Hawk left the shelter with my skirt and petticoat, soaked with the wrangler’s blood. I knew I never wanted to see them again. When he was busy outside, Blue Mountain Woman handed me a deerskin dress as soft as butter, and nearly that color. She helped me pull it down over my head. With her assistance, I stood up carefully and let the dress fall and cover me just past my knees. She handed me a pair of beaded moccasins. They fit.

She helped me down again then knelt behind me and carefully combed my hair, singing to me now. She used a cleaner leather thong, this one decorated with beads and shells, to tie back my hair.

Arm in arm we walked slowly to the pony herd. Other women joined us so kindly. I saw no judgment, which surprised me not in the least, not from the Nimiipuu. I was surrounded by love.

With their help, I was able to mount Fair One. Blue Mountain Woman took the reins from me and led my horse behind hers. Hawk rode close beside me on one side, and Poker Joe on the other.

And so we traveled.

* * *

I finished the above passage just before my husband returned late from horse trading. After a warmed-up dinner, I took my growing pile of paper into the front room and curled up in his big chair. He had gone to the horse barn with our son Thomas to admire the new foal, dropped while he was away.

Comfortable in my favorite spot, I read through this account, still uncertain if I should have written of that experience with the wrangler. Duncan and I have never said much about it, not in all the years of our marriage. I decided to wait up until he came in to get his opinion.

They came in just after eleven. Thomas gave me a goodnight wave and went upstairs. Duncan took off his coat and came into the parlor. It must have started raining, because his hair was wet. He passed a hand over his grey hair and wiped it on his jeans.

“Thought you’d be in bed by now, Smiley. What’s the matter? Got a bit of wind on your stomach?”

Now doesn’t that sound like twenty-three years of marriage? I ask you. “I…I wanted you to read something.”

I vacated his chair and handed him what I had labored all day to write. He sat down, held out his arms and invited me back to his chair. With his arms around me, he tilted the lamp closer and started reading. His arms tightened, and I nestled close to his chest. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured, when I shuddered.