by Kat Flannery
Exhausted from the sickness, she slumped into him, and he brushed the blond hair from her forehead. There was no color to her face, the skin an exact contrast to her wheat-painted hair. Had he not shown up when he did she might’ve died, if not from the berries, then dehydration. Wakan Tanka had sent him to aid her.
If it had been his brother who had captured the girl, Hotah would make him pay. Leaving a blind woman to her own defenses had been a cowardly act. He ground his back teeth. She was helpless with no sight and in a place she was not familiar with. He’d take her home to be safe with her family…if she had one.
Hotah had always been a protector, and it was one of the reasons his father had named him chief after he’d become ill. It was a great responsibility, one that came with much gratitude, but also came with much heartache. He thought of his people. The Paha Sapa confined to the land, no longer living as they once did. He regretted the decision to go there—but also knew if he hadn’t, the Army would’ve hunted them down and killed them.
Life was not so easy as the great Matoskah once said. “Trials and tribulations will come; it is how you walk with the earth that will tell your future.” Hotah missed his father and wished for council with him once more. He yearned for the wise words, the reassurance he’d done the right thing. He carried the responsibility upon his broad shoulders, and with each day it became heavier.
Thinking of his brother tightened his chest. How could Hotah kill him or watch him die? He should go home, tell the general he could not find Kangi, and beg the arrogant man to feed his people. To capture the boy he once loved so much meant a lifetime of regret. On both fronts, neither offered the reprieve his heart so desired.
The sun had begun to drag itself from the sky to slumber for the evening, and Hotah decided to remain at the paltry camp for the night. It was better for the girl to sleep off the sickness than drag her up onto the horse.
He tenderly lowered her head to the ground and inched himself away from her sleeping frame.
Chapter Three
Ivy woke to the first rays of dawn warming her face. She stretched her arms above her head thinking she was home, until the pain in her stomach reminded her of the awful night she’d had. She bolted upright, heart beating rapidly, and scanned the area as best she could. The scene before her was blurry, and she squinted to try to make out the shapes.
“You are awake.”
He was still here, the man who had helped her yesterday. What was his name? She ran her hand down the messy hair and along her skirt in an effort to look presentable.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
She watched as his fuzzy image came closer. He knelt in front of her, but he was still too far away for her to make out his features.
“I am fine.”
“I have some water.” He took her hands and placed a cup within them.
“Thank you.” She took a sip and waited to see if her stomach would react to the cold liquid. Nothing, so she took another drink.
“Do you feel well enough to travel?” He was moving about the campsite, and she found it difficult to keep track of his form because it blended in with everything else she saw.
Ivy rubbed her sore eyes. The night before had been horrendous, and she wished for her sister Fern to be here with her now. The oldest of the three Montgomery girls knew her way around herbs and plants, and Ivy was certain she’d know what to give her to help with the poison she’d ingested.
“You will need to drink more tea,” he said and felt the heat from the fire as he stoked the glowing embers. She listened as he placed a pot over the coals.
“What tea?” she asked, searching her mind to recall the night before.
“Icaphe hu.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It is a remedy my people use to cure snake bites. I gave you some last night. Do you not remember?”
She shook her head.
He took the cup from her hands and dumped out the water before handing it back to her. This time the mug was warm, and whatever he’d heated over the fire had been inside the cup.
Ivy held the rim to her lips and blew inside the mug to cool the contents. She took a small sip. The tea had a bitter taste. She made a face.
“Drink all of it, and then you will be well.”
“It tastes awful.”
He chuckled.
Not wanting to be ill again and the poison gone from her body, Ivy decided to swallow the mixture in one gulp. She shivered from the horrible taste but was glad she didn’t have to endure it any longer.
“There were two,” he said.
“Two what?” She fidgeted with her skirt while he seemed to be packing up their things.
“Two men.”
“Here? With me?”
“Yes.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward. She couldn’t recollect if there had been or not. She only remembered the one who had taken her.
“One was white.”
Her head shot up. “You are saying I was taken by an Indian and a white man?”
“It seems so, yes.”
“Impossible.”
He grunted. “It is true.”
“Hogwash.”
“You cannot believe this why?”
“Because it doesn’t seem right.”
“What is right in your world may not be in someone else’s.”
She pondered what he’d said. There was evil in every kind, but Ivy would not allow herself to believe a white man had taken her.
“I think you’re wrong.”
“How can you believe so easily one of my kind took you but not one of your own?”
She was silent.
“Get up,” he snapped.
She stood and stepped away from him.
“Where do you live?”
“Man… Manchester.”
“You will need to ride with me.”
“If you just point me in the direction, I will make it on my own.” She no longer wished to be in his company and had the sudden urge to escape.
“No.”
“I will go without you.”
“I will take you,” he said, keeping his voice light.
“I am capable of finding my way home.” She wasn’t, but he’d never know the truth.
“I believe you could, but I cannot leave a woman alone to fend for herself. I will take you.”
Ivy wanted independence, but again she was being told what to do. Defiance placed the frown upon her face, and she stood taller. The stretch in her spine did little to ease the ache still in her stomach, but she refused to hunch forward.
“No.” He did not reply and so she continued, “Mr. —?”
“Hotah.”
“Hotah, I am a grown woman who can make it on my own. Now, if you’d kindly point me in the correct direction. I will be on my way.”
“What will you do after I point the right way?”
“I will go of course.”
“And what will you do when you cannot see what is ahead of you or what is around you?”
She did not want to hear the reality of what she had become. “I will make do.”
“How?”
She did not know! Damn it—she had no clue what she’d do, but more than anything in the world, Ivy wanted to be like everyone else. She wiped at her eyes to stop the tears from falling.
“You cannot see,” he said softly.
“I know this!” she yelled. The weight of where she was—who she was—came crashing down upon her, and she slumped forward. She was a nobody—a spinster living with her sisters. And the worst part—she’d die never knowing what it was like to be on her own.
He took her hand, and she didn’t have the courage to pull away from him as he led her to the horse. Strong hands encircled her waist, and he hoisted her up onto the saddle.
Chapter Four
Ivy didn’t know where they were and was even more confused over what direction they traveled. More so than ever she felt useless.
Hotah was right; she would’ve never made it on her own and had no idea why she even thought she could. She should be lucky she had been captured. Goodness knows what might have happened if she’d been left on her own.
She wondered what her sisters were thinking. No doubt, Fern was worried sick, and Poppy was plotting to kill her.
How odd it had been that an Indian had captured her. Poppy had been friendly with most of the Sioux that lived around their homestead, so for one to kidnap her seemed absurd. Then again, most of the tribes had been placed on granted land, so the one who had taken her must’ve been a renegade.
She sighed. The Sioux never spoke to her when they came to trade with Fern; instead, they gawked. Poppy had told her they were only curious, but Ivy didn’t think so. She was different. They’d seen it, as had everyone else.
Most days she kept to herself, tucked away behind the four walls of her bedroom. Her pale skin and lack of confidence reflected so many things: not enough sun, conversation, and the feeling of desolation. With no friends other than her nosey sisters, she’d focused on painting, often from memory, of sceneries she’d seen before she’d lost her sight. But she wanted so much more, and soon anger began to seep into the lonely cracks of her soul. She’d lash out at her sisters and their beloved husbands, casting them into the darkness she felt, and chose to remain cold and distant. It was her only defense from what she could not control.
The horse stopped, and her face slammed into Hotah’s back. She shook off the uneasiness of touching him and scooted backward.
“Horse needs water,” he said.
Unsure of what to say, she remained silent.
Ivy could hear the rush of the river to her left and inhaled the cold air that came with it. She slid off the rump of the horse, when she was yanked to the side so abruptly her arm felt pulled from the shoulder.
“Do not remove yourself from the horse this way again.”
She shrugged out of his grasp and rubbed her arm.
“Do not touch me.” She growled, angry at what she could not do or see.
“If I had not, you could’ve died.”
“How so?”
“Were you not taught how to ride?” he asked, his voice tight and controlled.
She crossed her arms. Of course she hadn’t. Her sisters forbade it, afraid she’d be thrown.
“You do not know how to ride, do you?”
“I do.”
“You lie.”
“I made out just fine on my own before—”
“You were captured?” he finished.
She tipped her chin.
“The horse will kick if you get off the way you did.” He had softened his voice, and she resented him immediately for showing pity.
“Maybe I did it on purpose.” It wasn’t the case, but she was tired of being the invalid everyone had to watch out for.
“Tsk tsk.”
She turned from him, more out of defiance but also so he couldn’t see the tears looming in her eyes. Irritation at all she was missing out on bit into Ivy, and she sucked in a breath.
“Do not be sad.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I am not.” She stepped away from him.
“I will take you home soon.”
It wasn’t where she wanted to go. Ivy had to keep from stomping her foot like a schoolgirl. Locked back up with Fern and Poppy reciting the rules. More listless days and nights stuck in the cabin. Wasn’t that the very reason she’d left on her own in the first place? She could not be what they wanted any longer—a weight cast upon them because of her illness. She didn’t want to go back—she would not!
An idea struck, and even though she knew it was horrible to do it, Ivy desperately wanted to be her own person. She took a deep breath and set her features into a calm, serene appearance.
“My family lives in Montana.” She faced him. It was a lie, one she prayed he’d believe.
“You said Manchester earlier.”
“I didn’t trust you before, but now I can tell you are a good person.” She was hoping so, because they’d be with each other for a while longer. A prickle of regret nudged her to tell him the truth, but defiance and anger kept her from it.
She could feel his dark eyes watch her, and it took everything in her not to squirm from his scrutiny.
“What would we have found had we gone in the direction you first told me?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“You do not know?”
She shook her head, too afraid to speak.
“I do not believe you.”
Fury engulfed her chest, and she couldn’t help the glare or nasty words that followed. “I do not care whether you believe me or not. I do not need you, Mr. Hotah I will make it there on my bloody own.”
“Okay.” He walked away from her.
Ivy straightened, swivelled on her heel, and marched back in the direction they had come. The ground was uneven. She felt every rock and branch against the soles of her shoes. Unwilling to wince or show any sign of feebleness, she continued on. She was stronger than her soul allowed her to believe, and she’d need to keep telling herself that if she was going to make it out in the world. The water was to her right now and, unaware of what was to her left, she walked forward hoping she’d not fall off a bloody cliff.
“Do you count the paces you have made?” He was right next to her, and she stifled the scream wanting to escape. She had not heard him, had not smelled him, and knew if she didn’t get her head straight she’d die out here.
Ivy stopped; she inhaled three calming breaths and closed her eyes. The sound of rushing water invaded her ears. The river. A light wind dusted her cheeks with the hint of dirt, and she could smell the pine and wood. Ahead of her was forest. She smiled just before she turned left and began walking.
“Why did you change directions?” He was still with her, but she’d known that.
“The forest was ahead of me, and the water to my right. Left was the only sensible way to go.”
“You know this how?”
She paused, and when she cast her eyes upon him, she was startled at how much she saw. He was close, mere inches from her face; the slant of his jaw and the shape of his eyes all held the breath within her throat. Dark realms surrounded by thick black lashes stared back at her.
“I… I…” She closed her mouth and pressed her lips together. Why had he affected her so? Could it be she’d never seen anything so beautiful in all her life? Or maybe because she’d never been this close to another man before now? The earth seemed to sway beneath her, and she took a shaky step.
“Are you ill?” he asked, concern etched on his face.
“I know all of this because I feel it,” she said in a rush.
“You feel the earth?”
She nodded.
He smiled.
She blinked to focus on him—to memorize every feature of his handsome face. Her sisters would scoff at her for being so silly, but Ivy couldn’t help herself, and in the back of her mind she knew this was the closest she’d ever be to experiencing these emotions again. Desolation crept its way into her moment of bliss, a reminder that she was not like everyone else…and no one wanted a blind woman for his wife.
“Come—you are not well.” He took her hand and led her back to where they’d dismounted. “Have you eaten more berries?”
“Of course not!” She shrugged out of his hold.
“Drink.” He handed her a canteen.
She took it, swallowing the water too quickly and began to choke. Loud wheezes blew from her pursed lips as she coughed into her palm. Her ribs ached and sides burned. Fern had warned her of this when she was young and had eaten her food too quickly.
He struck her on the back, which did little to work the air into her lungs, and she pushed him away. She bent forward, coughing, until finally she was able to suck in a quivering breath. Two more inhales and she began to relax. She wiped her forearm across her wet cheeks and chin before standing upright.
“You take gulps when you should sip,” Hotah said.
Ivy had wanted a distraction, and the canteen had given it to her. Soon she’d be in Montana making a new life for herself. She glanced in Hotah’s direction and could see the outline of him crouched down.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“How can you see me?”
“I can see shadows and blurry images. I can also see things somewhat clear when they are very close to my face.”
“So you are not blind, then.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Why was he insistent on arguing with her?
“If you can see, you are not blind.”
“I am blind. I cannot see a damn thing in the dark, nor can I see much of anything in the daylight.”
“Bad eyes, yes. Blind, no.”
“Do not presume to know me or my illness!”
“You are not ill.” He continued to inspect the ground.
“You are absurd.” She stomped her foot.
He ignored her, but Ivy wanted a fight and she walked toward him. Kicking up dirt on her way.
“What are you staring at?” she asked again.
“Tracks.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of them out here. It is the wilderness.”
He stood and brushed his chest against hers, and she retreated.
“Why do you speak like that?”
“Like what?”
“You sound like a mountain cat in heat.”
Ivy had lost all reason and poked her finger into his chest.
“You are an ingrate who thinks he knows so much, but you are lucky the Army has not thrown you in prison!”
His hand lashed out toward her with such precision, she hadn’t time to move away. Hotah hauled her to his chest, his grip paralysing.
“Your people did put me and my family in prison—it is called reserved land.” He turned to the side and spat.
She could see the whites of his teeth, he was so close. Fear like nothing she’d ever felt before covered Ivy in a polish of sweat. No. She’d not be a victim anymore. She yanked her arm from his grip and glared right back.