In an instant, the animal sprang with a growl. The arrow soared to its heart. It yelped, and then fell to the ground.
Black Bear leaped to his feet, and found Quiet Thunder beside him as he twisted to look at her. “Coyote.”
Her raspy breath left her. “How did you…”
Like any Lakota, he felt a kinship with all living things, could sense their presence whether benign or savage. The pounding of his own heart overtook him like a summer storm, made him lose all connection to this world except where she touched him. But somehow he’d felt the coyote’s approach.
“I will always protect you.” He laid his palm against her cheek. “Always.”
When she encircled her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, his heartbeat steadied. It affirmed the strength of their love would overcome all else.
****
Quiet Thunder’s hands trembled as she pounded chokeberries and kidney fat into dried venison to make wasna. Chief Red Horse would soon decide to break camp. Within minutes, the tribe would take down their tipis and move to where the Sioux nation would convene for the Sun Dance. Pretty Eagle always prepared well for the tribe’s moves, which sometimes came with little notice, whether over several suns or moons.
This move would bring bigger changes than Quiet Thunder could anticipate. As she crushed the berries, she pretended not to watch Black Bear stride to their fire and nod to her parents.
Her father extended his hand. “Sit.”
Black Bear crossed his legs and sat across from her. “I ask to speak with you, Flying Horse.”
Resting his hands on his knees, her father straightened. “Speak.”
Black Bear’s gaze flicked to Quiet Thunder.
Flying Horse pressed his lips together. “Ahh.” His face mixed with sadness and love as he glanced at Quiet Thunder. He stood and strolled toward the horses grazing nearby.
His eyes like stones, Black Bear stared at the fire.
Quiet Thunder froze. Had he changed his mind? Her father waited, and would grow irritable soon. She arched her brows in question and tilted her head toward her father.
As if he’d suddenly sobered, he snapped to attention, scrambled to his feet and strode to him.
Pretty Eagle ground the berries. “Black Bear has grown tall.”
Quiet Thunder said nothing. Her mother had more to say, she knew.
“But has he grown wiser?” Pretty Eagle leveled her gaze at her with a mix of concern and worry.
“He has.” Quiet Thunder could say this with confidence. Black Bear had proved himself, but she didn’t know how to explain it in words to her mother.
The two men stood out of hearing range. Flying Horse appeared to talk as Black Bear nodded.
Flying Horse returned to the fire, Black Bear following. “Quiet Thunder.”
She stilled. “Yes, Father?”
“Is it also your wish to be united with Black Bear?” He stood rigid, as if bracing himself against some pain.
The memory of his embrace rushed at her, enveloped her like a summer day. “Yes, Father. With all my heart, I wish it.”
Satisfied, Flying Horse grunted, turned to face Black Bear. “It is agreed. After the Sun Dance, when the tribe moves to a new camp, you will bring me three good horses.”
His muscles flexed as if poised to run after them right now, Black Bear nodded.
“And kill two buffalo for your wedding feast.”
“Two!” Rising to her knees, the word burst from her mouth before she could halt it. One would be difficult enough. Was her father trying to test him with impossible requests?
Silencing her with a glance, Black Bear again gave a nod.
Flying Horse laid a hand on Black Bear’s shoulder and smiled. “I will welcome you to our family.”
Smiling, Black Bear’s shoulders relaxed.
Letting out a breath, Quiet Thunder sat back on her legs. His nervousness proved he’d grown wiser, and made her confidence in him sure as a boulder.
Chapter Two
The journey lasted four suns. A good sign, Quiet Thunder’s father announced as they set up camp, because four was a sacred number. The tipis of other tribes crowded together like a vast forest, the smokes of their fires twining up in the air.
Quiet Thunder looked forward to each Sun Dance because of the excitement in joining with all tribes of the Sioux nation. As they set up their tipi, wistful sadness washed over her. After this ceremony, her life would change in every way.
Black Bear strode to his horse and grabbed its halter rope. Before mounting, he glanced over as if to mark her whereabouts. A smile lit his face and he hurled himself atop the horse, kicked to urge it toward a group of hunters riding toward the trees.
Warmth coursed through her as she watched him. One day they would bring their son to the Sun Dances, and he, too, would become a man.
Pretty Eagle picked up two pouches and held one toward Quiet Thunder. “Come. I saw strawberries in the field.” She walked in the direction they’d traveled.
Quiet Thunder followed her mother across the fields. Pretty Eagle crouched to pick strawberries, and Quiet Thunder did the same. Their pouches began to bulge.
“Ah, look!” Her mother moved to a grassier patch and knelt. “Turnips—see how healthy. When you make your tipi with Black Bear...” Her words seemed to choke her. “I hope we find turnips for your ceremony.”
Quiet Thunder blinked back her tears and helped her mother dig. The delicacy would make their feast more special.
“Hi nu!” Pretty Eagle gazed toward the horizon.
“What’s wrong?” Quiet Thunder followed her gaze. Her heart chilled at the sight of three riders. Wasichus—white men.
They gathered up their pouches and hastened toward the camp. Others watched, already alerted to the approaching men. Pretty Eagle and Quiet Thunder went to their fire as if nothing were wrong, but Quiet Thunder placed two knives beside them, out of sight. They could not make any moves that the whites might claim provoked their gunfire. But neither would they sit by idly if the whites attacked. Legions of others might be following the three out of sight.
The whites slowed their horses to a walk outside the encampment. Though dressed in Army uniforms, they otherwise did not appear threatening. Their stiff movements belied their nervousness. One of the men had a prominent nose, and glanced in all directions. When his gaze met Quiet Thunder’s, she gasped and looked away. This man wanted something. His appearance seemed a bad omen. Even if armies did not follow his footsteps, she sensed their presence like a great dark cloud hovering beyond the trees.
Muscles coiling, she scanned the outlying fields for a sign of Black Bear, hoping he wouldn’t ride in fast and startle the wasichu.
Five men followed Chief Red Horse to meet the whites. He greeted them in English words learned from dealing with fur trappers and the men from the Rosebud Agency.
The man with the prominent nose returned the greeting, and the two spoke. Chief Red Horse walked toward the center of the camp. The three men followed, leading their horses, with Lakota on either side.
Quiet Thunder’s breath strangled inside her. They should not be allowed to see the Sacred Tree, where the boys would be tethered in the piercing ritual. Wasichu never understood the holiness of their ceremonies.
She ran to the edge of the camp, desperate to see Black Bear. He was nowhere in sight. An emptiness like a great wind swept through her, seemed to carry her spirit across the fields to call him. She closed her eyes, and felt the warmth of his love echo back to her.
****
Worry circled Black Bear like a hungry hawk as he rode back with only three rabbits. Yellow Bird felled two squirrels. The best any of them had was Eagle Elk, who rode with a deer fawn behind him. Black Bear had come across it in the woods, looked into its wide brown eyes and left it. Following behind, Eagle Elk strode up and slit its throat. The fawn wouldn’t provide a lot of meat, he said, but it would be tender.
Black Bear gulped back
his irritation. “Its mother would have provided more, but we’re not likely to find her now.”
Blowing a sharp breath, Eagle Elk stood over the dead deer. “I take what’s before me instead of waiting.” He hoisted it up and strode off.
Yellow Bird glanced at Black Bear, who released his anger in a huff. No use wasting time trying to explain anything to Eagle Elk. A year younger, he seemed too eager to make a name for himself, proven in the way he trotted his horse into camp with a whoop. Black Bear hoped the boy would learn to respect the tribe’s needs above his own. Last year, Black Bear might have done the same thing. Quiet Thunder’s calm presence quieted his boastful tongue, steadied his too eager nature.
The sight of three strange horses made Black Bear tense. Saddles meant wasichu. Had Eagle Elk waited, he might have been alerted to possible danger, Black Bear wanted to say. He jumped from his paint and strode past the chief’s tipi. With the flap closed, he could see nothing, so continued until he saw Quiet Thunder and her mother by the fire. Relief was short-lived when they glanced up, worry plain in their faces.
As he crouched down, he nodded in greeting. “Who are our visitors?”
Pretty Eagle poked at the fire with a stick. “Soldiers, come to speak with the head man.”
“When did they arrive?”
Quiet Thunder’s wide gaze met his. “Soon after you left.”
Fear iced his spine. Many of their best hunters were also their best warriors. Had more soldiers come, his people would have been defenseless. Quiet Thunder’s arrows would’ve drawn gunfire.
“Does anyone know why?” If they came offering peace, they likely wanted more land. Land that belonged only to Mother Earth.
“Only those in the head man’s tipi.” Pretty Eagle rose and went inside. “What could they want?”
If only he could answer, he might not feel so helpless.
****
The three men rode away while the sun lowered in the sky, making their shadows stretch long before them.
Quiet Thunder sat by the fire with Pretty Eagle. Her father, as curious about the men as anyone, returned from speaking with other Sioux. He walked as if carrying a heavy burden until he reached the fire, then crossed his legs and sat.
“Well?” Pretty Eagle handed him strawberries–his favorite. “What did the wasichu want?”
Flying Horse glanced at the plump fruit and held up his hand in decline.
Quiet Thunder’s breath left her. For her father to refuse his favorite treat meant something terrible.
He stared into the flames. “They ask for our young.”
Lightning might have struck Quiet Thunder. Their young! Fear gripped her and she clutched her stomach, where someday Black Bear’s son would grow. She could never give her young to the whites. Her fingers clenched in anger.
Pretty Eagle wobbled, though she sat. “What?” she whispered. “Why?” She had been struck as numb as Quiet Thunder.
“One of the men, Captain Pratt, will make a school in Pennsylvania for children of all tribes. He asks for our young to teach them. Train them in the ways of the whites.” The lines in his face appeared deeper, as if the weight of the matter had carved them there. “He says wise chiefs will recognize it is the best thing for our children.”
Pretty Eagle let out a cry and held a quaking hand to her mouth, unable to tear her gaze from Flying Horse’s.
In her father’s silence, Quiet Thunder understood the chiefs may have sent the men away, but recognized some forboding in what this man Pratt said. He would return, probably soon.
Her father cast his gaze far away. “The Wicasa Yatapickas will discuss it at the Sun Dance.”
Pretty Eagle clutched her knees as if to steady herself. “They can’t be considering it? Not seriously?”
“They will decide what is best.” Her father struggled to speak the words.
Quiet Thunder sat still as a stone, as if a great hawk flew over their camp, ready to prey upon them. If the Four Great Leaders planned to speak of this, they must take it seriously. If not the request itself, then its implications. The whites preyed upon tribes in many ways. Cheated them in barters. Intruded upon lands promised to the Sioux nation. Forced herds of buffalo away with their wagon trains. Introduced liquor and guns to warriors, making them act like fools, robbing them of honor.
Her mother turned, her dark eyes sharp as an arrow. “Take your brother to the stream for water.”
Quiet Thunder rose. Her mother wanted them away while they talked of this news. What it meant for their family. Quiet Thunder was old enough to decide for herself, but not Running Wolf.
She went to the tipi for the skin buckets, then went through the camp to look for her brother. At every fire she passed, families appeared as stricken as her own parents while they talked of the white captain. Men stood in groups, their voices hot with anger. One said he’d heard Captain Pratt had taken many braves prisoner and taken them south, to a land called Florida. Quiet Thunder’s stomach churned to hear it. Maybe Pratt would take their young and lock them away.
She hastened her pace. Running Wolf ran at the edge of the encampment with about thirty other boys, all aiming their painted bats at a buckskin ball on the ground. Her brother whooped with joy as his team drove the ball down the field. She followed, hesitant to interrupt.
Black Bear fell into step with her. “Did you hear? The whites make a school for us.” From his tone, it might have been a joke.
Quiet Thunder knew the men had not made the request lightly. Her people could not brush it away like an annoying fly.
“Yes, my father said the Four Great Leaders are to consider it.” She stopped to face him. “I’m afraid. I saw those men riding toward us—”
“You have nothing to fear. I will protect you.” He gazed at her with warmth, but his words held no comfort—not today. He might try to shield her from harm, but if parents could not protect their own children, how could he protect her? The threat loomed larger than the sky.
She cast her gaze at the ground. “I must go fill the skin buckets.”
“I’ll help. Let Running Wolf finish his game.”
She followed him across the field and into the trees. The hush of the breeze through the leaves lifted her spirit. The twitter of birds flitting from branch to branch eased the sense of danger a little. Three girls from other tribes carried their full skin buckets toward the camp.
Quiet Thunder nodded as they approached.
All looked from Black Bear to her with wide eyes, and giggled after they’d passed.
He grinned. “They’ll gossip about us. Tell others I kissed you.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “But you didn’t.”
He grabbed her arm and tugged her behind a tree. “But I’m going to.”
Warmth washed over her as he pressed his lips to hers. She encircled her arms around his neck and clung to him. The world around them faded, and only she and Black Bear existed away from all else.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
She pressed her cheek to his. “I’m frightened of what may happen.”
He leaned away, his brow furrowed. “Why are you so worried? Do you not trust me?”
She met his gaze with strength. “I trust you with my life.” She spoke from her heart, but struggled to find a way to explain to him her fears were larger than the two of them. Out of anyone’s control.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Everything will be as I said.”
Not wanting to argue, she said, “Yes” as fervently as a prayer.
Black Bear crouched beside the stream to fill the buckets. “After the Sun Dance, I will fulfill my obligations to your father.” He met her gaze. “And we will be together.” He spoke it like a promise.
She forced a smile. With all her heart, she wanted to believe it. When she thought of the night they met, it seemed so far away, wrapped in a cloudy haze. The future seemed even more distant and cloudy, and the life they wanted seemed nothing more than a beautifu
l dream.
****
The sun shone strong as fire, a welcome warmth for their ceremony.
The sacredness of the ritual kept Black Bear from thinking of the whites. He went about his tasks solemnly. Unholy thoughts would tarnish the purity of the ceremony. Each time he passed the Sacred Tree in the center of the circle, he prayed to the Great Spirit for the boys who would offer their flesh in sacrifice.
The Wicasa Yatapickas gathered in one of the tipis outside the holy circle. Tribal heads entered the tipi to bring their people’s offenses before The Four Great Leaders for judgment. Many abandoned the usual gossip for talk of the white captain’s request.
Medicine men and dancers prepared in the tipis surrounding the circle. Wearing his best skins, Black Bear followed Yellow Bird into one of the tipis. When they emerged, they carried circular shields painted with buffalo heads. Two other dancers carried pipes to present to medicine men, keeper of the pipes.
Black Bear gave all his heart as he joined in the prayers of thanks to the Great Spirit. The Sioux nation asked for blessings of game and food for the coming winters. Although their tribe never stayed at any camp long enough to plant crops, women gathered berries, vegetables and nuts. Quiet Thunder’s mother, he knew, had taught her well in recognizing Mother Earth’s offerings. Taught her how to dry meat and mix it with bone marrow and tallow and berries to make pemmican when hunters could find no game. Her skills complemented his own, and they would not go hungry.
Each winter’s passing brought scarcer harvests. Men from other tribes spoke of the same increasing hardships. The wasichu said the school would be good for their children—teach them how to survive in a white man’s world, on a white man’s terms. If the Lakota want to outsmart the wasichu, how better than to learn their ways?
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