by tiffy
As she walked toward him, Eliseʹs mind filled with questions about the Osage.
ʺMy brother may have visited with these Indians. Could I inquire about him?ʺ
Santiago scowled. ʺDonʹt be foolish. One of the warriors might take a fancy to your white skin or all that long silky hair.ʺ Remembering what he had said about it decorating a scalp pole, she paled. ʺI could hide my hair beneath a scarf and smear myself with dust. In a baggy buckskin shirt, I could pretend I was a boy.ʺ
He inspected her delicate face and the seductive curves of her body. ʺThe Osage are sometimes savage, but theyʹre never stupid. No, youʹll be under my protection. Put on a dresssomething modest that a pioneer wife would wear.ʺ
ʺWife?ʺ Her voice broke on the hateful word.
His eyes dared her. ʺYes, wife. If you belong to me, there is less chance of trouble.ʺ
She refused to give him the satisfaction of asking the ramifications of this masquerade. ʺVery well, I shall don a dressprovided we need cross no rivers to reach their village.ʺ
There was no river to cross, but the village was situated on a steep bluff above a sizable stream. As they approached, Elise was struck by the imposing settlement.
Several rectangular buildings situated at the center of the village were around one hundred feet in length and their vaulted roofs about twenty feet high.
Between them, a crude sapling pole sported an American flag! Had Pike left it?
Elise said nothing but continued to study the village. Samuel may have been here!
All the lodges, great and small, were made of sapling pole frames covered with animal hides and woven reed matting. She could see women, naked from the waist up, toiling in weed‐infested gardens, harvesting corn, squash, and beans.
Some sat in front of their shelters working patiently at the grueling task of scraping bison hides stretched on wooden frames.
ʺThey have an orderly settlement,ʺ she said to Santiago as they rode through the neatly arranged rows of buildings, each with its own adjacent patch of garden.
ʺThe two large buildings at the center are the lodges of No Ears and Rich Man.
The Osage have two chiefs, elected by a council. After the summer hunts, the Osage return to harvest their crops. In the winter months, they trap beaver to sell to the Chouteaus, Lisa, and other traders.ʺ
ʺDo you buy from them?ʺ Obviously he knew these Indians and had been here before. Several men called out greetings and young women batted their eyes flirtatiously.
ʺOn several occasions I have, but mostly I prefer to avoid dealing with them.
Theyʹre not like my brotherʹs people.ʺ
ʺI thought you said he was Spanish and that he had died.ʺ
At once he regretted the foolish blunder of speaking so freely to this sharp‐witted female. ʺMy halfbrother Ignacio was Spanish. He is dead, but I have another halfbrother. We had the same father. His mother was Lipan Apache.ʺ
She would have asked more, but they drew up in front of the two large lodges of the head chiefs. One tall man stood awaiting them, his face impassive. Hideous stubs of skin were all that remained of his ears. Obviously, he was Chief No Ears!
She shuddered, imagining the savagery that created such disfigurement. The shorter, older man beside him, adorned from head to ankles with jewelry, must be Rich Man. In spite of the blistering heat, a heavy bear pelt decorated with feathers and shells was slung across one plump shoulder.
Santiago pulled ahead and dismounted in front of the chiefs, then signaled for the rest of his party to do likewise. He waited for the chiefs to begin the lengthy welcoming ceremony. Rich Man was quite a crowd pleaser, unlike the taciturn No Ears. His crafty black eyes watched as the villagers quit their chores and assembled around the visitors before he began to speak.
ʺAgain the White Apache, Red Eagle, honors the Osage with his presence.
Always he is welcome as a brother.ʺ Rich Man turned to Spybuck and continued his flowering oratory about the kinship with the great Creek Confederation across the Father of Waters.
After a quarter hour, during which she felt ready to faint with the heat, Elise was relieved when the formalities seemed to be over and the people began to disperse. As she watched Santiago to see what was expected of her, she felt a prickling creep up her spine. Turning, she saw the grotesque Chief No Ears, his tattooed body gleaming with sweat. He had circled around their little band and was studying her with intense interest.
Santiago, too, had noticed when the chiefʹs attention was caught by the white woman. No Ears was speaking with Brenden, damn his eyes! The lying Irishman had traded with the Osage before. He knew the chief, and he certainly had a score to settle with Santiago Quinn.
No Ears nodded gravely at Santiagoʹs approach. ʺI will give you three of my finest ponies for the woman, Red Eagle.ʺ
Quinnʹs green eyes narrowed on Brenden. In English he said, ʺWeʹll settle matters between us later.ʺ Then turning to the chief, he replied. ʺYou do me great honor to ask for the woman, but she is my wife. The custom among white men does not allow them to share their wives.ʺ He knew the Irishman had said otherwise to the chief, but his steely glance dared Brenden to call him a liar. The chief looked dubious and affronted. Ever since he had lost his ears when captured by the Kiowas as a youth, he had been sensitive about the disgrace they had inflicted on him. The slightest thing could set him off. ʹʹIf she is your wife, then you must send her to my lodge. My wives will make her welcome.ʺ
ʺAgain, the brave Chief of the Osage does me great honor.ʺ
Elise listened as the exchange continued in that unintelligible language. Her unease grew when she noted the smirk on Brendenʹs face and heard Santiagoʹs menacing words to the Irishman. Finally Santiago returned to her and took her arm possessively.
ʺDo exactly as I say,ʺ he said in English. ʺUntil we leave this village, you are to act the part of my wife. Tonight weʹll share a blanket in the lodge of Chief No Ears.ʺ
To her credit, Elise did not create a scene or voice her indignation, but Santiago knew she was furious.
ʺI suppose we have that snake Brenden to thank for this. Tell me, does sharing your blanket have more than symbolic significance?ʺ
His lips quirked in a grin in spite of their precarious situation. ʺIf you mean is it a choice between No Ears or me, it is. Iʹll do no more than lie beside you . . . unless the old leeher watches.ʺ
ʺWatches? You mean heʹll come into our sleeping quarters?ʺ she croaked.
ʺYou commented earlier on the size of the lodges. The chiefʹs household is large.
He married three sisters from the Elk Clan and has many children. They all sleep in that lodge, as do any guests he cares to invite.ʺ He could not resist adding, ʺI think itʹs a test.ʺ
She eyed him suspiciously. ʺJust how much acting do we have to do?ʺ ʺAfraid, Violet Eyes?ʺ He touched her cheek and smoothed back a wayward black curl from her temple.
ʺYou wonʹt have to deal with Brenden. Iʹll kill him myself!ʺ Elise hissed furiously.
Chapter Eleven
A gravely courteous woman of middle years approached Elise as Santiago steered her to the lodge of No Ears. Quinn introduced her as Talks With Fists, the chief wife. She bowed and gestured for Elise to follow her inside the large dwelling. Two other women watched her from the doorway, one impassively, but the younger one, a striking woman with ebony braids tied in coils at the sides of her head, glared with searing malice.
ʺThey will offer you food and perhaps the opportunity to rest before tonightʹs festivities,ʺ Santiago explained.
Elise looked into the dim interior of the big lodge with its tiny doors, then back at the hostile young woman. ʺI donʹt wish Talks with Fists to think me unappreciative of her hospitality, but since I canʹt communicate with her or her sisters, would it be possible to stay with you?ʺ
He smiled rakishly. ʺSo, even a scoundrel such as I is preferable to being left alone with a room full of Indian women. Shining Crow wonʹt harm you. It wou
ld be a breach of hospitality. Go and eat with them, then Iʹll return and show you about the village.ʺ
Elise knew arguing would be useless. Smiling at her hostesses, she followed them inside the lodge. It was an immense, single room, surprisingly clean and well ventilated, with four deep fire pits, each with its own smoke hole in the high roof. The walls were hung with elaborately woven reed mats, which were not only decorative but also covered with pictographs that recorded the martial glories of the clan. War implements, such as shields, guns, and bows were hung in order on one wall, while on the others hung farming tools, skinning knives, and cooking utensils. At each end of the hall sat woven chests and large leather pouches, intricately worked with the exquisite quills that also adorned Osage clothing.
Elise watched from the soft cushion of pelts where Talks With Fists had bade her rest, while the chief wife instructed her two younger sisters in preparing the midday repast. It consisted of a rich meat stew bubbling in an iron pot and a toothsome assortment of freshly gathered fruit and nutstart dark wild plums, sweet cherries, hazelnuts, and pecans. She ate with good appetite in spite of the baleful looks from the pretty young squaw Santiago had called Shining Crow.
Cawing Crow would better suit that one, she thought with a twitch of her lips as the young woman complained in a high whiny voice.
The Indian cradle boards she had seen when they first entered the village fascinated her. Elise watched several young girls, obviously daughters of the two elder wives, care for the smaller children. Although swaddled tightly against rigid wooden frames that allowed them little movement, the babies seemed bright‐eyed and alert as they were removed from the carriers. Shining Crow took one of the infants and put it to her tattooed breast. As she fed her child, she looked with scornful pride at the white woman.
Unused to such immodesty, Elise turned and studied the intricate basketwork being done by another girl. Altogether, more than a dozen women of various ages were working or caring for children in the lodge. The children themselves, once free of their cradle boards, were allowed to crawl about under supervision.
As if to make up for their earlier confinement, both males and females went completely naked until of a good age. Even then, the breechclouts of the men and leather aprons of the women were scanty enough covering.
Eliseʹs impression that Osage women were never idle was confirmed when Santiago returned several hours later and took her for a tour of the large village.
ʺThe women hoe and harvest the gardens. Do the men never help?ʺ she asked as she watched a slim young girl carrying a huge basket of squashes from a garden plot to one of the lodges.
ʺThe men hunt, go to war, and attend religious and ceremonial functions,ʺ he replied.
She snorted in disgust as she watched two girls scraping a stretched buffalo hide with sharp stone adzes while several older and stronger boys ran past them, playing a game of stick ball.
ʺThe various tribes of red men are as diverse as the white nations. I donʹt think you would consider the role of women in England similar to that of women in the Ottoman Empire. At least the Osage women keep their lodges if they divorce their husbands, or are divorced by them. Property resides with the female in most Indian societies.ʺ She looked at him with frank curiosity. ʺYou mentioned your half‐brotherʹs people. What are they like?ʺ
Her question took Santiago by surprise. He should not have mentioned his Lipan half‐brother. Night Wind was a fearless raider who freed Indian slaves from Spanish captivity. But the raider was also Joaquin Quinn, a rico with a prosperous ranch, living in a fertile, isolated valley outside Santa Fe. No one must ever know the half‐caste rancher and the feared raider were one and the same.
ʺMy brotherʹs people are Apache, but of a small subgroup called Lipan, horse Indians who ride onto the plains and hunt buffalo during the summer months, defying their ancient enemies. The Comanche drove all other Apache groups into the western mountains.ʺ
ʺThen they are different only because they defy the Comanche. Do they treat their women better than Ottoman Turks?ʺ she teased.
ʺPerhaps even better than the French.ʺ
Her first instinct was to recoil, but she immediately realized that he knew nothing of her marriage to Edouard. She listened as he continued, unaware of how his rejoinder had affected her.
ʺWomen among the Lipan not only own the property, but exercise great power.
Descent is through the motherʹs clan, not the fatherʹs. When a man marries, he moves to his wifeʹs lodge.ʺ
ʺOh, then they let their wifeʹs family support them.ʺ
ʺThe men donʹt idle about. Life on the plains and in the mountain ranges of New Mexico is harder than here. Everyone must contribute to the tribeʹs survival. Men assist with heavy chores such as gutting and skinning large game, lifting and turning the buffalo hides as the women work them, even cutting saplings when a new lodge is to be built. Perhaps most important of all, the men share child care with women.ʺ
She raised her eyebrows in amazement. ʺReally. In Virginia, most planters leave raising children to their wives. I always knew my father was most unusual. He spent a deal of time teaching me and my brother to swim, ride, and shoot, as well as personally overseeing our education.ʺ
ʺCertainly most fathers donʹt encourage your unladylike accomplishments, not the least of which is your formidable education.ʺ
She looked at him with an expression of irritation, trying to decide if he was baiting her or simply expressing the Spanish attitude of male superiority. ʺTell me, if you approve of Lipan women, why does it distress you to see an American woman of independence?ʺ
ʺIs that what you consider yourselfAmerican? Not French?ʺ
This time he had neatly turned the tables, answering a question with a question.
ʺMy mother was French, but I was born in Virginia. She left my father and my brother and took me to Paris when I was fourteen.ʺ
ʺAnd you never forgave her,ʺ he said softly, intuiting there was some deeper pain for which her mother was responsible.
His remark struck home. ʺNo, I never did,ʺ she replied quietly.
The great celebration that evening was a combination of banquet, religious ceremony and dance, but to Eliseʹs consternation and Santiagoʹs amusement, the festivities were only for men. The women waited on them, then ate the left‐over food. She stood in the shadows of the large central campfire, watching as the chiefs and their shaman passed a ceremonial pipe around a select circle, including Santiago. The renegade then made a lavish production out of dispensing gifts to the chiefsbolts of brightly colored cotton, ropes of glass beads, and other trinkets and tools.
As the ʺwifeʺ of the guest of honor, she had been allowed to sit behind Santiago and eat what he deigned to pass back to her. He had done it on purposeallowing her to taste of that delicious roasted meat, and then telling her it was skunk, a special delicacy of the Osage! She ate only corn cakes and fruit for the rest of the meal.
Soon it would be time to retire. Elise watched as the young men dancing in circles gradually slowed and dropped to the sidelines. Flutes, gourd rattles, and skin drums provided low, eerie music. The dancers and the older men sitting around the fire imbibed freely of the whiskey they had received from the Chouteaus.
As she watched some of the Osage stumble and others grow slack‐jawed with drink, she wondered how supposedly civilized men could justify the practice of selling ardent spirits to these simple people. Pure greed was part of it, but it went beyond that, she knew. The French and Spanish and now the Americans all had coveted the rich lands of the red men. By giving them whiskey, the whites hastened Indian destruction more surely than all the shot and powder on earth.
Such ponderous thoughts took her mind from her own immediate problem.
What would she do when Santiago came for her? She was completely at his mercy, surrounded by these savages who were his allies. What would the sleeping arrangements be like? She had seen nothing in No Earsʹ lodge to indicate how they made
up their accommodations, since all blankets were packed away during the day. How many people would sleep together when the men as well as the women entered the lodge?
Abruptly, Rich Man stood up and gave a signal with his right hand. The music stopped and everyone began to rise and file to their various dwellings. Elise watched as Santiago walked toward her. He was dressed in a fantastical buckskin outfit, tight breeches with elaborate quilled patterns and fringe down the sides. His chest was bare but for a narrow vest decorated in the same manner. All he required to look like a savage was a scalplock, she thought.
Her mouth went dry as he drew near, moving with the lithe grace that reminded her of a stalking panther. The dying firelight highlighted his shoulder‐length, curly reddish hair, held back by an elaborately beaded headband. His eyes glowed with a feral light. Small wonder they call him the White Apache.
Santiago touched the soft buckskin tunic she had been given by Talks With Fists.
Beautifully quilled, it was a handsome gift. With her hair braided and decorated with shell jewelry and her skin darkened by the sun, she looked stunning in the Osage costume. He picked up one gleaming ebony plait and said, ʺBut for those violet eyes, you could be a very beautiful Osage woman, a chief wife.ʺ He felt her stiffen and smiled. ʺCome, wife, itʹs past time to seek our blankets.ʺ He walked toward the lodge, hoping she would follow without protest.
Elise felt someone staring at them during the exchange that had just passed. She looked up and saw No Ears, whose black eyes were fastened speculatively on her. Without further hesitation, she followed Santiago into the lodge.
Sleeping arrangements were simple. Big thick pelts were piled in a haphazard fashion around the floor. The sleepers, husbands and wives or single persons and small children, covered with light blankets after stripping off their clothes with no more care than she would have shown in removing her opera cape! The fires were dying to faint coals in the warm August night. Talks With Fists exchanged a few words with Santiago, then gestured to a pallet she had made up for them in one corner of the lodge.