White Flame

by Susan Edwards

  A shadow fell over her and destroyed her moment of peace. “The white girl is weak. Lazy. Cannot do woman’s work.” Tanagila stared down at her with contempt, then said something to her companion, a girl of the same age but several inches shorter and a lot rounder. The two laughed and walked away.

  Emma glared after her. “I do plenty of woman’s work,” she muttered, thinking about the town house and all it took to run it with only two trusted servants: a housekeeper and cook who were more family than hired help. But even with them, Emma had done her share of housework, shopping and planning the meals. And she hadn’t had a nanny. Care of her sister had fallen to her. Careful not to think about how she’d failed at that one, she focused on her fainting attack. “I just never had to do this kind of disgusting work.”

  Though Star Dreamer had told her not to worry, that someone else would finish the hide, Emma felt guilty watching the other women working hard in the sun. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t one of them, that she didn’t have to do this kind of work, but some spark of pride took hold. She’d never been accused of being lazy in her life.

  Across the way, Tanagila stopped at the hide Emma had been working on. She threw another contemptuous look at Emma, tossed her head and picked up the wooden bowl holding the boiled-brain mixture. The message was clear: Tanagila was pointing out to the others that Emma couldn’t do her job, couldn’t pull her weight.

  Emma stood. Darned if she’d allow that hateful girl to think she was superior just because she could stick her hands in a bowl of icky white stuff. She’d show them that she, Emma O’Brien, was no pampered white woman. She could do anything they could.

  Overhead, a loud caw sounded. Glancing up, she spotted a raven perched on one of the poles sticking out from the top of the tipi. It flapped its wings and cocked its head, its beady eye fixed on her hair. She shook her finger at the bird. “Don’t think it.” For some reason, Striking Thunder’s bird liked her hair and when it got the chance, it tried to yank strands from her head.

  Reaching Tanagila, she snatched the bowl from her. “I finish what I start.” Ignoring the girl and those around her, Emma drew in a deep breath, and willed herself not to think about what she was touching. Pretend it’s paste, she ordered herself. White paint, flour and water, anything.

  Holding her breath, she dipped her fingers in, knelt and resumed her task.

  Early the next morning, Emma rose stiffly when called. She ached from her neck to her calves from the hard work. Yawning, wishing she could have snatched a few more hours of sleep, she followed Star Dreamer and her children out of the tipi. There, they were greeted by two women, one older, one younger. Emma was surprised to see the white woman who’d argued with Striking Thunder yesterday. Her eyes were a startling deep blue.

  Star spoke. “This is my mother, White Wind.”

  “Your mother?” Emma’s jaw dropped as she glanced from Star, who looked like the other Indian woman, back to her mother. “That means you’re also Striking Thunder’s moth—” Horrified, she clamped her mouth shut.

  White Wind laughed softly. “Yes. Striking Thunder is my son.”

  At her side, a younger woman with hair the color of rich maple syrup grinned, her eyes a paler blue, sparkled with mischief. “I am White Dove, younger sister to Striking Thunder.”

  She leaned forward to whisper, “I know it is hard to believe to look upon us, but white blood runs in our veins, though, I think my brother Striking Thunder rejected his white heritage, even in the womb. From the time he entered this world, he has denied that part of him.” At a frown from her mother, Dove stepped back with a shrug of her slim shoulders. “It’s no secret how he feels,” she said, not looking the least bit repentant.

  “Dove, behave yourself,” White Wind scolded, her voice firm.

  The three women fell into their native tongue, which was fine with Emma. It gave her a chance to absorb the fact that Striking Thunder’s mother was white. Maybe she’d be able to enlist the woman’s help. If she and her son had been arguing about Emma yesterday, then she couldn’t be too happy with him.

  When they reached the edge of the water, the women removed their clothing. Dove ran out into the middle of the stream to greet her friends while Star Dreamer saw to the bathing of her children in the shallows. Emma hesitated, unable to imagine bathing so early in the cold water, let alone stripping down and bathing in a group. It seemed so strange and barbaric. And to bathe both mornings and evenings!

  White Wind removed her fur-lined leggings. She smiled encouragingly at Emma. “It’s not as bad as it seems. You’ll get used to it.”

  Not sure if she could go through with it but wanting to keep White Wind near to talk to, to find out where she stood, Emma sat and slowly removed her moccasins, wincing as each movement stretched her sore, stiff muscles.

  “You are in pain?”

  “Just a bit achy, that’s all.” Emma rotated her stiff shoulders and stretched out her arms.

  “I’m not used to tanning hides.” She eyed the flowing river. “A hot bath definitely sounds much better.”

  White Wind sighed. “Ah, yes. I do enjoy them still.”

  At Emma’s look, she confessed, “When I go to visit my other son who lives in the cabin I grew up in, I do indulge myself in hot baths. But here, we bathe in the river. You will learn that nothing is wasted, not food or water or time and energy. These women wouldn’t think the time it takes to haul water and heat it and pour it into a tub worth the effort—even if they were willing to carry around a tub. Moving as we do from camp to camp makes it impossible.”

  Emma studied Striking Thunder’s mother. “Are you here against your will?”

  After a moment, White Wind sighed. “No, child. I’m here because I chose to be.” She spread her hands. “Understand that while I don’t agree with my son for bringing you here or even agree with his plans, I am Indian.”

  At Emma’s disbelief, she smiled.

  “My father is White Cloud of the Hunkpapa tribe of the Sioux. Many years ago, I, too, was brought here against my will. I know how you feel, but there is nothing I can do to help you.”

  Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I understand.”

  White Wind bent down to touch her shoulder. “No, child, you do not.” She waved a hand toward the women in the water. “These women are my family and friends. I may have been unwilling in the beginning, but I chose to stay and adopt the lifestyle of my father’s people. I am one of them. By choice.”

  “I won’t stay. Striking Thunder is wrong about my father.” Emma said the words bravely, defiantly.

  Removing her dress, White Wind’s blue eyes darkened. “Like his father, my son is a good man.”

  Emma rejected the statement with a shake of her head. “I don’t believe you. He only cares about what he wants. He doesn’t care that my sister who is only nine years old is out there alone somewhere. If he cared, he’d help her, at least find her and bring her to me so that when I’m released, we will be free together.” Her voice broke and to hide her futile tears, she turned her head to the side.

  White Wind sighed. “I truly wish I could help, child. I will give you this, and hope it brings some measure of comfort. My people revere children—all children, no matter the skin color. The horses Yellow Dog traded her for are Cheyenne. They, like the Sioux, treasure children. Be assured that your sister will be treated as any other child.” With that, White Wind waded out to join the women, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts.

  “No one help you, white girl.” Tanagila laughed and walked past. After dumping her clothing in a neat pile out of reach of the water, she entered the river without hesitation and smirked at Emma as she ran her hands down her slender waist before submerging herself beneath the gently flowing river.

  Though she hadn’t said a word, Emma felt the sting of her challenge. The other girl assumed Emma was ashamed of her white body. Well, she wasn’t. She knew enough of men to know they appreciated her curves and the size of her breasts. She’d show T
anagila and the rest. If they weren’t ashamed of their bodies, then neither was she.

  She lifted her skirt, hesitating one last time, battling her shyness. Gathering her courage, she pulled her dress over her head. Fingers of cold air brushed her skin and puckered her nipples. Feeling conspicuous with flesh so pale and breasts much fuller than most of the women present, Emma ran into the water and quickly submerged herself beneath the freezing-cold river.

  To her relief, no one paid her any mind. Around her, female chatter and laughter filled the air. There was a great deal of splashing and joking. Some of the women even swam, ducking their heads beneath the surface. Emma admired their oneness with the water.

  Keeping to the shallows, she washed, dunking her head to wet her hair, then washed it using the root of the yucca plant Star Dreamer had swam over to give her. By the time she was done, her teeth were chattering so hard her jaw hurt with the effort to still them. Working up the courage to stand and leave the water, Emma was startled when a sleek, dark head surfaced unexpectedly near her. Tanagila rose from water. Leaning forward, she hissed, “You not belong here.” Hate filled the young maiden’s eyes.

  Tired of the girl’s harassment, Emma narrowed her own eyes and stood, pleased she had several inches’ advantage over the shorter Indian maiden. “You think I’m here of my own free will?”

  “Leave.”

  Emma snorted her disgust. “I’m just going to walk out of the village and no one will stop me?”

  “Tanagila help you. Meet here tonight. I bring you horse.”

  Not trusting the Indian girl, Emma left the water to dry herself off. Tanagila followed.

  Sending Tanagila a look of disgust, she asked, “Do you really expect me to trust you? Besides, Striking Thunder isn’t going to let me go. He’ll follow.”

  A sly look came into the other girl’s eyes. “I will make sure he does not know you are gone. I will say that it is your woman’s time, that you are in the woman’s hut.”

  Emma wanted nothing more than to make good her escape but when she did, it’d be on her own without anyone—especially a troublemaker—knowing. “No. I shall stay and convince Striking Thunder that he is wrong about my father.”

  “You are a fool.” Her expression changed to one of malicious delight. “After he kills your father, he’ll sell you for many horses.” Tossing her hair, sending drops of water flying into Emma’s face, she stalked off.

  Biting her lip, Emma watched her go. A small hand slipped into her own. Glancing down, she stared into Morning Moon’s troubled gaze.

  “She lies, seeks to trick you like sungmanitu, the wily coyote. You are wise, like sunkmanitu tonka, the wolf.” A funny look crossed the girl’s features and for just a moment, her eyes went blank.

  Worried, Emma bent down. “Morning Moon?”

  The little girl started and pulled her hand out of Emma’s. “I will watch over you.” With that, she walked off.

  What a strange comment for a child to make, Emma thought. Morning Moon was so different from her own energetic sister. She fingered the talisman that the child had given her and wondered if she’d ever see Renny again.

  Lying in bed, Derek cursed his carelessness. It had been eight days since his carefully laid plans had gone awry. So far, there had been no word from the search party. And when it came, he feared the news wouldn’t be good. Emma would never survive captivity with Yellow Dog. Derek shoved the rough, itchy blanket off him and stood. He had plans to make.

  Doctor Gilbert O’Sullivan, a seasoned physician who had been with the army for more than thirty years, stopped him from walking out the door. “Captain Sanders. You have not been given permission to leave that bed.”

  Derek frowned. “I’m fine. I need to be out there, searching.”

  Gil’s features softened. “Now, boy, you can’t blame yourself. You did the best you could. You’re in no shape to ride out.”

  “I can’t stay in bed a minute longer.”

  Not one to overly pamper his patients, the doctor nodded. “Fine. But until your wounds have completely healed, I want to see you each morning.”

  Derek nodded then left. After dressing in a new uniform, he left the fort through the open gate. When he arrived at a small group of soiled and tattered tipis, he stopped. From inside several came the sound of rutting men and squealing women.

  The women who occupied these tipis relied on soldiers to give them work—laundry or prostitution—both appreciated by the lonely soldiers far from civilization. Some soldiers even went so far as to marry their whores.

  His mouth hardened. Not him. Not like his traitorous father who’d left him and his mother to go to California with his squaw in search of gold. When he married, it’d be to a lady who had money or connections. Or both. Like Emma. He put thoughts of Emma from him when he reached Wild Sage’s tipi.

  Grunts and moans came from within. Without bothering to announce himself, he strode in, surprising a soldier in the process of bedding the tipi’s mistress. Derek fingered the bag of cheap baubles he’d picked up from traders traveling up the Missouri River then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Out!” he ordered the private.

  A look of intense pain crossed the young soldier’s features. “Aw, Cap’n, not now—” he groaned, his hips moving faster, frantic.

  Derek reached out and yanked the panting man off the woman bucking beneath him. “I said out. Now!” He tossed him out the door along with his trousers and boots and ignored the laughter that came from others who had witnessed the soldier’s plight.

  Unbuckling his own trousers, but not removing them, he knelt over the woman. Reaching out, he squeezed one plump breast. At her moan of pain, lust fired his blood. “Have you missed me, Wild Sage?”

  Her brown eyes widened when he pinched a dark-tipped nipple, but she nodded and knowing what he expected, she took his hard shaft into her mouth. Derek groaned; it’d been so long, he couldn’t stop the release that came almost immediately.

  After he refastened his trousers, he reached into his shirt pocket for a pouch.

  Emptying it onto the dirt floor, he watched Wild Sage’s eyes grow round with greed. But when she scrambled to her knees to take the cheap jewelry, he grabbed her pudgy fingers.

  “Not so fast.” Scooping them up, he handed her a bracelet and pin. “Do as I say and I’ll give you the rest.”

  Wild Sage nodded. “Wild Sage please Captain, Captain give Wild Sage many nice things.”

  Derek paced. “I seek information on a woman captured by Yellow Dog.”

  At the name, a look of fear entered her eyes. Though they weren’t of the same tribe, everyone in this area knew of the warrior. “Yellow Dog mean. He kill Wild Sage if I help enemy.”

  He waved her fear aside and clasped his hands behind his back. “The woman is the colonel’s daughter. I will protect you, but I need to know where she is, if she is still alive. You will find out for me.”

  When she still looked reluctant, Derek grabbed a handful of her hair. “Do it or I’ll see you banished from the fort.” His gaze hardened. “Without the protection of the soldiers, anything could happen to you.” His voice dropped, low and cold. “Understand?”

  “Wild Sage understands.”

  Laughing softly, Derek pulled her long stringy hair just hard enough to force her to look at him. “Good. Now understand this. You’re mine and I don’t share my squaw with anyone. You want to spread your legs, you spread them for me.”

  Again she nodded but it wasn’t enough. He yanked, harder.

  “Only you, Captain. Wild Sage please only you.”

  Freeing his swollen flesh once more, he smiled and shoved her down onto the hard ground. Dropping his trousers, he shoved her legs apart. “Very good, bitch. Now would be a good time to show me how much you missed me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The land of rich, summer golds turned brittle and dull as fall prepared to give way to winter. Temperatures rose and fell wildly, as if Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mi
nd as to which season she preferred.

  Wandering freely around the village, Emma tipped her head back, seeking the warming rays. She suspected the first snows weren’t far off. The last couple of weeks had been rainy, cloudy and cold. Hugging herself, she stared up into the brilliant blue sky, finding in it a renewed sense of hope that one day, her life would return to normal.

  She shivered as much from the temperature as from fear of what her future held. That morning when she’d gone down to the river to bathe, the dry grass had crackled under the thin layer of frost coating the prairie, and still they had bathed. To her surprise, no one, including her, had taken ill from the exposure.

  And if she really were honest, she’d admit there was something invigorating about starting the day in this fashion. Unlike bathing in hot water, which tended to relax and leave her lethargic, cold water got her moving with a spurt of energy that seemed to carry her throughout the day.

  In addition to her deerskin dress, she wore a pair of leggings lined with rabbit fur and her feet were kept warm in a pair of lined moccasins made by her own hands. The soft, pliable upper pieces came from the hides she’d prepared, as did her leggings, and the soles from an old smoked top of a tipi. Even the rabbit fur lining them came from her efforts. And if the fur was pieced together because she’d torn it during the skinning process, well, only she knew—and Star who’d had incredible patience in teaching her what she needed to know.

  Passing a group of adolescent girls, Emma noticed they were studying a group of boys the same age. She smiled. Some things were the same no matter the language or lifestyle. This was her favorite time of day. Done with her chores until time to start the evening meal, she had the freedom to do as she chose—unless she wanted to ride.

  She made a face. She wasn’t allowed near the horses. She stopped in front of a colorful tipi. So far, her favorite pastime was to study the paintings on the bleached rawhide. Some consisted of crude drawings, childlike in their form, while others were quite good, their painter a skilled artist.