Three Threads Woven

By Lucinda Stein

Wenona Black Elk is woven from three threadsDakota Sioux, Navajo, and white. Her father trades his soul to keep the secret that he has created a child with a white woman. After asking his parents to raise Wenona, Joseph Black Elk is determined to never have anything to do with the baby again.

As a child, a stable family life eludes Wenona. She is shuffled from her Dakota Sioux grandparents windswept farm in South Dakota to her great aunts ranch on the Navajo desert. Her unstable father drops into her life at rare moments, leaving as quickly as he arrives. But Wenona faces more challenges than trying to figure out where she belongsshe is taunted by other children and called half-blood. Her childhood is not easy, and despite all she endures, Wenona becomes a young woman with hopes and dreams. Unfortunately, she finds herself in an ill-fated marriage and soon after, her father unleashes a devastating blow.

Painted against the colorful backdrop of Dakota and Navajo culture, Wenonas journey carries her from prejudice to self-acceptance, forgiveness and the eventual realization that true family is found in the hidden depths of the heart.

Three Thread Woven, was recently chosen as a 2010 Finalist in the WILLA literary award in the Contemporary Fiction division.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440157523

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 Lucinda Stein

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4401-5751-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-5753-0 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-5752-3 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009933289

iUniverse rev. date: 09/09/2009

Contents

Prologue

PART I

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Darting Eyes

Iyeska Child

Sica Hollow

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Around the World

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Rip, Rupture, & Ribbons

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Spider Woman’s Loom

The Game of Life

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

The China Hutch

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Dead and Buried

PART II

Moose Eyes

Fireflies

Healing Hogan

Preparation

Sunrise Service

Moon over the Blessingway

Omakate

Dakota for I am Warm

Chantonake

Swashbuckler

Too Hot for Ice Cream

Snow Crystals and Warm Butter

Paisley Prints

Paisley Buicks

Bad Moon Rising

Mi Sunka Nah

Purple Rain Walking

Percolating Life

Land Between Four Mountains

Buttered Blessings

Reckoning

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Hunkayapi

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Navigating the Heights

Curling Tongue, Lapis Sky

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

Wenona

Luke’s Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

1978, New Mexico

I knew my mother for five minutes.

The fusty smell of blood mixing with oxygen rose on the slow air currents of the hospital room. Odors of freshly released tissue pooled with musky sweat. Young muscles, taxed from thrusting me into this life, relaxed. Freed from the warm, wet sac, I gasped in my initial breath of air. I was told that my cries bellowed across the delivery room in defiance of my rude awakening to this world. It would be a precursor to a lifetime of rude awakenings.

My mother, Julie, held me. Her creamy-white arms cradled me, cloaking my brown skin with body heat. Her cheek brushed mine in a whisper as her breath puffed warm dew upon my eyelids. I knew this from Great-Aunt Naomi’s recollection. She had stood silently in the corner of the birthing room, her dark skin almost undetectable there away from the harsh light angled over the bed. She watched a small swarm of assisting nurses and the physician bustle about in well-orchestrated tasks.

Without a word, my mother’s father stormed in and tore me from her arms. He marched across the room, shoved me at my Great-Aunt Naomi, then walked back to his daughter and his clean, tidy white world. Naomi held my small chestnut body swaddled in cotton. She carried me out into the waiting room where my seventeen-year-old father, Joseph Black Elk, paced across the tile floor. A thick shield of black hair fell between his broad shoulders.

He looked up, witnessed the completed transaction, and fled the antiseptic smell of the hospital. Soon after, I was taken to South Dakota to live with my father’s parents. To this day, I choke on my father’s name.

That year, my father had come to live with his mother’s people in New Mexico. He wanted to learn about his Navajo blood, since he thought he knew enough about his father’s side—the Dakota. Ironically, it was a white woman, my mother, who complicated his life. I, Wenona Black Elk, am woven from three threads—I am Dakota Sioux, I am Navajo, and I am white.

PART I

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

1978, New Mexico

The smell of medicine, disinfectant, and bleached linen pierced my nostrils. I spun on my heels and left.

Joseph, come back.

I dodged my Aunt Naomi’s dark eyes and stormed down the corridor, fists clenched, passing under the false light of fluorescent bulbs. I focused on the exit sign at the end of the hall. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my damp t-shirt clung to my chest like unshed snakeskin.

I punched the release bar of the door and a hot breeze slapped me in the face, the air heavy with moisture from last night’s rain. Three parking spots away, Rosalie leaned against the door of Naomi’s truck. Dark hair framed her high cheekbones, followed the curve of her neck, and laced her narrow shoulders. Lips puckered, she sucked in one last draw from the cigarette. She glanced up and hawked the door behind me, flicking the cigarette to the ground. She grinned and ground the butt with the toe of her red high-heel. Aunt Naomi detested the sight of my cousin smoking.

Rosalie’s mouth curled up in greeting. Joseph. She reached for my arm, but I brushed past her.

I’ll catch a ride home.

Joseph, wait. What about…

Without looking back, I said, We’ll talk later. I crossed the visitor’s parking lot, gained the far end of the asphalt, and kept walking, swatting at the sweat dripping over my eyelids. It hit me then. Fate’s bloodshot eyes locked on mine and refused to soften the consequence of my actions. A car honked. The driver shook his fist out the window and issued profanities. I ran full speed ahead, hell bent, with no idea of where I was going.

My life had twisted like a charley horse and grown stiff and sore. My parents had been called the night before. They’d catch a bus and arrive within two days. I didn’t like to think about it. Would I dare look in my father’s steady eyes and not flinch? One thing was for certain—I’d have nothing more to do with the baby.

I slowed and turned a corner. One building down, a flag fluttered outside a storefront. A patriotic red, white, and blue sign proclaimed AIR FORCE RECRUITER. I stopped before the window to study a colorful poster of an F-16 in flight, its jet stream streaking across a vivid blue sky. A delivery truck honked and pulled up to the curb. Its emergency lights flashed. A line of cars drove past. After a moment, I reached for the door knob and stepped inside the recruiting office.

  

The hum of the engine swelled, and the plane swept high above the countryside. Like a magnet, I was drawn to San Antonio, to my destination at Lackland Air Force Base. I shut my eyes and envisioned myself in that sharp air force jacket, creased trousers, and spit-polished shoes. A winyan—woman—loved a guy in uniform.

Sir, would you like something to drink? The stewardess’ blue eyes matched her uniform. Her auburn hair was drawn back to reveal an elegant face.

I drew up from slouching in the seat. Got a Coke?

One just for you, handsome. Her lips parted in a wide smile.

Thanks. She moved on to the next row of passengers. I scanned the long bare neck on down to the blue uniform that slid over generous curves. Nice legs.

With a relaxed sigh, I stretched out. My legs collided into the coach seat ahead with a thud, drawing the attention of a young woman across the aisle. The blonde was a real looker. I gripped the armrest, my knuckles flexed over the cool metal, and winked. Her chin dipped slightly and she blushed. She turned back to her girlfriend and whispered something. The brunette giggled and flashed me an admiring smile. Probably college coeds.

Twenty minutes later, the stewardess returned to retrieve my plastic cup. She picked up the paper napkin with her other hand and hesitated. She looked closer. In the center of the condensation ring, I’d written: Beautiful eyes. She smiled and continued on to the other side of the aisle.

Clouds drifted outside the window, gauzy and ghostlike. I browsed through a creased issue of Time. Someone behind me hacked a smoker’s cough. A woman in the seat ahead hummed softly. I resumed flipping through the magazine until a hand crossed my line of vision and blocked the article on the upcoming Dodgers game. A napkin fluttered to the page. The stewardess smiled coyly and walked away. Beneath my scribbled message, she’d added a phone number and three words, In two weeks. My fingers trumpeted my knee in self-congratulation.

Sun glinted off the plane’s left wing and my heart shadowboxed inside my chest. I looked forward to this new chapter in my life. Since I was a hoks’ina—a boy—I’d dreamt of flying. Watched bald eagles glide in the clear Dakota sky, and red-tailed hawks catch currents above the Navajo desert. Out the window, clouds challenged the stratosphere and lifted. My future soared as high as the heavens.

The guy next to me gestured toward the window. How high do you think this thing can go?

The sky’s the limit, I said. But I was really talking about my life.

Two rows back, an infant squalled, bringing unbidden thoughts of the baby in the hospital. I winced. An unfortunate incident, all in all, but someone had to raise the child. My parents would do right by her. It was all behind me. I looked out at the blue-velvet sky, no longer any clouds in sight.

But the clear atmosphere only reflected the secret that squirmed deep in my gut. I recalled the tiny baby tucked in Naomi’s arms—the little round face, the dark eyes that seemed to stare into space. The truth struck me unexpectedly then: I had traded my soul. The prospect of keeping a lifelong secret would do that to a man.

Joseph Black Elk:

My Story

1979, California—Castle Air Force Base

I swiped a path across the steamed mirror and saluted my reflection. My dream of being a U.S. Air Force pilot was coming true, and my solo flight was scheduled for next week. The loaded toothbrush was midair when soft arms circled my chest from behind. Marie’s face nuzzled against my back. My reflected smile widened. Hi, darlin’.

She leaned to the side. Her brown eyes sparkled in the mirror. Breakfast is on the table.

I pressed against her, but she backed up.

Oh, no. Today you’re eating before you go. She walked back to the kitchen, humming. Her long, black hair swayed in time to her cheerful tune.

I flicked fingers through my cropped hair and reached for my robe. Life in the Golden State was great: regal redwoods, benevolent beaches, and hills full of stars—movie stars that were sprinkled along the rolling knolls of Beverly Hills. I had a pretty woman to warm my bed at night. My life was good.

In the kitchen, the table was set with plastic plates on a checkered tablecloth. Steam rolled up from matching mugs, and a single yellow daisy leaned to the side in a glass vase. Marie smiled up at me. The slim filly was from back home. I met her on the reservation my senior year in New Mexico. I hardly knew her back then, but it turned out she knew a lot about me. My suspicion was that she had followed me to California, but what the heck. I wrapped my arms around her tender body, and her laughter rippled across the room. She laughed at everything in life, so different from the girls I’d known in South Dakota. Hard to believe, but we’d been married for two days. Life was good.

  

On the paneling above the bar, a sign blazed JACK DANIELS in red neon. I chugged a draft beer and slammed the heavy mug on the counter. Successful completion of flight school called for another cold one. Across the crowded dance floor, smoke circled in a holding pattern while disco music blared through the stale air. With an urge to boogie, I grabbed the arm of the brunette sitting next to me—Phyllis, I believe. A broad smile confirmed she was willing. Out on the dance floor, I tucked my jaw against her neck where a spot of sweet perfume exploded. She’d eyed me all evening. Bet she’d be happy to go home with me.

Earlier, she’d made a few side trips with her girlfriend to get a better look at me. She laughed, batted her big green eyes, and walked on. Hey, beautiful, I yelled after her.

Frank, my buddy from the base, elbowed me. She wants you bad.

The song ended and I headed to the men’s room, sidestepping five guys milling in the hall. I paused to let a flock of pretty ladies pass and winked at the cute one in front. A couple at a nearby table argued loudly. The woman’s eyes narrowed, her jaw set. The guy angled away from her, chair legs squealing across the floor—as if that would end the argument. It was an all-too-vivid reminder of the last three months I’d spent with Marie.

Where should we spend the holidays, hon? she had asked one night.

At the beach?

You’re kidding, right?

I stole a sideways glance. Her dark eyes flashed, and I could see it coming.

Christmas is for family. Marie’s hands flew to her hips. You’re a married man now.

Don’t remind me.

She sat still. Her fingertips pressed together, whitening the skin.

Have you considered where we’ll live when your enlistment is up? Her eyebrows lifted.

I was at the O.K. Corral, my hands clenched like six-shooters at my side. I slipped them into my pant pockets and shrugged my shoulders. Then I reconsidered. California suits me fine.

She screamed, flung a copy of the Ladies Home Journal at me, and slammed the bedroom door. Another long night on the couch awaited me, leg cramps and a cricked neck guaranteed to greet me in the morning.

Out of the restroom, I stepped back into the dense cloud of smoke that hung over the bar. I was glad Frank had talked me into coming out tonight. Marie had packed up two nights ago. Loaded her little car to the gills and smoked off to New Mexico. In the end, it was obvious she wanted to be back with her family. Why did she leave home, if all she wanted was the same old life?

I loved California. Ocean breezes and balmy weather. Hot nightclubs. Great places to eat. Man, the variety of people that lived on the West Coast—all colors and cultures. I fit in like I never did on the rez.

I’d miss those first weeks with Marie when she was thrilled with being a new wife. We were happy then in our little apartment. I would never know why she changed. Hey, life goes on. Like my father’s old saying, it’s the circle of life—it keeps going round.

Just move along, boy, in that happy hoop. I returned to the bar. Phyllis was gone, but two seats over sat another woman.

Hey, tall, dark, and good-looking. The blonde slid onto the empty barstool next to me. Her low-cut dress left nothing to the imagination. Long ruby nails curled around a half-full cocktail glass.

I smiled and guzzled the last of my beer. From now on, it would be romance without the strings. Marriage was best left to those without a real life. But even better than the dolls was flying an F-16. What a blast—great as I dreamed it would be. The money was good, better than what I would have made back home. Partied with my buddies from the base at every opportunity. I was livin’ high. Only last weekend, I drove along the coastline with a beautiful woman next to me. All my dreams had come true. I pushed away thoughts of Julie, the pretty white gal in New Mexico. I wished we’d never met.

Later that night, the phone rang.

The receiver fell on the floor, and I fumbled in the dark for the lamp switch. Hello?

Joseph, I’m sorry to wake you.

The clock read 3 A.M. Why was my mother calling at this hour?

We had to admit Wenona to the hospital tonight.

I rubbed at my eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying. The room started to spin.

Joseph, are you still there?

Yeah, Ma. What’s the matter with her? The bed shifted when the blonde rolled over on the mattress. Her arms fell over my bare stomach, her long fingers arced like a dancer’s. A soft snoring sounded in the quiet room. She was out. With my free hand, I rolled her on her side.

The poor child has double pneumonia.

I guess she’s in the right place then.

The doctor said she… Rosa’s voice cracked. She may not make it. I thought you might want to come home, Joseph.

Ma, I’m still in training. The air force will never let me leave.

Joseph, they make exceptions for emergencies.

I’ll see what I can do, Ma. Goodnight. I turned off the lamp and rolled on my side. No way.

Darting Eyes

1983, South Dakota

Wenona, is that your mama? Tina Redbird twirled her single black braid.

My grandmother walked toward us on the playground and waved. All my five-year-old friends had mothers. I looked back at Tina and didn’t blink once. Yup.

I held my grandmother’s hand as we strolled across the parking lot behind the school. I looked up; Rosa Black Elk’s high cheekbones rose to dark almond eyes. She was beautiful. I didn’t think she had heard what I’d told Tina but, after we reached the truck, she had a talk with me. She gently touched my shoulder. Her soft eyes looked into mine. It’s important to keep the true order of things, she said.

I curled my tongue and said nothing. In truth, she was the only mother I ever knew.

  

I turned six, grown over the summer into a long-legged foal. In a welcome challenge, I chased my cousin, Raymond, up the dirt road, tripped, and skinned my knees. My grandmother dabbed iodine on the cut and patched me up with gauze and tape. She followed that up with the usual antidote—her soft arms, brown as warm earth, drew me into a hug. Her dark eyes closed, and she pressed her cheek to mine. She smelled of fried potatoes and fresh-baked bread.

You’ll be fine. She kissed the top of my head and set about preparing dinner.

Mama, I whispered.

Her eyes widened. The corners of her mouth curled up sweetly before she turned and walked back into the house. Since I wasn’t reprimanded, from that day on I called her mama. No one ever corrected me. They respected the fact that I was old enough to choose.

  

I often asked my grandfather to tell the story of how they met. A young man far from home and family, he had met the pretty Navajo girl while stationed at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque. Lawrence Black Elk, a full-blooded Dakota Sioux, was introduced to my grandmother at a Navajo dance in 1953.

She stole my spirit, he was fond of saying. I had no choice in the matter. Then he’d chuckle.

How difficult it must have been for my grandmother to leave her people and the life she’d known in New Mexico. It brought a smile to my face to think how much she loved him to move so far away to the Dakotas.

My grandfather set aside money during his military service. Afterward, the savings enabled him to buy a farm off the reservation of the Sisseton-Wahpeton tribe. I had a good life there. Our house was built on a high treeless hill. I used to wonder about the logic of that when the fierce South Dakota winds blew. Years later, a few trees were planted, but they failed to hold back the gales that whipped over the crest of the hill.

In the summer Mama, Great-Aunt Lillian, and I would hike down the hill and follow the creek for a mile or so, hunting for wild raspberries. I traipsed behind my grandmother and great-aunt in search of the sweet rubies hidden in sharp-edged brambles and waist-high grass. I made frequent stops along the way to examine colorful rocks and blossoming wildflowers, then I’d scurry to catch up. We filled our woven baskets to the brim, but the stains on my blouse bore witness to the fact that half of what I picked was eaten.

In Dakota families, the tiyospaye—the extended family—was a big part of a child’s life. Everyone took a turn at wiping a little one’s nose. A cousin would pause on his way through the living room to comfort a crying child. An aunt would stop to feed a hungry toddler just up from his nap. Didn’t matter whose child he was—we were all family. My aunts and uncles dropped in often for a visit, and a big meal would be offered to the unexpected dinner guests, a common Dakota custom. Cousins often stayed behind to spend the night with me. Being raised by grandparents wasn’t unheard of among Native children. Sometimes little ones were left in the care of the older generation. Some blamed the high rate of alcoholism, others the tendency for young people to think only of themselves. In my case, I held Joseph Black Elk’s bitter-cold heart responsible—but how I loved his parents.

  

Raymond jumped up from the front porch steps. Wenona, he’s coming!

Though I was only six and a half, I still recall that shiny black Chevy roaring up the hill. The car was two years old but, in our eyes, the vehicle might have rolled off the production line that morning. On furlough, Joseph Black Elk had driven back to the old home place in South Dakota. I stood on the open porch with my back pressed against the wall.

Before the car had even stopped, the family ran up to greet him. He stepped out. The late July sun poured down on my father’s features and gilded the strong cheekbones and solid jaw that dominated his striking face. His smile broke out at something my uncle whispered to him.

Joseph! My grandmother broke through the small crowd and embraced him.

Grandfather stepped up and held Joseph by the shoulders. Look at you. You’re a man now.

Family and neighbors gathered around, impatient for their turns to greet him. The shadow of his military hat obscured Joseph’s face. I was grateful. When I was young, I turned away from those eyes.

Everyone gravitated to the house, and he walked by and caught me watching him. He squinted against the strong light, reached into his shirt pocket, and slipped a pair of sunglasses on. He nodded in my direction, but I turned my head and pretended to watch Raymond harass sparrows with his new slingshot.

Word that Joseph had returned traveled fast. That evening, more relatives and neighbors arrived for a celebration picnic. I scrutinized my father’s every move. When my eyes didn’t steer away in time, that same look appeared on his face—uneasy, uncertain, his eyes shuffling like clumsy feet.

Some of the girls he’d gone to school with showed up. They twisted their hips, giggled, and fluttered their eyelashes. My father was an attractive man. One young woman brushed her body against his as they talked. She didn’t seem to care that his family surrounded them. A smile danced over his face all evening, and his eyes flitted to the young women who competed for his attention. He knew he was good looking with his dark, piercing eyes and broad shoulders, and he took full advantage of the fact. It didn’t improve my opinion of him, that’s for sure.

The next afternoon, Mama sent me to fetch a cured ham from the smoke shed. Grandfather’s brothers congregated out back of the house. I walked up to the men and caught some of their conversation.

I’m glad Joseph joined the air force, Grandfather said. I’d hate to see him hung over and wasting away like so many of our young men. He dug the heel of his boot into the hard soil. "He followed the old man’s example. The boy’s got a