by Kat Flannery
“My people were helping you, protecting you and your families from the wilderness.”
He growled.
“We have lived on the land all our lives, taking from it only what we need. Now we are subjected to staying in a place not fit for a rabid dog. Soon my people will die, all because the wasichu lied!” He walked away from her, but not before she heard the sorrow in his voice.
Ivy felt like a heel. If he was not on the reserved land, why was he here? She didn’t know much about the Sioux—or other tribes, for that matter. All she’d ever heard were bad things from the men in town, except when Poppy was around. She spoke highly of them and their rituals. Her sister would skin her if she’d been here. Ivy needed to apologize.
Hotah stood on the edge of the bank, legs planted a foot apart, his nostrils flared. Water rushed to the shore, soaking the toes of his moccasins. He ignored the wetness too overcome with anger at Ivy’s statement. The girl was naïve, but to hear the words from someone so innocent broke his heart at first and had him raging like a mad bull shortly after.
He could not judge the whole white race because of a mere handful of bad men but the girl did, and it bothered him more than anything. She looked at him and saw Kangi. He flexed his jaw. He could not blame her—the fear she experienced at his hand was real, but he was not his brother.
For this reason, he had cast Kangi from the tribe, forbidding him any contact until he changed his ways. It had been five winters since he’d seen his brother’s face. Hotah had heard about his vengeful nature from time to time but chose to remain with his people, praying his brother had changed. He battled with right and wrong, worried his decision to not seek out Kangi was the correct choice. After Red Swallow died Kangi turned to stone, and soon his heart followed. Hotah replayed their last conversation in his mind—the words he’d said, the desperate look in Kangi’s eyes when he cast him away.
He leaned forward to ease the sharp pain within his chest. His throat worked, but he refused to allow the tears to fall. Time had passed, and neither brother had tried to reunite. Kangi had been placed in prison until his escape a few months ago. He had a black heart, and Hotah feared that when found, his brother would not go easily.
“Hotah?”
He had not heard Ivy, being too overcome with despair. He waited a few moments before he faced her.
“I owe you an apology. I… I am sorry,” she stammered. “I should’ve never said those things.”
The words were difficult for her, but he could also see she spoke from the heart.
“I accept this,” he said.
Her shoulders fell, and she squeezed her hands together.
She had soft features—a round face with a pert nose and small lips. Her blue eyes, the color almost gone, were framed in a thick display of blond lashes. He was not looking for a wife, but had he been, she’d do just fine.
She blinked several times before her lips formed a small smile.
He had noticed this from her before, but thought there was something in her eye. Now he wasn’t so sure. Hotah did not believe Ivy was blind. If she could see shadows and blurred colors, she still had sight. Telling her this had proved useless, and he could see she’d long given up on living a normal life. This saddened him. She was young and full of vivacity; to walk in the shadows was not her fate.
Ivy’s brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked in between her teeth, Hotah watched as she tried to figure out the paces she’d taken to the water’s edge. Not wanting to insult her, he waited. He knew the moment she was sure when her eyes shone with satisfaction. She swivelled on her heel and slowly walked back to the horse.
“Are you familiar with which way Montana is?” she called.
He grunted. Ivy Montgomery was a liar, and Hotah decided he’d play into her game for now. The tracks he followed headed toward the Manchester area. They were five days out from the sleepy town; he’d take Ivy there and drop her at the sheriff’s. Kangi was his priority. His people depended on him, Kimimela needed him, and he did not want Ivy in the middle of the disaster he felt coming.
“Hotah?”
“I know the way.” He helped her onto the horse, a brown appaloosa given to him by General Davis. He’d asked for Kola, his horse, but Davis refused. Hotah had trained the white stallion from the time he was a colt. He could ride him bareback, whisper commands, and the animal followed. It was not possible with this horse.
He straddled the saddle and reached around Ivy for the reins.
She stiffened and scooted ahead.
“I prefer to sit behind you,” she said.
“Until you know to get off the horse properly, you sit here.”
She lifted her chin.
Hotah thought about the prints on the water’s edge. Kangi’s horse had traveled with another rider…but further down they separate. A part of him wanted to know who his brother had spent days with, while the other wanted to find Kangi and end the chase.
“You are upset?” she asked.
He cleared his throat.
“I can tell by your breathing.”
The girl was attuned to her surroundings whether she could see them or not. Much like the Lakota, she could hear and feel Mother Earth.
“I think,” he said.
“Of what?”
“Things that do not concern you.”
She bristled.
He smiled.
“I hardly believe telling me will go anywhere but the forest we travel through.”
She was right, but Hotah was not ready to divulge his thoughts.
“Do you have family?” he asked, to distract her from inquiring into his life.
“Two sisters,” she replied in a breathy whisper.
“You do not love these sisters?”
“Of course I do!”
“You speak of them with resentment.”
“They are not like me.”
“In what way?”
“Blind!” She jostled the saddle, and he tightened his arms around her to hold the reins and steady the horse.
“You are not blind.”
She growled.
“I know you think this, but it is not so.”
She blew out a breath.
“Tell me of your sisters.”
“Fern is a gardener. She heals people with the herbs and plants she grows.”
“She is a shaman?”
“A what?”
“A medicine woman.”
“I suppose, yes.”
He nodded.
“She married Gabe four years ago, and they are expecting their first child this winter.”
“What of your other sister?”
“Poppy?”
He mouthed the word. All three girls were named for what grew on the earth, but what he found even more peculiar was they were poisonous plants. Did their parents not love them?
“She used to be a bounty hunter, and her husband, Noah, is a Pinkerton. They work together now.”
“Your sister is a bounty hunter?”
“Poppy can shoot anything and hit it.”
He heard the pride in her voice as she spoke of her sister.
“Why do you resent them?”
She was quiet.
He waited.
“They treat me differently.” Her shoulders fell.
“Because you cannot see?”
She nodded, and her blond hair tickled his chin.
“They worry for you.”
“They think I’m some sort of child!” There was an edge to her voice, and Hotah knew this caused her great pain.
“Why were they not with you when you had been captured?”
She shifted and whispered, “I snuck away.”
Ivy desired freedom, but what she got in return was to be kidnapped and taken miles from her home.
“Where in Montana are you from?”
“I…uh…a small town. You probably don’t know it.”
“Say it, and I will tell you.” He was baiting her to see if she’d speak th
e truth to him.
“I’m tired.”
He grunted. For now, he’d allow Ivy to think she fooled him.
Chapter Five
Ivy peeled off her shoes and massaged her sore feet. The high-buttoned boots were not meant for long treks into the woods. She hadn’t removed them in days, and her limbs ached from the tight confines.
“Moccasins,” he said from across the fire.
“I don’t own a pair.” She pressed her fingers into the middle of her foot. The heel was swollen, and her toes throbbed. How was she going to get her leather shoes on tomorrow?
“They are better for your feet.”
“Anything is better than these blasted things.”
“Why do you wear them?”
“It is what we do.”
“Who?”
“Women.”
“Our women wear moccasins.”
“Well, your women are smart.” She felt the ground around her feet for the shoes she’d tossed and placed them beside her. With the fire as her only light, Ivy could not see anything besides the orange glow from the flames. She refused to consider how she looked. Her hair hadn’t seen a comb in days, and the dress she’d left in was stained from dirt.
He grabbed her hand and placed something hard into her palm.
“What is this?”
“Wasna,”
She frowned.
“It is pemmican. Eat.”
She pressed the food against her palms, feeling the texture. It was rough and oddly shaped. She took a bite, surprised at how good it tasted, similar to jerky.
“It is sweet.” She chewed more. “Is this some sort of dried fruit?”
“Berries, meat, and deer fat.”
Ivy spit the contents out of her mouth and into the fire. The flames sizzled as it ate up the pemmican.
“You will starve,” he said with a hint of arrogance.
“How can you eat that?”
“It is food made from things provided by Wakan Tanka,”
“Who is that?”
“God.”
Ivy felt foolish. She had insulted him again, and she was still hungry. How was she going to make it on her own if she couldn’t eat a small piece of dried deer fat? She gagged, placing a hand over her mouth. She’d need to simplify her life. Fern and Poppy had always cooked for her; now she’d be left to fend for herself. How was she going to do that if she never learned?
“Do you know how to cook?” she asked.
“Every Sioux knows how to survive.”
“Can you teach me?”
He grunted.
She didn’t have it in her to pursue the conversation and stifled a yawn. It couldn’t be too difficult. Before her sight had gone, she’d watched her sisters prepare their meals.
She smiled for a moment. Yes, she’d be fine, but soon fear at what she would possibly prepare crept into her mind and she was gagging again.
Ivy knelt by the river, dunked her hands into the frigid water, and splashed it upon her face. The morning air was warm, and the chill from the river awakened her senses. She giggled. It felt wonderful to get some of the dirt and grime off her skin. She plunged her hands back into the water and rubbed them together. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a bath right now.
She heard Hotah as he approached her from behind. He’d stepped on every branch on purpose to alert her.
He knelt beside her and placed something into the water. She could hear him scrub, and the fresh scent wafted toward her.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Yucca. Hair wash.” He grabbed her hand and placed it within the pan he’d been using.
Ivy felt the bubbles and smiled.
He took her other hand and placed her fingers around the handle before he left her and walked away.
Ivy dipped her long hair into the water. She dumped the contents of the pan over the damp tresses and massaged her scalp, running her fingers through to the ends. The aroma of the plant was invigorating, and she scrubbed once more before rinsing her hair in the river. When she was sure the yucca was gone from her hair, she twisted the ends to rid them of the remaining water.
Pan in hand, she stood and counted the twenty paces to where they’d camped. The sun was hot and bright, making it difficult for her to see any blurred images. She squinted. Hotah was bent over the fire, and from the smell of fish she assumed he was cooking their breakfast.
“Does the sunlight bother you?” he asked.
“Very bright days are the worst.” She sat down on a stump and ran her fingers through her damp hair to comb out the knots.
He’d caught fish this morning for their meal, a feat Ivy could not do on her own. She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward.
“The meal is directly in front of you.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to the rock beside her feet.
Ivy picked at the fish lost in her own insecurities, until she heard him cleaning up. Determined to make herself useful she tried to help him. But every time she thought he’d gone in one direction she’d bump into him and lose her bearings, until finally she gave up and stood next to the horse.
“Place your hand on the reins,” Hotah said while he packed the pan and dishes into the saddlebag. “With your other hand, find the stirrup and place your left foot into it.”
Ivy listened to him as he gave directions.
“Now, hoist yourself up, then swing your right leg over the horse’s back.”
With her foot in the stirrup, Ivy took a deep breath and pulled herself up. She pushed too hard and started to fall over the other side. Panic set in—she let go of the reins, her hands waved the air searching for the rope, but it was too late. Her right foot missed the stirrup. She braced herself for the hard ground, when strong arms caught her.
“Tsk tsk.”
Ivy felt the muscles on his chest and the strength in his arms as he held her. With his breath upon her cheek, she was unable to move or help him in any way. She tried to speak, to utter one word of thanks, but her lips sat motionless. He was so close she could smell the wood smoke and herbs on his skin.
With ease, he plopped her onto the saddle and climbed up behind her.
“You push too fast,” he said into her ear.
She shivered and prayed he hadn’t noticed. Why did he affect her so? Oh heavens, she needed to get away from this man before she compromised herself.
Hotah watched with unease as the birds circled the sky. Still a fair distance from them, he kicked his heels into the horse’s sides.
Ivy yelped as the animal cantered up the hill.
Arms tense and mind clear of anything but what might await them on the other side, Hotah reached for his bow and held it with his free hand.
The pungent smell of smoke hung in the air, and he slapped the reins. The wind blew the hair from his face and cooled his cheeks. As they crested the hill his chest seized. A small cabin had been burned to the ground. All that remained were chunks of charred wood piled on top of one another. Smoke wafted from the still-hot boards.
“Is something on fire?” Ivy asked.
He ignored her and scanned the area around the tiny farm. Whatever livestock had been there was now gone. Ravens cawed noisily while flying over the wreckage. The scavengers meant one thing. A cold sweat covered his forehead.
Hotah steered the horse slowly down the hill and into the valley below. He watched with the prowess of a mountain cat for any movement within the trees surrounding the homestead. As they drew closer, he saw that two cows had been slaughtered beside the fence, their intestines cut out and meat taken from their carcases.
“Hotah, is something wrong? Why are the birds so loud?” Ivy pushed her back into his chest, and he tightened his arm around her.
“A farmhouse has been burned.”
She gasped.
“I need you to remain on the horse while I look around,” he said, trying to keep his voice even so he didn’t alarm her.
She nodded, and he wished to erase the wor
ry from her face.
He dismounted and placed the reins in her hands before grabbing the quiver tied to the side of the horse and slinging it over his back.
Hotah’s heartbeat echoed in his ears, and the fear of what he might find sent his stomach into spasms. With light steps he walked toward the cabin.
The home had collapsed on one end, leaving the broken planks piled to a peak on the other. He kicked a board out of the way, then another, and another, until he was standing in front of a charred body. His nostrils flared and muscles tightened. Another burned body lay farther into the home, and a piece of the dress still clinging to the charred frame.
He inched further inside. The cabin looked to be one large room. He stopped mid-step. His chest constricted, and he felt lightheaded. A cradle, still erect, with boards leaned up against it, stood off to the side. Hotah’s breath caught in his throat. His hands shook, and he flexed them to pull his mind from what lay in the tiny cot. He hesitated. His stomach turned, and bile coated his tongue. He inhaled through his nose and out his mouth to calm the overwhelming desire to flee the home and not return. But he refused to give in to the images his mind wanted him to see. Instead, he concentrated on stepping over the boards as he made his way to the small bed.
Hotah paused and said a silent prayer hoping the baby was not there. The cradle’s cover had stopped the boards from breaking the bed in two. He leaned closer, and all the air left his lungs when he saw the small bed was empty. Where was the child?
He scanned the rest of the home, thankful there were no more bodies. Once outside, he walked the perimeter of the building, then spotted something colorful flutter behind the fence. He took an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocked it on the bow. As he drew near, he released the tension on his arm and let the bow fall to his side. It was a woman. He ran toward her. Hunched forward over a large rock as if she were kneeling, or begging for her life. He took a breath. She was young no older than Ivy. Two arrows stuck from her back and Hotah fingered the black paint on the end of them. At closer inspection, he saw a black feather twisted in the woman’s brown hair. Kangi.