The Spirit Path by Madeline Baker

heard the old medicine man’s voice assuring him that his mother was well, reminding him to follow the Life Path of the Lakota, and to teach the young warrior to do the same.
    Slowly, Shadow Hawk opened his eyes. Bobby was sitting across from him, a look of bewilderment on his face.
    “What is it?” Shadow Hawk asked.
    “I saw an old man,” Bobby replied. “His skin was lined with the passage of many years, his hair was streaked with gray, and he wore a buffalo horn headdress.”
    “Heart-of-the-Wolf,” Hawk murmured.
    “Did you see him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he speak?” Bobby asked, leaning forward.
    “He reminded me to always walk in the Life Path of the Lakota. And to teach you to do the same.”
    Bobby swallowed hard. “I heard the same words.”
    “I know.”
    Bobby’s eyes grew wide. “He spoke to both of us?”
    Shadow Hawk nodded. He had shared Bobby’s vision and seen one of his own. He had seen Heart-of-the-Wolf standing outside the Sacred Cave, had heard the old man’s voice speaking to him, the words soft yet clear.
    It is not yet time, the old medicine man had said. Only be patient and you will again be reunited with our people.
    It gave Hawk a sense of peace to know that Heart-of-the-Wolf was still watching over him, that he was not alone in a strange land after all.
    “When will I seek a vision?” Bobby asked.
    “In two days time. You must go alone to the hills, unarmed and unafraid. You must open your heart and your soul, your whole being, if you wish to hear the voice of Wakán Tanka . You must make an offering of tobacco or pollen to the earth and the sky and to the four directions. And you must listen, not with your ears, but with your heart and your soul. And you must not doubt.”
    Bobby nodded. He had known Shadow Hawk only a short time, yet he felt the greatness of the other man, the inner strength and self-confidence. He had seen few men on the reservation he wanted to emulate, but Shadow Hawk was a man who inspired his trust.

Chapter Fourteen
     
    Maggie’s feelings grew more confused with each passing day. She tried to shut Hawk out of her life, tried to pretend that she didn’t care for him at all, that his kiss hadn’t warmed the innermost part of her being. In time, he would leave her, just as Susie had left her, as Frank had left her. It was better not to care at all than to risk being hurt again.
    But Hawk refused to be shut out of her life. As fast as she built walls, he tore them down. Usually it took only a smile, or the sound of his voice, and barriers she’d thought made of stone melted like snow in the sunshine.
    Sometimes she thought it was all a dream, that his presence was just a figment of her all too active imagination. And sometimes it seemed like Hawk had always been there, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, making her smile. She tried not to let him get close to her, tried to keep him away, but he had only to look at her through those fathomless dark eyes, speak her name in that voice like crushed black velvet, and she was lost.
    She found herself taking more pains with her appearance, wearing long skirts and frilly blouses instead of jeans and a sweatshirt. Instead of tying her hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face, she let it fall free around her shoulders because he had once remarked that he liked it that way.
    One night, while they were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, she told Hawk about Susie, accusing herself of being negligent, foolish, a murderer, pounding on his chest with her fists as all the old pain and rage washed through her. He had let her scream, he had let her cry, and all the while he had held her in his arms, impervious to the blows she rained upon him, whispering that it hadn’t been her fault, that it had been an accident, that her sister had died and she had lived because the Great Spirit had wanted it that way.
    Maggie didn’t believe him, didn’t think she could ever forgive herself for what