by Kat Flannery
Guilt washed over him, as the shame, remorse, and disgust set fire to his insides. Time could not turn back. He could not breathe life into Kangi, nor could he have changed his mind. Hotah’s heart ached for the brother he’d lost and for the wrong he’d done. He rubbed his hand down the length of his face, weary from the days behind him.
“I am sorry, Ciya.” He choked on the sob. “I am so very sorry.”
He took the dagger from his sheath and sliced his long hair, cutting it to the shoulders. It was a sign of mourning and regret. Hotah lifted the black locks and released them into the light wind before he fell to his knees and wept.
Kimimela placed her hand on his shoulder, but he could not stop the tears as they bled from his eyes. His throat tightened, and his body shook as he expelled the sorrow eating away at his soul.
“Do not cry, Leksi.”
Hotah turned toward her and stared at her beautiful face. Chaska in her arms, she resembled Red Swallow in so many ways, but when he thought of the woman, he no longer wished for things to be different. Red Swallow had chosen Kangi. She loved him and nothing would’ve changed that. Their love was never meant to be, and Wankan Tanka knew this. It was because of Red Swallow’s death that Kangi had gone crazy. Hotah could see it now. The man did not know how to live without her.
“I have taken your father from you,” he said.
“My father took himself from me years ago.” Her brown eyes clearly showed no regret.
“I am sorry, ciqala.”
She reached for his hand. “Leksi, if not for you I’d be all alone. You took me when my father did not want me any longer. You raised me as your own.” Kimimela took a breath, “Kangi was not well. His mind was sick, and you protected me from this. I do not wish for it to be different.”
“I love you as a daughter,” he said, “but my transgressions cannot be forgiven. I took my brother’s life.”
“He would’ve taken yours if you hadn’t.”
Hotah shrugged.
“Leksi do you not see this? Kangi hurt Makawee. He would’ve killed her, Chaska and me. You saved us.” She placed Chaska in his arms.
Hotah stared at the boy he’d named as his son. He’d never let any harm come to him. Or Kimimela. Knowing his brother was sick did not make killing him any easier to digest, but Hotah knew deep within that the decision to end Kangi’s life had been forced upon him. If he had to do it all over again the outcome would remain the same. Kimimela was right. Had he not killed Kangi, they all would’ve been slaughtered. Understanding settled upon his shoulders. The actions of his brother were not because of him. They were solely for revenge on the wasichu who had taken Red Swallow’s life.
He hugged his niece to him. “I will always protect you both.” He kissed the top of her head before placing his lips to Chaska’s cheek. “Do not forget this.”
Hotah would remember his brother the way he once was and not what he had become. His chest lifted; the weight he’d carried for so long diminished in his acceptance of the truth.
Chapter Nine
Hotah stopped Kola beside a reservoir between thick hills and plush grass. The sun was stifling, and Chaska needed a change. The boy had slept on Hotah’s chest as they rode for most of the afternoon. He’d tried to give him to Ivy, but she refused.
“We will stay long enough to rest the horses,” he said and dismounted.
Ivy nodded and remained in the saddle. She’d been distant all afternoon, and he wondered if the laceration on her back ailed her. He’d need to inspect the wound to make sure. Chaska chattered on as Hotah removed the wet clothes and washed his body with a cool cloth. There was nothing to place the child in except a tattered blanket he’d found in the bag hanging from Kangi’s horse. After he’d cleaned the boy, he wrapped him in the fabric.
“He did not smell so good,” Kimimela said from beside them.
Hotah chuckled. “No, he did not.”
He glanced at Ivy. Her blue eyes were blank of any expression.
“Leksi, your woman is sad.”
“My woman?”
The girl smirked. “Do not think I am a fool, Leksi.”
“I do not think this…but Ivy and I come from different worlds, ciqala.” He’d grown fond of Ivy—this he could not deny—and when he saw the knife to her throat, his own life flashed before him. He’d been alone all these years. No woman to love, except the fantasy of one who did not return the sentiment. When he kissed Ivy, something had changed within him, and he was afraid to explore what it was; he’d done the only sensible thing and ignored it.
Kimimela shook her head. “You choose to see two worlds when there is only one.”
“Ahhh, you challenge my intelligence.”
“I do.” The girl lifted her chin. The braids she wore framed her face and hung past her shoulders.
“Tell me, why is wiwasteka sad?”
“She doubts herself.”
“I see.”
“She does not see how strong she really is.”
“No, she does not.” He lifted Chaska from the ground. “Tell me—what should we do?”
“You should tell her you love her.”
Hotah straightened.
“Why would I do this?”
“Because it is truth.”
“Tsk tsk.”
“Leksi, I have never heard you call another maiden wiwasteka before, nor have I seen you care for another maiden as you do Makawee.”
He grunted. Little Girl was clever, but Hotah did not know if he could make Ivy happy. He had nothing to offer her but a small cabin he shared with his ina and Kimimela on the reserved land.
“You have named the child as your eldest son, for you wish him to be yours, as you wish Makawee to be yours also.”
Hotah knelt in front of her. “You will grow into a very wise woman.” He kissed her forehead. “But it is not meant to be.”
The girl frowned.
“I’m sorry. I know you care for wiwasteka and wish for what you say to be true”—he took a breath—“but it is not.”
“I am sorry too.” Kimimela’s brown eyes never left his. “For you.” She walked away.
Hotah watched her climb up onto the horse and knew the girl was right.
They traveled for most of the day. The once bright sky shifted into shades of navy and darkened as night took over. The rolling hills painted a canvas of green, yellow, and orange stalks. He’d never tire of seeing Mother Earth’s colors, the landscape etched into his mind of a time that once was.
The Paha Sapa would never be the mighty tribe again, and now most of them were gone, spread to different lands. Hotah mourned the loss of his family—of Kangi. Kimimela and Ina were all he had left, and he knew the old woman’s time here was coming to an end.
He didn’t know how far behind or ahead the cavalry was, but he was sure General Davis would not cease in his efforts to kill him. Hotah had to fight. The odds were against him. The general had many men.
He looked at his niece. She’d be left alone if something happened to him. Ivy was the only person he trusted to watch out for Kimimela. He saw her determination, courage, and kindness. She held a strength he admired and knew his niece would be safe with her.
He peeked at Ivy atop the horse: back straight, wheat-colored hair disheveled, fair skin, and rosy cheeks from the sun. He could not ignore the pull she had on his soul. He longed to be where she was, to watch her, to talk with her, to hold her in his arms and know what it felt like to have the affection returned. Ivy stirred emotions within him that he could not understand. His body reacted to her in a way he was not familiar with, nor could he control. Leaving her at the homestead with her sisters and their families was for the best.
“How much further?” she asked, the words monotone.
“Over the hill,” he said.
Through the fog that covered the blue realms of her eyes he saw a misery so profound it shook him. No sparkle, merriment, or joy. Instead, they were empty. He knew she’d abandoned all hope of
living a normal life. Hotah’s heart ached for her. A need to protect her came over him, and his fists tightened.
The Montgomery homestead was a large spread with many acres. A garden took up most of the west side. A small cabin with a front veranda sat to the left of it. A barn with patches of new wood sat at the back of the field, and Hotah spotted another home there. The whole area was fenced-in sections with cows and horses grazing. Impressed by what the sisters had accomplished, he nudged Kola’s sides. Ivy sat rigid in the saddle, quiet and meek, and he wondered if she sensed she was home.
“Hold it right there,” a female voice hollered from beside the garden. Hotah admonished himself for not being more aware. The woman propped a shotgun on her shoulder, and, even more unsettling, it was aimed at him. Her red hair waved in the breeze, and a white streak blew in contrast to the fiery mane.
He held up his hands, a sign of peace with the white woman.
“Speak your business,” the woman said. She wore a white cotton shirt and blue denims that showed off the colts hanging from her hips.
“Poppy?” Ivy yelled.
Hotah didn’t trust the woman not to shoot his head off of his shoulders and decided it was best to keep his hands up.
Poppy walked slowly toward them, shotgun still pointed at him. Her blue eyes lit when she recognized Ivy on the other horse. “Well, hell and tarnation,” the redhead said. “Fern! Get on out here, Ivy’s home!” The gun still trained on him, she motioned with the barrel. “Who did you bring with you?”
“Put the gun down, Poppy. These are my friends,” Ivy said.
“I’ll put the gun down when I feel a liken’ to,” Poppy answered. “Now, why don’t you climb down so I can have a talk with the fella on the white horse?”
The door of the other cabin burst open, and a woman with brown hair and a bulging belly ran down the steps toward them.
“Ivy, where have you been?” Fern asked.
Ivy didn’t answer, and the closer the sisters came, the more stiff her body became.
“We’ve been worried sick, and half the damn state has been looking for you!” Fern was breathless from running across the yard.
Two men came from the barn and walked toward them. Neither held a gun or looked threatening in any way, and Hotah dismissed them to concentrate on Ivy.
“Afternoon,” a tall man said and put his arm around Fern. “Gabe Bennett.”
Hotah nodded.
“Put the gun down, hellcat,” the other man said to Poppy, but she ignored him. “Name’s Noah Shaw.” He reached his hand up to him.
“Hotah, Chief of the Paha Sapa.” He shook Noah’s hand.
“Who’d you bring with you?” Noah motioned with his chin toward Kimimela and Chaska still on the horse behind Hotah.
“My niece, and we found the baby in a burned out cabin three days ride west of here.”
“Oh my goodness,” Fern whispered, but soon her attention was back on Ivy. “Thanks for bringing our sister home safe.”
Hotah tipped his head, but his gaze never left Ivy. She had not moved to get down, and he knew she did not want to be here.
“Where in hell have you been, Ivy?” Poppy demanded. “We’ve been out looking for days.”
“I… I…well,” she stammered.
“Gabe, help Ivy down,” Fern said.
The other man walked toward them.
Hotah squeezed the reins. He nudged Kola’s side. The animal stepped ahead.
“I will help her,” he said, and climbed down. He lifted Ivy from the saddle to stand beside him.
Fern yanked her away, and Poppy stepped in front of them, gun still in hand.
Hotah remained still. He watched the interaction between the three sisters, but his attention was directed at Ivy. Her face fell as they began lecturing her about safety, why she’d gone off, and how she could not leave the yard again. Ivy’s shoulders slumped, and she hung her head. The spirit he’d seen in her the past week was gone, the sisters having diminished any light she’d had left. Her eyes were dull, the color once there absent, shadowed by the sadness she felt.
His jaw clenched.
Fern ran her hands up and down Ivy as if she were a child, inspecting her, when she found the stitches on her back.
“What is this? How were you injured?” The concern in her voice was genuine, but it had become too much for Ivy and she closed herself off to them.
“We were attacked, and she was stabbed,” Hotah answered for her.
“Dear God, Ivy,” Fern said.
“I have stitched the wound and cleaned it again a few hours ago.”
“Thank you—that was mighty kind of you,” Gabe said. “Please come in. We have coffee, and Fern just baked apple muffins.”
Hotah went to Kimimela, who handed him Chaska before she climbed down.
“We need milk for the baby,” he said.
“Well of course you do,” Poppy snapped. “Poor thing is probably famished.”
Hotah went to hand the baby to Ivy, when Fern took him instead. Even though she could not see, Ivy knew exactly what had happened and her face fell. He flexed his hands at the tears he saw hovering in her eyes.
“You can bed down here for a few days, I’m sure you could use the rest,” Noah said.
“Thank you, but I will be leaving tomorrow.” Hotah didn’t want to stay any longer than needed to—not with the cavalry on his trail.
Ivy sat on the edge of the bed, she cringed while Fern brushed the knots from her hair. The warm bath did little to ease the ache in her heart. She didn’t need to do anything for herself since coming home hours before. Fern and Poppy took care of everything. Chaska was being fed by Poppy, Kimimela was soaking in a tub, and Ivy had no idea where Hotah was.
She was useless.
Fern handed her the spectacles she’d left behind.
Ivy put them on, and the images became clearer, but still not enough to focus on or distinguish objects far away. She could see a few feet in front of her, which was better than nothing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now.
“Honestly, Ivy, I don’t know what you were thinking, taking off the way you did,” Fern went on. “And to think you were kidnapped and stabbed. This is what happens when you don’t obey the rules we’ve set out for you.”
“She’s right. You’re lucky to be alive,” Poppy chimed in. “I ain’t givin’ no handshakes to the chief, but he done right by bringing you home.”
“To think what could’ve happened out there. Ivy you must’ve been terrified,” Fern said.
“I reckon so—the girl can’t see,” Poppy answered.
Ivy remained silent.
“We are going to set some new rules for you to abide by.”
Ivy blinked.
“We cannot be worried sick every time you go outside, and if you cannot abide these new rules”—Fern looked up at Poppy—“we will move to drastic measures.”
Shackled and chained, no doubt, but Ivy didn’t care.
“You weren’t thinkin’, is all, and now that you’re home we will have to keep a better eye on you,” Poppy said.
“You are lucky Hotah found you.”
The mention of his name tightened Ivy’s throat.
“There will be no more leaving the front veranda—you can be sure of that,” Fern kept on. “And don’t even consider going into the field without someone to take you.”
Ivy closed her eyes.
“Why do you make Makawee sad?” Kimimela asked as she got out of the tub.
“Who is Makawee?” Fern asked.
“She is referring to Ivy. Earth Maiden is what she has named her,” Poppy said while she rocked the now sleeping baby in her arms.
“What a lovely name.” Fern smiled.
“Why do you make her sad?” the girl asked again.
“She has been on a long journey, and she is tired.” Fern handed Kimimela one of Ivy’s old dresses she’d dug out of the trunk.
Ivy wanted to be alone. To drown herself in the d
espair she felt. She removed the spectacles, not wanting to see the interaction around her any longer, and lay down on the bed. Eyes closed, pretending to sleep, she waited for them to leave the room. Once the door shut, she could not contain the agony as it tore away every ounce of dignity she’d had left. It shattered her resolve, like tiny pieces of glass, slicing the confidence from her. The tears fell down her cheeks to soak the pillow as silent sobs shook her body until her ribs burned and her back ached. The loneliness embraced her in a welcoming hug to crush her lungs and steal her breath. Every part of her yearned for normalcy and independence, but she’d never experience it now. She’d never feel the elation or the excitement again; all she felt was tired, weak, and alone. The days with Hotah had been exhilarating. She had felt alive for the first time in years. Now all she saw was darkness, just like her sight, her soul barren, empty of any emotion and cast into blackness.
Chapter Ten
Hotah walked Kola from the barn. The morning was warm, and with it came moisture that hung in the air. He swept his forearm across his forehead to rid the sweat. He shaded his eyes against the bright sun to look at the house, and his heart sank when he did not see Ivy there. After they’d been taken into Gabe and Fern’s home yesterday, Ivy had been rushed off to a room and he hadn’t seen her since.
The loaded rifle hung from the side of the saddle and he tugged on it to make sure it was secure. The quiver slung across his back held only two arrows left. He’d had no time to make more.
The busy chatter of Fern and Kimimela toiling in the garden brought a sad smile to his lips. His niece would be well cared for here. The Montgomerys were kind people; he knew this because of his time with Ivy. He glanced at the door again. She was not there, and his heart sank.