“Dan’s Turn” One of the characters in ”Black Wolf at Rosebud” is Daniel Black Wolf, cousin to Caleb Black Wolf. The following is a character study on Dan. Daniel Black Wolf, cousin to Matthew, sat at his desk in the Tribal Police building. The desk was neat, with only the papers he was working on sitting on top. To one side sat a silver-framed picture of a lovely, young woman — his wife, Rose, deceased for three years now. Her long, dark braid fell across one shoulder, her beautiful eyes and gentle lips smiling at him whenever he took a moment to look at her. Just in front of the photo sat a well-used, dark blue mug, the remaining coffee in it long gone cold. Dan’s 6′2″ frame filled the gray swivel chair that he sat in, his knees just fitting underneath the desk. Closely resembling his famous cousins in good looks and muscular build, he twirled a pencil close to his mouth while his eyes stared unfocused at the floor. Matthew should be in today or tomorrow, arriving before the rest of his family for Caleb and Sara’s wedding. Dan’s thoughts started with that and then wandered. * * * “While my cousins have moved all over the place, never really having a home base, I’ve always lived in one spot. Hell, my house now is only ½ a mile from the house I grew up in. I love this place. I love the outdoors. It is beautiful here, wide open and free. I know there are troubles within the Lakota nation. But, what group of people doesn’t have trouble? There are wonderful qualities running through us as well – we are fiercely proud of our heritage and of our ancestors. Family means everything to me. Outside of that, my job as a tribal policeman is what I am most proud of. The fact that I am able to ensure peace here makes me happy. It’s not everyday that I get up chomping at the bit, ready to go into the office. There are days that I just wish I could throw the alarm clock out the window and go back to sleep. But, overall, I love my job. My marriage to Rose was too short. We grew up together, attended the same schools and were good friends by the time we hit Jr. high. The week after we graduated from high school, we got married. It’s funny how most guys will tell you that they like to shop around, “look at the menu.” Not me. I must be wired differently. Once I fell for Rose, there was no menu. She was it. She had my heart and I was content to let it be so. Her love covered me up and filled in the lonely places that I didn’t realize I had. Marrying so young and marrying our first loves meant that neither of us was trying to work through the pain of bad relationships from the past. We were innocent and naive in our love for each other. It simply was. On some level, I think we both knew it was special, different, blessed, and we were both grateful. Rose loved horses. For our first wedding anniversary, I gave her a beautiful Appaloosa gelding. Normally, I couldn’t afford such an expensive gift, but the month before, I had saved a man’s life with CPR. He felt that he owed me something and almost gave the horse away. You should have seen Rose’s eyes light up when I drove her to the stables. She teared up and kissed me. Then, she went into the horse’s stall and I didn’t see her again for an hour. By the time she came out, that poor animal almost glistened from the grooming it just got. On weekends, I’d rent a horse and Rose and I would ride out on horseback into the wilds. Many times we’d camp overnight and fall asleep, talking by the fire, lulled by the river. I’m not sure if it was my heritage or my own imagination, but I liked taking her out on overnight trips, catching our dinner from the river, living like our great grandfathers had all those years ago. It felt right. It suited us. And we were never happier as we were at those times. When she died, my heart ripped in two. I swear I heard the sound. I’ll never forget that evening. She had gone to the store and planned to be back within the hour. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was watching a game on TV, relaxing, drinking a beer, when the phone rang. Oh — my — God. Everything stopped — my heart, my breathing, my reason. She was dead — killed in a head-on collision by a drunk driver. Oh — my — God. This didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be true. And yet, a few days later, I floated above the gathering at her gravesite. I watched them lower her casket. I saw people talking to my body. None of them realized that I wasn’t in there. I was up here, high up where the pain couldn’t reach me. For days and weeks and months after that, I willed myself every night to not wake up in the morning. And yet, every morning, I woke up to an empty house, empty arms. Oh — my — God. The pain was blinding, unbearable, unrelenting. And grief? I never truly understood the meaning of that awful word until it knocked on my door, lodged in my gut. But, slowly, as time passed, so did the sharpness and bitterness of the pain. I sold Rose’s Appaloosa and I haven’t been riding since. I still questioned God, but not at the screaming, glass-shattering volume of the recent past. Slowly, as I buried myself in work just as much as my Rose was buried in the earth, slowly I began to look up and notice things. Small things. The sky was blue. The kids across the street were laughing while they played touch football. The neighbor’s roses were a beautiful shade of yellow. Then one day, a good year later, while out on patrol, I saw two young women standing outside beside a trailer. They were talking and laughing. I recognized them as the Two Kettles sisters, Lainie and Helen. Lainie had been a few years behind me in school and, now, was a schoolteacher herself. Helen was still in high school. I rolled to a stop beside them and leaned towards my open window. “Hi!” I greeted them. “Nice day to be outside.” “Yep. Sure is,” Helen agreed. “We were just talking about the rodeo this weekend. You going?” “Oh, probably not,” I answered quietly. I still wasn’t ready for any social life. Not alone. Not without Rose. “Well, we’re going,” Helen announced. “I wanna see the cowboys.” “Have fun,” I smiled and then started to drive off. Before I could, Lainie put her hand on my elbow and leaned in to look closely at me. “I wish you’d go,” she said quietly. “Maybe we’ll see you there.” There was something in her eyes — a light — a friendliness — something — that cut through the gray gloom I was mummified in and let sunlight into my soul. It was just a glimmer, but it was there. I had no words; the sensation startled them out of me. So, I just nodded, waved goodbye once and drove off. I didn’t go to the rodeo. But, that weekend, as I watched the trucks pulling horse trailers, watched the streets fill up with visitors, I wondered how Lainie was enjoying herself.” * * * Dan sighed in his reverie just as the police radio crackled to life. There was a disturbance at the grocery store. Standing, Dan tossed the pencil onto the desk, where it rolled until it clicked to a stop against the coffee mug. He nodded once to his partner, Kele, and they filed out together to answer the call. © 2006 Magnolia Belle