bundle, and with that gone, we even took care of that part of the mess!'
No point in getting any more elaborate than that. Not yet, anyway.
She stopped, just at the car door, and turned toward him. She felt a glow of pride and happiness that not even the headache from her concussion could dim. 'We did this, David! I could never have done this without you and Mooncrow!'
He flushed with pleasure, and flushed even more when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a kiss that lasted so long that Mooncrow finally called them back to their surroundings by clearing his throat ostentatiously.
'Much as I enjoy seeing you two enjoy yourselves. . . .'
They separated, reluctantly, and climbed into the car. 'Your turn to drive, Little Old Man,' David said, getting into the backseat with Jennie and putting his good arm around her shoulders. 'We're walking wounded, remember?'
'Certainly, sah,' Mooncrow drawled, in an excellent imitation of an impeccably English chauffeur. 'And what are your directions?'
'We need a doc to look at us both-' Jennie began. 'The paramedic said we needed to go to the emergency room-'
Mooncrow turned to glare at her. 'I have enough friends at the Indian Hospital to get someone to do a house call,' he said acidly. 'What kind of a grandfather do you think I am?'
David laughed. 'A contrary Little Old Man,' he replied.
'All right, I know what you're waiting for. 'Home, James, and don't spare the horses!' '
'Veddy good, sah,' Mooncrow replied with immense dignity and a twinkle in his eye, once more assuming his chauffeur persona. 'Veddy, veddy good.'
But he didn't immediately put the car in motion. Instead, he reached over the back of the seat and dropped a long bundle across Jennie's knees.
'A friend of ours wanted you to have this,' he said, as the wrappings fell open.
David raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was a pipe, a very old pipe. It could have been the twin of the one lost in Calligan's office.
And Jennie, cool, unflappable Jennie, just stared at it, looking as stunned as if someone had just hit her in the back of the head with a two-by-four.
_author's note
I am not an expert on Native American religions. I hope that I have not offended any Native Americans with my depiction of Jennie Talldeer and her grandfather. This book was intended as entertainment; I have an extensive library and many trustworthy sources to ensure that it is as accurate as may be, but it is not to be taken seriously, not to be taken as reality. I am not portraying reality, or attempting to.
I have tried to be as accurate and honest as I can, within the realm of storytelling. My chief source for this story was The Osages: Children of the Middle Waters, by John Joseph Mathews, himself an Osage and a graduate of both the Universities of Oklahoma and Oxford, England. This book and many more in the 'Civilization of the American Indian' series are available from the University of Oklahoma Press. I highly recommend them.
I am not a guru, shaman, Grand High Pooh-Bah, Guardian, Mistress of the Martian Arts, Avatar, Cosmic Earth Mother, or any incarnation of the same. I have no lock on Immortal Wisdom, and in my experience, anyone who claims to, has his eye on your money (granted, I do too, but only insofar as entertaining you enough to buy my next book). To confuse me with what I write is as fallacious as confusing a truck driver with his Peterbilt.
