Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3

by Karen Kay

  Rebecca raised her chin. She asked, “Why would she welcome you home, and why should she feel friendly toward me?”

  Night Thunder’s glance went from one woman to the next, looking as perplexed as any male might when confronted with something he didn’t understand, and from two specimens of the female sex.

  Why? Rebecca wondered.

  He said, “She tries to make you feel comfortable. Do you not know who this is?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Should I?”

  Again, he gazed from one woman to the next, his look more than a little mystified—sheepish, even.

  What was going on here?

  Rebecca had little time to wonder, however, for Night Thunder did not waste any time in telling her, his voice more than a little subdued, as he said, “This is a woman whom I want to you come to know.”

  Rebecca raised her chin, premonition perhaps steeling her nerves as she heard Night Thunder finish, “This is Blue Raven Woman.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  So, the other woman was beautiful.

  Rebecca knew exactly why that particular piece of information upset her, and she didn’t like it. Not at all.

  She was jealous. That was all there was to it. Completely, utterly jealous.

  She was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to be in an Indian camp, sitting beside her husband’s “betrothed,” and she the “wife” of a man she could never actually marry. She smiled to herself at this last thought, thinking it would make little sense to the civilized world, yet it explained much here in the Indian encampment.

  Rebecca sat inside a tepee on this bright day. The lodge had been given to her by Night Thunder’s stepmother and aunts, and, she had been disheartened to learn, Blue Raven Woman’s female relatives, with Blue Raven Woman herself helping Rebecca to erect it.

  In truth, it was Blue Raven Woman who sat across from Rebecca this minute, chatting away at her happily in a tongue that Rebecca could barely understand. But it mattered little if she understood or not. She had no desire to learn what the other woman was saying.

  In due time, if only to quiet the other woman, Rebecca said, “Night Thunder told me about you.”

  But when she was met with nothing but a blank stare from the Indian girl, Rebecca decided to try the phrase in the Blackfoot language which Night Thunder had been striving to reach her. “N omohtitsiniko-o; k-wa kiistoyi,” she attempted.

  Blue Raven woman giggled softly.

  “What did I say? I wasn’t speaking it wrong, was I?”

  The Indian woman shook her head and responded, “Soka’pssiwa.”

  Soka’pssiwa? What did that mean? “He is good?” Rebecca thought so.

  She answered, “Aa, yes,” and was rewarded with what could have been considered a heartwarming grin, if Rebecca were so inclined to give the other woman quarter. Rebecca wasn’t.

  They both fell back into silence, Rebecca stealing a look at the other woman, under the cover of her lashes. Slim and well proportioned, Blue Raven Woman presented an image of all that might have been considered attractive about these people.

  Two long braids, fashioned behind her ears, fell down each side of Blue Raven Woman’s face and over her chest, the ends of them caught and held with beaded buckskin hair-ties. Pink shells hung from her ears and from around her neck. Her face and the part in her hair were both painted, and red dots, appearing like spots of rouge, brightened the young Indian’s cheeks.

  The woman’s everyday dress was unusual, too, consisting of sun and clay—bleached buckskin, which had been dyed yellow, the top half of it ornamented with paint, beads, and quills. A leather belt, brightly beaded and quilled, was tied around her waist, and on her feet she wore moccasins, again painted yellow and slightly beaded. She smelled of clean buckskin and fresh herbs and gave the appearance of being so light, her feet barely touched the ground.

  Good-natured, Blue Raven Woman never seemed strained to find something to smile about, either. To tell the truth, Rebecca had been astonished to discover the good-hearted cheer of most every woman she had so far met in camp, young and old. One would hardly know, from their constant and delightful prattle, that the rest of the world considered them slaves.

  She thought they would most likely laugh if she were to tell them so. Not that she would. Besides, she didn’t know the language well enough even to attempt what would have to be a lengthy conversation.

  She had heard about another kind of Indian woman, however, in stories of how women had personally tortured prisoners, about how they would tear the clothing off one’s back. Rebecca dreaded the day she would meet with such a one as that.

  In the meantime, she seemed doomed to have to bear the company of a woman who didn’t seem to comprehend that they were at best enemies.

  The two of them had been working over a piece of soft buckskin, tanned so well that it felt more like the touch of silk against her skin than that of an animal hide. For most of the morning, they had been fashioning the leather into some form of clothing for Night Thunder, Rebecca supposed.

  Not that she was being an extraordinary amount of help. Rebecca was having trouble sewing whatever article they were making, as she was unfamiliar with the Indian’s thread. Apparently, she was learning, one had to soak the string in one’s mouth in order to get it soft enough to work: soak, that is, everything but the tip of it, which was itself used much as she would have utilized a needle.

  Rebecca inhaled deeply and asked, in the Blackfoot tongue, “A’sipis…kayiiwa?” She hoped she was asking what kind of thread they were using.

  “Nitsstsinaa…sstsinaa,” Blue Raven Woman responded, and pointed to her back.

  Her back?

  Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Blue Raven Woman glanced around her, in the interior of the tepee, and spying something on the floor, pointed to it. A buffalo robe?

  Blue Raven Woman said, “Iinii.”

  Rebecca knew that word. It was “buffalo.” She repeated, “Iinii?”

  Blue Raven Woman nodded.

  What? They obtained their thread from buffalo?

  “Mo’kakiikin.” Again the young Indian woman pointed to her backside, obviously attempting to make herself understood. Then she formed the necessary signs for thread.

  Rebecca glanced down at the strand in her hand. What was this stuff that she was soaking in her mouth? She picked up the end of it, examining it. The thread was arid and brittle unless she put it in her mouth, at which time it turned soft and pliable. But it dried hard and became much more durable on clothing than cotton thread.

  Rebecca looked at the material this way and that, sniffing at the substance, holding it out and away from her.

  What the…then it came to her.

  This was…this was buffalo sinew!

  Rebecca dropped the piece of thread and, holding her stomach, stumbled to her feet. She felt sick.

  “Ikim?” Rebecca asked Blue Raven Woman. “Water?” She made a drinking sign.

  “Aa,” said the young woman and reaching around her, brought out a pouch holding the household water. She stood and offered it to Rebecca.

  Rebecca took a sip of the liquid, but it didn’t help. The pouch was made from some other part of the buffalo, and the water tasted worse than anything she had ever drunk. She choked.

  She had to get out of this place.

  But Blue Raven Woman only giggled at her, and reaching over toward her, started to pound her slightly on the back. Blue Raven Woman asked, “Ohkoimmohsit?”

  Rebecca nodded, not understanding the words, but grasping what the woman was saying nonetheless. “Aye,” she said, “I feel sick.”

  Again Blue Raven Woman chuckled, and Rebecca bristled. Was the other woman having fun at her expense? Was she trying to make Rebecca look silly?

  Rebecca jutted out her chin. Well, she’d soon show her.

  She threw back her head, glared at the other woman, and sat down again. Picking up the piece of sinew, after only
a moment’s hesitation, she shoved it back into her mouth. Her stomach threatened to be her undoing, but Rebecca did her best to ignore it, sending a vehement look up at the young Indian woman, who, still giggling, held her hand over her mouth.

  That did it. Rebecca forced herself to collect up the bone awl she’d been using as a means to punch holes into the buckskin, and pulling another face at Blue Raven Woman, sewed up that seam she’d been working so hard over all morning.

  Blue Raven Woman simply smiled.

  The next series of days seemed to pass in much the same manner. Night Thunder was gone for most of the day while Rebecca was on her own, although Blue Raven Woman had become her constant companion, sitting with her, chatting to her, following her everywhere.

  Rebecca never ventured too far from her new “home.” Too afraid to roam through the camp, Rebecca rarely saw anything outside the tepee, except on those few occasions when she needed to fetch water, and even then she would undertake the task early in the morning, when she felt sure she would not encounter another human being, except, of course, Blue Raven Woman.

  Amazingly, the young woman kept her well supplied with firewood, food, and water, which, Rebecca learned, was a wife’s duty to supply. Still, Rebecca could never bring herself to smile at the Indian girl nor acknowledge her unless given no choice.

  Rebecca had been in the camp for about five days now, and except for an occasional visit from one of Night Thunder’s sisters, Rebecca rarely saw other people. Of course, she could not bring herself to attend the tribe’s dances, feeling as she did like an outsider. Frightened that she might commit some faux pas, she declined to watch the tribal games, which she learned were numerous. Nor could she socialize with a people whom she struggled to understand.

  She was beginning to feel more and more like an outcast, although she had to admit, it seemed her own fault; no one treated her unjustly.

  But people here rarely talked to her. That is, except for Blue Raven Woman.

  The Indian girl sat across from her now, having arrived at Rebecca’s lodge early this morning, bringing with her more work to be done, this time in the form of another piece of soft buckskin. Another shirt for Night Thunder, most likely, Rebecca thought.

  Rebecca grimaced and stared down at her own clothing. The unsuitability of what she wore was becoming more and more noticeable. Sometime soon, she promised herself, when she returned to the fort, she would obtain some cloth and make herself a new dress. Sometime…

  But for now Blue Raven Woman held up the piece of buckskin, and handing Rebecca the tools of their trade—and awl and sinew—they began to work over the clothing.

  As usual, Blue Raven Woman kept up an amazingly cheerful monologue.

  “Niipoipoyit,” Blue Raven Woman said after a while, the article they were working over beginning to resemble a piece of clothing. She motioned to Rebecca to stand up.

  Rebecca, seeing no reason not to do as asked, stood, the young Indian woman following her up.

  “Yaamikskaapiksi.” Blue Raven Woman gestured toward her to turn around.

  Rebecca did.

  Then the strangest thing happened. Blue Raven Woman came right up to her, and holding out the article they had just sewn together, began to fit the thing onto her.

  Blue Raven Woman said, “Soka’piiwa, it is good.”

  It was only then that Rebecca began truly to understand. However, the knowledge left her dumbfounded.

  This piece of clothing was for her. Astounding, but true. Blue Raven Woman had helped her, was helping her even now, to sew a dress. For her own possession.

  Astonished, Rebecca spun around to face this woman, who had, for the past few days, dogged her every step. Rebecca looked upon this gentle being with “new eyes,” as the Indians would say. And what she saw there she would remember for the rest of her life.

  The young Indian woman looked back at her. The girl’s dark eyes were clear and filled with such kindness and good-heartedness that Rebecca’s throat constricted, so much so that she fought to hold onto her reserve.

  Rebecca could little understand Blue Raven Woman’s behavior.

  So far Rebecca had taken away the Indian girl’s fiancé, had relegated the woman to the position of second wife, had made her displeasure in the other woman’s presence quite well felt. And yet as Rebecca continued to gaze at the other woman, she could find no trace of resentment or cruelty on the girl’s countenance.

  In truth, what she saw within Blue Raven Woman’s regard touched some deep chord within her. Without willing it, her heart went out to this person.

  Had she been wrong? Had she been mistaken to judge this woman? These people?

  She had thought the Indians were stone-aged and simple, had been taught of their savagery, and had regarded them as little more than children. But now she was starting to realize that she had unknowingly passed judgment on an entire race of people without ever once trying to get to know them or understand them. And the truth was, the Indians were not savages, they were not cruel.

  How had their true nature become so maligned?

  Certainly, as with all peoples, there would be the exceptions, the troublemakers in a village, as with Strikes The Bear. Just as they were not the bulk of the citizenry within her own race, so too they were not the majority here.

  Rebecca tried to say something kindly, for a change, to this woman for whom she had so far shown nothing but disdain, but she could not remember the right Blackfoot phrases. So she did the best she could with a simple smile.

  Blue Raven Woman returned the gesture.

  They stared at one another in this way until Rebecca felt she must attempt to say something, and placing her hand upon the young girl’s shoulder, Rebecca began, “From this day forward, I will try my best to get along with you,” she said. “From this day forward, I will try to be…kinder to you. But please understand, I cannot share Night Thunder with you. That I will never do. But I promise you this: I will, from here on out, treat you with the sort of consideration that you deserve.”

  Blue Raven woman grinned back at her as though she’d understood each and every word. Then, the Indian girl moved both her hands down her face, as if she were combing her hair, and immediately followed that by holding two fingers up to her lips and moving them forward, “Insst.”

  Insst. What did the word mean? It had such a pretty ring to it.

  “Insst,” Rebecca repeated, and was startled to note the Indian girl’s face change, suddenly filling with emotion and…tears? From the simple action of Rebecca repeating that word?

  What had she said?

  She didn’t know, and she couldn’t ask, because just as quickly as she’d spoken, Blue Raven Woman turned, and on soft moccasined feet, fled the tepee so quickly, Rebecca could only stand and stare at the place where the woman had been.

  She had taken the buckskin with her, too, and Rebecca knew with certainty that tomorrow, the young Indian woman would present Rebecca with a new dress—a gift of fellowship and generosity from someone who should have been an enemy.

  But she wasn’t. Nor had she ever been.

  Rebecca felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes.

  It was all so very, very strange.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It is a good thing that you did, Blue Raven Woman. This stranger will need a family of her own in our camp: somewhere she can go, away from his relatives. In his home, they are always so close to her, listening to her, and she will have to be on her guard. It cannot be an easy life for one so different from us. It is right that you made her a part of our family, insst, your sister. Here, she can speak freely, laugh and express herself, without fear.”

  Blue Raven Woman nodded at her mother and gazed off to the other side of the lodge. “She has kind eyes, that one. My new sister will make Night Thunder a good sits-beside-him woman.”

  “And did you take her the new moccasins that we made for her?” her mother asked.

  “Saa, no,” said the young woman. “I w
ill take them to her tomorrow, when I will also offer her the new dress.”

  “Aa, yes,” said the older woman. “Soka’piiwa, it is good.”

  The two fell into a companionable silence. In due time, however, Blue Raven Woman said, “She is the one from my dream.”

  “Kyai-yo!” The elder woman quickly raised her hand over her mouth. “You speak true?”

  “Aa, yes, my mother. I saw a hawk fly by me that day, which turned into a woman with eyes like those of a mountain lion and hair the color of yellow at sunset, and then the image just as quickly changed into the figure of Night Thunder.”

  “Kyai-yo! We did not believe you.”

  Blue Raven Woman shrugged. “I did not believe it myself. But here she is, and now I think it was a vision that Sun gave to me. What do you suppose it means?”

  “I know not what it means. But I will ask your father and he will give a pony to our medicine man that he might interpret the dream.”

  Blue Raven Woman nodded. It was as it should be.

  She felt suddenly at peace, knowing that as soon as she learned what it was Sun was telling her, she would do everything she could to live up to her duty, even if it meant that she would have to become a second wife.

  But she couldn’t help holding onto the hope that whatever her vision, she would not have to risk the love of her life, Singing Bull. Fervently she sent a prayer to Sun, promising that if he would shine upon her this one favor, she would gladly sacrifice a part of herself to him.

  And as a special offering, to show her good intention, she broke off a bit of meat and left it on the family altar.

  It had been a week since Night Thunder had brought her to this camp: a week since she and the handsome Indian had spent much time alone. A week during which she’d had no one to talk to, expect for the company of women. Rebecca remembered Night Thunder telling her that once in the camp, he would be unable to spend much time with her, but she hadn’t realized how difficult the reality of that would be. She had to admit, though, that being forced to communicate with these people, was, perhaps, the best thing that could have happened to her, at least as far as the language was concerned. She was learning it well.