by Karen Kay
Odd.
Neeheeowee would never have been so careless with his supplies, nor would he have taken the time to rest during the day. She gasped. He couldn’t be…he wasn’t…?
She picked herself up in a hurry, throwing herself over the rise, falling down in her rush and sliding all the way to the bottom, her descent stopping no more than an inch from Neeheeowee’s head. He didn’t awaken. Oh, dear, he had to be sleeping…
She reached down to him. She put her fingers next to the pulsebeat at the base of his neck. He seemed to be all right. Perhaps he just slept. He had reason to be tired, she realized, recalling the night they had just spent together—last night—neither one of them getting more than a few hours of rest. Had he needed to sleep this desperately? Somehow it didn’t seem plausible, and yet, the evidence that he required rest seemed to be stretched out before her.
She threw a quick look at the mess surrounding her, at the disorder of robes and blankets, of parfleche bags and clothes, of weapons and broken rawhide rope. Perhaps, she decided, it would be best if she were to clean up the clutter. She could make camp right here, attend to his needs, and then, when Neeheeowee awakened, he might find reason to let her stay with him.
She rose, starting about her tasks, and, as she did them, she began to wonder, thinking back on it, what the noise had been that had led her to Neeheeowee. She could have sworn it sounded like a human’s moan. But it couldn’t be. Neeheeowee slept too soundly to have made the noise and yet…
She gazed down at Neeheeowee, then looked around her, even glancing up into the sky. She could see no evidence of anyone or anything else. She raised her shoulders in mock defeat, and, unable to make sense of it, she went back to her camp chores and to the task of preparing dinner from Neeheeowee’s ruined supplies. So busy was she, in fact, that she missed seeing the shadows of two men, Indians, who slid down into the camp, leaving behind them rope and bags, the same men who would watch, who would guard the two travelers all night long.
Neeheeowee was not pleased to see her.
He hadn’t awakened until the next morning and when he did, Julia was already up, simmering some of her own food over the fire. The day before them had dawned clear, yet hot and humid for all that, and when he awoke, the sun had already brought its heated touch not only to the land, but to all its occupants as well.
Neeheeowee managed to roll over onto his elbows first, although one hand came up to hold his head. And the first thing he asked was “What happened?”
Julia gave him a curious glance. “It is odd,” she said, her voice barely over a whisper. “I was going to ask you that same question.”
He grimaced, still holding his head. “Would you mind speaking more softly?” he asked, and Julia almost laughed.
“I will try,” she said in a quiet, though distinct voice, and Neeheeowee winced. “Neeheeowee,” she said, as softly as she could, “you did not imbibe in drinking whiskey before you left camp, did you?”
“Wiss-kee?” he asked, flinching when she replied with an, “Oh, yes.”
“What is this, wiss-kee?” he said the word in English and then, “Eaaa, it is the white man’s fire water. I remember. No,” he said, shaking his head and then cringing.
“I see,” she said. “It’s odd, you know. You are acting in much the same way as a man does after he has had some whiskey the night before. You haven’t…” She trailed off with whatever she was about to say as Neeheeowee suddenly rose and rushed from their camp as though he ran from a demon.
He came back, looking a little white and a little sick, his glance barely resting on her.
“I need water,” he said after a little while. “I need to lie in it, to soak my head in it. I must find some rushing water to heal whatever has come over me.”
It was quite a usual thing for him to request, Julia thought, remembering that it was a common belief in American Indian culture that water, especially rushing water, healed. He looked around him slowly, turning his head only the minutest degree. At length, he said, “I know this place. There is water to the south and west of here. It is only a short distance away. I will go there now.”
Julia nodded and, peering up at him, asked, “Do you need any help?”
He looked taken aback, and, had he been feeling a little better, he might have flinched. As it was he had to settle for a scowl in her direction. “I am no woman that I need your assistance.” With this said, he jumped up toward his pony, not quite making the mount and having to squirm his way into a seating. Once there, Julia observed that he had to lean forward, resting his head against the pony’s neck before giving his signal to the animal to move.
Julia watched their slow departure from the camp with a set expression on her face. She wouldn’t follow him—she knew he wouldn’t want her to—which left her to do what? Looking around her, at the mess stretched out there across the prairie, she knew just what her chores would be for the next several hours, and, with a sigh of exasperation, she made a move to start.
The cleanup of Neeheeowee’s supplies was not an easy task, Julia decided later, for most of Neeheeowee’s rawhide had been eaten through, leaving a minimal amount of rope for her to use. She had long ago dumped all their belongings onto the ground, in her search to find some decent buffalo hide rope, finally finding some in the very last bag where she looked. He packed in an odd manner, she decided, finding an extra pair of moccasins hidden below ointments and paint in one bag, extra food tied up in clothing as though stuffed away, to be forgotten. But perhaps he had his reasons for packing this way, and she made a note to put his things back together the way she had found them.
She struggled now to determine just how to arrange all their things onto the pack pony, since she had very little rope to use. But finding no easy solution, she set her attention onto stuffing all his belongings back into his bags, making sure to “hide” the moccasins and food as she had found them.
She ignored her hair, which had fallen into her face, pushing it back occasionally only when it became a nuisance to her work. She held too many objects in her hands at the moment and she blew up at the few strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes, Neeheeowee choosing that same time to walk his pony back into their camp.
He gazed at her for a while before saying, “That rawhide that you have there—it is cut through.” He scattered some long willow branches on the ground as he spoke. “We can use these willow branches here to tie on our supplies and restock our rope once we get back to camp.”
“This is good,” Julia said, “but I do not need it. I found some fresh rope here in camp.”
Neeheeowee gave her a puzzled look, but Julia, after glancing up at him and pushing her hair back from her face, didn’t give it any further thought. “Tell me,” she said after a while, “why are you going back to camp?”
Neeheeowee came to sit down beside her, having just hobbled his pony off to the side. His hair was still wet, she noticed, and he smelled clean, refreshing, his fragrance reminding her of the fresh, rushing streams of water which were scattered throughout this land.
He put his hand over hers, his skin still feeling cool next to her own. He cocked his head to the side, looking at her before he said, “We take you back to the camp.”
Neeheeowee scooted around behind her as he spoke, and, squatting down, he placed his legs about her while he took her hair into his hands, brushing it with his fingers and styling it into two neat braids, one on each side of her head. “I did not realize,” he said, “that having your hair loose became such a nuisance.”
Julia stared away, not answering at first. At last, she said, “It won’t work, you know.”
“What?” he asked. “Brushing your hair?”
“No,” she said. “It will not matter if you take me back to camp. I will follow you again.”
He frowned, a groan forming deep in his throat. “You cannot. Where I go, I go alone. What I do is mine alone to do. This is not your fight. You must go home.”
“I know,” s
he said, closing her eyes against the sensation of having him work over her hair. “But Neeheeowee, we have been all through this before, and it makes no difference to me. If it concerns you, it concerns me.”
“I disagree,” he said. “The warpath is no place for a woman. Is it your intent to follow me into every fight?”
“No,” Julia said, shrugging just a little. “Only this one.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked.
Julia shook her head. “I do not know. I only know that I must follow you this time. I feel that if I do not do this, my life will never be the same. I cannot explain it.”
Neeheeowee took a deep breath and sighed while Julia, sitting in front of him yet so close to him, knew that he struggled to contain his anger; she could feel it. At last, he finished with her hair and came up onto his feet, saying only, “I must think,” before he strode from their camp, as quickly as all that, each step that he took reminding her that his temper was barely restrained.
And though a part of her wanted to rush to him and explain why it was so necessary that she go with him, deep within, she knew he would fare better if left alone to decide for himself what was best. She could only hope that he would honor her decision, because in truth, he had little choice. She would accompany him. She didn’t know why it was so necessary, nor did she know how she would do it, if he chose to leave her behind. But somehow, some way, she would accompany him.
She vowed it.
Neeheeowee had never felt more torn. He debated his predicament as he strolled out over the prairie, the setting sun before him. On the one hand, he could not let Julia accompany him; he knew what disastrous consequences it could have. Yet, on the other hand, he remembered how he had been as a boy, stealing along with the men as they went to war, hoping that no one would send him home. He knew the burning ache that she felt, that need to be a part of something, and he knew he should honor her courage, for what she did was heroic—stupid perhaps, but heroic.
Yes, he should honor her. Wasn’t it what the grandfathers would do? Wasn’t it what his fathers had done for him?
And yet he found himself reluctant to allow her to go with him. He wanted to protect her, to cherish her, to keep her from any and all dangers. How could he let her accompany him when that very thing that could free him from his nightmares might also be the agent that would kill him and perhaps her, too?
He hung his head as he strode along the prairie, not far from camp, never far from camp, contemplating his problem. If he sent her back to the village, would that action squelch the valor he admired in her?
A weakness within him cried out, urging him to do just that; to ignore her own power of choice, to do what he knew was best for her; wisdom, however, implored him to nurture her strength as though it were a wild thing needing care.
Which path did he follow? The path of fear? The path that said this could be exactly like the time before? The path that told him he could cause her death as he had caused another death before her?
Or did he bow down to the wisdom of his fathers? Should he cherish this show of strength in her, sowing her fortitude as though it were a seed, letting it grow into a thing of beauty and wisdom?
Did he truly have a choice? He grimaced.
Perhaps the true question was: Did he have the strength to allow her to have her own life?
Neeheeowee frowned and looked skyward as if for guidance. But at last, knowing what he must do, what his grandfathers before him beseeched him to do, he set his pace back toward their camp. And though he trembled at what he had to do, he knew he would not waiver from his decision.
“We will leave before dawn tomorrow,” Neeheeowee said some time later as both he and Julia reclined before the fire. “I want you to be ready to go because I cannot afford to be long on this trail.”
“I understand,” Julia said. She paused, then, “You have decided to take me back?”
Neeheeowee looked sullen, but all he said was, “No, I have decided to let you come with me.”
Julia looked up at him, her gaze startled. “Y…you have decided…that—”
“There are conditions and there are rules,” he said. “But if you agree to them, then I will let you accompany me.”
Julia nodded. “I would agree with—”
“We will discuss the rules first and then, if you agree, we will set out together.”
“I see,” she said. “What are these rules?”
“The first rule is that you will engage in no fighting unless you have to once we reach the enemy. When we get to his country, and if I fight him, I want you to stay well back and attend to the horses. This would be a big help to me.”
“I would agree—”
“There is more.”
Julia nodded and fell silent.
“You will attend to most of the camp chores,” Neeheeowee said, looking at her sternly. “You will bring water for both me and the horses in the evening and you will fetch it without complaint no matter what I do or say.”
She nodded.
“And,” he said, pausing only slightly, “there will be no lovemaking.”
He caught her startled glance, and, though he didn’t have to, he went on to explain, “It is considered a very bad thing for a man to engage in sex if he is on the warpath, and if he does this, it is said that he will be wounded in battle. We will not test these teachings. While we travel, and until I meet the enemy, there will be no kissing, you will refrain from touching me, and we will not sleep with one another at night. If you agree to these things, you may come with me. If not, I will take you back now.”
Julia glanced at him, certain that he held back his anger, yet he said nothing more, merely awaited her reply and at last, when she said, “I agree to these conditions,” she saw a spark of emotion flicker there within his gaze.
He said nothing as he stood up and then moved off to where his buffalo robe lay in a heap upon the prairie. He picked it up and brought it over toward her, dropping it and stretching it out next to the fire. Before he lay down upon it and surrendered himself to sleep, he turned to her and said, “So be it.”
Julia nodded back, whispering to him in the dark, saying in English, “It is done, my love. I agree.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
How could he keep his attention on the matter at hand when Julia’s well-shaped buttocks loomed before him?
Neeheeowee let out a groan of despair as they sat around the fire in their evening camp. They had only been on the trail for seven days and already he yearned to feel her, to touch her, to make love to her. He turned his back on her as though this would help him regain control. It didn’t work. The action did him no good whatsoever. Her womanly scent reached out to him, begging him to kiss her; anything, if it meant feeling her body against his. She began to sing as she worked, her voice soft and pretty, and he wondered if he would go slightly out of his mind before this journey ended.
He’d spoken the truth when he’d said that a warrior refrained from sexual intercourse when on the warpath. Those that did it, those who shunned the teachings of their elders for the pleasures of the moment, had been known to die or to sustain a life threatening wound in battle soon thereafter. Neeheeowee literally knew of no Cheyenne or Lakota warrior who had sex before, during, or after a fight.
Which meant that he couldn’t touch Julia, though he knew she would welcome it.
It left him—what? Frustrated, eager for her company, and… He stared down at his body, not really needing to see the physical proof of his desire for her.
Well, he could not become a victim to his flesh. There were some things a man never did. There were some restraints that a man must place upon himself and this, he knew, was one of them.
Stifling a groan, he rose from his position within their evening camp and strode as calmly as possible toward the river, where he hoped the cooling freshness of the water would ease his passion. It was all he could hope for at the moment.
Julia bent down to hand Neeheeowee his b
owl of stew where he reclined on the ground, just having returned from a lengthy bath. She saw his gaze move toward the cut of her dress, where a firm outline of her breasts could be seen. She drew in her breath in anticipation, but just as quickly let it out. Neeheeowee had meant what he’d said; he didn’t touch her, he didn’t kiss her, he didn’t even acknowledge her except with his glance, which strangely enough, Julia found focused upon her more and more rather than less and less.
They had been traveling about a week and the country into which they were entering now had become more arid, the prairie more inclined toward the shorter grasses, with long stretches to be found without a single tree in sight. She saw buttes and mesas in the distance, and she knew that soon they would leave the friendly country of the Lakota and Cheyenne for the more hostile hunting grounds of the Pawnee.
She hadn’t realized they would be traveling into the land claimed by the Pawnee. She had assumed the Pawnee still trespassed on Lakota ground, and she shivered at the thought of moving closer and closer to the territory of their enemy.
But she couldn’t complain. Though Neeheeowee ignored her for the most part, despite what he said, she awakened each morning to the feel of his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him, and she gloried in the sensation. If this was all he could give her for now, she would be content with it.
She wasn’t certain why she’d become so intent on accompanying Neeheeowee on his journey. Just what she could do to help him settle this score, she couldn’t even fathom. She had no skill with a gun and less than that with a bow and arrow. And while it was true that she might be more burden than helpful mate, she was determined to change that. She knew she was needed here.
Neeheeowee had faced his nightmares alone for much too long. Now he had her. If he were to perish in this venture, then they would perish together. But if not, if he were to confront these ghosts, then he would have her beside him. And despite the careful teachings from her early life, Julia believed Neeheeowee: her man, her love, was haunted, if not by real people, at least by the past. And Julia knew it was time to do something about it.