White Dusk

by Susan Edwards

  Small Bird’s soft voice drew him back from his dark thoughts. “It is an honor to marry a man held in such high esteem throughout our land.”

  “Honor, or lack of such, is why this marriage will take place.” Fearing she’d see the anger and resentment within him, Swift Foot kept his gaze focused on a nearby group of youths practicing their skills with wooden knives. What was done was done. Except in his heart, hope still breathed through him, a small, living being struggling to survive. From the corner of his eye, he saw Small Bird turn to watch the boys.

  “If you overheard the conversation I had with my brother, then you know I believe our joining must be. Do you not also believe that?” He heard genuine puzzlement in her voice.

  “No.” A twinge in his gut accompanied the harshness of his voice. He heard her swift, sharp intake of air at his brutal honesty. Guilt rapped him smartly on the shoulder. It did no good to voice his true feelings on the matter of this marriage. But it was too late, had been before he’d even met Emily. His life had been set on its course the minute his uncle had decided to groom him to be the next chief.

  Small Bird walked around to face him. “How can you not believe that our lives are meant to be joined as one? Our futures were decided the day you saved my life.”

  Wishing he hadn’t stopped to talk to Small Bird, Swift Foot smiled without humor. “I have saved the lives of many. Should I take to wife every female I’ve helped?” If only it worked like that. Save a life. Marry. He thought of Emily, of how he’d saved her and lost his heart in the sweetness of her smile and the braveness of her spirit. But a future had not been possible between them.

  Staring over Small Bird’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see the hurt in her eyes, he saw only a bleak, empty future. He felt hollow inside and could not see how his shared past with Small Bird meant that their future was tied together. If life was that simple, he’d never have fallen in love with another woman—especially a white one.

  Small Bird swung her hands behind her back. Her chin went up, and her eyes flashed. “Was not the day you saved my life the one that led to your becoming the great warrior you are now? Or have you forgotten that day?”

  Swift Foot lifted a brow. Forget the day he’d become a warrior? The fear that had lodged in his throat when he’d seen the enemy riding down a small, innocent child?

  Never. That day had set him upon his path to becoming everything he was: a man who’d somehow restore honor to his tribe, a man who’d never allow the enemy to kill another helpless member of his people. He kept at bay the terror and grief that day had produced.

  His voice hardened. “I have not forgotten.”

  “Neither have I,” Small Bird replied, hands on her hips. “You linked our lives when you acted with the courage of a warrior. It is right that we marry and join together to find a way to end this war between the Hunkpapa and Miniconjou. If you do not believe this to be so, then you are not so wise as I had hoped.” She hugged her arms to her chest and turned her back on him.

  He’d hurt her, something he’d not intended. Now he realized he’d been looking to pick a fight when he’d approached her, maybe to learn she truly didn’t want the marriage. Swift Foot opened his mouth to apologize, but the gentle sway of her long, blue-black hair, and the way it brushed against the rounded curve of her buttocks, stopped him.

  Small Bird was a petite woman with narrow shoulders and a tiny waist. With her back to him, her shoulders drawn in, she looked fragile. He couldn’t help but compare her to Emily—who hadn’t been much taller but was more generous in the curves of her body.

  The two women were very different. One was of the gentlest dawn, the other the darkness of night. One held the rich brown of the earth in her eyes, the other the clear blue of the sky. Small Bird’s hair was of blackest night, while Emily’s was moon and stars. One had loved him and been willing to give up all she knew for him; this other, by her own admission, felt bound by duty. Duty that bound him to her as well.

  The difference between him and Small Bird was that she accepted that duty.

  Clenching his jaw, Swift Foot slid his fingers up his arm and over the band of rabbit fur circling his biceps. Then his fingers trailed down to his bare chest where a rabbit’s foot, dyed red, hung from a narrow strip of leather. Next they went to the narrow pouch that hung below. He gripped it tightly between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the thin strand of braided hair inside. He didn’t need to take it out. All he had to do was look up into the sun to know its color. To be reminded of Emily.

  “You are troubled.”

  Small Bird’s soft voice jerked him out of his reverie. She stared up at him, a frown on her face. Then she cocked her head to the side. “No. You are sad.”

  Her pronouncement hung between them.

  Longing to lash out, to destroy the truth of her words, he took a step back, angry with himself for allowing her to see more than he’d intended. He fought the urge to run. Far and fast. Away. Anywhere that he would not have to look upon this woman who’d soon be a daily reminder of the woman he’d lost, this woman who’d soon be his wife.

  His wife.

  The words sent bitterness raging through him. Once he’d viewed his upcoming marriage as a duty—nothing more, nothing less. He’d seen it as no different from any other responsibility expected of him. All his life he’d put his people first, sacrificed whatever they asked of him. Without complaint. Without resentment.

  Until now. His time with the young white girl had changed everything—yet nothing had changed.

  When he didn’t respond to her question, Small Bird walked away. Another layer of guilt slid across his shoulders. She didn’t deserve his anger. It wasn’t her fault he’d changed since sealing their marriage contract.

  Shaking his head, he spotted Kills Many Crows leaving Willow Song’s tipi—and he remembered how Small Bird had tried to help his cousin. Fairness and gratitude made him call out after his soon-to-be wife. “Thank you for your kindness toward my cousin. Few speak to her. Most fear her.” He struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. Buried amongst all his layers of guilt was the heavy weight of the disfigurement his cousin had suffered.

  Obviously surprised, Small Bird turned. “Your cousin is not to blame for what happened to her,” she said quietly.

  The weight grew heavier. “No. I am.” His words rushed out unbidden, shocking him. Not once had he ever voiced his guilt—not to his uncle, his cousin, or even to their shaman.

  Small Bird walked slowly back toward him. “No. That is not true. You are not to blame for the actions of the Miniconjou.”

  Swift Foot laughed, the sound harsh. “No? Your brother does not share that belief.”

  Small Bird brushed a strand of hair from her face and sighed. “My brother loves me. He worries.”

  Staring up at the wide expanse of clear blue sky above him, Swift Foot tried to roll the tension from his shoulders. Right then, his responsibilities felt too much. For so long he’d taken everything on his shoulders. After so many years of carrying it all, he felt tired and weary. His soul cried out for peace. His mind knew it would be denied. “Perhaps your brother is right to fear for you. Perhaps you should listen to him.”

  Surprised, Small Bird stared up at him. Then she shook her head. “It is too late. And remember, that’s how all this started. When your father changed his mind and decided not to take the woman he’d agreed to wed, he started the war with the Miniconjou.”

  Swift Foot shrugged. “I am chief. I would not punish you or your people if you refused me.” A small part of him hoped she would, even. Though he could never have Emily, at least if Small Bird changed her mind, he’d be able to live alone, without reminders of other loves.

  Small Bird considered him for several moments. “Why do you not wish to join with me?”

  “I have no desire to marry.” Liar, a voice deep inside cried. He could not meet her eyes. Nor could he bear to stare up into the sky and see a daily reminder of what he’d lost.


  “Do you fear for my life?” Small Bird kept her gaze on his.

  Unsure if he admired her courage in confronting him or whether her refusal to back down and leave him in peace was infuriating, he spoke. “Your brother was right: marriage to me will put you and your people in danger should peace talks fall through. It is one thing for the enemy to come after me. But when they learn I have taken a wife, they will seek to kill you.”

  “I am not afraid. You are chief. You need someone to look after your tipi.” Small Bird sounded uncertain.

  Swift Foot argued, for if she chose to go through with marriage to him, he wanted her to have no false impressions. “As chief, I have many who see to my needs already.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “All my needs.”

  Small Bird blushed when she spoke, but her voice shook with anger. “I will honor the spirits who saw reason to give a young boy the courage and skill to save a small girl. You may not wish me for a wife; you may even wish me to leave, but I will not. I belong here, at your side. You must accept that.” The look she gave him dared him to renounce her.

  They both knew he could not. With one final glare, Small Bird left.

  Swift Foot watched her stalk away. Ashamed of his behavior yet desperate, he turned and followed the river away from camp. The farther he went from his people, the faster he walked until he was running.

  The spirits had tested him. Just before he’d returned to his village to take up the position of chieftain, he’d gone on a quest to learn the answer to disturbing dreams he’d been having. He’d come across Emily. The white girl’s parents had been killed in an Indian attack and she’d been alone. He’d saved her life. Immediately, he’d known she was the cause of his dreams. He’d been destined to find her.

  The test was clear: his own mother had been white, had been a blue-eyed blonde. Like his father, Swift Foot had been drawn to the white woman’s exotic coloring and beauty. But he’d believed he could deliver her to her people and return, unmoved, to take over as chief.

  He’d been wrong. He’d delayed his return by spending almost two full moons with Emily. Then had come the day he’d known he could not put off. He’d had to leave Emily behind and return to pick up his duties.

  Unlike his father, Swift Foot had passed the test: he’d chosen duty over love, his people over his desires. He’d won. He’d lost. The words echoed in his brain with each pounding step.

  Over hills, around jutting rock formations and across flat mesas, he ran until his legs could carry him no farther. Until his lungs burned. Falling to his knees, he leaned his head back and cried out, his hands above his head.

  Staring up into the blue heavens hurt his eyes and heart; the color was the same deep hue of Emily’s eyes. As he flicked his gaze to the solid rock of the bluff to his left, his breath caught in his throat. The pale tawny rocks there, some bleached nearly white, brought forth memories of long ribbons of hair flowing over his arms and shoulders and brushing across his chest. He gripped his armbands. They were soft like her flesh. So soft and silky.

  Closing his eyes, Swift Foot struggled against the memories of the woman he feared he’d never forget or stop loving. How could he when he saw her in the sky and land around him?

  “Concentrate on your duties,” he whispered. He’d always walked his path alone, his future determined long ago. Nothing had ever been allowed to interfere with the needs of his people—not the breaking of his heart, and certainly not unhappiness at an unwanted marriage.

  Nothing changed. Nothing ever would. Not until he atoned for the past.

  Chapter Two

  Kicking a stone from her path, Small Bird wound her way through cone-shaped tipis. A few of the women were setting up. As soon as she and her tribe had reached Swift Foot’s, he’d ordered the camp moved. She understood his decision. A tribe on the move was less of a target for an enemy.

  Staring around, the excitement of exploring and embracing a new land faded. Even the tales of courage and brave deeds painted on the many sun-bleached hides failed to impress or excite her.

  Stopping behind a fairly large tipi, she glared at a scene depicting a crudely drawn warrior lying on his back with a gaping wound in his chest. Another figure stood over the fallen one, his war ax held high. Blue Elk had many such paintings. His wife, Moon Day, glanced over at Small Bird and grinned shyly. She was very proud of her man and his tipi—just as Small Bird had been excited to know she’d be sharing Swift Foot’s. The outside of his dwelling would boast of his feats of skill, courage and triumph over the enemy. Yet it seemed the inside would hold only unfulfilled dreams on her part, and resentment on his.

  Small Bird resumed walking through camp, her mind on her conversation with her soon-to-be husband. She’d been so proud and eager to share a tipi with him… She still would. Changing her mind was not an option—for either of them. Just a short while ago she’d been proud; she’d had reason to celebrate. But reality had destroyed that innocent pride and happiness. Her husband did not want this marriage.

  Walking around two giggling girls playing with dolls, Small Bird fought her anger and humiliation. It didn’t matter that no one else knew the truth. She knew.

  Glancing toward the tipi of her parents, she saw her mother sitting amid a large group of laughing, chattering women. While Lone Warrior had reservations about the upcoming marriage, Small Bird’s mother did not. The woman held court over the matronly group while proudly adding finishing touches to her daughter’s wedding dress.

  For months her mother had worked hard to plan this wedding. Even Small Bird had eagerly joined in by making the garments Swift Foot would wear tomorrow. She’d tanned the hides until they were soft and supple. Then she’d spent nearly two months quilling intricate designs befitting a renowned warrior. She’d painstakingly cut fringe and used large glass beads her father had gotten in trade from trappers. She’d also made matching moccasins, all to prove to her husband that her womanly skills were equal to his warrior’s ability, to please him and to make him as proud of her as she was of him.

  Now she wondered if she’d done all for naught. A man who didn’t want a wife would not think much of the time, work or effort she put into his clothing.

  Small Bird dodged two small, naked boys who ran around a tipi. One nearly smacked into her. She caught him, steadied him, then ruffled his black, shiny head. She didn’t know everyone’s names yet, or even which family each child belonged to, but it didn’t matter. She loved Swift Foot’s people—the children especially. “Hau,” she greeted. They smiled shyly in return.

  Twisting a bit, she opened one of three small pouches hanging from the braided belt tied around her waist. When she pulled out two small pieces of root from the tipsila plant, the boys eagerly accepted the treat.

  A brown dog nosed close, looking hopefully up at Small Bird. Laughing softly, she stroked its sleek head. “Le tuwa ta sunka he?”

  The same boy who’d run into her puffed out his narrow chest. “Mitawa!” Mine, he said, answering her question as to whom the dog belonged.

  “She is a fine dog.” Small Bird eyed the beast’s distended belly. She hoped the animal would not give birth before the wedding. By many of her tribe, boiled pups were considered not only good but perfect dishes for special occasions. She herself had avoided the delicacy.

  The boys both streaked off, the dog waddling behind them.

  Watching them, Small Bird sighed. Despite her reservations, this morning she’d been just as pleased, happy and excited for her future. And she’d been under the misconception that Swift Foot felt the same way.

  I believe our joining is meant to be. Do you not also? When she’d posed that question to him, she’d never imagined that he’d disagree. And it wasn’t just because he’d saved her life long ago. As he’d said, he’d saved many lives over the years. But in saving Small Bird’s life, he’d set himself apart. His actions hadn’t been spurred by selfish motivations like pride or protection of property. He’d acted to save the child of another tribe�
�at the risk of his own life! His action had been an act of undiluted bravery, the mark of a true warrior. He’d put himself in jeopardy to save her. Swift Foot had first proved himself as the worthy warrior and chief he was today because of her—and his actions on that day had changed not only his life but hers.

  It hurt to learn that he didn’t recognize that. It hurt worse that he didn’t want her for a wife.

  Glancing around, she bit her lower lip. Now what? How was she supposed to act? To feel? What would happen after the ceremony tomorrow? Surely he’d at least want her the way a man wanted a woman. Or would he? She recalled his words: As chief, I have many who see to my needs already. All my needs.

  Embarrassed heat rose in her cheeks. A lump grew in the back of her throat. Blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay, she dug her fingernails into her palms and began to walk. She’d made a fool of herself. It hadn’t mattered that her marriage was an arranged one rather than a love match. Love, she’d figured, would come later, as it did for most. At least on his part. Love on her part wouldn’t take long. To be honest, she figured she’d been secretly in love with him all her life.

  She stared at the unfamiliar landscape, trying to find something comforting amid all the changes of the past couple of weeks. She and her tribe had left their homeland to travel to Swift Foot’s. That, in itself, had been an enormous change.

  The craggy mounds of a large rock formation at the opposite end of the Hunkpapa camp sat barren but for a few sparse trees and brush. It jutted proudly from the earth, the burnt grassland creeping up its sides. Small stands of dwarfed and dried-looking trees defiantly encircled the hillock, along with scattered scraggly bushes. She headed there.

  One of its mounds rose to form a sharp peak, reminding Small Bird of her people’s tipis. The others in the formation appeared to be gentler. The first struck her as incredibly beautiful, a study in opposites with its sharply carved top and pale brown sides cut as if by a keen-bladed knife or ax.