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Chapter Six

"Oh, Great Spirit, pour down your blessings on our children and give

us all happy lives. Make all the trails we follow straight and smooth before

us and let us live to a grand old age. For we are all your children and

make this prayer with sincerity of heart."

Blackfoot prayer

Seated in a chair next to the bed, Anya looked up when Sutter shuffled into the room. Most women would run as if the dead had risen from the grave once they took in the blood red war paint on his face and hands. Not her. She knew he hadn't come to make war but to perform a ceremony that might help her son.

She'd spent many nights in the Blackfoot village as a child, had witnessed every ritual they performed in testament to their mystic beliefs. If the medicine man, dressed as a skin walker— head to toe in grizzly bear furs— didn't scare the life out of her, Sutter with his face and hands splashed with red surely wouldn't. In truth, he looked like Hell and damnation rolled into one, but to her he seemed as magnificent as ever.

Soot lay on the bed next to Willie-boy. He emitted a deep-throated growl and then scanned the room as if looking for another intruder dressed in strange attire.

Standing under the doorframe, Sutter glanced at Anya. "It's best you leave while I take a look at your son."

She squeezed Willie-boy's hand. "No, I will not leave him."

"Our ways are nothing like yours. Besides, it's crucial no outside voices speak or interfere during the healing." He looked at the hound. "Take the dog with you."

She thrust out her chin. "Your memory fades. I know the ways of the Blackfoot, and I swear an oath, I will not utter one word."

His dark eyes narrowed in challenge.

"I cannot leave him now. Please don't ask me to."

Sutter's stern words rang in her ears. "The specter is here, possibly even—"

"What!" Still holding Willie-boy's hand, she searched every corner of the room. "Are . . . are you certain? How do you know?"

"I'm sure. Look at the dog—"

"His name is Soot, and they are inseparable."

"Soot knows and if he could speak, he'd confirm what I'm telling you. See how the dog seeks out the ghost. Watch his eyes as he follows the Hooki around the room."

She wondered if all the blood had left her face. "Oh, no, Soot has been staring at Willie-boy most of the time with his ears flat against his head, snarling." Her free hand moved upward to cover her mouth, her muffled words revealing her distress. "You mean the Hooki is in . . . ?" She shook her head. "No, it can't be true."

Sutter walked to the night table, his moccasins making a scuffing sound. Reaching into a long pouch around his waist, he removed various items and placed them on the table—a large charred bowl, a handful of coals he dropped into the bowl, another small bowl containing a yellow, moldy substance, a bundle of tanned fur, which Anya knew held a long-stemmed pipe, and a hardy bundle of sweet grass.

Anya forced her eyes away from the items and looked down at her son. His skin was sallow, and he remained as still as a dead corpse, but thank God, his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. She couldn't process the thought of the Hooki entering Willie-boy's body, couldn't bear to think about this newfound revelation.

Her attention wandered to Sutter again while he dug through a second pouch on his body and set more items on the table next to the others—a small quantity of tobacco, a sacred whistle, and two sacred rattles.

"Sutter, please tell me what you will do with all of that." She stretched a hand toward the night table. "You want me to remain silent, but perhaps if I knew how this will help my son, I can keep my mouth shut."

"I thought you said you knew the ways of the Blackfoot."

"This is no time to be smug." She released a tired sigh. "I should have said I've seen many ceremonies, but never asked why the medicine man used this or that."

"I'm not trying to be smug." Sympathy filled his eyes. "The sick or wounded must believe in the powers of the healer, must be willing, mind and body, to assist in the healing. I don't know if that transfers to others watching the ceremony."

"But Willie-boy is not conscious, and I don't—" she hesitated for a moment "—think he'd understand or believe if he was."

"Exactly, and you are the closest person to your son, so . . . ."

"I believe," she said, her voice strained. "I came to you, didn't I? Don't ask me how I knew, but something deep inside me drove me to seek you out. I knew whatever was wrong with Willie-boy could not be cured by a white man."

She came to her feet, grabbed the rope around Soot's neck and led him toward the door. The dog balked, pulled against the rope in his desire to remain with his master. "Come, Soot, you can wait outside the door." Tugging on the rope, she dragged the black hound into the hallway and shut the door behind her when she reentered the room. Hands on hips, she turned to Sutter. "Tell me, if you know, why my son is sick, why you think the Hooki—" She gulped hard. "Why the ghost has entered Willie-boy's body."

"The Hooki comes and goes from his body. I must convince him to leave and never bring harm to the boy again. That is why your son is sick."

"This is all so surreal, yet, I'm trying hard to understand."

"The Blackfoot believe disease and sickness is caused by evil spirits. When they are not in the sick body, these spirits wander about at night and when opportunity arises, they shoot invisible arrows into the person. These cause various internal troubles of mind and body—consumption, bleeding, even sickness of the digestive organs."

"You said mind and body."

"Yes, the Hooki will choose the weakest spot, either mind or body. You told me your son has not spoken since he found his father in the barn. The ghost knows your son is already sick, not with wounds we can see, but with a sickness of the mind."

For a brief moment, Anya closed her eyes. "Hell's fire. In my heart, I knew something bad had befallen him, but never imagined this." She crossed the room, picked up the chair by her son's bed and dragged it into a corner. "I swear an oath I will not interfere, speak or in any way distract you."

Sutter nodded.

"Please, Sutter, do everything within your power to make him well again."

"We must believe we are stronger than the Hooki, but I warn you, my gut tells me we are dealing with a powerful evil spirit."

Anya fell into the chair with a whimper and prayed when Sutter began the ceremony.

When he struck two pieces of pyrite together and created a spark, he lit a handful of sweet grass. A soothing, delightful aroma filled the room. Placing the flaming grass into the bowl of coal, he blew several breaths until the coals burned bright and smoked. Next, he pummeled the yellow fungus with a round utensil, turning the substance into fine powder.

Holding the bowl of powder, for the first time in his life, he looked down at Willie-boy. Long seconds passed before he fixed a hard stare on Anya. A pit formed in the middle of her belly. There was so much she wanted to tell him, things she'd kept buried deep inside for too long. Lewis knew the truth and that's why he hated her. Now, the look on Sutter's face reminded her of the look she'd seen so often—every day of her married life—on Lewis' face. Bile rose in her throat. Remembering her promise not to speak, she looked away from Sutter's accusatory glare. Dear, God, not now. Please let him help Willie-boy and then I'll tell him the truth.

He knelt beside her son, removed his shirt and rubbed the yellow concoction on Willie-boy's face, arms and torso. Soot's mournful wail filtered under the doorway of the room, and Anya held her breath. Would the pitiful whining from the dog interfere with the ceremony?

Coming to his feet, Sutter extended his arms over Willie-boy's small body and prayed: "Listen, my dream. This you told me should be done. This you said should be the way. You said it would cure the sick one. Help me now. Do not lie to me. Help me, Sun person; help me to cure this sick boy."

He turned to the night table, unrolled the sacred pipe—decorated with bright-colored feathers and the fur of the weasel—from its many thicknesses of tanned fur and laid the pipe in front of the bowl of burning coals. After placing the sacred whistle around his neck, he put his head back and blew, the high, keening sound reverberating in the small room. Next, he plucked the rattle from the night table, shook it over the boy and began the pipe dance.

Anya had seen this dance on many occasions in her youth. Like before, the motion and movements from Sutter reminded her of a warrior searching for his enemies.

When the dance ended, again, he held his outstretched arms over Willie-boy and prayed: "May the boy have full life. Let him grow; increase his flesh and rid the sickness from his body. Harden the boy's body so he may reach great age."

Sutter broke off a handful of sweet grass and laid it over the bowl of coal. Fragrant yellow smoke rose from the burning herb. Anya closed her eyes. So this is how he came to be called Yellow Smoke.

When she opened them again, she saw Sutter grasp large handfuls of the fragrant smoke and rub it over his own body. This Anya had seen before too and knew the smoke was meant to purify him. Another bunch of sweet grass was tossed onto the coals before the healer began the pipe song. He raised and lowered the pipe several times over her son's body, shaking it as he did so every feather and bits of fur hung loose and could be plainly seen.

Sutter reached for the jar of red paint and marked the boy with a broad band across his forehead, a stripe down his nose and a number of round dots on each cheek. Still holding the pipe in his free hand, he grasped it with both hands and held it toward the sky and prayed: "Listen, Sun, pity this poor boy! Listen, Old Man, pity him! Give him a complete life." At the conclusion of the prayer, he passed the stem over different parts of the sick boy's body and ended with a solemn 'Ooomm'.

Tears fell in rivulets down Anya's cheek. So far, Willie-boy hadn't moved a muscle. As if the boy could feel her heartfelt pleas, his eyes fluttered open. Aware of her sore shoulder, Anya left the chair and hurried to his side. Collapsing onto the bed beside him, she put her good arm around his thin shoulders and pulled him to her in the tightest hug she could manage. "I'm here, Willie-boy, I'm here, and thank the Good Lord, you're here too."

Her son tipped his head back and smiled up at her.

"You came back to me. Oh, my beloved son, you came back." Through tears, Anya stared at Sutter and mouthed the words, 'Thank you."

With a nod and a knowing smile, Sutter left the room as quietly as he'd entered.

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