Winona leaned back against Jason, his arms around her, the two of them watching the clouds drift in front of the stars, her heart so full of happiness it seemed to overflow. Music, conversation, and laughter spilled out of the party tent, the scent of ponderosa pine carried on a cool summer breeze.
It had been a perfect day.
Jason nuzzled her ear. “I can’t wait to get you to our hotel so I can strip that gorgeous dress off you and have married sex.”
Winona liked that idea. “We should say goodbye to our guests and drive Grandpa home. He must be tired.”
They had an early morning flight to Mazatlán, so they had booked a suite next to the airport. Jason wanted to share his other homeland with her, so they were honeymooning in Mexico.
“Where is Old Man?”
“He and Jack have been talking all evening. They’re new best friends or something.” Winona supposed it wasn’t that much of a surprise. For two men from completely different worlds, they had a lot in common. “They’ve been sitting in the exact same spot since we finished dinner.”
“Yeah. I see them now.” Jason chuckled. “They’re still talking.”
“Did you see the look on Grandpa’s face when we told him I was pregnant?”
“I did.” Jason’s hand moved to caress her belly through the silk of her dress. “That entire wrinkled-apple face of his turned into one big smile, and that laugh…”
“One minute, he was telling me he was ready to make the journey now that I was settled. The next, he said he had to stick around because he had young people to teach.”
“Your grandfather is one of a kind.”
“He’s what traditionals would call a true Lakota.”
“Let’s see if he’s ready to go.” Jason threaded his fingers through hers, and they started back toward the party tent.
Winona saw they were near the maze. “I’ve never actually walked it, you know. Is it as hard as the kids say?”
“Give it a try.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
Winona found the entrance and set off, trying to find the center. The stone walls were high enough that she couldn’t see dead ends until they were before her. Jason watched, laughing, as she retraced her steps several times, twice going all the way back to the beginning. “Another dead end?”
Jason went to stand at the entrance. “Come here. I’ll help you.”
This time, she walked with him as he guided her at last to the center.
“Woohoo! Journey’s end. That was hard. I can see how your old ones found the maze to be a metaphor for life’s journey—all the twists and turns, not being able to see what lies ahead until you’re there. And here we are—the two of us—at the start of our journey together, with a baby coming.”
Jason looked into her eyes, his expression now serious. “When you walked down the aisle today, one thing became clear for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Wherever life takes us from here, Win, you are my center.”
Then he drew her close and kissed her.
We hope you enjoyed this story. Read on for a special note from the author.
Author’s Note
Jason and Winona’s story was born out of the fifteen years of my journalism career spent reporting on Native issues. As a journalist, I made a conscious choice to give the voice I had to others, focusing on women in prison and Native peoples. I learned all I could about the challenges these two groups face and did my best to share their struggles with my readership.
From the start, I had two rules for myself when it came to covering Native issues. The first was not to go to any reservation without first being asked to come. I did not want to be the stereotypical white journalist who asks questions about the wrong things of the wrong people in the wrong way—and then gets the answers wrong in print.
My second rule was to never go to any ceremony without being invited. I refused to impose myself on people practicing their own beliefs or to make demands of their time. I was an outsider, and I knew it. My job was to report, not to invade.
Then one afternoon, I got a call from a woman in Denver who’d heard from her husband, a Sun Dancer, that the elders wanted me to report on the harassment of Sun Dancers by federal agents.
I dropped everything, hopped in my car, and made the twelve-hour drive over rutted, unpaved roads with a map drawn on a napkin to the Sun Dance site. I had to go off-road to get around a federal van that was blocking access to the site. I covered the story as best I could and, in the process, witnessed an authentic Sun Dance that was being run by a hereditary Lakota Sun Dance chief.
I was one of very few non-Natives there. I ate mutton stew, did my reporting, and volunteered in the first-aid tent, giving elders foot massages. At night, I slept in a tent under a piñon pine, waking every morning around sunrise to the sound of the drums. I was invited to join in the ceremony, standing under the arbor, smoking the chanupa for the first time, learning songs and some of the language. Time became irrelevant. The welcome I experienced was profound.
I did my best to cover the story accurately. As a result, word got around. I got calls from Native people around the country facing problems they wanted me to cover. This effort took me as far north as the Cheyenne River Reservation, where I reported on the Si Tanka riders in the coldest weather I’ve ever experienced (-60F with wind chill) and as far south as Navajoland in Arizona.
I met Hopi, Cherokee, Diné, Canadian Cree, Quechua, Inuit, and Lakota/Dakota people. I listened to the stories of Native leaders of all kinds—tribal presidents, spiritual leaders, and community activists. I learned from all of them.
In 2005, I found myself in an inipi ceremony with Native spiritual leaders and NASA scientists. Who was pouring water at that inipi? The Sun Dance chief from that first Sun Dance I’d attended. He became a friend, though we have since lost touch.
Over time, I was asked by three spiritual leaders from three different Nations—Hopi, Diné, and Lakota—to act as a bridge between the white and Native worlds. That is a serious request, and it’s one that I still try to honor, even though I’m no longer working in journalism. The world needs more bridges and fewer walls.
I have tried to share what I know in a way that is respectful of Lakota and Tohono O’odham traditions, while being mindful of their values. I have deliberately obscured or left out elements of ceremony due to their sacred nature. I have also done my best to avoid stereotypes and “tokenism,” bringing to life a contemporary Native couple—plus relatives—who might live down the street in Anytown, USA. Any mistakes I’ve made concerning customs and language are my own.
I offer this story with respect and gratitude and in the hope that this broken wheel of our land can be healed, bringing us together as one.
Mitakuye Oyasin. All my relations.
Pamela Clare
April 21, 2021
A portion of the proceeds of this book are going to Friends of Pine Ridge Reservation. I encourage you to visit their website and give generously.
Thank You