by Zina Abbott
Meadowlark sucked in a breath and turned her gaze to her moccasins to avoid his scrutiny. “Even though Red Quill will not walk this earth much longer, it is his second wife, Sun-in-shell, I do not wish to become the junior wife to. My father understands this.”
Gray Squirrel nodded. “I remember Red Quill. She is gifted with beading. I am sorry to hear her time walking this earth is short. Sun-in-shell I do not remember.”
Meadowlark bit her tongue to keep from blurting out Sun-in-shell was a woman Gray Squirrel was fortunate to not know. She had already spoken enough to shame herself for five lifetimes should he repeat their discussion so far with others, especially Eyes-like-hawk who could be a worse gossip than twenty women. “Last night my father promised to allow me to wait until after the summer hunt and the time for the falling of the leaves before I must accept a marriage offer.” She raised her head and captured his gaze with hers. An imploring tone entered her voice. “Please do not speak of this with others. I do not wish to embarrass Broken Wing by others thinking I have rejected him as a man. My father will allow me this boon, but he is traditional. If I find another I prefer, for him to be acceptable to my father, a man must be a Kansa warrior. He must bring my father an acceptable gift to prove he can provide for me. He must be someone my father will approve.”
“I will say nothing, Meadowlark, although it will be difficult. My cousin should have been named Sink-in-teeth-like-badger. Because he knows we have met, he will want to know what we said. I promise to not repeat anything to him. I wish you well finding a husband that will be acceptable to your father.”
“Thank you, Gray Squirrel. It has been good speaking with you after all these years.”
Meadowlark tensed as Gray Squirrel cocked his head and studied her, a question in his expression. “I hear he will only allow you to marry a full-blood Kansa. I do not understand why you come among Fool Chief’s camp to visit with so many mixed-bloods nearby if he will not approve a mixed-blood.”
It took everything within her to not reveal the dismay she felt hearing Gray Squirrel clearly identify the truth she had lived with the past months. She chose her words carefully. “My father does not wish to dilute our tribe by mixing with other peoples. He fears the blood of the People of the South Wind will depart this earth forever as it is consumed by the white man’s diseases as well as wars and intermarriage with others. All my sisters and my brother have married full-blood Kansa mates. It is my hope if the man I choose meets all the rest of my father’s expectations for a husband for me, I will be able to persuade him he can afford to spare this third daughter to a good marriage, even if the man is a mixed-blood.”
Meadowlark held Gray Squirrels gaze for several seconds before she grew uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She glanced at the sky. “I must go now. I have a long ride, and I must return to my father’s lodge to prepare his evening meal.” Unsure what it was about Gray Squirrel that heightened her awareness and caused her to breathe faster, she resisted the desire to step forward and touch Gray Squirrel’s arm as she once used to when they were children. “It will interest me to know if you will stay with the Kansa or return to live among the Americans. It is my hope you choose to live with the People of the South Wind and become a warrior. Prepare well, Gray Squirrel.”
~o0o~
Until she disappeared from view, Charlie’s gaze never left Meadowlark’s retreating form as she walked the trail that would take her back to her father’s house. Once she disappeared from his sight, he sucked in a deep breath and shook his head to clear it.
Charlie reflected on how he had stood frozen to the spot when she stepped into view. His heart pounded and his senses heightened at his first sight of her with her hair flowing down past her shoulders and vermillion painted on her center part as was the Kansa way. He still recognized her from when they were young. However, she had grown into a beautiful woman. Only now that she had removed herself from his sight did he feel his heart escape his throat to return to his chest and his blood slow its pounding through his body. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, relieved to realize his breathing had returned to normal. She never affected him that way as a child, and he could not understand why seeing her now sent his senses soaring.
Bemused, a silly grin sprouted on his face as he settled the bow on one shoulder and across his chest. He started down the same path that would also take him to his uncle’s house. All the while he reflected on his conversation with Meadowlark. As a child, she never did talk much, but when she did, she had a way of saying what was on her mind. He suspected she sought him out for a reason. Surely today she had not come to tell him what was expected of him to become a warrior. Pluck out his face hairs—it was not a woman’s place to tell a man how to behave or groom himself, especially regarding something as personal as removing facial hair. Besides, when he earned the right to call himself a warrior, he would not only rid his face of hair, he would shave the sides of his head leaving only a wide scalp lock to decorate with vermillion on the tips and possibly a roach.
Charlie slowly walked the same path Meadowlark took before she disappeared from his view. Perhaps a wife may say something to her husband. He had even seen Susan Morningstar, the half-Potawatomi woman his father had hired to care for him—and later his half-brothers—speak to him regarding his sons. However, she never tried to direct his father in how to live his life. Yet, Meadowlark had made a point to tell him he must rid himself of his wispy moustache and beard. Meadowlark was nothing to him other than a childhood friend—a girl who had never hesitated to speak her mind to him when they were younger. Now after years of not speaking to each other, she demanded to know about his choices. Of what concern were his decisions to her?
Charlie had not traveled more than a dozen paces before he jerked to a halt. All their words about her and marriage came together in his mind. With a sudden clarity of understanding, he realized she had made her choice for a husband. He was her choice—if he decided to do what was necessary to qualify himself to please her father. If he chose her and did what he must, she would do everything she could to overcome the one obstacle—his mixed ancestry—to which her father would still object.
Charlie’s head spun at the thought. He usually dealt with rejection, not someone seeking him out—choosing him over others.
Would Charlie choose Meadowlark for his wife? His heart and his body told him yes, he could choose Meadowlark. His head told him to not make any decisions too quickly.
Charlie tried to picture Malinda Campbell, but found it difficult. The visage of the pale-skinned, freckled redhead faded in and out of his mind’s eye before its ghostly form disappeared completely only to be replaced by the somber face and knowing gaze of Meadowlark. Still, he must consider everything carefully. If not, he might end up feeling as devastated as he felt when he realized that he had nothing to offer Malinda because legally he had no legitimate standing with his father’s business.
Charlie realized now his choices involved more than developing the skills needed to become a Kansa warrior or escaping the rejection he felt among the Americans who lived in or traveled through Bonner Springs. He must consider what he wished to do about Meadowlark.
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Chapter 7
~o0o~
Saline River, Kansas Territory
June, 1856
A s they crossed the river that came from the Smokey Hills, Charlie nudged his horse so it caught up with that of his cousin’s. “Eyes-like-hawk, why is it we will follow the river with water that tastes like salt instead of this river with its better water for our horses like we did last summer?”
Eyes-like-hawk turned to Charlie. “Because during the winter hunt, we came across a large band of Cheyenne who claimed it for their hunting camp. It was all our warriors could do to hold the Cheyenne off while the women and children escaped to safety on the other side of the salty river. They do not want us to come west because they claim it is all their hunting territ
ory.”
Has it always been their hunting territory?”
Eyes-like-hawk shook his head. “No, it is Kansa hunting territory. However, the white man pushes the Cheyenne into a smaller space just as it does the Kansa and the other tribes. We all end up competing for the same herds of buffalo. We told them we will continue to hunt in the land the Kansa have hunted on for years, but for our camp, we will not use the same place on the Smokey Hill River they use as their hunting camp. Instead, we will circle the houses the Americans have built where this river joins the salty river and travel towards the river to the north.”
“Do we not then risk running into the Sioux or the Pawnee?”
“We risk running into many tribes. However, that does not mean we do not hunt. Since more and more Americans move onto our lands and build their houses, our women cannot grow enough corn and other foods to feed us. Besides the hides, we need the buffalo meat to eat well.”
“And the Indian agent will not tell the white squatters they must leave our land?”
Eyes-like-hawk retorted with a sharpness that discouraged further conversation. “No. he talks to them, but the American squatters have threatened to kill him if he tries to drive them off our land. They steal our land in hopes the Americans will change the treaty. They claim those who sold us the land drew the lines wrong on their maps, so eventually the American government will let them have our land. They know we can do nothing or the Army will come and punish us.”
Charlie said no more as he joined his cousin in scanning the Smokey Hills to the south and the open plains around the river for signs of any threat, whether they be Americans or one of the other tribes. In between, he watched the families of the camps who traveled as a tribe for safety purposes as they crossed the river.
Charlie forced down a lump that rose in his throat at the sight of Meadowlark, her head held high, following her father. He allowed himself only a few seconds of gazing upon her, then he turned away. He feared if his cousin noticed him watching her, the pestering would resume in full force. After his meeting with Meadowlark, Eyes-like-hawk had wasted no time badgering Charlie to tell everything that was said between them. Charlie had evaded by claiming all they talked about was remembering when they knew each other as children. His cousin had not believed that was all that was said between them. For several days he had ignored Charlie and refused to help him train. Only Hawk Beak’s interference had persuaded Eyes-like-hawk to once again help his cousin.
As they followed the south shore of the water that tasted like salt and skirted two hovels built by Americans, Charlie felt dismay that quickly changed into anger at the thought that the whites were building this far west into native hunting grounds. If the Americans kept coming west, there would soon be no place for the great herds of buffalo all the plains tribes depended on to live.
“Men back at the trading post in Council Grove say they call that Salina. The salty river they call Saline. It is said the Americans plan to build a town there.”
Charlie turned to his cousin. “How far towards the setting sun have the Americans moved? My father said the treaty gave the Americans the land all the way to the great mountains where the Arapaho make their winter camp.”
“If that is the case, it is because of other treaties than the one with the Kansa. We no longer have the strength to fight back the Americans and claim our land. It will be interesting if the Cheyenne, Comanche, Arapaho and Sioux will give up all their hunting grounds to the Americans without a fight. Although we do not like the coming of the white man any better than they do, it is the Kansa these tribes will fight with first.”
Charlie felt anger build up within him as he watched his cousin ride ahead of him. He recognized the truth in Eyes-like-hawk’s words. As much as he resented the Americans who looked down upon him because he was part-Kansa, it did not come close to the distain he felt for the people who intended to steal all the land belonging to the native tribes of the plains and destroy everything that allowed them to live.
Eventually, the camps separated as they each chief sought their own place along the buffalo migration paths watered by the rivers that flowed from west to east across the plains. The resentment burning inside Charlie overrode the first frisson of fear he felt when he rode after the buffalo herd and faced the reality that, unlike the previous year when he could ride beside the herd from a distance and shoot buffalo with his father’s rifle, this year he must ride close enough to the animals to smell their musk in order to thrust his spear for the kill, or release his arrows accurately and with enough force to bring down the massive animals. As much as he went for several cows which he knew would provide more tender meat, he knew he dare not turn his attention from the bulls intent on protecting the herd.
At the conclusion, the women and older girls moved among the dead animals and began the process of skinning and butchering the animals. Unlike the previous year when Charlie had all but ignored the efforts of the women, this year he studied them as they worked. Although the men had faced danger in killing the huge beasts, Charlie soon realized the greater portion of hard work fell to the women.
Charlie joined the men as they gathered to reminisce and brag about their exploits in bringing down their animals. He listened with appreciation as each described their kills in what he realized were slightly exaggerated terms. He gritted his teeth when Eyes-like-hawk began to poke fun at his expense.
“It looked at first like Gray Squirrel would miss the cow he aimed for and get her red dog instead. Perhaps his warrior name would then be Red Dog. What do you think? Would a Kansa woman marry a man known for killing a buffalo calf?”
Charlie turned to his cousin with a glare. “But my arrow did not hit the red dog. I killed a cow instead. Besides, the red dog did not belong to my kill, but to the cow on her far side. If you wish to embarrass me, my cousin, you will need to find a different warrior name besides Red Dog.”
By the time they rejoined the others in the tribe for the trip east along the Kaw Trail back to the reservation, the warriors all agreed that Charlie had demonstrated his proficiency as a hunter. However, before they were ready to accept him as a full-fledged warrior, they decided Charlie needed to join them on a raid. Many still smarted from their confrontation with the Cheyenne during the most recent winter hunt. They felt it only right—not to mention good sport—to relieve the Cheyenne of some of their horses to replace the ones a small Cheyenne raiding party had stolen from them. Charlie knew if he wanted to earn his warrior’s name and obtain a worthy gift to give to Spotted Horse when he asked for Meadowlark to be his wife, he needed to help his cousin and the others steal Cheyenne horses.
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Chapter 8
~o0o~
Bonner Springs, Kansas Territory
August, 1856
H is arms folded and his feet spread shoulder-width apart, Charlie’s face broke into a toothy grin as he watched his father enter the storage room in the back of the trading post. Owen Jones jerked to a halt as if the sight of his son startled him. Charlie waited until his father recognized him and found his voice.
“Charlie. It’s good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Charlie’s grin widened and his eyes expressed his merriment. “Why did you not expect me to visit? You know the Kansa have returned from their summer bison hunt by now. What you meant to say, my father, is you did not expect me to return looking like this.”
Owen pushed past Charlie and opened the back door so the sunlight flooded through the opening. “Come over here in the strong light, Charlie so I can get a good look at you.”
Charlie moved into the patch of brightness and submitted to his father’s perusal. His leather trousers as well as the off-white broadcloth shirt he wore when he left for Council Grove months before were in a pack on his horse. He had dressed purposely for his father, and he knew his father would understand what it all meant.
Charlie wore a breechcloth and legg
ings with a hunting knife secured around his waist. His bow and quiver of arrows hung from one shoulder and across his chest. His boots he had traded for a sturdy pair of moccasins. So that his father could see his warrior tattoos, he deliberately approached his father bare-chested with only the wide beaded medallion hanging from a wide band of pipe beads which circled his neck. Earrings made of quill clusters dangled from his ears. Following Meadowlark’s suggestion the day they met, he regularly plucked at the facial hairs that stubbornly insisted on sprouting on his face. However, earlier that morning before he arrived in Bonner Springs, he had made a point to once again scrape his face and the sides of his head with his knife until the skin felt smooth to the touch. He still struggled to become accustomed to the shorter hair of his scalp lock which, in anticipation of seeing his father, he had tinted red with vermillion and to which he attached his cousin’s gift of a deer’s tail roach festooned with feathers.
Charlie waited patiently as his father walked around him and studied the changes. Once he finished, Owen stood facing his son, a look of sadness in his eyes.
“This is your choice, is it, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded. “I am now a Kansa warrior. I will live among the Kansa people.”
“You will live among them—and plan to take a wife from among them?”
After his nod, Charlie watched his father heave a sigh and turn away. “We must all choose our way in life, Charlie. I respect your choice, even though I will miss you. I hoped when you returned you would be agreeable to a different job much of the time rather than always working in the store. However, I will look for someone else.”
“What job is that, father?”
“The one I spoke to you of before you left. You know Amos is getting on in age, although he won’t ever admit to it. After he returned with my freight train last week, he made the suggestion that involves you himself. He wants to train you next spring to know the Santa Fe Trail and its dangers so the following year you can replace him as my scout. He says it’s because he wishes to spend more time with Susan Morningstar.”