Walks the Fire by Stephanie Grace Whitson

disbelief from the women. She glanced at Rides the Wind. He caught her eye. She thought she saw a faint glimmer of a smile.
    Is he proud of me? shewondered. She dismissed the thought, reminding herself that she was, after all, only a convenience brought into camp to feed his baby and read the book he was curious about.
    They stopped outside the tepee of Rides the Wind. As they dismounted, Prairie Flower ran up and patted her arm, chattering and smiling encouragement. She demanded that Rides the Wind translate.
    With no expression he said, “The woman says that you have been given my favorite mare.”
    Jesse looked up at him. “Is this true?”
    Rides the Wind shrugged, “Red Star is a good mare. Whether she is my favorite, I cannot say.” Before Jesse could thank him, he took Red Star’s reins from her and walked away, turning his broad back to the group of women who giggled and pointed at them both.

Ten
    … our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace. — Daniel 3:17

    As the weeks passed, Jesse grew to understand more of the people’s ways. She learned to think of them as Lakota rather than Indians. Their language took on a familiar cadence, and she found herself mimicking the sounds when she was alone. She obediently repeated whatever words Old One taught, and remembered many, but her innate shyness precluded her trying to say much on her own. She learned to understand a great deal more than she could say.
    If they knew how much of what they say I understand, she thought, they would not be so cruel. She wanted to believe it, and yet she wondered. Open taunts had decreased since Rides the Wind had given her Red Star. However, at Jesse’s first attempts to speak with them they began to laugh. Only Prairie Flower and Old One were truly kind. Jesse grew to love them, and consoled herself with their growing friendship.
    Two Mothers began to coo and grin at sight of her. She continued to read the Bible to Rides the Wind. He was kind and patient. On days when he did not hunt, he willingly took care of Two Mothers, proudly carrying the growing boy through the camp. Jesse saw that Rides the Wind was respected by his people. She also noticed the hungry eyes of a few single young women when he turned his broad back and limped away. Had it not been for the crooked leg, Rides the Wind would have been much desired by the young women of his tribe.
    The summer had grown hot and dry, and camp moved again, seeking fresh water and grazing for the considerable herd of ponies owned by the band. Jesse was glad for the shade of the tepee. Her fair skin burned and peeled and burned again until she despaired of its roughness. Old One gathered a plant that she instructed Jesse to chew, forming a paste to spread over the rough, inflamed skin. It helped, but Jesse continued to seek the shelter of the tepee whenever possible. Anxious not to appear lazy, she worked hard to soften the hides of the buffalo Rides the Wind had killed. She worked at it by the hour until even Old One ordered her to stop before she wore the skin out.
    “But Old One, I know nothing. I do nothing. People call me wagluhe.” Jesse flinched at the thought of how broken the language was, how infantile she must sound.
    Old One understood and, handing Jesse a sewing awl, demonstrated how to stitch skins together.
    Jesse was working on her sewing project one morning when she heard concerned voices outside her tepee. Prairie Flower rushed in and pulled her outside to view the horizon. What she saw made Jesse clasp Prairie Flower’s hand in her own and cry out in fear.
    Billowing black smoke leaped into the sky and rushed toward them. The alarm was sounded. Older boys rounded up the grazing ponies to herd them across the creek. The ponies, frightened by the scent of burning grass, fled willingly, and the boys scuttled back to help move the camp.
    Hastily the women gathered up what belongings they could before heading for the creek. Jesse