Ben sighed and ran a hand wearily down his face, tugging at his long thick beard. “Come back to the house, woman. It will do no good for you to take sick. When Sarah is found, she’ll need you strong.” Ben put his arm around Mary’s shoulders and gently led his sobbing wife to their cabin.
He cursed the recent events. His Mary was beside herself with grief, and now he found himself worried over her as well as Sarah.
He’d hired the best scouts he could find, and still there was no sign of her whereabouts. The only clue they’d had so far was a dead man’s body found three days’ ride from here. They had also found bits and pieces of torn Indian women’s clothing and a patch of blood-stained earth a short distance from the man.
Ben knew that Willy had been involved in whatever had happened there. The footprints Mary had found in the cabin had traces of dried blood mixed with the caked mud. It didn’t take much to figure that Sarah had been captured by the same Indians who had followed Willy to the cabins the same night that Sarah ran away.
His only consolation so far was that no sign of her body had been found. As long as she was alive, he’d find her, free her and bring her home. He just prayed she was alive and not living a life of torture. Casting out all the horror stories he’d heard about Indians from his mind, he allowed himself to close his eyes and get what sleep would come.
He patted the rifle lying next to him. Willy would never get the chance to set foot here again.
It was too bad that the scouts hadn’t ridden back immediately with the report of their findings. He’d have shot the bastard given the chance.
Chapter Seventeen
“Ho! Sarah.”
Sarah turned at the greeting, eyes alight with pleasure. She stepped forward eagerly, caught the slight shake of his head and restrained from launching herself into Golden Eagle’s arms. Instead she nodded in return and waited until he entered their tipi.
Leaving her cooking fire, she followed, and in privacy threw herself into his arms. “You’re back. I was so worried,” she cried, holding tightly to him.
Golden Eagle held her for a moment before setting her before him, tipping her chin so she had to look up at him.
Sarah found herself looking into Golden Eagle’s serious gaze. “You would insult this warrior? You would imply that Golden Eagle would not return from a small raid? How you crush his honor,” he gently mocked.
Sarah recognized the gentle scolding for what it was: another lesson in how an Indian woman viewed her mate. A woman might worry, but she would never express that worry aloud, thus conveying doubts in her mate’s abilities to provide and keep her safe.
She also recognized the twitch of his lips as they tried to suppress his humor and indulgence. “You are right, my mighty warrior. Who can harm the mighty eagle as he soars far above others?” she replied, placing her hand in his to follow him out into the cool afternoon.
They stopped and settled on the flower-covered hillside, Sarah nestled securely between Golden Eagle’s warm thighs, her back resting against his rock-hard chest, the top of her head resting in the hollow of his throat.
Happy and at peace with herself and surroundings for the first time since her pa’s passing, Sarah watched the sun continue its descent. She sighed, her fingers absently stroking the small wooden eagle she wore in addition to her mother’s locket and beads as the sky took on a deep rosy glow that matched the healthy pinkness in her cheeks.
There was no need for talk as each enjoyed the quiet end to another day. Staring off into space, Sarah let her mind wander. As near as she could figure, it had been at least six weeks since that day at the stream where Golden Eagle had made his claim on her.
The past few weeks had been so peaceful, so restful to her overwrought mind, that most of the time she forgot about the reasons for her being here.
It was times like this that she found she didn’t miss her other life. Of course, she missed Mary and Ben. If she could see them once in a while, she knew she would be content to stay with Golden Eagle for the rest of her life.
She and her golden warrior had fallen into a routine. Each morning he woke her. Sometimes he brought her slowly out of her deep slumbers, her body aroused and ready for his. Other times he’d yank off the warm furs and swat her bare behind, laughing as she shrieked with cold before quickly donning her clothing.
Golden Eagle would then leave. Sometimes he was gone a few hours, most of the time all day, and occasionally he left for days on end.
She spent her days with Bright Blossom or Seeing Eyes, assisting in whatever tasks needed to be done after seeing that fresh water and dry wood were always plentiful in her tipi.
And each afternoon when Golden Eagle returned, he would fetch her, stopping whatever she was doing to take her to bathe, sometimes joining her. He had cautioned her against bathing alone and leaving the immediate vicinity of the village by herself. There was always the risk of other Indians seeing her and capturing her. Her hair alone, he’d warned, would be worth much. The warning always made her shudder.
Then they would walk, or just sit as Golden Eagle led her to a new or an old favorite spot to watch the sun set. This frequently led to tender lovemaking.
Sarah drew his arms tighter around her. Her hands twined with his. How quickly she was coming to depend on the strong handsome warrior supporting her. How quickly she’d lost her desire—no, her will—to leave him. Her heart belonged to him, as it had since the first time she’d seen him, bow in hand, arrow impaling a snake to the ground a few feet from her.
Her eyes closed as dew gathered. She was at home and at peace with these people. For the first time her life had meaning and purpose. Happiness had come her way after so much sadness and heartache.
Golden Eagle shifted behind her. “You have not spoken to your warrior this evening. What thoughts hold your silence so long, my love? You do not hold fear in your heart, do you?”
Sarah placed her hands over his as they moved to rest on his drawn-up knees. “No, but I’m glad you’re back. And even if I shouldn’t fear for you when you go on raiding parties, I cannot help it,” Sarah replied, turning to look at him, slightly defiantly, before continuing.
“Your woman is thinking how proud she is that she provides nearly all her warrior’s meals and tends to most of his needs. Golden Eagle does not have to seek his meals in the tipi of his mother to fill his belly after a long day of hard work.”
“The tipi of Golden Eagle always has a warm fire, plenty of good food, and is very clean,” he said. “This warrior is proud of your woman’s skills. I have also heard from many of our old ones that the one-with-hair-of-the-sun gives abundantly to them. This pleases this warrior.”
Sarah beamed with pleasure and leaned on her knees. Whenever he presented the results of his day of hunting, she cleaned and preserved the meat as well as any other woman, with little waste. As there were just the two of them, she gave the excess to others in need.
“And in return, they have taught me how to dismantle and set my tipi up when we seek a new camp,” she replied. They’d moved camp just a few days ago, searching for fresh game and food, leaving the fouled one behind for nature to reclaim and to clean the land for the next occupants.
She’d learned from Seeing Eyes that as the summer progressed they would move more often till the time came to join other tribes on the plains.
After which, the time would come when the buffalo would be fat and ready. During the moon-when-leaves-turn-brown, they would organize into a massive buffalo hunt which would provide the majority of their supplies for the winter.
“Today, Morning Grass suffered from toothache. I took her some whip plant that your mother gave to me. And this afternoon, Morning Grass sent over a beautiful parfleche that she’d just completed,” Sarah proudly announced. Her skills in making usable items out of the leather rawhide were slow in coming.
She thought of the feathers, beads, quills and other necessities for a woman’s life she’d accumulated and stored in pouches
from the bladder lining of buffalos.
Sarah shook her head as she remembered her shock and revulsion when she found out that she held bladder bags and that the stomach linings of buffalo were her water pouches and cooking bag. She’d been equally amazed that sinew came from muscles and tendons. The sinew was carefully prepared to become strong threads used in sewing and weapon making. Her threads had been carefully braided, wrapped in animal hide and stored in one of her pouches. She’d not yet mastered the art of preparing her own.
“You adapt well to our life, my White Wind. I am proud of you. Each day you become more like one of us. You even look as one of us. Your skin has lost its pale whiteness and is now honey brown. Only your eyes and hair say you are not Indian.”
Golden Eagle turned her head to look in her eyes as he asked, “You are happy, are you not?” Golden Eagle pulled her closer to him.
Frowning over the Indian name he used whenever they were alone, Sarah had to wonder if she weren’t too happy, too content. She still hadn’t told him of her father. She’d been here long enough to learn about tribal wars and the hated Arikara Indians, and didn’t dare mention her Indian blood in case her blood flowed from an enemy tribe. And what if they too had the same prejudiced feelings as her own people regarding “half-breeds”?
But she couldn’t lie as she replied, “Yes, Golden Eagle, I am happy. Your people are good to me. Your tribe lives a good life. Everyone has taught me so much.” Except two, but she kept that to herself.
“Even your little sister is eager to show off her knowledge,” Sarah said with a laugh. “Of course, I think it’s because her small friends hold her in awe that she teaches a white girl what a woman’s work is.”
Sarah, being an only child, enjoyed the youthful antics of Winona, and the two had formed a close relationship.
Golden Eagle fingered her braided hair and launched into several stories of his mischievous sister’s pranks.
“It pleases me that Winona looks upon White Wind as a sister.”
Sarah sighed in frustration. “Why do you call me by that name? It isn’t my name. You know I prefer to be called Sarah,” she reminded him, looking over her shoulder, brows drawn in displeasure.
Golden Eagle looked away from Sarah’s accusing stare. “It suits you. I will continue to use it.”
Sarah turned her attention to the quietness before her. She’d found that there was no swaying Golden Eagle when be decided to be stubborn. Deciding not to pursue his use of an Indian name, or possible implications that she wasn’t sure she was ready to face, Sarah changed the subject.
“I asked Bright Blossom how it is that some of your tribe speaks my language so well. She told me a trapper stayed in your village. Will you tell me about this trapper?’’
Twining his fingers with hers, Golden Eagle told the story that was told over and over again. “When I was ten of your years, a trapper wandered close to our village. He had been badly injured by a she-bear protecting her young cubs.
“We knew him to be a peaceful man, so we tended to his injuries. When he knew he would live, he asked permission to stay until he grew strong. He offered his hunting knife as payment for his care.
“He stayed in our tipi with my mother tending him. During that time I picked up some of his words, for he loved to tell stories to me, even though I couldn’t understand what be was saying. He was lonely with no one to talk to, so I started spending time with him, trying to understand him. He started teaching me his tongue.
“My father, being the clever chief that he is, had seen an opportunity too good to pass. The winter was harsh and long and my father struck a bargain. He would allow the trapper to stay for the winter in exchange for knowledge of the white man’s world.”
Golden Eagle smiled, plucking at the fringe on Sarah’s dress absently. “Each day, the old trapper would gather the older children and instruct us in what you call English. He also taught us some of your customs. When the days grew long and warmed, he left to return to his world.
“He promised to return during the next winter, and he kept his promise. For many years, we welcomed him as a brother into our tipi and he stayed for the winters. Each time be came, he brought furs, beads, pots and other gifts to us in payment for his lodging and food. And each year our knowledge of your ways and language increased.”
“What happened to him?” Sarah asked, her respect for the wise chief growing.
“We do not know. One winter he did not come. We were saddened. Under my father’s instructions, we continued to practice your tongue. During the long winter days, we still do this. Those of us who speak the white man’s tongue instruct the younger ones.
“My father feels very strongly that without knowledge of the white man’s ways, we will be destroyed in the future.”
Golden Eagle’s voice hardened. “The white soldiers speak with false words of peace. They seek and destroy my people. Each year more of our tribe die or are forced to move from their homes by the arrival of the white man. Even we have been forced higher into the hills.”
Golden Eagle rose to his feet and stood behind her. “We no longer move along the plains during the warm months as we are too small a band. My tribe needs the shelter of these hills as we have become vulnerable to the white soldiers with their weapons roaming the plains, killing the buffalo for their hides and for sport. Even leaving our winter camps, we cannot be safe from your people.”
Turning, Sarah saw his bitterness, his helplessness, and pushed herself to her feet. She knew he was now talking about Willy. Bright Blossom had hesitantly informed her how two sisters, the names of the dead never again repeated, had been kidnapped while the tribe was moving from their winter camp to the hills.
Her fingers lifted to his face, seeking to ease his pain. “It’s such a shame that all men cannot live in peace. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense,” she said, her voice soft with regret.
Golden Eagle looked into misty blue eyes framed by gold-tipped lashes. “You are right. Look all around.” His hand swept in a half circle and pulled her against his chest. “So much land. The Great Spirit provides so much. Yet to some, it is not enough, will never be enough.”
Golden Eagle sighed. “Come, let us return. This warrior has traveled hard and longs to return to his tipi today. He is ready for his meal.”
Night Star stood in the shadows of the woods watching Golden Eagle’s tipi. She would never forgive the white girl for stealing her warrior. Never mind that he was already spoken for. To her, that was an insignificant problem. Once he married Wild-Flower, and peace between the tribes was achieved, she would find a way to be rid of Wild-Flower.
But the white girl posed more of an immediate threat to her plans. Every night she could get away from her father and brother, she came to watch. Tonight, she’d watched the white girl serve Golden Eagle his meal outside, witnessed the tenderness of his kiss before he left to join the other warriors in the council lodge.
Some nights when they walked before retiring, she followed and forced herself to listen to their soft murmurs, the shared laughter of lovers and, on more than one occasion, their cries of passion that made Night Star want to scream and run. But she’d stayed, forcing herself to listen.
She remembered the time she’d left her tipi, unable to sleep. Following the winding stream, she’d discovered them bathing in the moonlight, Golden Eagle tenderly washing the white girl’s pale body. And afterward, Night Star had forced herself to watch the love act that had followed.
Since that day, her fury had grown. Bitterness spread, eating and destroying all reason. That magnificent male body should be hers, not some white dog’s! And so she watched, she waited and she planned.
That one memory alone could turn her face red with rage. It strengthened her hatred, kept her fury at a boiling point, for she’d not forgotten the humiliation at the hands of the white girl.
Laughter and sneers greeted her each day from her own people when they reminded her of the girl’s cunning. Even her father
and brother were shamed by her, for her actions that day had reflected on them as well. Red Fox had publicly shamed her by giving her most prized possessions to the poorer members of the village.
Now she was the laughingstock of the village. “Only an old man would take you to his tipi now,” they chanted and laughed until she stormed away in anger and shame. It was all the white girl’s fault.
She’d show them. She would become wife to Golden Eagle, the great warrior. Then she’d make all their lives miserable.
Night Star watched Sarah leave her tipi and join Bright Blossom. Her lips curled in disgust as the white girl took the baby from his cradle board and rocked him in her arms.
Her lips twisted in a nasty sneer. Did the white whore think to bear Golden Eagle a son? To be a treasured wife? All knew she couldn’t hold the mighty eagle. She was just a convenience until his marriage. A thought came to mind. The entire village knew, but did the white girl know of his marriage plans?
Her eyes gleamed in anticipation. She would gladly take it upon herself to see that the whore was informed of her true position. Laughing silently, she headed back to her tipi.
Chapter Eighteen
Sarah sat among the circle of young women in the shade not far from the village. The noon meal was over and most of the children sat or napped quietly nearby.
Bright Blossom’s toddler lay asleep beside her, his belly round and full after going from one tipi to another sampling the meals being served.
“He sleeps. See his belly. He will grow to be big and strong warrior one day,” Bright Blossom commented as she returned to the group, taking her place next to her son.
Sarah found the Indian way of raising children fascinating and practical. There was no yelling or rough handling of any child. Starting at a young age, mothers crooned instructional lullabies which included lessons on morals and bravery. Later came stories, lectures on responsibilities and practical day-to-day learning.
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