Proud Wolf's Woman

by Karen Kay

  She looked down at herself; at the tattered rags she wore, at the dirt and grime on her clothes, the marks on her body; she felt the scratches and bruises on her body, the filth that clung to her hair, the stench that exuded from her body. She closed her eyes, experiencing more: the degradation of her spirit, the sadness in her recent memory, the betrayal of her heart. She pulled back completely.

  Why should Neeheeowee help her? He was Indian.

  Indian.

  If her own husband hadn’t thought enough of her to try to save her, along with himself, why should this man?

  He was Indian.

  She looked away, silently cursing the fates that had brought her to this. Why should destiny suddenly bring this Indian back into her life? Reminding her of all the good she’d once known, reminding her of friendship, of honor, of…

  She didn’t finish the thought. She inched backward, away from him, away from her mistress, trying to recall if she had done something terrible in this life to deserve these fates. Nothing came to her—not a terrible passion, nothing—not even the opposite. Neither the good she had done, nor the people she had influenced, brought her happiness.

  At this moment, all Julia knew was despair.

  And so it was with the despondency of one who has known defeat that Julia gazed up at Neeheeowee, blind to all about him, save only one point: He was an alien to her, an Indian.

  She would beg no quarter; she would expect none.

  Neeheeowee glared at the Kiowa woman, at Julia, back at the Kiowa.

  “Where is your husband?” he asked of the Kiowa woman in sign language.

  “Gone,” the woman replied in kind.

  “When will he return?”

  The Kiowa gave him an assessing look. “Is my husband a woman that he needs to tell me his movements?” She smirked. “He is gone, I tell you. Do you want to purchase the captive? Is that why you ask? I will tell you now that if you want to purchase the woman, you will have to bargain with me.”

  “My business is no concern of yours.”

  “It is if you want the captive.”

  Neeheeowee didn’t even hesitate. “I bargain with no woman.”

  The Kiowa smiled, though the gesture quickly turned to a sneer. “Then the captive still belongs to me, and I can do with her as I want.”

  Neeheeowee grunted while the woman scoffed.

  “I will beat her if she does not obey me. She does little enough work, leaving it all to me.” The Kiowa woman suddenly chuckled as though with great pleasure, although her glance at the man was shrewd, assessing. “I like to hear her scream.”

  Neeheeowee set his lips; it was his only reaction. “Is it supposed to mean something to me if you beat her? Am I supposed to care? The only thing I can tell you is that if you damage her, I will not want to buy her.”

  The Kiowa woman smiled, the gesture showing small, yellow teeth. “So. At last we get to the truth. You do want to buy her. Why?”

  Neeheeowee glared at the woman’s upright hand as she completed the sign motions. He had not meant to give away so much. Perhaps his time away from camp had caused him to forget how to deal with people. He gave the woman a blank look before beginning. “It is not the concern of a woman what a man wants,” Neeheeowee said in hand motions. “If I intend to bargain, I will talk with your husband when he returns, not before. But know you this: If I find the captive damaged, I will tell your husband all you have said to me. I would ensure that he knows that I would have paid a higher price had the captive not been damaged.”

  The Kiowa woman snorted. “My husband cares not what I do, especially as regards a slave. And as for your wealth, keep it. My husband is already rich in guns and horses. Why should he want yours?”

  It was Neeheeowee’s turn to mock; he did so, using all the ridicule at his command. Was the Kiowa woman so blind that she could not see the wealth in the ponies which stood at his back? Was she such a bad judge of horseflesh?

  “I will return tomorrow when the sun is first up,” Neeheeowee signed, “and if you are lucky, I will purchase the slave then—maybe.” Here he leered at the woman. “But only if she is undamaged. Remember this, woman, for I will not hesitate to tell your husband all you have said if I find the captive with any more bruises.”

  “Naaaa!” The woman spit on the ground, into her hand, but catching the look in Neeheeowee’s eye, she didn’t dare rub her hands down his shirt again. She hissed at him instead.

  Neeheeowee, in response, did nothing—no emotion at all to be witnessed as he signed, “Remember.”

  And with a quick look to Julia, to the woman he had once known, he spun around, the flap of his fringe, the restless whinnying of his ponies, noting his movement, and, leading a wealth of eight ponies behind him, he paced away, looking as though he weren’t at this moment angrier than he could recall being in a long, long time.

  Chapter Three

  “Neeheeowee…” Julia’s voice trailed off.

  She watched Neeheeowee’s natural gait as he walked away, observing that not once did he glance her way, nor did he indicate he might still call her friend. She gulped, swallowing hard. No, this man she’d known—Neeheeowee—had plainly turned his back on her, shifting away from her as easily as her husband had done.

  She glanced up toward the heavens, wondering what she had done to make those people closest to her hurt her the most. Even her parents…

  Julia breathed out in a rush, trying to rein in her thoughts. It did no good to remember these things; it accomplished nothing.

  She looked away, trying to think of other things, but the effort was wasted. The memories intruded upon her, the mental images bringing back old hurts, old wounds, she’d put to rest long ago. Suddenly, she recalled the day six years ago when she stood in Fort Leavenworth, watching her parents leave on a trip to St. Louis, never to return.

  Some had said her parents were captured or killed by Indians, some had believed the two had lost their way, while others openly accused her father of desertion.

  But Julia believed none of it. In truth, she hadn’t known what to think, though secretly she feared her parents had simply gone back East, deserting their daughter to her own fate. Hadn’t Kenneth suggested this to her? Hadn’t he plagued her with the possibility of it for months?

  Julia slumped her shoulders. Kenneth. Gone now was the man who was supposed to have treasured her above all else, the man who should have loved her despite her faults, exalted her for her accomplishments, the man who, in truth, could find nothing right with her, nothing to admire.

  Julia sighed convulsively.

  She might have felt self-pity, but there was no time for it. Too soon the Kiowa woman stood before her, muttering words at her, making gestures that Julia couldn’t understand and Julia, as though deaf and dumb, stared up at the woman in mute response.

  That the woman flounced away, that she did not administer the usual punishment was lost on Julia. Submerged in a world of her own making, Julia barely registered anything else until, with a flutter of harsh words, her Kiowa mistress shoved three water bags into Julia’s hands, and with clear-cut gestures, ordered Julia to fetch the family’s water supply.

  Julia didn’t even blink. She knew the chore. In truth, this hauling of water had become a daily task, one she looked to with favor since it required the removal of the rawhide noose. And though it did no good to feel it, even to think it, for those few prized moments out of the collar, Julia felt free. And perhaps, by comparison, she was.

  She waited now as her mistress removed the noose and Julia rubbed her neck where the tough rawhide had cut into her skin. That her fingers came away bloody seemed of little consequence. It made little difference to her anymore.

  Since her capture, only a month ago, Julia had become resigned to the fact that her life offered little point. What had seemed barely tolerable to her before her capture, appeared by comparison a sort of haven now. She grimaced, grasping all at once the sadness of it, for Julia had found little happiness in her
former life.

  Tears formed in her eyes, but whether she cried for the injustice of her situation or whether perhaps for the final admission as to her unhappiness, Julia couldn’t be certain. She only knew she hurt.

  Kenneth had departed this world, and, despite all his faults, Julia mourned his passing. She had, at one time, loved him well. She began to feel tears well up in her eyes again when all at once her Kiowa mistress stood in front of her, interrupting her thoughts, shoving her toward the creek, and Julia, dodging out of the way, crossed camp to tread the well-worn path to the water.

  “Ehaeesenehe!” Julia heard the voice of a child call out.

  “Enovo’e!” another one answered.

  “Epeheveene’e!”

  The children called out to one another, but Julia had no idea what was said and so she turned away, fixing her gaze on the ground as her feet, on their own, took the path through the weeds.

  Why had Neeheeowee turned away from her? He had recognized her, she was certain of that. Why hadn’t he rescued her, or at least attempted it?

  Julia tried to imagine herself in his situation. If their places were reversed, if Neeheeowee had been caught by soldiers, would she have come to his aid? It would have been difficult; Kenneth would have objected, but Julia felt certain she would have at least tried.

  Why hadn’t Neeheeowee?

  She shrugged, trying to recall what she knew of the Indian man. It had been seven and a half years ago that they had met. She had been accompanying her friend, Kristina, out onto the prairie, to secret meetings with Kristina’s Indian husband, who, along with his two friends, had journeyed to Fort Leavenworth on a mission of revenge.

  But the two women hadn’t known the Indian’s purpose at the time, had only known that Kristina loved her husband as she loved no other. And Julia, Kristina’s best friend, had aided the romance, albeit against her own best judgment; yet, when Julia had glimpsed Kristina, her friend had been so much in love, Julia could not resist meeting this man who set her friend to blushing, if only to witness the two lovers together.

  That’s when she’d met Neeheeowee.

  She hadn’t liked him at first. Moody to a point of rudeness, he would never speak to her, never acknowledge her presence. Still, after a while Julia had come to appreciate his quiet guardianship, for she was often left alone with him, he acting as her protector.

  She remembered once she had been learning the Lakota language along with her friend, Kristina, and armed with this new ability to communicate, she had solicited conversation with Neeheeowee. It hadn’t worked, he still hadn’t talked with her and she had decided then that he did not know the Lakota language well; he, himself, being from the Cheyenne tribe.

  Still, they had spoken, if only in quiet gestures, and it was this once that she had witnessed his smile…

  “Why do you wear feathers?” she asked of Neeheeowee in the language of the Lakota, her gaze centered on the buckskin pouch she was sewing. But he didn’t answer at once, and Julia, looking up, gestured toward the feathers in his hair, raising her shoulders in a question.

  He snorted as he usually did when he thought she had displayed stupidity, and Julia felt certain he wouldn’t answer her. Still, she waited.

  They were seated, she and Neeheeowee, along with another Lakota warrior, Wahtapah, out on the prairie beneath a few cottonwood trees. Beside them, a small stream of water ran through the land as though in a hurry to converge with some other large body, while overhead the occasional song of a dove broke the usual silence of the prairie.

  Neeheeowee took his time answering, and Julia wondered if he would ignore her, as he had done in the past. But at length he raised his hand. Pulling the two feathers from his head and pointing to them, he said, “Mee’e, epeheva’e.”

  Julia didn’t understand since Neeheeowee spoke a language she did not know. But Wahtapah was there and Wahtapah intervened, saying, “My Cheyenne brother says that feathers are good medicine. We get them from the mighty eagle. It is not easy for us to obtain them, for the eagle is swift and clever. The feathers—they show a warrior’s accomplishments on the battlefield. Here,” Wahtapah said, pointing to one of the feathers that Neeheeowee held. “Do you see that feather there? Can you see how my brother has cut away a part of the top, with horsehair attached to it?”

  Julia nodded, murmuring a “yes” at the same time.

  “That feather there,” Wahtapah explained for Neeheeowee, “represents his first coup.”

  Neeheeowee nodded at Julia, then at Wahtapah, then in broken Lakota, Neeheeowee asked of Julia, “Okicahniga coup?”

  Julia could barely understand him, though at length Wahtapah translated, saying, “He asks you can comprehend what a coup is?” to which Julia shook her head.

  Neeheeowee frowned and raised his shoulders toward Wahtapah.

  “A coup is an accomplishment,” Wahtapah said. “It means to strike the enemy. It is the mark of a courageous man. In our camps, these things are talked about and bring glory to a man.”

  Julia nodded, saying, “I see.”

  Wahtapah smiled and, getting to his feet, said, “I must go now to see what keeps my brother, Tahiska, and his wife. Stay here. My Cheyenne brother will protect you.”

  Julia nodded and glanced over to the Cheyenne warrior, who sat staring back at her. But Julia didn’t flinch. She had come to realize that these warriors would do her no harm. In fact, she felt quite safe with them, protected. And so she smiled at Neeheeowee and he glared back at her for some time.

  He didn’t replace the feathers in his hair, however, and at length, he rose to his feet and came over to Julia, squatting down beside her.

  Julia looked over toward him. His dark eyes stared back at her, and in them she saw a message, an emotion she could barely discern. And then all at once, it came to her. He liked her. Her heart seemed to stop beating at the thought, but soon her pulse began to beat again, not normally as it should, but rather racing as though she were running.

  She stared back at him, unable to drop her gaze. The man was exotic, handsome, and alluring beyond description and he seemed to want her. She could barely breathe.

  Neither of them spoke; there was no need for it. Instead, Neeheeowee extended one of the feathers toward her.

  Julia reached out toward it, and, uncertain, she stopped, but Neeheeowee gestured her onward, and Julia placed her hand upon the feather, taking it from him. She wondered if Neeheeowee felt the touch of her fingers as they grazed over his own, and she glanced up to catch a slight shudder of reaction from him.

  Was it her touch that had caused that reaction in him? She couldn’t believe it was so. Still she looked up toward him, and, as she did so, she caught Neeheeowee’s brief smile before, turning, he strode from the camp as quickly as if he were chased by wolves.

  She watched him for a moment, watched his graceful walk, the way his breechcloth moved in and out, exposing a bit too much of his backside for her view; then, sighing, she glanced back down at the feather.

  It was beautiful, and, as she gazed back at the man hurrying away, she was struck by an odd realization: Its giver was just as beautiful.

  It was a unique thought for Julia, who had been inclined to believe the worst of the Indian.

  And she wondered, as she watched him go, if all Indians were as wonderful as he.

  Somehow she didn’t think so.

  It was sometime later that Julia had learned that the giving of an eagle feather was something special to the Indian. For a man to give a woman a feather meant that he held her in high esteem and perhaps, further, that he held her in affection. Julia had kept the feather, tucked under her clothing in her room in Fort Leavenworth. She had it still, not with her now, but back at the fort. She’d never thrown it away, not even when she had married Kenneth. She’d never been able to bring herself to do that.

  She sighed. That had been a long time ago. Too many years had passed for her to know the Cheyenne warrior anymore. Neeheeowee had changed. She had change
d. It was likely he was married and would not be able to explain Julia to his wife. Perhaps that was why he had not come to her rescue. Or perhaps, after all these years, he no longer honored the special relationship they had once shared.

  Julia shut her eyes, unwilling to admit to the hurt that the thought caused. And suddenly she remembered, other things: The possibility of love all those years ago, her fear of it, her withdrawal from it.

  She had been too prejudiced to see what-was there. Besides, she had been so certain that she could create that same kind of love with Kenneth.

  Julia sighed. What good did it do her to think of these things now? The past made little difference anymore. She grimaced. Could it be that Neeheeowee might bear her a grudge? He had, after all, given her the feather, he had as much as told her she was special to him…and she had…run away from it.

  Was he now giving her back her due? She shut her eyes, frowning. What else could she expect from him?

  “Tsehetoo’otse!”

  A small, Indian girl suddenly appeared out of nowhere, jostling Julia. And Julia, losing her balance, fell forward, onto her knees.

  “Nestsehetoo’otse!”

  “Tatsehetoo’otse!”

  Another child, then another and another ran on past Julia. Not one of them offered her assistance, not one even bothered to look at her, one kicking out at her, giggling, and Julia, looking up, felt hard-pressed at this moment to champion the Indians—any of them—including Neeheeowee.

  What was she to do about her enslavement?

  She couldn’t run. She’d become forever lost. She wished now that she had paid closer attention when, seven years ago, the three young warriors had tried to teach both Kristina and her how to track and find their way on the prairie.

  She looked up, wondering, if only for a moment, if perhaps it would have been better if she, too, had been killed along with that ill-fated company of soldiers. Again, she tried to make sense of it.