Chapter 5 #2
Grey Coyote spun back toward her, and she at once wished she had remained silent.
It was one circumstance to ride next to the man with scant inches of clothing between them; it was another to bear witness to the wide expanse of the man’s muscular and naked chest. Perhaps she would do well to hand him back his shirt.
She gulped instead.
Frowning up at her, he asked, “Help you to the ground? Do you have an affliction that does not allow you to jump off the pony on your own?”
She bit her lip. “No, I can jump.”
His frown deepened.
“It is only,” she continued, “that in my society, a gentleman helps a lady down from her mount. It is considered good manners.”
Grey Coyote nodded. “And so you think I am ill-mannered?”
“Well…”
“This is not a custom in my country. Here, most women would be offended if I offered help. Here, a woman might wonder why I was assisting her instead of attending to my duty to guard her.”
“Really?”
“Hau, hau, it is so. She might even be angered if I tried to aid her, for in her mind, for me to do this, would be as to say that she was not worthy of defending.”
“Truly?” Marietta gazed off at the panorama of beauty. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Strange?”
“How different are some of our customs.” Bringing her attention back to the matter at hand, she started to vault down from the pony. But she had only begun when he was there in front of her.
He tossed her a lighthearted grin. “Let me help you.”
She laughed.
Looking up at her, he stopped cold, staring at her as though she had sent a poisoned arrow to his heart. His smile faded, and time seemed to have developed a warp, for she could have sworn it stood still.
He recovered swiftly enough, and without further hesitation, his hands came around her waist, and he lifted her easily from the pony. On the descent, she rubbed against him, the action sending a jolt of energy surging through her body.
Briefly, he held her closely, and then with a chuckle and a shake of his head, he said, “I never realized how clever is the white man.”
“Oh?”
“Hau, hau, it is so.”
“And what makes you say this?”
He grinned. “A red man would need a very big reason to hold a woman such. But the white man excuses himself with manners. Hau, hau. I think the white man is very clever, indeed.”
Marietta, too, grinned. “Indeed.” Gazing up at him, she stepped out of his arms.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, held. Then, unexpectedly, he turned away.
To her surprise, she felt suddenly bereft. “Mr. Coyote,” she said, stepping up to him. “Did I say something to offend you?”
“Hiya, you did not. In truth, I am uncertain any action you would do would offend me. But I came here to see this.” He gestured toward the western side of the prairie, where the sun was announcing its departure by means of a glorious, golden sunset.
Marietta gazed the way he indicated, and saw that the sun, which had been hidden from them most of the day, was practically screaming at them now.
As they gazed outward, the sun sent streaks of light upward through clouds, clouds which were awash in various shades of golds, reds, pinks, blues and greys.
Moreover, the sky itself was painting the once brown-drab prairie, transforming it into shades of amber and scarlet, the land appearing as though it were a gigantic mirror, set afire in color.
Then the strangest occurrence happened. Coming down onto his knees and lifting his hands to the sky, Grey Coyote began to sing.
Watching, Marietta stood aghast. The moment was unusual, yes, for Marietta was not accustomed to men opening their arms and breaking into song. But unaccountably, the event was also stunning, and she hardly dared breathe, afraid she would disturb its remarkable charm.
In due time, she allowed herself to take a breath as she gazed toward the west. From here one might very well be able to see forever. In truth, so much space was there, she felt as though her soul expanded.
It was then when it came to her. Grey Coyote was praying. He had climbed all this way to do no more than communicate with his Creator. Was he even now thanking the Lord for the beauty set here before them?
Looking on, Marietta was aware that her throat felt tight, and worse, there was a tear forming in her eye.
Not because of him. No, more likely it was because of the enchantment of the prairie, or maybe even the crisp feel of the pure air.
Or perhaps it was no more than the incessant wind, which was now blowing directly in her face.
How curious to discover such artistry here, here where there was nothing but the earth, the sky, the winds. Unforeseen, unexpected, the beauty seemed to take hold of her.
“It reminds me of you,” said Grey Coyote, and Marietta was awakened to the knowledge that it had been several moments since he had stopped singing.
“What was it you said?” she asked.
“The sunset.” He pointed outward toward the west. “It is golden like your hair, red like your cheeks, pink like your lips. You should be called Little Sunset, I think. Even now, your hair reflects the colors, looking as though it is set afire.”
The praise was simply said, yet it was one of the most excellent compliments she had ever received. Certain she was blushing, Marietta turned away. “Thank you. It is certainly kind of you to compliment me.”
“Perhaps. But it is also true.”
Marietta didn’t know why, but she could not look at Grey Coyote at this moment. To do so might break whatever enchantment she felt. Instead, she said, “You were praying.”
“Hau. I was praying. Were you not also doing so?”
“I… I…”
He gave her a queer look. “Do the white people not pray?”
“Of course we pray.”
“Hau. Then why do you not pray now?”
“Now? But why should I?”
He gave her another one of those perplexing looks. “Were you never taught to give thanks every morning for the new day, and every evening for the day past?”
“I… No. We…ah… We pray differently where I come from.”
“Differently?”
“We pray only when there is great need, or perhaps only on Sunday.”
“Only then? Only in great need? Every Sunday? Do you never simply thank the Creator for the beauty He has created?”