December 15th, 1852- Wednesday
My Dearest Xena,
I feel as though I’ve lived another thousand years in the span of eighteen fifty-two. More often as not these days, I’m overcome with a sense of déjà vu that takes me back to Potidaea, Amphipolis, and you. I remember the time that I had the nut bread tainted with henbane. I recall the feeling of the power of honesty momentarily being stronger than my inhibitions. You were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen and it was freeing to tell you so. When you’d been struck by Callisto’s dart, I was gripped with a fear that I’d never thought possible. I am sure you saw it back then, my desire to look at you, be near you, to touch you. I loved you then (of course) but was puzzled by the feelings I was having even as I was aroused by them.
I realize now that you knew all along what was happening, even before I did. The way I’d steal looks at you, try to touch your arm as we talked or gripped you tightly when I rode Argo. You took it in stride yet I have also surmised that on occasion, you’d succumb to your humanity and do things as I find myself doing now; provide for a longing glance, or spark a bashful grin. I am not as unawares as Bess suspects I am, nor Xena were you.
Before summer ended, I’d been tending to some fencing that needed repair. I saw Bess watching me from the porch. I’d brought a bucket of water out with me for drinking and just decided to dump the thing over my head. Yes, I well knew what the water would do to my shirt, and at home, I didn’t bother with the muslin. At any rate, I resumed my labors with a self-satisfied smirk on my face. It reminded me of the time you went fishing in your leathers so you’d have to sit by the fire naked to let them dry near the flames, and then stayed naked as you oiled them back to supple. I was so flustered and aroused that night, I know that you knew it and found pleasure in my exquisite suffering.
I am dearly fond of Bess; she is sweet beyond compare and gifted in ways that she fails to see. She is eager to learn, and in quite a turn of karmic comeuppance, is unabashed to discuss any topic, and is in fact eager to discuss every topic. We continue to work on her reading and when I’m home, spend time together either reading, working around the homestead, or whiling away the hours chatting in the evening. She’s given me looks in the lamplight as we read, and there is a hunger in her eyes that she does not yet fully comprehend. I suspect that like me, this is the first time her emotions have journeyed so and she is not sure if it is an anomaly or her heart’s desire. Unlike me, she does not have an Aphrodite in her life, or an Athena, or Helen of Troy, or other stunningly beautiful women that may turn her head or spark jealousy. I also can’t help but wonder if this is coming from a place muddled by her thinking of me as a man; confusing my sex for what it is not.
We were recently brought closer by a terrible gunfight, one I most assuredly lost. This was the first time I would have been laid dead in the dirt by a bullet were it not for the ambrosia I consumed so long ago. As you discovered when Callisto caught your chakram or even the warrior Mavigan – there are the rare creatures out there with skills that match our own. I finally encountered one of mine by the name of Preacher Strong. Hardly a man of the cloth (or faith of any kind), he was assuredly as evil a man as has ever walked this earth. One of Ares’ own, if you ask me. Hoss and I had encountered him initially several days before the gunfight as we rode back to town after a job for Mr. Wells. We were a ways down a road when we saw this gang of unkempt men gathered around three people standing in the bed of a wagon, ropes around their necks tied to a tree. They were Chinese; a man, a woman, and an adolescent, but from the distance I could not tell boy or girl. There has been an influx of immigration from China to San Francisco and parts beyond due to California’s Gold Rush as well as railroad construction and the like. Clearly, this gang of deplorables took issue. Carefully I slid my rifle from the holster on my saddle. No sooner had they slapped the horse to take off with the wagon, I fired three shots severing the hanging ropes, the trio falling to the ground relatively unharmed.
Hoss had also drawn his rifle and the two of us sat astride our horses in the road as this gang of six pulled their guns. Hoss called out a warning for them to back down. They demanded to know who expected such a surrender. “Hoss King and Dead Shorty,” he replied in his gruff tone. At the mention of our names, the men started to look at each other nervously, all but Preacher Strong of course. One of his men pulled his pistol and I shot it out of his hand, which I will say in all modesty is impressive shooting. Maybe not a chakram ricocheting off seven different surfaces before finding it’s mark, but impressive enough that no one else pulled a gun. The men backed up and we were able to escort the Chinese family to town, Hoss riding ahead of us and me with the family. Quietly, I whispered to them in several dialects before settling on Cantonese, assuring them that Hoss and I were no threat.
I wasn’t surprised when Preacher Strong came looking for me that night in the saloon. I still spent some time there, playing cards and maintaining my friendships with men even if I didn’t venture upstairs anymore. Ruth and Bess were joining Hoss and I for drinks when the bastard came barging in demanding a gunfight. I’d been standing at the bar waiting on a refill of our glasses when he made it quite clear that he intended to fight, right there in the middle of the bar. I drew but by the god’s Xena, he was faster. He pulled his gun and fired, hitting me in the gut, knocking me back. In that first instant, when I should have been meeting up with Hades, I remembered what you said to me the first time I picked up a sword: “When you hold a sword, you become a target.” In the space of that second, I decided that if I was able to truly survive this, that I’d have to find a way to leave the gun fighting behind me.
I fired as well, barely an instant after Preacher, hitting him higher in the chest. As the son of a bitch went down to his knees, he fired again, catching me in the abdomen a second time. I was slumped down on my knees, and then my ass, my back against the bar, summoning every bit of strength I had to raise my gun and fire again, this time getting him between the eyes.
It was over in seconds I expect but it felt like it played out for a month. Time seemed to slow down and I swear I could see that bullet moving towards me, paralyzed by my inability to move out of its way. I felt the piercing pain as the slug ripped through my skin, wreaking havoc with my interior. I could feel that neither shot exited my body, lodging somewhere on the inside. That first shot killed me, ambrosia is the only reason I’m still standing.
Pandemonium broke out; vaguely I heard the screams of Bess, Ruth and the women upstairs who’d come out of their rooms at the initial commotion. Big Jim was there, taking the gun from Preacher Strong’s dead hands as a precaution. Hoss held Ruth back, thinking me dead, but Bess was at my side. Urgently I whispered to her, “We need to get home, do not let Doc Weatherby touch me.” I would expect that she thought it was because of my womanhood, when it reality it was because of the ambrosia. The reasoning didn’t matter as long as that useless man stayed far away from me.
Xena, I’ve seen you do it time and again. Injured, bleeding, and hurting, you’d force yourself to your feet by will alone to do what must be done. I didn’t know back then exactly what that cost you, but I know now. With my wife’s help, I got to my feet and assured everyone it was just a graze, nothing to worry about. My head was swimming with pain but I put one foot in front of the other and marched out of the saloon.
I scarcely recall climbing into Whiskey’s saddle, but I must have. He knew the way home, which is good, because I passed out in moments, slumped forward, barely staying onboard. Vaguely I was aware of Bess riding up to my side on Tequila and gently prying the reigns from my hand. She led Whiskey the rest of the way. When we got home, I said ‘tub room’ as I didn’t want to bleed all over our bed. I’m not sure how she got me there, but I think it involved a lot of falling down.
In the safety of the enclosed space, I asked for a lamp, some whiskey, and my medical kit. I asked her to help me with my belt, to get it off my pants so I could bite down on it. Then I asked her to go to the barn, to gather some straw that the horses had peed on. She thought I was delusional so I explained that I was going to have to take the bullets out. It was going to hurt so much that I was going to pass out and that the ammonia from the straw would wake me. She seemed frightened and unsure but did as I asked.
My first two tries did not go well, I’d barely cut my skin when I blacked out, only to be roused by the straw with my jaw sore from biting. It felt like we went at it for hours but it was probably only minutes, I suppose less than thirty of them. When I finally got a decent feel for where the first bullet was, I explained to Bess that I was going to hold my flesh open and that she’d need to reach in and extract the bullet. A little of the color drained from her face but she did as I asked. Gods it hurt. The second bullet was just as bad; it had broken bones and caused all manner of destruction within my body.
Xena, there have been times when I truly feared for my life. It is one thing to know your body will heal, but quite another to feel the pain that necessitates that healing. I’ve broken bones, been burned, shot, even drowned a time or two, but this joins that list as a time I truly feared for my life. In time though, we got the second bullet out and I think I wept with relief. Bess bandaged me; I suspected I’d be healed on the outside at least in an hour or two, but it had all been just too much and I passed out again.
When I woke I wasn’t on a wood floor outside, I was in our bed wearing a sleeping shift. I was roused by heated sounds on the other side of the door.
“While I appreciate the concern, I tell you that my husband is fine. He is sleeping most soundly and I will not have him disturbed.”
“Bess…”
“Don’t you ‘Bess’ me, Hoss King. You and Doc Weatherby are kind to check on Sam, but he is my husband and you will not disturb him. He will come see you when he’s ready. Hoss you know how he is.”
The voices got quieter after that and shortly thereafter, I heard the front door close. A moment more and the bedroom door slowly opened. I ached, but was feeling worlds better than I had earlier. She saw that I was conscious.
“I’m sorry we woke you,” she said softly.
“It’s all right,” I replied, my mouth feeling thick, probably from the whiskey. “I’m nearly out of the woods, but not quite.”
Bess nodded and seemed unsure. “Sam, I’d been holding you while you slept; it seemed to help. But I can go to the parlor…”
“No, no. Stay, please stay.” I replied. As I’m sure you can attest Xena, having been in the situation more than once, I had absolutely nothing on my mind but the connection of being with a friend, not being alone; being cared for and protected.
She removed her robe and slid in between the sheets. With no trace of shyness or uncertainty, she gathered me in her arms, my head resting on her breast, listening to the strong sound of her heart, feeling her warmth. I don’t even know if the ‘thank you’ I was thinking made it past my lips before I was fast asleep again. As I succumbed to slumber, I made the decision that as soon as I was well, I would need to travel to Astoria and bid my farewells to Delores in person. There was nothing sexual between Bess and I, and while I was not certain that there ever would be, I cared for her enough now that I felt my own heart was being untruthful. Living with as many lies and falsehoods as I do on a daily basis, I treasure the truth when I can afford to share it.
February 24th, 1853- Thursday
My Dearest Xena,
It has been over two months since my final gunfight, but that is not the reason for me spending time with you tonight. No, I delve into the pages of my memory to be with my closest love because tonight I’m heartsick and heartbroken. If you were here, you would save me from such a fate of course, but as you are not, I am counting on you and Sassy to comfort me while I weep and morn for what is lost.
I am on the trail at present, camping out in the cold and wet, a meager fire cooking my dinner. I wanted to camp out so I could cry and sob and not be bothered by anyone. To spend my grief, leave it here in the open and return home on an even keel. Even Sassy thinks I’m crazy to be out in this weather.
My recovery from the gunfight went well. As I’d expected I was for the most part good as new in a day or two. For Bess’ benefit, I acted as if it were taking longer to heal. We continued to share the bed; it seemed silly to go back to sleeping separately now that intimacy has been broached. I suppose it was similar enough to you and me sharing a bed in various taverns in the early days, the noticeable difference being I was not losing sleep by being simultaneously confused and aroused by your proximity. No, I’ve been sleeping most soundly and if Bess is losing any sleep because of me, it will be up to her to do something about it.
Hoss naturally came to visit, this time without the doctor in tow. He brought a peace offering of sorts for Bess. Their dog, named Hercules of all things, if you can believe it, had puppies. No, I’ve no idea why he named his female dog Hercules, but that’s Hoss. Hercules is a smooth coat Collie, excellent for herding. The puppy is adorable, a tiny male that Bess has dubbed Bourbon, although I expect she will be calling him “Bub” or “Bubba” in short order. It took some time but Sass seems genuinely interested in the creature and they’ve become fast friends, but not so much so that she is forgoing her adventures with me.
Sarsaparilla is an enigmatic creature. I’ve never tried to keep her from running off back to the wild. I always expected that she’d grow up, feel the tug of nature, and go find a pack to join. She seems to have decided that I am her pack and accompanies me everywhere. She’s even figured out how to ride in a saddle with me when she’s tired, hopping up on horseback, positioning herself in front of me so she doesn’t fall. Her balance is exceptional. Whiskey tolerates this, although the first time it happened, he did look back to glare at her and nickered most indignantly.
I have spent the better part of this night crying into her fur, holding her while I let my heart break, knowing full well that like everything else about me, it will heal in time. As intended, I came to Astoria to end things with Delores. As is my habit, I came into town and got a room, busied myself about town, making myself known at places where I know she’d see me. When appropriate, she contacted me and told me where to meet her. On occasion, as was this visit, she would leave me notice of a hotel room. I can go there and I find a dress, a wig, and everything else necessary to revert back to my female appearance. She and I will meet up, visit like any old friends might. As is her agreement with her husband, our heated rendezvous only happen when he is out of town and even then, under the most discreet of circumstances. In fact, during a visit last year, I dined with the two of them and Mr. Banks treated me most warmly. He was grateful for the business contacts I’d given him, but his hospitality extended beyond that.
This visit, however, he was away when I arrived and Delores wasted no time in making contact. I’d bought her a bracelet when I’d picked out the necklace for Bess and when I gave it to her I fear my expression said plainly what my heart fought against. “This will be your last visit, love?” she asked me softly. I nodded in the affirmative and she put her tea cup down and took my hand. She smiled at me, a warm smile, full of light and affection. “Then we shall make this count, won’t we?”
I will confess Xena, I spent the next four days as a woman drinking from a well uncertain she will ever drink again. There was a time in the Amazon village during the festival of Artemis when we overdid it, pleasured each other until it rendered us unable to walk from pulled muscles and unable to speak from sprained tongues. This was like that. If I had not the ability to heal, I’d have been in even worse shape than was Delores. It was joyous, Xena. It was wonderful, simply reveling in the physical, taking each moment, looking neither ahead nor behind. We made a pledge to save our sorrow and tears for when we were apart; to not to waste a second we had together on sadness.
She knew our ending was because of Bess and supported it. She also knew that Bess and I were not lovers, but she understood the ways of the heart better than most. Had she lived in our time I’ve no doubt she would have been an Oracle of Aphrodite, of that I am certain. As much as we wanted to avoid tears, our last day of lovemaking was painful. There were tears, and quite out of character for Delores, who had made it clear all along that we were simply enjoying each other’s company, she asked if she could write to me to stay in touch. I am grateful to keep her in my life, even at a distance.
When it was time to leave, I returned to the hotel room to remove my female clothing and don my male attire once again. There were two books underneath my folded pants. They were inscribed “To G, the most beautiful man I’ve ever known – my love D” and the book mark in one, The Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, was a pressed flower from a bouquet I’d previously given her. In the other, Moby Dick by Herman Melville, a garter with the scent of her perfume. I dressed, fighting back tears and wondering when she’d find the diamond brooch I’d brought from Italy that I’d left for her.
I will be home in a couple of days. My heart will mend. If I try to be circumspect, I know that I can’t look forward if I’m always turning my head to look behind me. I love Delores because of who she is of course, but also because she reminds me of you, and is a way for my fantasies to have dominion over me. It was blissful, but I need to look ahead.
June 20th, 1853- Monday
My Dearest Xena,
I have given much consideration as to how to tell you the tale of my life’s adventures over the years. For the most part, I’ve firmly landed in the desire to speak to you as plainly as you and I spoke to each other. There was such beauty and poetry in the way we communicated. A glance could sing sonnets and a glare could…well I try not to reminisce too much on the glares I received. I think that one of the reasons we were so good together is that we fit so well, from our bodies, to our personalities, to even our similarities and differences in our outlook on life. Where we were the same, we buttressed our strength and where we were different, we supplied something that the other of us lacked. Together, indeed we were a force of nature. There were times of course, when I took you for granted and I know you felt the same. Unlike you however, I have had centuries upon centuries to fully examine and regret every missed opportunity to express my love for you or having left something unsaid that could have been said.
You had long talked about how everyone we meet, every interaction we have, affects us and challenges us or makes us grow. Since you met Lao Ma, your actions with others have been informed by that to some degree. Our experiences good and bad, with people like Ephiny, Cyrene, or even Alti and Callisto, all change who we are into better, or worse versions of ourselves. I mention this because of late, I have really had the opportunity to realize just how challenging it must have been for you with me in the beginning. All of the questions, all of the analysis, all of my dreamy misconceptions about life. I know it tested your patience and tugged at something you were not comfortable with: honest communication. More and more I am convinced that Bess landed in my life to teach me what that experience was like for you. To grow my empathy, even though you are not here to reap the benefits of my newfound understanding.
I arrived home from Astoria at the beginning of March. I will admit, I did not fully have my head back in my life in Oregon City. I’d been so heartsick, pitying myself for what I’d lost, though willingly so, that I wasn’t fully aware of myself when I got home.
Hoss and Ruth were here with the little ones. He was determined to teach Bourbon some useful skills. Anyway, when I arrived, I greeted Bess with a kiss as I always do when people are around who might think it odd if I don’t. But my brain elsewhere, my body acted of its own accord, and given how I’d spent my time recently, I kissed Bess with far more passion that I would have otherwise. Hoss looked downright embarrassed and Ruth had a rather pleased smirk on her face. For her part, Bess looked shocked and confused, which I understand completely. I quietly muttered an apology and made to the barn to unsaddle Whiskey.
Bess had prepared a wonderful meal for Hoss and Ruth and there was plenty for me as well. It’s always a bit unsure when I arrive here or there due to weather and such but we enjoyed wonderful fish (trout I believe) baked in pastry crust with root vegetables that had been boiled and beautifully seasoned. Over dinner, Hoss told me about a Pinkerton job to find a couple of bank robbers that would require us to leave in a day’s time. I immediately looked at Bess, who did not look happy at the news.
When they left, I helped with the clean-up and broached the subject. I offered to turn down the job and she shook her head. “Ruth feels better when you’re out riding with Hoss. She believes that as long as you have his back, he’ll come home. He’s determined to go, so you should go with him.” She was quiet a moment, and then added, “If you’re wondering, I don’t worry about anyone having your back. You are very self-sufficient, Sam Stafford. I worry that you don’t need anything, or anyone.”
I considered her words and tried to look at it from her perspective. All I managed was to protest, “That isn’t entirely true,” before she launched into her next question.
“I would like you to explain the kiss you gave me when you got home if you don’t mind.”
She said it just like that Xena, no anger or embarrassment. She was simply looking for information that I was uniquely qualified to give. I apologized more formally this time, I said I wasn’t thinking and left it at that.
“You were with another woman, weren’t you?” Now her tone was getting a little heated and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. There are times in your life when you have the choice to tell the truth, or not. When possible, I try to tell the truth.
I told her about Delores, how long I’d known her, how often I visited her, and I bluntly said that in truth, I have needs, including those of a sexual nature. I was tired, still aching from days earlier, and I was not as ‘indirect’ as you would say, and I’d say ‘diplomatic’ as I usually am. Bess looked at me and I could see the wheels of thought turning inside her head. She let it go for the night and the next day. I took Whiskey to get new shoes and repacked my things for the trip ahead. I cleaned my guns, packed my provisions, and as is her habit, Bess provided a parcel of food for the trail that would make your mouth water. The woman is a far better cook than I will ever be, and I’ve had centuries of practice.
At any rate, when it was time to leave, I scratched Bourbon behind the ears, and was just about to saddle up when she walked up to me and asked me to kiss her before I went, the way I had when I had arrived home. I will admit I felt a little awkward and put on the spot at the request, and the first time I did not make a very good show of it. She chuckled and patiently instructed me to “Try again.” I did and it went much better. So much better.
When we parted, she smiled at me and said to be safe. She added that when I return she would like to address the feelings she had for me, and what insight I may offer would be appreciated. A part of me was greatly impressed by her gumption and I wondered what you would have done, had I said the same thing to you. I do fear I may have seen the tail end of Argo as you spend away from me as fast as your horse could carry you.
The Pinkerton job lasted six weeks and took us into three states. It was more difficult than most, although as we traveled from one lead to the next, I had time to talk business with Hoss. He believes that in the relatively near future he should move down south to keep a closer eye on the mining business. It is doing well for us financially, but could do better I believe. I think I have come up with a business opportunity for Percival as well, taking charge of a carriage making company. The move of folks out west is astounding, more so than I could have ever imagined, and the business opportunities that the expansion supports are extensive.
We talk politics some, I do not think the business model in the states down south can be sustained, and that goes beyond the immorality of owning slaves. It was immoral in the day of Egypt and Rome and is immoral now. Fortunately, everyone I associate for the most part take the same view, to varying degrees of moral outrage. I am keeping a close watch, while trying to be circumspect about it. I have no desire to be caught in a war zone, in spite of my search. If things get worse, I may speak to Bess about moving elsewhere, but for the time being we are content, even if there are emotional concerns to address.
I had been thinking a lot about Bess this trip. Certainly, the last day or so before I headed out threw me. I am not blind; I know she has an infatuation of sorts. I guess I have just assumed it was nothing more than that. I suppose it may be a situation where she may choose to experiment some before deciding that it isn’t where her heart lies. You can’t fault someone for wanting to know for sure. It is not my habit nor custom to be with women that haven’t been with women before. It’s happened a number of times but frankly, I worry about the rejection, and the responsibility of introducing someone to a new frontier. More than once I’ve been accused of ‘corrupting’ someone, and I’ve been blackmailed a time or two as well. As you know, I tend to gravitate to women who are more experienced and not only know their own heart, but also can articulate what they want. While I have no doubt that Bess can articulate just about anything, I worry that she may not know what she wants, and I do not want her to consider her time with me a mistake.
I had plenty of time in the saddle to reflect upon this while Sassy slept in my lap, my arms wrapped around her, holding her secure. She is agile and sensitive enough that as soon as I tense up sensing danger, she’s wide awake, and jumps down and heads for safety in the bush. That happened when we finally caught up to the Harkins Gang, holed up in an offshoot of a slot canyon. We killed three of the men in a shootout, and were able to convince the rest of the gang to surrender. We tied them up and walked them to town. Once loaded onto a secure carriage, we escorted it the three days to the town where the magistrate was waiting to hear the case. Once we collected our pay, we headed for home, not bothering to tarry in town for a hotel room or a soft bed.
The closer I got to home the more anxious I became. Xena, a fair amount has changed in the world since we rode together. Part of this is due to the religions that usurped the place of ours, but part of it is in the narrow-minded notions of people in general. People who fancy their own sex are routinely mistreated, in some cases – for men especially – it is an offense punishable by death. I know that had you not been the Warrior Princess, able to knock men unconscious from seventy-five yards with a stare, we would have had more blowback, but even so, how we lived our lives would have been even more a rarity today. There are people to be sure; some women call themselves ‘Sapphics.’ I know you weren’t impressed with Sappho when you met her, but she’s certainly left an impression on future cultures. Anyway, my point is, I worry about Bess thinking less of me, or accusing me in some way of leading her away from her better nature.
When I returned home, she seemed happy enough to see me. Tequila was out of the barn, roaming about the corral, and it was because once again, he’d figured out how to open the door to his stall. After unsaddling Whiskey and brushing him down, I said I’d fix the stall door, and she offered to draw me a bath. She also mentioned she’d been working on a new shirt for me, and would I mind trying it on to adjust the pins? I was much relieved, and figured she’d either forgotten or put aside our conversation before I left town. Even at over two thousand years old, I can be mistaken, often where romance is concerned.
As had become our custom, she sat with me to catch up while I bathed. After only a moment’s preamble, she said that she’d had Ruby over for dinner and that it was amazing what girls could chat about over aspic and roast. To my credit, this time I masked my startle and nothing came out my nose. Naturally, I asked her to elaborate. Instead, she asked me if I considered us truly wed.
“Certainly we are legally, as far as the town is concerned.” I replied warily.
“If you have physical needs, then why didn’t you tell me? As my husband, you can demand such things. I worry you don’t think me your wife.”
I studied her face and saw no trace of anger or dread, just confusion and some embarrassment. “Sexual congress is not something I’d ‘demand’ of another human being, ever. Bess, we got married because I killed Caleb. I think you’re a wonderful person but that does not mean I’d make claims on your physical being like that. I wouldn’t force myself on anyone, especially someone I cared about, who wasn’t in interested in me, in that way. Does Ruby know I’m a woman?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“Well I certainly didn’t tell her,” Bess replied with some heat. Then, her tone softened. “I think she suspects as much, though, and doesn’t mind. She said you were a kind and gifted lover; caring, and gentle, and she has missed your company.” Now it was my turn to get a little embarrassed. “How were your visits with Ruby different from your trips to Delores?” she pressed, noting my quiet.
I thought and chose my words carefully, striving for a degree of clarity without being hurtful because this seemed to be something she was sensitive about, although I wasn’t sure why.
“I saw the women in the saloon because I was trying to bolster the illusion that I’m a man, so the trysts with them weren’t necessarily for me. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy myself to some degree – but it wasn’t as fulfilling an experience as mutual lovemaking would be when I am able to just be myself, when I am not trying to be someone else. Delores was about that kind of mutual fulfillment, at least on a physical level.” I looked around the tub room, hoping the right words might form from the ether right then and there. I was disappointed. Instead, I ambled on, hoping for the best.
“Delores knew I was a woman and she took no offense at that. In fact, she reveled in it. As you can expect, that is unusual, and I was grateful for the connection. I broke it off because I was feeling untrue to you, even though we are not lovers.” I shrugged, not knowing what else to say.
Bess looked thoughtful, and I knew that look well; she was putting her words in order. I had the feeling she was putting a great many words in order.
“I am not the most educated of women, so this may be foolishness, but there is nothing I’ve seen of you as a person to make me think you are anything but kind, gentle, loyal, and true to your word. You are strong and fierce as well, but this isn’t about that. The fact that you would put your own…happiness… to the side, for my benefit? Well, I don’t know how to take that. You are both a good man, Sam Stafford, and a good woman. I see no trace of evil in you whatsoever, and these last few months, I have been looking for some sign to tell me otherwise. I know it is not what the preacher says, nor I expect what they would teach in school, were I able to go as a child.
“Surely, Pastor Simms would describe you as some kind of wicked person if he knew, as would most people in town, I expect. Still, I find that when I look at you, my mind wanders, my heart flutters, and I have a feeling in my stomach that isn’t entirely unpleasant. If it is the devil’s work, I suppose I don’t mind it, which I suspect makes me wicked too. Ruby says it means I’m attracted to you and she does not think that is a bad thing, whether you are a man or a woman. Ruby cares little if anyone thinks her wicked.”
I sighed. I did not enjoy getting into conversations of this nature where the modern notion of god muddies the waters of attraction between grown people who know their own mind. But here I was.
I attempted to explain. “I honestly do not believe that god or the devil or anyone else is involved in matters of the heart. I know that is what preachers teach, and what most people believe. But they also teach that the creator is responsible for everything on land, in the sea, and firmament. I believe I am also god’s creation, and I do not feel that I am an abomination, a mistake, or any of the rest of it. If I am mistaken, I am content to live with that. Each day I wake up and try to live for the greater good, if that is not god’s plan for me the…” I shrugged. “The butterfly feeling in your stomach; you never felt that way about Caleb or anyone?” I asked moving the conversation to something useful.
“The only feeling that Caleb elicited in me was dread. Dread and fear.”
“Have you felt that way about anyone else ever? Be it a man or a woman?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “Is that bad?”
Now I shook my head and smiled to reassure her. “Not at all.”
I got out of the tub to and as I dried myself off, I noticed she took a step back. Her posture seemed fearful, but her eyes were roaming all over me and she clearly had an expression of hunger on her face. Xena, you saw that look on my face often enough, I’m sure you’d recognize it.
“Is it happening again?” I asked. “That unsettling feeling that isn’t entirely unpleasant?” Mutely she nodded. “It could very well be arousal. Would you like me to take a step closer to you?” She nodded again. I put my pants on and moved closer. Without my boots on, I was several inches shorter than she was. I wrapped my arms around her waist and just held her close and she put her arms around my shoulders, at first hesitantly touching the bare skin of my shoulders and back, then with more assurance. It felt nice, and it took but a moment to feel the stirrings of my own ardor.
After a minute or two, I stepped back and smiled at her. “You wanted me to try on a shirt?” I asked, providing her with needed space and more assurance that she wanted me to proceed before I did.
She returned my smile with one of her own, breathing a sigh of relief as well. I put my other shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, and followed her into the parlor. I slid the shirt off my shoulders as she helped me into the new garment she was making for me. The fabric was soft and warm – a shirt for winter. “So, you don’t fancy me then?” she asked, clearly trying to keep her voice light and neutral. I turned my head to look at her then winced when I turned into a most savage pin.
“Bess, I think you’re beautiful, inside and out. You are the very soul of kindness; you’re clever, you have wonderful skills that you scarcely realize. My behavior with Delores has nothing to do with any attraction to you, or lack thereof. It is about someone who is attracted to me. Someone, a woman, who wants my touch on their body, taste my lips on their mouth; with me as the woman I am. This is not something I would presume of you.” I stopped and took a breath as she adjusted several pins. I continued. “I don’t mean to be forward, but I’m going to speak to you plainly.”
She glanced up at me from making adjustments to the placket. “You are my husband; I would appreciate it if you would.”
“I can tell that you have feelings for me, perhaps it is idle curiosity, perhaps something more. I am interested to know which and I intend to find out, now. If anything feels uncomfortable to you, I want you to tell me. You know that I will stop and you know that it will all be fine.”
I had been standing, and she sitting on the couch in the parlor, having moved to adjust the hem of the shirt. I sat down next to her and without asking permission, leaned forward and kissed her again. This time with intention. I held the sides of her face and could feel her pulse quicken where my fingers lightly touched her throat. She was responding to my kiss with encouragement so I deepened it. Lightly I brushed my tongue against her lower lip, requesting entry to her mouth that was granted. As we moved against each other, I felt her thread her fingers through my hair, holding my face close to her own, preventing me from pulling back. For long moments, we kissed without stopping, Bess growing bolder with each passing second. Finally, we broke and she gazed at me with such wonder.
“No one has ever kissed me thusly,” she said. The last thing I wanted to do was bring up Caleb, more and more deciding that he’d never been anything but a monster. Fortunately, I didn’t have to ask. “I have kissed no one save you and Caleb, and you’re much better at it.”
“I am grateful to hear it.” I replied.
She cocked her head and looked at me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “Ruby told me quite plainly the things you did to her. The things you’ve done with your mouth and your man parts that you keep in the drawer.” I nodded, thinking I knew what she was going to say next. “I want to do those things to you,” she continued which had me chuckling, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, a little unsure.
I brushed my knuckles against her cheek to reassure her, letting my fingers trail down her throat, “I thought you were going to say you wanted me to do those things to you,” I said. “You just surprised me, that’s all. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate being surprised. It is a wonderful feeling.”
“Well of course you will need to do those things to me first,” she said, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious. “I intend to pay attention. I learned to cook from observation after all.”
I am certain that I smirked Xena; I’m not ashamed to admit it. “My aim is that you will feel good enough to forget to pay attention,” I said.
Xena, after you died, it was more than a century before the loneliness got so bad that I found myself falling in love with someone. Even then, I couldn’t bear to be with a woman. There was something so perfect in our union that I had to veer in a different direction to be anything other than sad. Mistos, my husband was a good man. He was charming, smart, very kind, and loving. I don’t regret my relationship with him or the family we produced. I loved those years and was happy. That said, there has been something I can scarcely define that has always been absent in my relationships with men. Eventually, after Mistos I found Domitia, and she and I had many good years together. It wasn’t the same of course; none of them has ever been the same. Some come closer than others do, but without a doubt, I can say that you were a singular gift in my life that even as I loved you with all my heart, I didn’t realize how special and fleeting that gift was until it was gone.
I say this, not to inflict any guilt or injury on your part but to express that because of you, because of that indescribable love I felt for you – that I still feel for you each and every day – I have learned to take no love for granted. I have learned through all my years of living that the human heart is an organ that can defy the constraints of physics. It can love many, in succession, as well as at the same time. My love for you has never stopped and has never waned. Like a mighty river, it continues to flow through me and be singular to who I am. But like tributaries that branch off of a river and feed into it, I have loved others too. I have felt many a love that is true and powerful, in addition to the love I never stop feeling for you.
I am not saying I am ‘in love’ with Bess. I feel love for her. I care about her, I want to keep her safe, and I want her to see life and its blessings from a much different perspective than she has these past twenty-two or so years. Certainly, I find her beautiful. She has light brown hair that reaches to the middle of her back, a bit longer than your hair. If we are working outside, she will put it in braids, but otherwise leaves it down. Her eyes are light brown as well, a most unusual color, and she has the tiniest of scars on her lip from where I stitched it together that fateful night when we hatched our plan.
Briefly, a dozen or more first-time encounters flashed through my mind, some of them wonderful, several of them comical, and one or two of them downright regretful. Everyone is different, a puzzle of their own mind and desires and the delight is in the discovery of how you fit. It took but a moment to realize that this was not going to be like our first time together. Xena, you were the soul of patience and restraint, letting me touch you and explore, not hindering me, but letting me find my own way to my fire by igniting yours. Not much was said between us, but we didn’t really need words. By that time, I think we had a fair amount of insight as to how each other thought.
“Ow!” I exclaimed after Bess playfully bit my lip.
She giggled. “I was just checking to see if I was dreaming. This feels all so wonderful.”
“You bit my lip to see if you were dreaming?” I asked a little exasperated. She’d pushed the shirt off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, where the pins would no longer endanger me. Lightly she trailed her fingers over my skin before speaking, my body clearly displaying its enthusiasm even if I tried to express annoyance.
“I’ve heard people say they pinch themselves, but I don’t see why you’d hurt yourself to see if you’re dreaming. Besides,” she added shyly, “you’re one of the toughest men in town.”
“I’m not a…” she ran her fingers over my nipples and I gasped, unable finish my sentence. I kissed her again, pushing her back onto the couch, this time trailing my lips and tongue down her neck. As you know, there is something about the sound of a woman panting in your ear that is most stirring. On the outside of her dress, I ran my hands over her breasts, feeling the response even through the fabric. We kissed for long moments more before she gently pushed me away from her. I did not ask if everything was all right, I could see by the expression on her face that it was. She gazed at my features, studying my face, almost as if seeing me for the first time. I didn’t mind.
“The first woman you were with, who was she? It must have been a very long time ago, as you kiss as if you’ve had practice, and I feel uncertain.”
I leaned back on the couch, to give her space and consider my response. I knew exactly how she felt, since I felt exactly the same way with you, Xena. Awkward and unsure, fearful that I was making a mess of things or letting my inexperience show. You reassured me with your touch and your sighs in response to my touch. Without words, you gave me the world and I wanted to do the same for her. But unlike you, words are my domain more than the physical.
Taking her hands in mine, I held them as I spoke, warm and soft. “I was married young. Too young. His name was Perdicus, it was a family name, and I’d known him since childhood. I had become friends with this woman. She was a gunfighter who was a few years older than me. What I didn’t understand at the time was that I loved Perdicus, but I was in love with Xena.”
“Was she an Indian? That’s a strange name.”
Inwardly I panicked; I’d not meant to say your name aloud. “Her mother may have been Crow. She had long black hair,” I replied as quickly as I could.
“And she was in love with you too?”
“Yes. But I didn’t realize it at the time. Perdicus was killed the day after our wedding. Murdered by a mad woman named Callista, who shot him. Xena let Callista drown in a river as she chased us out of town, so she had a hand in her death. It was several months after that when Xena and I became lovers. We were camping out on the trail and I was finally emboldened enough to touch, then kiss her.”
“When was this?” she asked.
I had to do some careful calculations. “Xena died, a case of Consumption, after we’d shared not nearly enough time together. It’s been fourteen years now.”
“You were together as women? You’d settled down?”
“Not really,” I’d replied vaguely. “We traveled around a lot. After she passed away, I decided to start living as a man in order to have more sovereignty over my life. To be able to stay in one place longer. It took a couple of years to get the hang of it, but I did.”
As I spoke, I committed the details to memory, knowing that in the future I’d need to keep my story consistent. It is a technique that has served me well. She was quiet again then asked, “Where do you find the resolve to know your own mind and strength to be who you are?” I considered the question; fundamentally I think it is something we all wrestle with.
“Quite honestly I don’t think I’ve ever been very good at being someone else,” I replied. She smiled, and I was glad. “I’ve always believed in working towards a greater good. My techniques and methods may have changed over the years since Xena, but I think life’s goal stays the same. Live a good life, don’t waste it, and spend time in the company of folks who make your heart sing and try to give the rest no never mind.”
She nodded in agreement, my words having resonated. “I think then that with you as a guide, I would like to explore the delights of which you and Ruby spoke. To see for myself if it is to my liking. Thus far, I find myself rather smitten.” She reached forward and trailed a gentle finger down my throat to my breast, which she cupped softly. “My pulse quickens just touching you,” she added.
I took her other hand and pressed two fingers at the artery of my throat. “As does mine,” I whispered back.
Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against mine and kissed with a confidence and purpose she lacked mere minutes ago. Bess was a much quicker study than I had been. “I would like to retire to the bedroom,” she announced. She stood and extended her hand to me; I accepted, and she led me to the bedroom. Our bed is large, warm, with soft sheets and a beautiful quilt that Bess made. I stopped to light a lamp, which bathed the room in a warm glow. We’d spent so much time talking that the sun had dipped down past the horizon. I stood there in my britches alone, Bess in her dress. She turned to face me and took a step forward. “Please,” was all she said, and I understood her completely.
Xena, had I the power to change anything about our first time, I would not alter a second. Its perfection is seared into my memory along with the apprehension that I felt and the glorious reward to my boldness. But this interaction had a beauty and splendor too and I am grateful in its differences. Bess was asking for the freedom of investigation and the assurance of my control. I undressed her, leaving only her shift and she undid the buttons of my pants.
It was then she noticed that I had no scar where she expected to find one. When recovering from the bullet wound I made a point of using a foul-smelling ointment to “prevent scarring.” I’d pointed to my shoulder where I’d been shot with an arrow and mentioned that it’d happened before I’d “discovered” the ointment. The ruse was convincing.
Like you, I was patient and receptive, encouraging the exploration of my body as well as her own. Unlike you, she wanted to discuss just about every aspect. I touched her on the outside of her shift then underneath when she guided my hand there. I guided her hand to me as well. At first, there were questions, “Why am I so wet?” Then exclamations, “This feels wonderful!” Finally, there were just the utterances of sounds beyond vocabulary, rife with meaning.
I had positioned myself on top of her under the covers and did not bother with my “man parts” as she called them. There would be time for that if she decided she was interested. Instead, I began by simply moving back and forth, straddling her thigh, letting my thigh rub between her legs as we continued to kiss.
There was tenderness to be sure but a rising heat as well. It was beyond obvious that her husband had not looked any farther than satisfying his own greedy pleasure and I must say it would be akin to having a Rembrandt painting and only looking at the back side of the canvas. There was no “waiting for it to be over” from Bess with me. Her consciousness was fully engaged and she hungered for more.
I stroked her slowly with my hand then pushed two fingers into her, leaving my thumb to continue its work, and she was most receptive. Then, the strangest expression clouded her features as she lost control and cried out in her release. “What was that?” she demanded when she regained her breath.
“The French call it ‘la petite mort’,” I explained.
“That isn’t…is it…usual…”
I took pity and snuggled closer, I licked my fingers before speaking, and she looked most surprised. “It is not an unusual part of romantic congress one hopes,” I explained. “It can happen with regularity when you are with a lover who is considerate.”
“What do I taste like?” she whispered as if it were the most scandalous thing she could say.
“You can see for yourself,” I replied offering her my fingers. She took them into her mouth with more assertion than I anticipated. You know how I am, Xena. I felt as though I had a finite amount of will left before I would need to take my own pleasure well in hand.
“I would like to show you something else,” I said as I lightly touched her thighs and abdomen with my fingertips.
“I can’t even imagine,” she began but was rendered silent by my kiss. When the kiss broke I moved my lips near her ear and whispered, “Similar to what I just did, but with my mouth,”
She laughed as if I were teasing. “Ruby said something to that effect but she was having me on,” she replied.
I kissed my way down her body and she fell silent. Xena, I must confess that I felt more like you in that moment than I think I ever had before. I felt powerful, almost drunk with power, but responsible too, mixed with loving connection. I admit I teased her a bit, probably more than you ever teased me, but you had the power to render me speechless more quickly. We both enjoyed ourselves, and when I was finished, she was eager to feel the slickness on my face, to kiss me. Then, she quite surprised me by stating that she needed to try that, immediately.
I did not object and I must say, especially in light of breaking things off with Delores, I was not expecting my needs to be met so soon or as thoroughly. She took her time, a bit apprehensive at first, but her initial shyness did not last long. I felt no need to contain myself and was quick to convey how elated I was with her ministrations. Back and forth through the night with conversation and discussion, we pleasured each other. It must have been nearly sun up when we lay side by side holding hands, our heads together talking.
“There is no doubt in my mind that there is no wickedness at all here,” she finally concluded. “I can only surmise that Pastor Simms does not have the capacity to understand what this is, and therefore is simply frightened by a union that needs not a man.”
“I could not agree more. But I think that perhaps there is some small degree of wickedness. The best kind of wickedness, you understand.”
She chuckled, realizing I was teasing. “You are a beautiful kind of wicked, Sam Stafford,” she said, as she curled up on my shoulder to sleep. “You really are. And to be clear, after this night, I do believe I will have trouble seeing you as a man ever again.”
I had to smile at that, and I found the assessment pleasing. I went to sleep contented, Xena. A type of contented that I had not known in a long time. I had the safety of my own home and a companion who knew me, who really knew me, which I could wake up with most mornings. Not things I take for granted, and it makes the road ahead brighter and brighter still.
August 10th, 1853- Wednesday
My Dearest Xena,
The days have been good. It is not an earth-shaking thing perhaps to wake up each morning with someone who loves you, but it does have as dramatic an effect, albeit in unseen ways. There is a lightness to my being in that at home I can truly breathe. Freed from the constraints of cultivated assumptions, I smile more. I laugh more. I am more myself. Bess has also blossomed, her growing confidence in our bedroom extending to every facet of her person. She speaks more freely, not just to me, she speaks her mind more among our friends, even if she disagrees with something that is said. Especially if she disagrees with something that is said. And I will confess that in the confines of the bedroom, parlor, barn, or tub room she has me wide-eyed with wonder at her adeptness, vigor, stamina, humor, and passion. To describe her as insatiable would not be far off the mark, truth be told. I feel truly lucky.
There has been some sour however among all of the sweet. The relationship that she and I now share has cast her previous assumptions and expectations of human interaction in sharp relief. She is justifiably furious that her family would essentially sell her off to a man like Caleb. She is furious at the way he treated her, both physically and emotionally, she feels like years have been stolen from her, although has admitted if enduring what she has was what it took to arrive in my home, she would do so again.
This makes me uneasy. No one wants to be the summit of someone else’s existence, although I fully respect the drastic change in her circumstances and understand her gratitude. There was a time Xena when I felt that you were the pinnacle of all that life held for me. There was idolatry, and there was infatuation. In my own way, I suppose I worshipped you as my own family worshipped Demeter, Aphrodite, or any of the others. But our life together gave me the challenges to climb onto that pedestal with you, to look you in the eye, or as near to as I can muster, given the differences in our height. I loved you no less, feeling that we were equal, and that we treated each other as equals. In fact, that let me love you more. It is my hope that in time (hopefully not too much of it), Bess will see herself as my equal, not as her teacher, or her protector, but just as her husband. I realize this is odd to say, but that is how she indeed thinks of me. It is just as well – this mindset makes it less likely that she will confuse a pronoun when speaking to me or about me and I don’t mind it. Certainly, she treats me as a woman when it counts.
I spoke to her about my annual trip to spend several weeks with Standing Bear and his family. I’ve told her stories, starting with my introduction to the family. Hoss doesn’t know that I’ve maintained a relationship with them, but I think he suspects and is willing to overlook it as one of my “eccentricities,” as he likes to call them. This would be anything about me that strikes him as odd, such as being shy about peeing with other men, or disinterest in swimming in a river with the boys, that sort of thing. Bess is looking forward to the adventure. I’ve taught her a bit of French so she will at least know some of what is being said, even if she isn’t terribly comfortable speaking it. She has insisted on preparing gifts for the family. I generally do a small exchange, basic staples like coffee or sugar and such; some tools, guns, ammunition or a knife. Bess wants to add the addition of her magnificent cooking. She is preparing different types of candies and other sweets, as well as dense breads. She’s come up with a wonderful alternative to hard tack, rich with dried fruit and nuts; delicious and travels well. I’ve reminded her that neither Tequila or Whiskey are pack mules but I get shooed out of the kitchen and told to go do something manly.
As far as the Hoss knows, we’re traveling to see some distant family of mine. The big man and Ruth will keep an eye on our place while we’re gone. We will have the opportunity to return the favor. I have encouraged him to travel to San Francisco with Ruth and they are planning to take the family. He needs to keep a closer eye on the mining operation, and is looking forward to the move south. I will miss my friend, but I will keep in touch. My lack of aging will also be easier to manage from a distance. I will need to take other measures where Bess is concerned, but that is a number of years off. For the moment, I am enjoying life, an appreciating what this lightness feels like.
April 25th, 1854- Tuesday
My Dearest Xena,
There have been times in my life where I felt the desperate struggle to get to the end of each day. At times, through choice and circumstance, I have felt bereft of any light but the barest glimmer of hope. I know were the ember to go out, I would welcome the oblivion Callisto sought. Like any ember, hope needs tending to blaze, and when alight, the fire can warm myself, and all within the proximity of my heart. I think life repeats, and repeats like waves on the ocean, a rhythmic pattern of highs and lows that pushes us forward and affords us the opportunity to grow if we are open to such pursuits.
I have been warmed and enchanted by watching Bess grow. She has gone from a low of knowing not but fear and dread, to expanding her mind and heart and knowing joy and passion and through books, and in visiting parts of the world she scarcely knew existed. There are still moments of struggle that I can see cloud her face. Times when what she feels comes into conflict with what she has been taught and what she knows to be true from experience. There is no way I can shoulder the burden of these growing pains, the feeling of abandonment when what you see with your eyes and feel with your heart can no longer support the beliefs we once held.
I remember a frustrated conversation I once had with my father, long before I met you. It was some variation about “why couldn’t I be more like Lila?” or why I needed scrolls, or the time to listen to poets who travelled to Potidaea, or access to education afforded the boys my age. Anything beyond my eventual circumstance as a vessel for Perdicus’ children was considered an aspiration beyond expectation. It did not take more than several months of traveling with you for me to realize that the life my parents envisioned for me was not one I would find suitable. Xena, you showed me the pinnacle of life’s grandeur and the pit of its hardship. I would not trade that feeling of disillusionment. I knew it meant I was growing, and even at my lowest, it took not more than a glance in your direction, seeing your eyes of blue, that my spirits lifted and any sense of sorrow turned to joy.
September last we journeyed to Standing Bear’s camp and Bess enjoyed and immersed herself in the trip more than I could have ever thought possible. She was welcomed warmly of course, the family having known I’d married and accepting me as one of their own. I translated for her; while I sussed she understood much of what was being said, I did not want her to feel left out.
The soft sweets and hard candies were cause for great celebration, especially with the young ones, although truth be told, I think nearly everyone enthusiastically tried them. The nut bread was gone the first night and Morning Rain wanted to know how Bess made her ‘traveling bread’ as she calls it, the alternative to hard tack. She’s been given the name Oiseau Chanteur, or ‘songbird’ in French. While clearly fearful at first, she quickly found her footing and charmed the whole family. After eating, we told stories around the campfire, catching up with each other’s travels the previous year. As has become our custom the young men wanted a go at wrestling and while they’re improving, it’s still more comical than anything else. This is not to belittle their skill or strength. Surely, they would be a match for a younger person without training in so many styles of the martial arts, but they are always keen to test me.
Oh Xena, my trips there are such a time of relaxation and renewal. As with most things, I wish I could see you experience it. The annual Artemis festival is the closest comparison I can make. Among the Crow, there is no fear of either being seen or attacked. The family keeps a watchful eye for uninvited guests and it is impossible to understate the value of simply being accepted. To the Crow, I am judged by my word and deed, unencumbered by the dictates of polite society. Able to repose and just be, I feel as safe as I felt in your mother’s tavern at your side. I always enjoy the lake. Warm enough for swimming, I spend hours floating on my back gazing at the clouds, contemplating my place in the universe. I imagine what life like might be like if I’d brought you back then, at the fountain as I should have. I imagine if our positions were switched, the different choices you’d make, how the fabric of your life might have been woven.
Bess enjoyed the water as well, but had to endure the good-natured help of Long Feather and Red Moon when it came to her swimming; a strong swimmer she is not. When it came time to prepare food however, there she shone. Rapt in attention, mesmerized by her techniques, she transformed their ingredients in new and unexpected ways. She brought the food stuffs to make a variety of pastries and breads and enthusiastically taught the others, with myself assisting in the translation.
I continue to provide the best counsel I can for Standing Bear with respect to his issues with the Sioux, Nez Perce, Paiute, and of course, the English. It seems my friend is adept at negotiating with the Americans, although I don’t have hopes that the treaties are worth the ink they’re written in. I’ve seen this kind of nativism; the “them and us” mentality running rampant through countless places I’ve lived. I’ve done my best to direct my friend to people I’ve found to be trustworthy, honest, and good to their word. For the sake of his family and people, I hope it is enough.
I truly value my time spent with my Crow family. While we acknowledge each other’s differences culturally, we find a surprising amount of common ground. I’ve learned more about Standing Bear’s immediate family, his youngest son, daughter, and his brother, who has been for many years on a vision quest to parts unknown. Among the different places I’ve lived, and people I’ve come to know, there are the occasional peoples who remind me of the Amazons and home. There were tribes I met in Africa who reminded me of our Amazon family, and people I encountered in far distant snowscapes, even the jungles of The Amazon River itself. In this newly minted country, the original custodians of this land also remind me of our kin. I’ve chanced to meet individuals here and there from different tribes; sometimes on the trail, sometimes trading at an outpost, but certainly the Crow are the indigenous people I know the best. I worry, as I’ve seen time and again, that the different nations of this land may go the way of the centaurs or the Amazons, to dwindle then fade into nothing more than myth, memorialized as only the stuff of legend. Time has been a harsh mistress in reminding me that my own personal effect on the world may be profound, but it is not without limits. I may make a difference in someone’s life, but alone I cannot save a people, no matter how beloved, from extinction when their own exercise of freewill demands different. Xena, I truly believe that this is one of the things that Poseidon wanted me to learn; the great force for good that we may enact in the individual as well as the limitations of my own good intentions. It has taken centuries, but I believe that the understanding of it finally resonates.
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