatively, reaching down to feel that her wound had been bandaged and was only mildly sore.
Her sister embraced her fiercely, “You worried us.” she scolded, her voice rough with unshed tears.
Stands with a Fist hugged her back just as tightly, still reeling from the events that flashed through her mind in a confusing spiral.
“Let her rest now,” came the voice of Pretty Shield, “I will come for you when she is ready for more visitors.”
Nodding, Sings at the Moon released Stands with a Fist and planted a swift kiss to her head before exiting the tipi. Now alone, the elder checked her wounds once more, ensuring that no infection was taking root, and encouraged her to drink some of the medicine she had prepared. They sat in silence, the older woman seemingly waiting for her to initiate the conversation.
“I didn’t know what else to do” the young woman admitted after several minutes of silence, “the grief was overwhelming and I didn’t know how to go on.”
Pretty Shield nodded her head encouragingly, “I too lost my husband sooner than I thought. A fever swept through the village many winters ago and he departed to the Great Spirit. I too felt like the world was closing around me and that I had nothing left to live for. But by that time, I had young children to tend to who needed their mother, so I made myself strong for them.”
She reached over and cupped Stands with a Fist’s face in her hands, “I know you have no children of your own, but you have a family and a tribe who love you greatly. Do not add to their loss by taking your own life. The Great Spirit has plans for you yet.”
Stands with a Fist had thought herself cried out, but Pretty Shield’s words brought fresh tears to her eyes as she was wrapped in the gentle arms of the elder. Although she had difficulty believing it herself, she knew in her heart that despite the loss she had suffered, she would be strong and continue to live for those who had moved on.
After that day, her physical and emotional health continued to improve little by little. She began to eat regularly again and her wound, while it would scar, was no longer in danger of becoming infected. Her days were growing easier, she spent them as she used to with the women of the tribe and found it easy to lose herself in a piece of beadwork or in a buffalo hide. But it was in the mornings especially where her heart longed for Wakes with the Sun; to lay in the tipi they once shared only served to remind her of the emptiness where he had been. With encouragement from her family, she opened up more and more about her feelings and they invited her to return to live with them, at least until his absence was less fresh in her mind.
This decision was quite serendipitous as the day after moving, her father approached her with the news that the white man who had saved her would be returning to the village for peace talks in a few days and would be staying in her empty tipi. “When he does, you will interpret the white words for us.” he told her.
Stands with a Fist was shocked, it had been years since she had spoken the language of her birth and the last time she heard it was when said white man found her alone on the plains. How could he ask such a thing from her when he knew it only brought up memories of hurt and confusion? Pacing at the river’s edge where she used to sit with Wakes with the Sun, she turned his request over and over in her mind. Logically, she knew that this was essential for the tribe; more and more white men had been encroaching on their lands in recent years and to have a translator would greatly improve their chances of peaceful negotiations. More than that, it was a way to honor the memory of her birth family who she could now barely remember.
As she walked, she tested the words that for so long laid dormant in her mind, “ Hello. How are you? Sun, sky, horse, husband .”
With sufficient practice, and a fluent speaker to talk with, she felt confident that she would soon understand the white words just as well as she had before. If nothing else, such a strange task would distract her from mourning Wakes with the Sun and give her a productive task to focus on. She wondered what the white man would have to say to them, where he came from, and what his name was.