house again .
A jagged streak split the sky in answer.
Creighton’s mind traveled back in time. He was nine years old when he first met Leslie White Raven, a Lakota Sioux boy from South Dakota. The details of Leslie’s adoption by Creighton’s neighbors two miles north were long forgotten. But electrical storms brought back the details of Leslie’s death.
When there was free time back then, Creighton saddled up Blaze and crossed the road. Leslie met him at an old cottonwood south of his own home, astride his mount, Silver. They spent countless hours playing cowboys and Indians, riding across the hills as they chased imaginary buffalo and wild ponies. Their special place was atop a hill where unexplained rocks formed numerous circles. The boys believed that tipis from long ago had been erected there for hunting season.
The land holds the spiritual energies of my ancestors.
Leslie’s imagined voice brought moisture to Creighton’s eyes.
A tree cracked and groaned behind him. Creighton shivered, glad his ride home was almost over. He recalled the late afternoon darkness on that long ago day that sent him on a gallop south while Leslie raced north to his own home.
Only Leslie didn’t make it home. Two hours later, Creighton’s mother took the call. Silver had galloped into the barnyard without his mount.
Now thankful that his current ride was over, Creighton parked the ORV and ran into the house. He leaned against the kitchen door, ignoring the raindrops dripping onto the floor from his slicker. Tears came as readily now as they had when he heard at age eleven that Leslie was gone. Struck by lightning. His best friend’s life ended at ten years of age.
Creighton shook himself out of his reverie and shed the slicker. It must be a night for tears. Why did he have to recall those youthful escapades now, when he was all stirred up over Shana?
He left the rest of his wet outer clothes next to the washing machine, and wandered through the storm-darkened house to his room. The flashing strobe from the wild outdoors matched his tingling nerves. He prayed for rest.
The jangle of the phone yanked Creighton from a restless sleep. He squinted at the clock that blinked its steady red 12:00.
“That means I have electricity,” he mumbled. He grabbed his watch. It read 3:47 in the AM. The phone rang again, and he reached to pick it up.
“Thank God,” his brother-in-law’s voice responded to his mumbled hello. “I was afraid with the storm up there your phone might be out.”
Creighton rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Instantly awake, he sat up. “Ray. What’s wrong?”
“Rita’s in the hospital. She started cramping last night, and then bleeding. She’s stable now.”
“Are you home?”
“No. They want to keep her twenty-four hours to make sure she doesn’t go into labor. Sorry I called so early, but I figured you’d want to know.”
“Hey, man, no need to apologize.” Creighton yawned. “Should I head out right now?”
“Thanks. I know Rita would appreciate that offer. But don’t hurry, just pray for now, OK?”
“You got it,” Creighton answered. “She probably needs a woman, so I’ll wait until first light to wake Shana. See you for lunch.”
The men said their good-byes and Creighton flicked on the bedside lamp. He bowed his head and prayed for his sister. Looking up, he laughed. “God, you must have some sense of humor.”
He had dreaded the idea of being closed up with Shana here in the house. Now they’d be in a much more intimate enclosure, his truck cab, for nearly four hours.
His whole being groaned at the idea…with what, dread, or expectation?
9
Shana adjusted the shoulder strap of her seat belt and found comfort on the wide bench seat of Creighton’s spacious pickup cab. There was so much room that she felt like a child. She grinned to herself at the sight she must have been, jumping up to the high seat. At least Creighton gave her a hand. His presence
A jagged streak split the sky in answer.
Creighton’s mind traveled back in time. He was nine years old when he first met Leslie White Raven, a Lakota Sioux boy from South Dakota. The details of Leslie’s adoption by Creighton’s neighbors two miles north were long forgotten. But electrical storms brought back the details of Leslie’s death.
When there was free time back then, Creighton saddled up Blaze and crossed the road. Leslie met him at an old cottonwood south of his own home, astride his mount, Silver. They spent countless hours playing cowboys and Indians, riding across the hills as they chased imaginary buffalo and wild ponies. Their special place was atop a hill where unexplained rocks formed numerous circles. The boys believed that tipis from long ago had been erected there for hunting season.
The land holds the spiritual energies of my ancestors.
Leslie’s imagined voice brought moisture to Creighton’s eyes.
A tree cracked and groaned behind him. Creighton shivered, glad his ride home was almost over. He recalled the late afternoon darkness on that long ago day that sent him on a gallop south while Leslie raced north to his own home.
Only Leslie didn’t make it home. Two hours later, Creighton’s mother took the call. Silver had galloped into the barnyard without his mount.
Now thankful that his current ride was over, Creighton parked the ORV and ran into the house. He leaned against the kitchen door, ignoring the raindrops dripping onto the floor from his slicker. Tears came as readily now as they had when he heard at age eleven that Leslie was gone. Struck by lightning. His best friend’s life ended at ten years of age.
Creighton shook himself out of his reverie and shed the slicker. It must be a night for tears. Why did he have to recall those youthful escapades now, when he was all stirred up over Shana?
He left the rest of his wet outer clothes next to the washing machine, and wandered through the storm-darkened house to his room. The flashing strobe from the wild outdoors matched his tingling nerves. He prayed for rest.
The jangle of the phone yanked Creighton from a restless sleep. He squinted at the clock that blinked its steady red 12:00.
“That means I have electricity,” he mumbled. He grabbed his watch. It read 3:47 in the AM. The phone rang again, and he reached to pick it up.
“Thank God,” his brother-in-law’s voice responded to his mumbled hello. “I was afraid with the storm up there your phone might be out.”
Creighton rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Instantly awake, he sat up. “Ray. What’s wrong?”
“Rita’s in the hospital. She started cramping last night, and then bleeding. She’s stable now.”
“Are you home?”
“No. They want to keep her twenty-four hours to make sure she doesn’t go into labor. Sorry I called so early, but I figured you’d want to know.”
“Hey, man, no need to apologize.” Creighton yawned. “Should I head out right now?”
“Thanks. I know Rita would appreciate that offer. But don’t hurry, just pray for now, OK?”
“You got it,” Creighton answered. “She probably needs a woman, so I’ll wait until first light to wake Shana. See you for lunch.”
The men said their good-byes and Creighton flicked on the bedside lamp. He bowed his head and prayed for his sister. Looking up, he laughed. “God, you must have some sense of humor.”
He had dreaded the idea of being closed up with Shana here in the house. Now they’d be in a much more intimate enclosure, his truck cab, for nearly four hours.
His whole being groaned at the idea…with what, dread, or expectation?
9
Shana adjusted the shoulder strap of her seat belt and found comfort on the wide bench seat of Creighton’s spacious pickup cab. There was so much room that she felt like a child. She grinned to herself at the sight she must have been, jumping up to the high seat. At least Creighton gave her a hand. His presence
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