Jonis Agee - The Bones of Paradise

Dulcinea reached over and squeezed her hand. “She’ll be so spoiled you’ll be sorry,” she said. Then she hesitated, not wanting to make a mistake because she didn’t fully understand the Sioux ways, and said, “I hope your sister finds peace on the red road with Wakan Tanka.”

Rose nodded. “She already has.”

They sat in silence as the men finished with the horses, and the hands drifted to their bunkhouse. Rose went to meet her husband and daughter, and Dulcinea stood on the porch, watched as Graver and Hayward started for the house with the gait of tired, satisfied men who’ve worked a hard, long day.

Graver had moved into the main house, and slept in the extra room upstairs for now. The past months brought her the strength that was in him, his firm hand under her arm, his back broad enough for the work that lay ahead. He would not replace J.B., but she felt sure he would stand beside him someday.

Dulcinea could not leave this land. She finally understood how the wind out here made a place for itself in your ear, in your mind, and in your heart, stilling your thoughts, making everything you see one vast wholeness: the swan gliding across the silent marsh, the mossy turtles climbing like ancient men out of the water, their claws gripping the soil with great effort to drag themselves despite the tangled water plants that dragged their yellow-scaled legs back, their ragged beaks parted with effort. She couldn’t think without the Sand Hills wind hushing the great world around her as she pushed herself into its embrace. Maybe a bad thing never died, as the men were fond of saying, and good lived but for a moment. This was a thing she could accept.

In early November, she had been able to ship cattle and pay the men some of what she owed. They’d made it through the winter, though money was short. She watched as Hayward led J.B.’s chestnut out of the barn. They were teaching the horse to work cattle, and Graver showed her son how to ride in concert with the animal, not against it. She saw that was the way a person must move through the world, while across the hills, the evening fog drifted like an exhaled breath and the peepers began their rhythmic chirring music as the night horses pulled the dark curtain across the sky until they slept and awakened once more, rising like dreamers out of the mist to claim the world again.

Jensen, Richard E., R. Eli Paul, and John E. Carter. Eyewitness at Wounded Knee . Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991.

Lavin, Stephen J., Fred M. Shelley, and J. Clark Archer. Atlas of the Great Plains . Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011.

Peavy, Linda, and Ursula Smith. Pioneer Women: The Lives of Women on the Frontier . Rowayton, CT: Saraband, 1996.

JONIS AGEEhas been praised by the New York Times Book Review as “a gifted poet of that dark lushness in the heart of the American landscape.” She is the award-winning author of twelve books, including the New York Times Notable Books of the Year Sweet Eyes and Strange Angels . Her awards include the John Gardner Fiction Award, the George Garrett Award, a National Endowment for the Arts grant in fiction, a Loft-McKnight Award, a Loft-McKnight Award of Distinction, and two Nebraska Book Awards. A native of Nebraska, Agee teaches at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln.

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