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 “I
told the Coopers to be patient, and when Rain was ready she would
tell them
what was on her mind. That was the last time I saw Brings Rain in
her earthly body. Nearly a month later, during the time the yuccas
are near finished blooming and the briars are just starting to
explode with berries, tragedy struck. Word of her passing spread
fast as a prairie fire. So once again the Coopers received neighbors
into their humble home. The child whose birth had brought those
sweet drops from the heavens eight years before now brought heavy
tears to everyone’s eyes.
“Now to answer your question Annie: It was her ma who decided to lay
Rain’s earthly remains beneath the weeping willow, because it was
her daughter’s favorite place. I tried to console the family by
telling them the Lakota believe when a person passes over at an
early age it is because they did not have far to go in this life.
The following year, still haunted by his daughter’s death, Mr.
Cooper uprooted the family and left for places unknown. Right before
they departed, Mrs. Cooper told me my words had indeed lightened the
hurt during her long mourning.”
“Yellow Cloud, what did you mean when you said the little girl
didn’t have far to go in this life,” I asked?
“Joey, to answer your question satisfactorily would require much
teaching in Indian ways, but in a nutshell, Rain was born with a
wisdom rarely found in one so young.” Then pointing to his head, he
said, “The Great Spirit gave us this wondrous instrument that
humanity would use it for the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom,
but for a rare few, like Rain, the journey here is unnecessary. She
was born wise.” My sister cocked her head curiously. “Annie, follow
your heart and it will lead you to the answers you seek,” White
Cloud said.
I thought I saw a tear well up in the old Indian’s
eye as he continued. “I find comfort in knowing her spirit is alive
and will be for eternity. And when I hear an owl screech, it is Rain
saying hello. When I see a new fawn, it is Rain come back to life. I
see and feel her spirit everywhere: in the weeping willow, in the
cool southern breeze, in the food I eat, and in my dreams when I
sleep.” Yellow Cloud, his eyes looking in the distance, paused for a
moment before saying, “I especially feel her presence in the spring
after a rain when the earth is refreshing itself. I believe the
Great Spirit sent Brings Rain to renew the land and heal our ailing
spirits.” He then crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his
head.
Annie said, “Yellow Cloud, I feel sort of afraid.”
Yellow Cloud said, “How so?”
“Well, me and Rain are a lot alike.”
“Yes, I am aware of this,” Yellow Cloud said. “Annie, I assure you
there is nothing to fear. You discovered her grave, and you have
walked in her footsteps. If you believe, as I do, that her spirit is
alive at this very moment, maybe, just maybe, Brings Rain will give
you a sign.” Annie hugged the storyteller. And as the Old Man in the
Moon poked his head over the whispering pines at the far end of the
barn, Yellow Cloud stood and stretched, his hands skimming the porch
ceiling. He thanked Ned for his hospitality and tipped his hat to
Ellie, who was standing just inside the screen door.
As he was about to step off the porch, Annie said, “Can I ask you
something?”
“Anything except my age.” We all chuckled.
Annie replied, “How’d you know I was going to ask that?”
Yellow Cloud, pointing at his head, said, “I would tell you, but I
am not sure. I will say this: I was about your age in 1876, during
the moon when yucca bloom, when Crazy Horse and a few Sioux and
Cheyenne warriors got in a little scuffle with a long-hair named
Custer and his Seventh Calvary at the Little Bighorn.”
Annie squirmed and squealed excitedly, “Tell us that story.”
“Wiyanna, this is not a story for ears as young as yours. Now I must
be leaving.” His shadow lingered as he’d vanished into the moonlit
night.
In the silence that followed my head was flooded
with images of a time long since gone. If not for Aunt Ellie telling
us it was time for bed, I could have daydreamed the night away. And
while Aunt Ellie was tucking Annie in, Uncle Ned, standing between
our twin beds, said, “There are folks around these parts that claim
they’ve seen the little girl’s ghost. Personally, I never bought
into all that nonsense . . . but . . . near the witching hour one
clear June night some years back while hunting a chicken-killing fox
near the weeping willow, I near had a heart attack when I saw her
dancing in a circle amidst the Queen Anne’s lace that blankets the
meadow this time of year. I stopped and rubbed my eyes, disbelieving
what they were seeing. I hunkered down some and ventured closer, my
heart pounding trying to bust free of my chest.” Uncle Ned paused.
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Annie, with the covers up to her chin, yelped, “Was
it the little girl.”
While scratching his stubble and looking dead serious, he said,
“Wel-l-l-l . . . Nah
. . . . It was a yucca in full bloom, its large white flowers four
or five feet above the
ground swaying to and fro in a light breeze under a full moon.”
“Uncle Ned, you tricked us,” Annie said. Uncle Ned slapped his knee
and said, “I guess so. But since that night, every time I see a
blooming yucca lit by moonlight, I half expect it to be her. In fact
I’ve taken to calling them ghost plants.”
“Father, it’s time these children got to sleep,” Aunt Ellie said.
“Yes dear,” Uncle Ned replied, winking at me as he took his leave.
I’d no sooner knocked at the Sandman’s door when I heard, “Psst.
Psst. Joey are you asleep.”
“Yes. What do you want Short Stuff?”
“Let’s go down there.”
I knew perfectly well what her intent was, but I said, “Down where?”
“You know . . . the grave.”
“Ah, let’s go tomorrow morning.”
“Rooster. Rooster. Joey’s a rooster.”
“I believe you mean chicken.”
“Whatever. I’m going with or without you.”
“Brave words for an eight year old. Okay.” So I threw back my cozy
comforter, quickly dressed, then crawled out the second story window
and stepped onto a large tree fork and waited for Annie. When
finally her head and arms appeared at the sash, I gave her my hand
and pulled her out. I whispered to her to get on my back and grab me
around the neck. I then maneuvered my way down the tree without any
trouble except Annie near choking me to death. Once on the ground, I
lost my balance, and as we fell to the dew covered grass, Annie
began giggling. I placed my hand over her mouth. The night was
really hot so the cool dampness felt really good. With the moon full
and the meadow sparkling with nature’s lace, we scampered down the
hill hand-in-hand. Annie, whose imagination was keener than mine,
said, “The wood fairies made the wildflowers shine like stars,
lighting our path.” As a science teacher in training, I wanted to
inform her it was in fact the work of condensation, but I chose not
to disturb the spell she was under. And as Uncle Ned had said the
flowering yuccas waving to and fro off in the distance really did
look like dancing ghosts. Annie, though, didn’t give a hoot about
ghost plants.
“Come on Joey, Rain’s grave is right over there.” As the intrepid
adventurer sped
towards the willow countless fireflies flitted about her head, like
a crowning light. When
both of us were standing at the foot of the grave I said, “Now
what?”
Annie shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know.”
Just as I was about to say I’m ready to go back to the house and
slip into my cozy feather bed, the warm breeze that had followed us
from the hill suddenly became a cold gust giving me goose bumps.
Annie gasped and hooked my arm, “Did you hear that?”
With a tad of impatience I said, “Hear what? All I
hear is the wind rustling the leaves in the willow.”
Sounding seriously scared, she said, “I heard Rain crying.”
“Annie that was just the wind, you’re letting your imagination
runaway with you. Come on, let’s go.” She reluctantly agreed.
And as I took her hand, she said, “Joey, what’s that?”
I was tired of her foolishness, so I snapped, “What’s what?”
Pointing at the ground, she said, “Are you blind? Don’t you see
those two eye balls staring at us at the bottom of the tombstone?”
[By Henry Dewes]
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