sounded like a drowning man floundering to catch a rope. “Did your mother name you Sherry? That’s not Korean, is it?”
“No, my mom named me Chantelle after my dad’s mom. She probably hoped it would make my dad want us.” She snorted. “It didn’t. He already had another daughter he’d named Chantelle, so when I came to America my father and his wife changed my name to Sherry. ”
Marissa said indignantly, “They changed your name?”
Sherry nodded uncomfortably.
“They even took your name away from you.” Stag took her hand in his callused one. “What happened to you and your mother would never have happened here. Babies are always welcome. After the Woman Killer Plague during the Terrible Times, there were so few women left that every single birth was celebrated. Only one baby born in three hundred was a girl. Girl babies are still pretty rare, even now. Your father would have been whipped for treating a woman so badly. Your mother would have had her pick from hundreds of men who would have begged her to marry them. You, her little baby girl, would have been taken good care of. Everyone would have loved you and protected you.”
Sherry had to blink back tears. How different her life would have been if she’d been born here. “I probably would have been a spoiled brat.”
“No. Your nature is too sweet for that.”
Stag really didn’t know her if he thought her nature was sweet. She cast about for a new topic. “Why do some of you in the Clan have Indian names like Jumping Stag and Red Wing, and some of you have white names like Des?”
Stag stacked five big pancakes on her plate and only frowned when she transferred three of them to his plate. “Most of us have both names. Many of the women in the Clan were from towns, so they gave their children English names. Sometimes we’re given Lakota “baby” names, usually something descriptive about us. Like my cousin Jelly is named He Eats Jelly. Guess why?”
As she was at that moment spreading grape jelly over her pancakes she couldn’t keep a smile back. “Okay, I can see that.”
“After we’ve completed a spirit quest, we are usually given a new name.”
“Do you have a white name?”
“My English name is Nathaniel.”
Sherry chewed her bite of pancake, looking at him thoughtfully. His hair was freshly washed, his braids thick and shiny. He didn’t look like a Nathaniel to her. “Do you like being called Nathaniel?”
He shook his head. “The only person to call me that was my mother.”
A gagging sound from the other side of the table jerked Sherry’s eyes to Marissa. The other woman’s previous happy glow had faded to greenish nausea. She leaped up from the table and hurried out of the big room.
“Oh, dear,” said Sherry. “Where’s Red Wing?”
“Patrolling the fence. Is Marissa sick? Should I go get her mate?”
The urgent concern in Stag’s voice made Sherry smile. All the wolves were hyper-concerned about the women’s health. It was actually cute in an overbearingly protective way. “No. It’s just a woman thing. I’ll go check on her.”
“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”
“I’m full. You finish it. I’ll see you later.”
“Be sure to wear warm clothes for our ride. I’ll meet you after lunch.”
* * *
This was Stag’s idea of a beautiful day? Sherry hunched further into her coat and dug her mittened hands into her horse’s mane for extra warmth. The sky was a deep clear blue, and the wind was light, but it was the end of January and it was cold . She hadn’t been riding in ten years, and her legs ached. Stag led the way at a bone jarring trot about ten feet in front of her. She thought this would be a leisurely amble around the town, while they chatted and got to know each other better. Instead, Stag had headed straight out of town and was out of chatting distance, riding as if he had a destination and was anxious to get to it. As they rode, she saw big gray wolves slinking
“No, my mom named me Chantelle after my dad’s mom. She probably hoped it would make my dad want us.” She snorted. “It didn’t. He already had another daughter he’d named Chantelle, so when I came to America my father and his wife changed my name to Sherry. ”
Marissa said indignantly, “They changed your name?”
Sherry nodded uncomfortably.
“They even took your name away from you.” Stag took her hand in his callused one. “What happened to you and your mother would never have happened here. Babies are always welcome. After the Woman Killer Plague during the Terrible Times, there were so few women left that every single birth was celebrated. Only one baby born in three hundred was a girl. Girl babies are still pretty rare, even now. Your father would have been whipped for treating a woman so badly. Your mother would have had her pick from hundreds of men who would have begged her to marry them. You, her little baby girl, would have been taken good care of. Everyone would have loved you and protected you.”
Sherry had to blink back tears. How different her life would have been if she’d been born here. “I probably would have been a spoiled brat.”
“No. Your nature is too sweet for that.”
Stag really didn’t know her if he thought her nature was sweet. She cast about for a new topic. “Why do some of you in the Clan have Indian names like Jumping Stag and Red Wing, and some of you have white names like Des?”
Stag stacked five big pancakes on her plate and only frowned when she transferred three of them to his plate. “Most of us have both names. Many of the women in the Clan were from towns, so they gave their children English names. Sometimes we’re given Lakota “baby” names, usually something descriptive about us. Like my cousin Jelly is named He Eats Jelly. Guess why?”
As she was at that moment spreading grape jelly over her pancakes she couldn’t keep a smile back. “Okay, I can see that.”
“After we’ve completed a spirit quest, we are usually given a new name.”
“Do you have a white name?”
“My English name is Nathaniel.”
Sherry chewed her bite of pancake, looking at him thoughtfully. His hair was freshly washed, his braids thick and shiny. He didn’t look like a Nathaniel to her. “Do you like being called Nathaniel?”
He shook his head. “The only person to call me that was my mother.”
A gagging sound from the other side of the table jerked Sherry’s eyes to Marissa. The other woman’s previous happy glow had faded to greenish nausea. She leaped up from the table and hurried out of the big room.
“Oh, dear,” said Sherry. “Where’s Red Wing?”
“Patrolling the fence. Is Marissa sick? Should I go get her mate?”
The urgent concern in Stag’s voice made Sherry smile. All the wolves were hyper-concerned about the women’s health. It was actually cute in an overbearingly protective way. “No. It’s just a woman thing. I’ll go check on her.”
“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”
“I’m full. You finish it. I’ll see you later.”
“Be sure to wear warm clothes for our ride. I’ll meet you after lunch.”
* * *
This was Stag’s idea of a beautiful day? Sherry hunched further into her coat and dug her mittened hands into her horse’s mane for extra warmth. The sky was a deep clear blue, and the wind was light, but it was the end of January and it was cold . She hadn’t been riding in ten years, and her legs ached. Stag led the way at a bone jarring trot about ten feet in front of her. She thought this would be a leisurely amble around the town, while they chatted and got to know each other better. Instead, Stag had headed straight out of town and was out of chatting distance, riding as if he had a destination and was anxious to get to it. As they rode, she saw big gray wolves slinking
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