He gazed at Shoshana again. Ho, her absence would cause the wooden-legged man much distress.
When Shoshana knew of Storm’s plans to take vengeance against George Whaley, how would she react? Would she care?
He ran a finger softly across her lips. They were made to be kissed. She was born to be loved, and not by pindah-lickoyee, but by an Apache!
He knew that even if it stopped raining soon, he should not move Shoshana until tomorrow. He must give the mountain pass time to dry, otherwise it would be too slippery for travel, and there was always the chance of a mud slide.
Yes, he would take Shoshana then, and she would be well soon.
Ah, finally he had found a woman who made him want more than to be the protector of his people. With every beat of his heart he wanted to protect Shoshana.
She had been apart from her true people long enough.
He wondered about Shoshana’s Apache mother. Could she have survived that ambush even as Shoshana’s dreams had revealed to her? Might she even be among the older women at his own stronghold? Had her mother been among those who had been found wandering alone through the years and brought to safety to live among his people?
If so, and Shoshana could find her among the many older women, would Shoshana be content to remain with him? Would she be happy to live with her mother again, and allow him to court her?
“I will make it so,” he whispered.
Smiling, he stretched out on a blanket beside Shoshana.
He was still smiling when he drifted off to sleep, Shoshana’s beautiful face and sweet voice filling his dreams.
He awakened with a start when his sister’s face came to him in his dreams, and he remembered the warnings she had given him about the woman he would meet.
He gazed at Shoshana. Was this the woman of his sister’s dreams?
If so, what did they truly mean?
Chapter Fourteen
To lose thee were to lose myself.
—John Milton
The next morning, after Storm felt that it was dry enough along the mountain pass, he left the cave with Shoshana, again holding her on the horse with him. She was still too dizzy and sleepy to ride by herself.
Storm gazed down at her, snuggled contentedly against his chest. It was as though she belonged there. He felt attached to her even though he knew that when she was awake and able to understand that she was no longer free to leave his stronghold when she wanted to, she would probably hate him.
When the stronghold was only a short distance away, Storm sent up a signal of his nearness, imitating the howl of a coyote.
The same type of howl came to him in response; his sentries were aware that their chief, not an enemy, was approaching.
He had to smile when he heard a small howl come from the bag at the side of his horse; the gray wolf pup had heard the mock coyote sounds.
“You are aware, that is good,” Storm said, reaching to flip back the cover so that the pup could see things around him.
Up until now, he had mostly slept.
The pup’s blue eyes gazed trustingly up at Storm; then the tiny thing gave what sounded like a bark.
“You soon will be at my stronghold and fed something nourishing,” Storm said, reaching a hand to the wolf’s gray, wiry fur and stroking it. “Gray Wolf, when you are fully grown and have the strength of an adult, you will be sent out to find those who are kin to you. You will mate one day, Gray Wolf.”
The sound of an approaching horse drew Storm’s attention from the wolf. He smiled and waved when he saw one of his favored warriors riding toward him.
Four Wings returned the wave, then drew rein beside Storm. He looked questioningly at the woman, and the wolf pup.
“I will explain later how I have the woman with me, and the pup,” Storm said calmly. “Ride ahead, Four Wings, and alert White Moon that I am bringing an injured woman to him. Tell him that the woman received a hard blow to her brow and she cannot stay awake for any long period of time.”
“I shall do this for you,” Four Wings replied. He wheeled his horse around and rode back in the direction of the stronghold.
Storm made his way through a canyon, a rough, rocky, and very dangerous defile, and then arrived at his stronghold, where there were a mixture of homes built for his people.
There were many tepees made of buffalo skins tanned white.
There were also some circular wickiups, built from saplings and brush. Ordinarily four or five of these shelters were built in close proximity to each other.
“Storm!”
Storm saw his sister leave her tepee and run toward him. She stopped abruptly when she noticed the woman on his horse with him. She stood stiffly as Storm rode onward, then drew rein beside her.
When Dancing Willow saw the face of the woman, she gasped, then looked questioningly up at Storm. “This is the very ish-tia-nay that I have seen in the stars . . . in my dreams and visions,” she said ominously. “This is the woman that I warned you about, Storm.”
Dancing Willow folded her arms angrily across her chest as she glowered up at Storm. “You have just brought trouble into our people’s lives by bringing this woman here,” she scolded. “Why did you bring her? Did you not recall my warning?”
“I found this woman being held prisoner,” Storm said, his eyes meeting and locking with his sister’s. “While her captor, Mountain Jack, was gone, I released her. It was my decision to bring her to our stronghold. She will bring satisfaction into my life, not trouble to our people.”
“Satisfaction?” Dancing Willow said, her dark eyes widening. She ignored the people mulling around them, watching and listening. “It is not like you to think of . . . ‘satisfaction’ . . . instead of what is right for our band.”
Knowing what must be said to make his sister understand, yet not wanting Shoshana to hear their dialogue, he gazed down at Shoshana.
He studied her eyes to see whether there was movement behind the closed lids. When he saw no signs of movement, Storm felt that it was safe to speak freely.
His sister had one trait that rankled him more often than not. Although he was a proud chief, his older sister had a tendency to speak up and argue when she should only listen.
He had forgiven her this weakness, for she had never done anything to hurt him, although sometimes she had embarrassed him. She did seem to forget that he was chief, and she only a sister!
In time surely she would realize that it was best not to enter into these arguments with him, especially while their people were listening.
“You misinterpret the word ‘satisfaction’ and how I use it today,” Storm said, keeping his voice as quiet as possible since he did not want Shoshana to awaken at this moment.
He tried to control the anger that was rising within him at the way his sister openly questioned him.
“I do not care how I misinterpreted anything,” Dancing Willow snapped back at him, then realized that she was treading on thin ice with her brother by questioning him in front of their people.
“My chief, my big brother,” she said more softly and respectfully. “It does not matter who this woman is, or why you feel the need to bring her to our stronghold. You must take her away while she is still unconscious and is not aware of where our stronghold is.”
“Big sister, do you not want the same vengeance that I want, the vengeance we have talked about so often since the deaths of our parents and people?” Storm said, controlling his anger and frustration. “When she was only five winters of age, this woman was taken from her people and raised by the wooden-legged man who brought so much sadness and heartache to our people those many moons ago. Our very own father shot an arrow into this white man’s leg. By taking this woman whom the wooden-legged man has raised as a daughter, we will be shooting an arrow into his heart. We must keep her at the stronghold. We must deny this man the opportunity to ever see or hold this woman again!”
“But, brother—”
“Listen and do not question what I have
done and plan to do,” Storm said tightly. “This woman is here to stay. Finally, you and I, and our people as well, will achieve a measure of vengeance. I would rather do this than kill the wooden-legged man. It will be good that he suffers, alive. Death comes too quickly and ends sufferings, especially sufferings of the heart. And if I should kill George Whaley, who was once a powerful colonel, it would anger the United States Government so much, those in charge would send out the cavalry to search until they finally found our stronghold. We would all be doomed then. Under my plan, the colonel will be made to pay for the wrongs done to our people. He will never know if his daughter is alive or dead. That alone will make his heart ache as it has probably never ached before.”
He smiled cunningly at his sister. “But best of all, George Whaley will never know whom to blame,” he said. “It is enough for me just to know that I have done something to inflict pain on him. It is not important to me that he should know who caused it.”
“Storm, I will say just one more thing and then I will be silent about what you have done,” Dancing Willow said. “Vengeance should be the last thing on my mind or yours. You are a peaceful man. You have always protected our people from misfortune. They have suffered enough at the hands of the pindah-lickoyee. Please, brother, if you must keep this ish-tianay, let us leave even now for Canada with our people while the white-eyes are not aware of our stronghold. But I say, leave the woman here for them to find. She has lived as a white-eye. She does not deserve to live among we Apache!”
In truth, Dancing Willow could not help feeling jealous about her brother’s obvious feelings for this woman whom he held so gently in his arms.
She could tell that Storm did not see this woman as a captive. He saw her as a beautiful woman.
It was in his eyes as he looked at her. It was in his voice as he talked about her.
Dancing Willow had been the most important woman in his life since the death of their mother. She would be less important if another woman crowded her way into their family. He would no longer come to Dancing Willow for suggestions . . . for advice; instead he would go to the other woman.
Dancing Willow must find a way to discourage him.
“Brother, you have always stood for good, not bad,” Dancing Willow said. “Forget the evils of the past. Forget your hunger for vengeance. If you continue down this road that you have begun to travel today . . . this road to vengeance . . . then you will become bad, yourself.”
She saw how his eyes narrowed angrily, and how his lips pursed tightly as he glared at her. And she understood. But although she had promised not to say anything else, she could not get past her uneasiness and jealousy over this woman.
“Enough, enough,” Storm said, then looked past his sister toward Four Wings, who was dismounting nearby. “Four Wings, come and help me with the woman.”
Dancing Willow stepped aside, bitter that her brother wouldn’t listen to reason and see the evil that this ish-tia-nay would bring into all of their lives.
An Apache-born woman who lived the life of a white woman could never mix among the Apache again as one of them. That this woman had come to their stronghold as a captive made no difference to Dancing Willow. She knew by her brother’s behavior that she would not remain captive for long.
Gradually, he would bring the woman into their lives. Eventually, he might even marry her.
That would be the worst of all evils, as far as Dancing Willow was concerned. She had to find a way to put a halt to all of this.
Four Wings took Shoshana in his arms as Storm lifted her down to him.
Then Storm dismounted and handed his reins to a young brave. “As you see,” he told the boy, “there is a young wolf pup on the side of my horse in my bag,” he said. “Take him home with you. He will be hungry. Feed him. I call him by the name Gray Wolf.”
“I will care for Gray Wolf for you,” the young brave said, smiling at Storm. Then he walked away with the horse toward Storm’s personal corral at the back of his lodge.
“I will take Shoshana now,” Storm said as he held his arms out for her. “Thank you, Four Wings. Now go for White Moon. Send him to me.”
Four Wings nodded and walked briskly away. All others turned and went their separate ways to their own lodges.
Dancing Willow still stood watching as her brother carried the woman into his large tepee; then she turned and stamped away to her own dwelling. She sat down before her fire and began softly chanting, her dark eyes gleaming in the fire’s glow. “She is bad,” she whispered over and over again. “She . . . is . . . evil. . . .”
As soon as the women of the village had been warned that he was about to return, a fire had been lit in Storm’s firepit in the center of the floor. He placed Shoshana gently on a pallet of furs beside the fire that he used at night for sleeping.
He knelt beside her and slowly ran a hand along her lips, and then gently touched her cheek. “You are more beautiful than all the stars in the heaven,” he whispered. “How can I be anything but good to you? Yet . . . you are here for a purpose other than what I would want you for. I must remember that.”
“My chief, I have come to offer my medicine,” White Moon said as he came into the lodge, wearing his artistically ornamented medicine shirt of buckskin. It was decorated with various designs symbolic of the sun, the moon, the stars, rainbows, and clouds.
Next to the chief, the medicine man was the most powerful and influential member of their band.
“Come,” Storm said, nodding. “I shall sit on the other side of the fire as you care for Shoshana.”
“Her name is Shoshana?” White Moon asked, sinking to his knees beside her.
“She is Shoshana of our Apache tribe, but not of our band,” Storm said. “She was taken long ago by whites and raised as one of them. She has returned to her homeland to search out her true Apache heritage, but she had not planned to stay. It is my decision that she will.”
“I heard you and Dancing Willow from my lodge,” White Moon said as he burned sweet grass over Storm’s lodge fire, then cleansed his hands in the smoke.
He leaned closer to Shoshana and placed his hands on her wound. “I have seen you and your sister disagree before, but this time your differences seem worse,” White Moon said as he took from his bag some hoddentin, a powder made of the tule plant. He took only a pinch of it and sprinkled it across Shoshana’s wound.
“Yes, like many a brother and sister, we do argue,” Storm said, nodding. “Especially on this matter, my sister does not agree with her brother.”
“All who know you, even your sister, know that you do not take any action without thinking it through thoroughly,” White Moon said.
He took more of the same plant and others from his bag and mixed them with water in a small pot that he placed over the fire.
He found this plant often as it grew along creeks. It was used in every medicine he made. He could not make medicine without it. It was like a grass. It had no flowers, but a root like a small carrot, and it was the root that he used for his medicines.
Now, after the mixture in the pot grew thick and warm, he began slowly drizzling it into Shoshana’s mouth from a narrow wooden spoon.
At first she choked on the mixture, then began to swallow it freely.
White Moon fed it all to her slowly, then replaced his things in his bag and gazed at Storm.
“She will be well soon,” he said. “And so will the feelings between yourself and your sister. Your love for one another is strong enough to sustain any hurts caused by loose-tongued words.”
“Yes, I know,” Storm said. “Thank you for your wisdom and medicine.”
White Moon rose slowly to his feet, hung his bag across his left shoulder, then left the lodge.
Storm continued to watch Shoshana, hoping she would awaken soon. He would like to know more about her . . . about her Apache band . . . especially about her mother.
“Perhaps I can help you, pretty woman,” he whispered. “But you must awaken. Plea
se . . . awaken.”
Chapter Fifteen
Let us hope the future
Will share with thee my sorrows,
And thou thy joys with me.
—Charles Jeffreys
George Whaley glared at the flames of a newly built fire where a rabbit cooked on a spit and coffee brewed in a cup in the hot coals. He cursed the one who had taken his daughter, placing him in this terrible position out in the middle of nowhere, where first one minute he was sitting comfortably beside a roaring campfire beneath the moonlight, then the next soaked to the bone by a sudden storm.
This storm had not only made things uncomfortable for everyone, but had delayed the search for Shoshana.
Everyone’s clothes were finally dried, and after they shared a morning meal of cooked rabbit and hot tin cups of coffee, they would move onward.
Several complained that this was a waste of time, that they should turn back. There had been no sign of Shoshana anywhere.
But George would not give up yet. There was one thing that might change his mind, though. His “invisible” leg, the amputated part below his right knee, ached unmercifully as though it were still there.
During damp weather, George’s pain worsened, and after his thorough soaking the night before, the pain was almost unbearable.
He would never understand this mysterious pain. There was nothing there to hurt. There was only a piece of wood where his flesh had once been.
But the pain was real enough. At this very moment, the ache felt like icy stabs going up his leg.
Because of this pain, George was beginning to doubt whether he could continue the search. If he was in such pain after just one night on the trail, how would he feel once they climbed to higher elevations, and then had the entire journey to make back down on their return to the fort?
“Damn bad,” he whispered to himself.
Yes, his misery was real enough, and it was doubled because he missed Shoshana so much and was so concerned about her welfare. Anyone who would kill a young soldier and scalp him in such a way had no heart.
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