Winter Rain shook her head. Why didn’t she remember? Ten years was a long time but even so, she should be able to remember something. Had the attack been so awful she had somehow blocked it from her mind? Perhaps, at first, she had hated living with her wasichu parents and that was why she could not recall her past.
“I welcomed you into our lodge,” Mountain Sage said. “You have been my daughter ever since that day.”
Wordlessly, Winter Rain rose to her feet and left the lodge. Standing outside, she looked around the village. There was old Three Crows nodding in the shade. Children and dogs chased each other through the camp. A group of little girls were playing with dolls. In the distance, she saw a handful of elders watching a group of young boys shoot arrows at a target. The horse herd grazed across the river. Women were caring for their children, tanning hides, drying meat, laughing together as they watched White Doe’s baby take its first steps. Men were gambling, or dozing in the sun, or repairing their weapons. They were sights she had seen a hundred times, a thousand, and yet, on this day, she felt as though she were seeing it all for the first time.
With a shake of her head, she walked down to the river, nodding to those who called her name.
At the water’s edge, she walked along the shore until she came to her favorite place and then she dropped down to her hands and knees and studied her reflection. Wolf Shadow had said she looked like her mother. Her wasichu mother.
Leaning forward, she stirred the water with her hand, shattering her reflection.
Who was she? If she was not the daughter of Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, then who was she? Would Strong Elk still wish to marry her if he knew she was not Lakota? But he must know. Everyone must know. Why had no one ever told her she was different?
With a toss of her head, she stood up. She might have the blood of the wasichu in her veins, but she was Lakota in her heart and soul. Nothing could change that. She belonged here, with Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, and here she would stay.
Smiling, she turned away from the river’s edge and came face to face with Wolf Shadow.
“So,” he said, “we meet again.”
Her smile faded and her heart began to beat faster. “Are you following me?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.
“Why not?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Lakota men often follow pretty women to the river in hopes of catching them alone.” And she was pretty, with her sky blue eyes and pouty pink lips. And her hair…it fell to her waist like a mantle of dark brown silk.
“Why would you want to be alone with me?” she asked suspiciously. “You do not even know me.”
“Maybe I would like to know you better.” He had a sudden image of her lying on top of him in his lodge, her hair tickling his skin. He swore under his breath. Where had that come from?
She stared up at him, stunned by his words. “I…that is…Strong Elk and I…we are…”
He frowned, and then nodded. “He is courting you.”
“Yes,” she said proudly. “He will bring horses to my father one day soon, and we will be married.”
Chance muttered a short, pithy oath. That complicated matters. He would never get her away from here once she was married. Somehow, he had to woo her away from the People, and away from Strong Elk.
His gaze moved over her. Wooing her wouldn’t be any trouble at all.
* * * * *
Later that night, long after Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance were asleep, Winter Rain lay awake under her sleeping robe, her thoughts troubled. Strong Elk had come courting that evening. They had stood side by side under his courting blanket, but it had been Wolf Shadow who had been in her thoughts. Strong Elk had told her of his plans to go hunting. There were two types of hunts: the wani-sapa, which was a tribal hunt and was shrouded in custom and ritual, and tate, which was a family hunt undertaken whenever a warrior wished to add to his food supply. This time, Strong Elk was going with his two best friends, Two Beavers and Pony Boy. They were leaving in the morning. She had nodded, all the while wondering where Wolf Shadow was and what he was doing.
Now, listening to the sweet notes of Strong Elk’s siyotanka, Winter Rain found herself again thinking of Wolf Shadow. What was there about him that he occupied so much of her thoughts? He was tall and handsome, yes, but so was Strong Elk. Wolf Shadow wanted only to take her away from here; Strong Elk wanted to make her his wife. He was a brave warrior and hunter; he would make her a good husband.
Clinging to that thought, she turned on her side and pillowed her cheek on her hand. The music faded and she closed her eyes, seeking sleep. Instead, she found herself trying to remember her life among the wasichu. Had she been happy there? Why couldn’t she remember anything of her life before she came to this place?
Why couldn’t she put Wolf Shadow out of her mind?
Chance sat in front of Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s lodge. Overhead, a quarter moon hung low in the sky. Everyone else in the village had gone to bed long ago but sleep eluded him. His thoughts turned briefly to the ranch but he had nothing to worry about. His cowhands were competent and loyal; his foreman knew as much about running the place as Chance did.
The bittersweet notes of a courting flute were borne to him on the night wind. Hearing it brought Winter Rain to mind. He had nothing to worry about at home, he mused with a shake of his head. But the woman…she worried him. She was too young, too pretty, too tempting.
He cocked his head to the side, listening to the music of the flute. Was it Strong Elk sitting out there in the dark, pouring out his heart in the haunting melody that filled the air? Was Winter Rain lying inside her mother’s lodge, smiling a secret smile?
He cursed softly. The girl’s happiness meant nothing to him. Once he returned Winter Rain to her rightful parents, she could stay in San Francisco and live a life of ease, or she could run back here and marry Strong Elk. Either way, he would have the money he needed to pay off the loan at the bank. Nothing else mattered.
He swore softly as a muscle twitched in his back. One other thing mattered, he thought bitterly. Finding the last of the men who had raped and killed his mother. Hands clenched, he let himself remember that day. Rage and pain flowed through him like a flashflood, stirring up old hurts, old memories, washing the dust of years off the horror that was never far from his mind…
It was a summer he would never forget. He had been sixteen at the time, old enough to be considered a man by the People. His mother, Summer Moon, had expressed a desire to go and visit her cousin, who lived with the Cheyenne. Chance’s father had been away from the village, attending to ranch business at the time, so Chance had volunteered to accompany his mother.
Chance and his mother had been a day’s journey from the Cheyenne village when the white men found them. Four white men who had been Army deserters, though Chance hadn’t realized that at the time. He had known they meant trouble, though. He had known it from the moment the wasichu rode up to their campfire just after dusk. Too late, he had reached for his bow. One of the men had struck him over the head with a rifle butt. Stunned, Chance had dropped to the ground. One of the men tossed his bow into the fire. Chance had tried to fight them while they tied his hands and feet, but he had been no match for four men. His head had throbbed so badly it was hard to think, hard to focus.
He had watched the men surround his mother. She had screamed in defiance and fear, her fists and feet flailing as they reached for her. One of the men struck her hard across the face. She stumbled backward and they were on her like wolves after a wounded doe. In the wavering light of the fire, the scene had looked like a horrible nightmare. Three of the men had wrestled his mother down to the ground and held her there while the fourth unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers.
Chance had felt the bitter taste of bile rise in his throat as he realized what they were doing to her. He had tugged against the rope that bound his wrists, hardly aware of the pain as the rough hemp
cut into his skin.
The sounds of his mother’s cries and the grunts and lewd remarks of the four men spurred him on. In desperation, he struggled harder against his bonds. Blood oozed from his lacerated skin, trickled down the side of his neck from the gash in the back of his head.
The fourth man was lowering himself over Summer Moon by the time Chance managed to free his hands and feet. Crawling snakelike across the ground, he had grabbed a knife that one of the men had left stuck in a log. Clutching the weapon in his fist, Chance rose to his knees and sprang at the nearest wasichu. Grabbing a fistful of the man’s greasy hair, he had pulled his head back and slit his throat.
Blood gushed from the wound and sprayed over the other three. They scrambled to their feet, cursing viciously. One of them pulled a gun and aimed it at Summer Moon.
“Drop the knife!” the man hissed. “Drop it or she’s dead.”
Chance believed him. As soon as he dropped the knife, two of the men had grabbed him and tied him to a tree. And then they had taken turns whipping him until his back was a bloody mess and he was unconscious.
When he came to, his mother was on her knees behind him, fumbling with the rope. She managed to loosen the knots enough so that he could free himself, and then she fainted.
Tears had blurred his eyes as he knelt at her side. She had put up a fight when they raped her and the white men had not been gentle with her. Her face was swollen from their blows, one eye was black, there was a cut on one cheek.
“Ina.”
She groaned softly as he gathered her into his arms.
“Cinks.” With an effort, she lifted one hand and stroked his cheek and then her hand fell weakly to her side and she closed her eyes.
He had looked at her helplessly, at the dark red blood that stained her thighs, at the bruises that marred her body. They had hurt her badly. Her breathing was shallow, as if every breath she drew caused her pain.
He had to get her back to the village, he thought frantically, but he had been afraid to move her, afraid to leave her here, unprotected, while he went for help. Their horses and supplies had been stolen by the wasichu. He was badly hurt. There was no way he could carry her back to the village.
“Ina, what should I do?”
Her eyelids fluttered open and she shook her head. “There is…nothing…to be done.”
The finality of her words chilled him to the marrow of his bones.
She was shivering now. He glanced around, looking for something to cover her with, but there was nothing. As gently as he could, he moved her closer to the fire. He left her for a moment to gather more wood, then knelt beside her once more. It was then, in the light of the flames, that he saw the blood leaking from a wound in her side. When had they stabbed her? Not while they were raping her. He would have seen them, would have heard her cry out. It could only have happened while they were whipping him, he thought. Hurt and weak as she had been, she must have tried to stop them and they had stabbed her for it.
He closed his eyes as an agony of guilt and regret washed through him. He bent over her, wanting to hold her but afraid to cause her more pain. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Ina, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
“Take care…of your father,” she whispered. “You are all he has…now.”
Chance had nodded, unmindful of the tears that dripped down his cheeks, the blood that dripped like thick red rain down his lacerated back. He was cold inside. So cold. The fire did nothing to warm him.
Toward dawn, she had reached for him. As gently as he could, he cradled her in his arms, hardly aware of the pain of his own wounds.
Her breathing grew labored. Gasping for every breath, she whispered, “Be happy…my son.” A moment later, her breathing stilled, and he knew she was dead.
He had held her close until the sun cleared the horizon, and then he had found a sturdy piece of wood and dug her grave. Every movement had sent fresh slivers of agony burning through his back.
He had buried her, then covered the grave with rocks to keep the scavengers away. Standing there, he had raised his arms over his head as he prayed for Wakan Tanka to take his mother safely along the spirit path to the Land of Many Lodges.
“I will avenge you, my mother. By my blood, I swear it!”
Kneeling beside her grave, he had smeared some of his own blood on one of the rocks, and then he had passed out.
When he regained consciousness, he was in the lodge of his mother’s cousin. They had nursed him back to health. When he had been strong enough to ride, they had given him a horse and food for his journey, and sent him on his way.
He would have gone after the men who had killed his mother as soon as he was able, but the news of what had happened to Summer Moon hit his father hard. Luke McCloud had lost interest in the ranch, in his son, and in everything else. From time to time, he drank himself into a stupor, and when he sobered up, it was like the news of her death hit him all over again.
When his old man finally recovered enough that he could be left alone, Chance had gone in search of the men who had killed his mother. He had found two of them and now only one remained. Jack Finch.
As soon as he returned Winter Rain to her parents and paid off the loan at the bank, he would try yet again to find the last man even though he knew that, after so many years, the odds of finding his quarry were slim.
Hands clenched, he stared into the darkness. “I will yet avenge you, my mother,” he whispered fervently.
And in the stillness of the night, he heard his words echo on the voice of the wind.
Chapter Five
In the days that followed, Winter Rain had little time to miss Strong Elk, who had gone hunting, as planned, with Two Beavers and Pony Boy. Every time she turned around, it seemed that Wolf Shadow was there. She met him on the trail when she went to gather wood. She met him by the river when she went to fill her waterskin. When she went in search of wild onions or berries with the other maidens or with her mother, he managed to seek her out.
His presence was disconcerting. She was going to marry Strong Elk. Everyone in the village knew it. Why, then, did she find herself looking for Wolf Shadow as soon as she left her lodge? Why was it his face that invaded her dreams, his voice that echoed in her mind?
He was constantly in her thoughts. When they were apart, she told herself he could not be as handsome or as exciting as she remembered; then, when she saw him again, he was more handsome, more exciting. More desirable than ever.
This morning was no different. She awoke from dreaming of him to wondering if he was awake. Rising, she judged the time and then, with a word to her mother, she picked up a clean tunic and went down to her favorite place to bathe, knowing that it was his favorite place as well, hoping, to her shame, that she would find him there. And she had. Seeing him, she had quickly ducked behind a tree, content to admire him from afar.
He was in the water, his back to her as it had been the first time she had seen him. Once again, she felt a quiver of excitement deep within her, felt her cheeks grow warm, felt herself smile at the sheer beauty of him, a perfection that was marred only by the hideous scars on his back. She wondered again who had whipped him so cruelly, and why.
“You could join me.”
His voice startled her out of her reverie. How had he known she was there? She hadn’t made a sound.
“You could wash my back for me,” he said. “And I could wash yours.”
The image of his hands moving over her body sent a flood of heat through every fiber of her being. Her mouth went dry, making a reply impossible. She stared at his broad shoulders, imagining her hands gliding over his skin, and her mouth went drier still.
Like a mouse trapped by the gaze of a coyote, she couldn’t move, could only stand there as he slowly turned toward the shore. She was certain he could hear the rapid beating of her heart.
“You might as well come out,” he said. “I know you’re there.”
On legs that felt as heavy as tree trunks, she walke
d down to the water’s edge.
He looked up at her, his gaze warmer than the heat of the sun on her back. “Sure you won’t join me?”
The thought was far too tempting. He was far too tempting. Why did she find him so exciting? He was just a man like any other, but even as the words crossed her mind, she knew they were a lie. There was something about this man, something in the deep sadness in his eyes that called to her in ways she did not understand.
He took a step toward the shore, and then another.
She stood her ground until the last moment, then quickly turned her back to him. She had seen naked boys and even men from time to time, had laughed with Dawn Song about it. But she knew on some deeper level that seeing Wolf Shadow naked would not be cause for amusement.
She heard the swish of water as he moved through it. All her senses came swiftly to life as she imagined him standing naked behind her. Close enough to touch.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of cloth being pulled over damp flesh.
“What brings you down here so early?” he asked. “Could it be you hoped to find me here?”
“Of course not! I always come here in the morning to bathe. This is my place and you know it.”
Suddenly angry, she whirled around to find him grinning at her.
She was surprised to realize that a little part of her, way down deep inside, was disappointed that he was fully clothed. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had the feeling that he knew it, too.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll try to get here earlier.” His gaze moved over her, as intimate as a caress. “Or maybe I’ll come a little later and see what I can see.”
The idea of having him watch her while she bathed made her blush from head to foot.
“One of these days,” he predicted, “one of these days, I’ll ask you to bathe with me and you won’t refuse.”
Before she could think of a suitable reply, he was gone.
Winter Rain wasn’t sure how she got through the rest of the day. She helped her mother clean the lodge and prepare the meals, but at the end of the day, she had no clear memory of doing so. Dawn Song came to visit but later, Winter Rain could not recall what they talked about.
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