Proud Wolf's Woman

by Karen Kay

  Margaret Bogard screamed out a protest, but her husband, Major Bogard, supporting her weight against him, helped her to the side of the crowd.

  “I love you with all my heart, Kristina,” Tahiska murmured, ignoring the dramatics occurring all around them. “I have thought of you constantly since I left here. I would have been here sooner, but I needed these horses to win your father’s approval and to show him my intentions. I will no longer have my intentions questioned. I wish no trouble, but it is time that I bring my wife home.”

  Kristina beamed, oblivious to the bystanders.

  But Julia saw that Tahiska’s gaze searched through the crowd, narrowing on Major Bogard, who strode toward the young couple. The major appeared neither shocked nor pleased by the proceedings. In the language of sign, the major asked of the Indian, “My friend, what is the meaning of all these horses?”

  Tahiska released his hold on his wife, but only for a moment.

  He smiled at the major. “I once asked for your daughter in marriage,” he gestured back in his native language. “But you did not understand then. Let there no longer be any misunderstandings between us. I love your daughter with all my heart. These ponies—they are for you. I would live with your daughter, protect and care for her all my life.”

  Julia gazed at the two men who stared at one another, the Indian’s glance proud, the major’s…

  Surely Kristina’s father would give them permission to marry. And though this might seem strange to a bystander, that the major should condone such a union, Julia couldn’t imagine it otherwise. Hadn’t Tahiska saved the major’s life? Hadn’t the two men become friends? Hadn’t the major shown that he considered the Indian honorable and brave without fault? Surely Major Bogard didn’t harbor prejudice…surely…

  Suddenly Kristina’s father smiled, extending his hand to the young brave. “Welcome to the family, son.”

  A multitude of emotions flickered across Tahiska’s face while Julia breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted happiness for her friend and Julia was certain that Kristina would not find happiness with anyone other than Tahiska.

  The Indian took the major’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

  “Kristina.” Julia moved forward, touching Kristina’s shoulder. “You’ll be leaving now?”

  Kristina grinned. “Yes.”

  Julia simply nodded, refusing to give way to the emotion she felt. “I will miss you,” she said as an understatement. “But wait a moment, before you leave. I have something for you. Will you wait?” She asked the question in Lakota, looking toward Tahiska.

  “Hau, yes.” He nodded toward her, then said in English, “But hurry.”

  All this time, except for a few surreptitious glances, Julia hadn’t really observed Neeheeowee. All this time she wondered if he would leave her without saying good-bye to her. Would she see him again, this man who had once saved her life, this man who, though as doubtful of her as she had been of him, had treated her with kindness and with honor, with affection…?

  She couldn’t think of it. She couldn’t consider such things. He was Indian. She was white. And these things mattered to her, to him.

  Stifling a sob, Julia turned and fled to her room and, once there, she ran straight to her vanity and opened a drawer.

  She could not have him. He could never take her with him, but Julia had determined that he would not forget her; she knew he would try, just as she knew that she, too, would attempt to erase his memory.

  She grabbed the presents she had made, the gifts, and rushed back outside, fearing the Indians might not wait if she took a moment longer.

  But they still waited, sitting before her proudly, fiercely, each one directing their attention upon her.

  She didn’t gaze back at them, she didn’t dare. Approaching Kristina, she kept her eyes focused on the ground until she reached her friend. Once there she glanced up toward Kristina, handing her friend two intricately beaded necklaces, gifts inspired by the beauty and honor of Indian craft.

  “The necklaces,” Julia murmured toward Kristina, “are for my two friends, Wahtapah and Neeheeowee, the one beaded in blue, with the red heart, is for Neeheeowee,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I lack the courage to give these gifts to the men myself. I am asking you to do this for me, Kristina. And these”—she handed Kristina two rings, each made of silver—“these are for you and Tahiska. I noticed neither one of you have a ring to proclaim your marriage.” And from somewhere Julia found the strength to smile up at Kristina. “I will miss you.” Her voice caught in her throat.

  Kristina took her friend’s hand in her own. “Always,” Kristina said, “we will be friends.”

  Julia was only able to flash Kristina a slight smile, and then, with a quick glance toward the other Indians, particularly toward the one Indian, Neeheeowee, Julia pivoted around, fleeing back to the sanctuary of her room.

  So caught up was she in her emotions, Julia didn’t see a sullen Neeheeowee watch her departure from him, every step of the way.

  No, all Julia heard were the joyful whoops, the happy laughter, as her best friend, Kristina, with her Indian husband, Tahiska, and his two Indian friends, galloped out of the fort, out of her life.

  Julia, turning momentarily to her bedroom window to watch them go, wished that once, just once, she could ignore the restraints of her culture, of her upbringing, to follow her heart. She shut her eyes, little knowing that at that same moment Neeheeowee, the young Cheyenne warrior who so disturbed her thoughts, wondered grudgingly if he might be able to ignore his.

  Suddenly the young Cheyenne broke free of the others, racing back toward the fort. He stopped at the gates, turning his pony in circles, gazing back at her house, her room, her window. And Julia at that same moment opened her eyes.

  Their gazes met across the distance—the Cheyenne warrior’s fiery and proud; hers curious, yet uncertain.

  What did he want?

  Her heart cried out to him.

  Did he want her? Should she run to him to see?

  Though a part of her begged her to do just that, she couldn’t.

  She sobbed, instead; she cried, but she did not otherwise attempt to leave her room.

  She held his gaze, heard his war whoops, saw him gesture toward her with his spear until, with one final look, he spurred his pony around, and, yelping and hollering, raced away to join his friends.

  Julia wondered, as she watched him go, if she cried for the loss of her friend, Kristina, or for the loss of another…

  Well, it little mattered now.

  Julia drew a deep, unsteady breath.

  She had done the right thing, as had he. What was between them, she and Neeheeowee, could not be. Not for her. Not for him.

  Not now and certainly not in the future.

  As she ran across the room to fling herself across her bed, Julia became aware that the thought was oddly depressing.

  Chapter One

  Seven and one-half years later

  The Arkansas River Area

  Southern Kansas

  May 1841

  Spring had descended upon the land. The prairie was awash with the beauty of purple, blue, and yellow wildflowers while the scent of those same effusive blooms filled the air. The sun shone down, gentle and golden this day and its welcome warmth took away the slight chill in the morning air.

  It was a perfect beginning to the day, a gorgeous day, whose beauty defied the somber mood of the few occupants who rested on this open stretch of prairie. Still, the young woman with dark brown hair and mysterious, hazel eyes smiled as she loosened her shawl and glanced around her.

  Ah, the prairie in the spring. Was there any place on earth as beautiful?

  Her gaze roved over the gently sloping hills straight to the horizon, where land met sky in splendid profusion of brilliant azure, spring green, and shades of golden brown. She reveled in the feel of the ever-present prairie wind which blew over her, ruffling her hair and her bonnet, the air warm and fresh upon her cheeks. Wisps
of dark brown hair loosened from her coiffure to blow back against the yellow of her bonnet, but the young woman, with a delicate, pale complexion and pink, rosy lips didn’t notice. Instead she raised her face to that breeze and inhaled deeply, enjoying, if only for a moment, the luscious beginnings to the day.

  She hadn’t noticed these past few weeks that the rains had brought such beauty to the prairie. But then, why should she? She’d been too busy, too intent with her work at the Colbys’, with Mr. Colby’s Indian wife, who had delivered twins, to pay much attention to her environment. But she did so now, and not even the sounds of the disgruntled men who followed behind, nor the unsavory scents of horseflesh and sweat could daunt her enthusiasm.

  She glanced back at the company of soldiers, who sat upon their mounts in two neat rows behind her. Dragoons, they called them. Dragoons because during the Middle Ages, mounted soldiers had worn a dragon crest emblazoned on their helmets. Dragoons now because these men here fought their wars on horseback. There were about twenty men in this regiment of soldiers, all of them under the command of her husband, who, too, remained mounted, although the entire company sat stationary.

  The young woman glanced at the sun and, noting its position, realized the company had been stalled here, along this lonesome stretch of prairie, for almost an hour, an hour during which they had all remained in the saddle, herself as well as the dragoons, munching on a breakfast of dried jerky and water.

  “Why do you think we’re not traveling on?” she asked, leaning down to whisper into her horse’s ear. “Do you wish that I were off your back?”

  Her gelding whinnied as though in reply, and the young woman reached down a hand to pat his neck. “Soon, boy, soon. I’m sure we’ll be moving on soon. What I don’t understand,” she said, “is why we aren’t making more progress toward the fort. Or if it is necessary that we stop, why aren’t we dismounting?”

  The horse shook his head, and the woman grinned, but only for a moment. She glanced over toward her husband and frowned. He sat gazing steadily about him, his look grim, daunting, while he listened to his second-in-command. She narrowed her eyes.

  “Trouble.” She hadn’t known she’d spoken the word aloud until her gelding flickered his ears. “Yes,” she said, her gaze still fixed on her husband. “There’s bound to be some trouble before we reach the fort.”

  She pressed her lips together. No one had said anything to her. No one had to. She’d felt the agitation of the dragoons last night as though their distress were carried to her upon the wind. She’d heard the whispers, the rumors, even the muffled cursing of the men, and it had taken only a few inquires on her part to give her an idea of just why these men were moody, on guard, expectant.

  “If they’re attacked, it would only be what they deserved—if the rumors are true,” she said her thoughts aloud, then shook her head. “When did I become so unsympathetic, boy?” she asked the horse as though the animal could give her an answer. “I used to understand these men. I used to understand their prejudice, I even used to agree with it. But that seems so long ago now. And fella”—she patted the horse’s neck—“what am I to do? This is my husband’s command; it’s his men who may have committed these crimes. I’m supposed to support him…them, aren’t I?”

  The horse snorted while the young woman raised her chin, bringing her face full, into the wind: “It’s just that I don’t know what to do in this situation,” she said, half to herself, half to her gelding. She bent down over the animal. “All of my experiences out here so far do not give me any sort of clear idea of what I should do. The only thing I can do,” she continued, “is to hope that my husband remains, himself, innocent of the crimes that I suspect his men committed. Surely he would have tried to stop them, wouldn’t he?”

  The young, dark-haired woman raised her head and, in doing so, choked back a sigh, letting her gaze fall onto this man who was her husband. Her look was potent, as though by this simple action, she could see into his soul as well as endow the man with a strength of character he did not possess.

  All at once, without her realizing it, a low moan sounded in her throat, the utterance of it similar to that of a wounded animal. She closed her eyes. She released her pent-up breath as she came face-to-face with a fact: If what she suspected were true, her husband could have restrained his men, and by doing so, could have prevented their present misfortune. But he hadn’t. Why?

  Was it because he, too, was guilty of the crimes?

  She opened her eyes wide to gaze at the man who was her husband. Was it true, what she suspected? Had he participated in the crimes against the Indians? Surely not, and yet… Even if personally innocent, wasn’t he guilty of the acts of his men by reason of his command?

  She grimaced, and the horse beneath her shifted. She reached out a hand to pet the animal again, while she bent again over his head. She whispered, “What am I to do? Do you know, boy? That man is my husband. Am I not sworn to love and understand him despite the harsh bearings of life, despite his mistakes, despite mine? But, dear Lord, if he really did what I suspect…if the rumors are true, his men did more than make a simple mistake. If true, they have committed terrible acts, acts I cannot condone, no matter my marital state.”

  She remembered again the mission of these dragoons: a peaceful visit to the Kiowa, one of goodwill and friendship. Where had it gone so wrong?

  She had accompanied this troop at the start of their journey, staying with them until they had reached the Colbys’, where she had left them to help with Mr. Colby’s Indian wife. She had only rejoined the dragoons yesterday.

  She thought back to what she had observed about this troop of men, and, unwillingly, mental images came to mind that she would have rather forgotten: certain of the men laughing at the misfortune of the “hang around the fort Indians,” throwing those Indians bits of food as though they were no more than animals, antagonizing their leaders with cursing, with degradation of their women, their young girls. And she knew without doubt that these men were not only capable of the rumored crimes, that by the actions of her husband now, these crimes were most likely a reality.

  She sat back up in her seat, pondering her predicament. There was danger here, and perhaps deserved danger.

  And she knew that it was their plight now that bothered her husband, not remorse, and certainly not the actions of his men.

  Unbidden, she heard his voice from out of the past, speaking to her as though that time were now: “The red man is a savage, an animal of prey,” he’d said to her. “And like an animal, a bear or a cougar, we must kill him where we find him. If we don’t, the godless creatures will soon murder us all. Remember this. The red man is a parasite and the sooner he is wiped off the earth, the better for us all.”

  The young woman lifted her gaze to the heavens above her, staring at the light blue of the cloudless sky while she attempted to clear her thoughts. A pair of eagles chose that moment to fly overhead, causing the young woman to remember another time, another place, when someone from out of her past had told her a story of the eagle—a bold, adventurous tale. For just a single instant of time she experienced again the feelings she’d had then, the sense of being excited by the fullness of life around her, the affinity life holds for life, an appreciation for all living things, shown to her by someone she had respected…an Indian.

  And she knew that despite what her husband said, despite the commonly held attitudes within the fort, she didn’t believe. She did not agree.

  She couldn’t.

  She shivered, though the sun encompassed and enshrouded her with glowing warmth. She had to stop thinking of these things, of the Indians she had known so long ago. If she didn’t, the conflict in the cultures would confuse her.

  She moved in the saddle, the action uncomfortable as her bladder responded to the motion, reminding her she had not yet seen to her body’s needs since arising. She would have to do something about it; she would need a moment of privacy…quite soon.

  She cast an uncertai
n glance at her husband, trying to determine what his response would be if she were to ask him to accompany her to a private spot. Although maybe she should not bother him. Perhaps she should just move out away from the line of men and relieve her natural callings discreetly, if that were possible in this land without a single tree for protection.

  She grimaced. No, she would have to ask her husband to accompany her.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. “What do you think I should say, boy?” she asked of her gelding again. “How can I ask my husband to help me when, by coming in close to him, I’ll provide a target for his frustration? And though I know he may not be mad at me, I know he’ll take his anger out on me.”

  Her gelding didn’t answer and the young woman, shaking her head, gulped down a breath.

  She lifted her head. Whatever her fears, it mattered little. Her needs, it would appear, could not wait. She gathered her courage and, urging her gelding forward, focused her gaze on his horse until at last, coming abreast of his mount, the young woman flicked her eyelashes up, a quick smile accompanying the motion; and she looked at Kenneth Wilson, her husband.

  That his red, angry glance met her submissive one should have cautioned her to silence. In truth, it did…slightly. But her need was great.

  So she gave him her best grin, then, before courage deserted her completely, she asked him what she must, her voice quiet and gentle against the wind. She stared at him and awaited her husband’s reply.

  “Damnation, Julia!” Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson jerked his hat off his head and slapped it against his thigh. He glared at her. “Can’t you wait even a moment? Why now and why must I be the one to accompany you? Why do you do these things to me? I wish I’d known what trouble you were going to be to me.”

  Julia stared into the harsh countenance of her husband’s face, the man she had married almost five years ago, a man she barely knew today. That he looked more like a child at this moment, his face red and gaunt, did not bode well for her.