Chapter 10The sweat lodge still stood, and the Lord knew I needed purifying. Some of the charred timbers from the cabin made good firewood. The earthen jug sitting on what was left of the front porch held enough water for my task. When the rocks glowed from the heat, I used Otter’s tongs to carry them inside the little hut.
Then I stripped and ducked through the opening to spend the next hour ladling water over hot rocks, breathing deeply of thick steam, and praying. I sang to both the Christian God and Wakan Tonka, begging forgiveness even as the despicable preacher’s desperate, dying rales echoed in my ears. I’d been surprised by the voided bladder and loose bowels, and it made me ashamed. Not for that coyote, but for Otter, who had probably done the same in front of a mob of whites.
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