Long black braids whipped across her back as Winona hopped up and down. “I want to go with you,” she pleaded. “Can I come too? Please? Let me help. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”
Sarah laughed and shook her head in resignation as she stared into the seemingly innocent features of her young charge. She knew first-hand how little effort it took for Winona to get into trouble.
Sarah pursed her lips and put one hand to her waist. “I don’t know, Winona. You know I promised your parents that I would not let any harm come to you.” She hid her smile when the girl’s round face fell with disappointment, her lower lip jutting out in an unmistakable pout
Sarah laughed. Her love for Golden Eagle’s young sister grew each day. It was times like this when she regretted having no brothers or sisters. Nodding her permission, Sarah tweaked one long black braid. “You may come, but stay close. We aren’t allowed to go far,” Sarah cautioned, holding out her hand to clasp Winona’s small brown one firmly in hers.
Hand in hand, the two went up the canyon a short distance toward the thick-growing bushes closest to the village. Together they started picking the fresh juicy berries. Sarah glanced over her shoulder to see how the young girl was faring and stopped her gathering.
Sarah placed her red-stained fingers at her waist. She shook her head in mock dismay, her lips trembling with laughter. “You scamp. Look in your basket,” she gently scolded. Together they bent their heads, one fair as the sun, the other dark as night.
Winona smiled sheepishly as her basket was nearly empty. She lifted sparkling unrepentant golden eyes toward Sarah. “But Sarah. They taste so good. I can’t help it.”
Running her finger down the small upturned nose, Sarah gave a playful tweak to the tip and held up her half-full pouch. “I understand, but you must explain to Morning Grass why your basket is so empty. I promised to pick enough for all to enjoy,” Sarah replied, seemingly dismissing it from her mind.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah watched Winona’s eyes grow round as the child stared with regret at the plump berry she was about to pop into her red-stained mouth. Sighing, properly reprimanded, Winona dropped the fruit into her basket and set about filling her basket so she too could share with the others.
A short time later, carrying one basket barely half full and one bulging pouch, Sarah and Winona returned to the busy village. The two warriors who had followed silently and unobtrusively stood guard also returned.
High up the canyon, concealed in thick bushes, eyes followed every movement of Sarah, Winona and the warriors standing guard. Harry’s beady eyes glowed with anticipation. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead, replaced his hat and glanced at the bright burning sun.
He was amazed he’d found Willy’s ward so quickly and easily, considering the poor directions he’d gotten from that greedy squaw. Once he had found the area, he’d been frustrated and discouraged to find emptiness where the tribe had once been. Following the faint marks made by dragging travois poles, he’d searched until he’d discovered the location of their new camp in the canyon below, well concealed and well guarded.
Harry sat back on his heals in his hiding place. He’d found the village a week ago and dispatched Hank and Red to report to Willy after arranging a place to meet. Each day he came to watch and plan. All he had to do now was wait for Willy and the boys to return. By his figuring, they should be at the meeting place soon, depending on how long it took the brothers to find Willy and Tom.
It sure would be nice if they got here before the rest of the warriors returned from their hunt, he thought. It had been a stroke of luck that so many had left the day after his arrival, leaving the village vulnerable. Walking the considerable distance to where he’d left his horse, he led the animal silently away.
Two days later Harry returned in the early afternoon for his daily spying. He carefully scouted out the village as he always did. To his disappointment, there were buffalo furs pegged to the ground, stretched out to dry. Everywhere he looked, thin strips of meat hung drying on racks, the women below removing the dried meat until needed to make pemmican. And in one corner of the village, a pile of bones waited to be cleaned.
Carefully, he counted the number of people below and sighed with relief. Not all had returned. To his trained eye, it looked as though half of the warriors and their families had returned.
Frowning, he left. Time was running out. Soon all the warriors would be back. When he felt he was a safe distance from the village, he kicked the horse hard and rode swiftly for his camp.
Chapter Thirty
In another area at the base of the Black Hills, several days’ ride north of Golden Eagle’s present village, lay the village of White Cloud. In her tipi, Wild-Flower paced. Peering out the opening of the tipi, she watched her mother tend to the now-ready meal.
The sight and smell of their cooking meal did not interest Wild-Flower. She wasn’t the least bit hungry. Over her mother’s hunched shoulders, she watched her father and brothers approach. She grimaced in frustration and spun around, wringing her hands.
She needed to talk to her father alone, without interruptions, but every time she tried, something came up. Usually it was one of her brothers who interfered. Today she had to find a way.
Stepping out when her mother called her, Wild-Flower and her younger sister helped their mother serve her father and brothers. Wild-Flower went to a buffalo paunch suspended by four long poles, hot rocks placed inside keeping the liquid hot. She scooped a few pieces of sliced turnips and a couple chunks of prairie chicken from the simmering stew. Wild-Flower sat and shredded the small amount of meat, eating very little of the mouthwatering meal as she mulled over in her head what she wanted to say to her father.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, anxious for the meal to end, Wild-Flower was unaware of White Cloud’s watchful eyes on her.
“Are you not hungry this day, daughter?” Wild-Flower started in surprise when her father addressed her. She set her food aside and shook her head as her mother served White Cloud the empty buffalo paunch which had served as their kettle for cooking the stew.
As she watched, White Cloud took what he wanted and passed it to his sons, each taking and passing it around until it came to her. She shook her head and passed it to her sister and mother. “No, my father. I do not seem hungry at the moment.”
Wild-Flower stood to ask if they could take a walk so she could talk to him, but her mother reminded her to help her sister in the clean-up. Wild-Flower rose and worked quickly, hurrying her sister. When done, she wiped her hands on her skirt and headed toward the circle in which her father and brothers still sat and talked, but again her mother’s voice halted her.
“Wild-Flower. Today would be a good time to work on your wedding garments. You have much sewing to do before the wedding.”
Turning back to her mother, Wild-Flower replied offhandedly, “Not today, Mother. I am not in the mood to sew.” The last thing she wanted to do was sit and sew garments for a marriage and a husband she didn’t want
Placing her hands firmly on her hips, Small Bird blocked Wild-Flower’s path. “Now, daughter, time grows short. You have hardly spent any time on them at all. I insist that you spend the rest of today preparing for your wedding. It is your duty to go to Golden Eagle prepared.” Her mother spoke firmly, catching her husband’s eye.
“But…” Wild-Flower got no further, as her father’s voice interrupted her protests.
“That is enough, Wild-Flower. You will do as your mother bids. I did not raise my daughter to be disobedient. You will bring shame to our tribe if you do not remember this. Your mother is wise. Your time grows short. Now, no more words. Go.” White Cloud pointed toward the tipi.
Lowering her head to hide tears of hurt and frustration, Wild-Flower stormed inside to her hated sewing.
Chief White Cloud stared at the doorway long after his eldest daughter disappeared. Guilt invaded his thoughts. He’d not spent much time with her recently. Lately, he’d bes
towed all his attention on his two youngest sons, who required his close supervision as they were ready to leave childhood behind and begin the rigorous training that would transform boys into brave warriors. Thankfully, he had Running Wolf to help with their training, he thought, glancing proudly at each of his sons.
Staring around the family circle lacking only Wild-Flower, he looked upon each of his children with pride. His firstborn, Running Wolf, had grown into a brave young warrior. At nearly 17 winters, he was strong and brave, and already showed signs of becoming a good leader.
White Cloud listened with half an ear as Running Wolf regaled his two younger brothers with some of his tales. At ten and twelve winters, they stood in awe of their big brother.
His youngest daughter, now eight winters, was quietly helping his wife. Desiring nothing more than to help her mother, learning all she could about her future role, she was the opposite of her older sister. From the first day Wild-Flower had walked, she had followed her father and older brother everywhere she could.
More out of amusement, White Cloud had secretly taught her to shoot arrows, hunt small animals and many other things girls were not normally taught. Later, whenever he’d urged her to stay with the women, explaining such activities as hunting were for boys and warriors, she’d pout and argue until he relented.
Running Wolf, older by three years, had pointed out that there was no harm in his young sister learning how to take care of herself. He had also taken an interest in his sister’s unorthodox training. Running Wolf was male enough to enjoy having a sister who adored him.
Hopefully, she’d not be a handful or too outspoken in her new tribe. She lived up to her name at times, White Cloud mused.
Allowing his gaze to rest on his wife as she emerged from the tipi, he admired the beauty her face still held. Time and five children had done little damage to her body. True, she was older, as was he, but her beauty had only matured over the years. White Cloud closed his eyes and gave silent thanks for his family.
He accepted his wife’s nod of thanks for his intervention and frowned. Again he wondered what was bothering his eldest daughter. Even though raised freer than most girls, she’d never been so difficult before.
He shook his head as his sons called to him. Turning, White Cloud left, Running Wolf striding beside him, the younger two boys running ahead.
Several hours later, still wet from his bath, Chief White Cloud entered his tipi and his gaze went to Wild-Flower sitting on her mat, bits and pieces of softened deer and elk hides surrounding her.
Stopping in front of her, he picked up a large folded piece she had laid aside. Pride swelled within his chest as he noted the wide painstakingly cut fringe at the bottom of the long dress and the painted quills and beads across the yoke. White Cloud smiled his approval, setting the nearly white garment aside to pick up a shirt lying in her lap.
Its size suggested a man’s shirt. Nodding his satisfaction with the quality of her work, he fingered the inside lining of fur. “Your husband will be well clothed. This shirt will provide warmth in the cold months,” he said in praise, handing the shirt back so she could continue with her decorating of it.
Lowering her head, Wild-Flower hid her eyes, for she’d not made the shirt for Golden Eagle. It had been made with love for Red Fox.
“You have been very busy and quick today, my daughter. Your future husband will be proud to have a wife so skillful,” White Cloud complimented her. “You will make Golden Eagle a fine wife, daughter,” he added. His thoughts that afternoon had been on Wild-Flower and whatever was troubling her. The only excuse he found to explain her erratic behavior was her upcoming marriage. Perhaps she grew nervous as her joining neared. That, he’d reasoned, was normal for a young girl, and he hoped to convince her that she had no fears on that score.
Taking a deep breath, Wild-Flower carefully set her sewing down and looked into her father’s proud eyes.
“Father, I need to talk to you,” she began.
Returning his attention to his child, White Cloud watched Wild-Flower rise gracefully to her feet and hesitate before him.
“Speak, Wild-Flower. I have never seen you at a loss for words before,” he teased after she had remained silent several moments.
“Do not force me to marry Golden Eagle, my father,” Wild-Flower blurted out, not knowing of a more tactful way to tell him.
White Cloud hid his smile. He had been right. It was marriage nerves after all. “Now, daughter, I know your mother has talked to you about marriage and the way between husband and wife. It is nothing to become worried over. You will adjust to being wife to Golden Eagle quickly. Then you will see that all your worry was for nothing.” White Cloud traced his finger down the side of her cheek. He’d have Small Bird talk to her once again.
“No, Father,” Wild-Flower cried out, stepping back. “You do not understand. I do not wish to join with Golden Eagle at all. I do not want him as my husband.”
“What?” White Cloud roared, his face suffused with red as anger at his daughter’s words grew. “Explain yourself, my eldest daughter,” he commanded, arms crossed, posture rigid and angry.
Wild-Flower bravely drew her self tall and proud and met her father’s thunderous expression. “I do not love Golden Eagle, Father. I wish to marry for love. Please allow me this,” Wild-Flower begged.
Relaxing somewhat, White Cloud stepped forward to gently cup her small delicate face. His eyes searched hers. “Is this all that is bothering you? Love will come in time, my child. When you go to live with Golden Eagle, the love will grow as you get to know each other. Look at your mother and me. Ours was an arranged match. It has worked well.”
Twisting away, Wild-Flower threw out her hands, beseeching him as she cried, “But neither of you loved another. We both love…”
Staring at his Wild-Flower as if she’d grown two heads, White Cloud heard no more. He found himself trapped between her words and his memories. Hardening his features and heart to her misery and his memories, he glared angrily at his daughter. “No!” he shouted, cutting her off. “You will do as you are bid. You will marry Golden Eagle. Do you mean to cause shame and war between our tribes again?”
“But Father, Golden Eagle…”
“No. No more talk of foolishness. It has been decided. You will not mention this again. I forbid it.”
With tears coursing down her cheeks, Wild-Flower sobbed. “Love is not foolish, my father,” she choked out.
Cutting her off with the downward slash of his fist, White Cloud shouted, “Enough! You will remain in the tipi and beg to the spirits for forgiveness for your selfishness.” Turning, White Cloud stormed through the doorway. Chief White Cloud pushed past his people and kept going, heading deeper into the woods. The demons he’d laid to rest so long ago came rushing at him, the pictures and voices in his head startlingly clear, as if it had been yesterday. They taunted him and drove him far from the village.
Cries. Frightened and hysterical cries echoed in his mind. He dropped to the ground and put his hands over his ears. But the memories wouldn’t go away. Nor did closing his eyes dispel the pictures that flashed through his mind. He groaned and gave in to the painful memories and traveled back in time.
Wild-Flower’s words came back to haunt him. “Love,” he cried out loud. Yes, he had grown to love Small Bird, but he’d never forgotten his first love. White Cloud saw her clearly: sun-yellow hair, blue eyes. Those eyes—eyes that trusted him to care for her, eyes radiant with love.
He remembered how her eyes had held fear and hurt the last time he’d seen her, for he’d had to leave her behind when the time came to return to his people. He’d made certain she would be found, but it had taken several hours.
The memories continued to wash over White Cloud. He could not stop the visions, especially of those hours when he’d remained hidden, watching over her to protect her until the white trapper found her. He’d silently kept vigil, concealed deep in the shadows high on the ridge. His proud shoulders h
ad slumped in misery and despair as she called out to him. The hurt, the physical ache of that one final moment shot through him like an arrow.
He winced, stared at his hand and involuntarily flexed his fingers as he remembered holding on to a thick branch for support as Emily had rocked to and fro in misery. Hot scalding tears had fallen from his pain-glazed eyes and his lips had trembled with each of her hysterical sobs echoing through the forest. But he’d had no choice but to close his eyes and heart against the anguish he’d unleashed.
He’d begged for strength and ignored her pleas, her heart-wrenching cries. He’d had no choice. Over and over he’d told himself that he had no choice. All he’d had to offer the white girl was freedom. The alternative would have been a betrayal to the love they’d shared, which, in turn, would have bred hate.
High on the ridge, he’d watched until she’d finally quieted, her silence more unnerving than her screams. He’d sunk to the hard ground and shared her pain. That day, that scene, was forever etched in his mind and heart, his own silent pain.
Chapter Thirty-One
Two nights later, a sliver of moon floated high above the darkened world. Glittering stars peppered the blackened sky as beams of glowing light fell to the silent earth below.
Tall trees and thick bushes caught the night rays and held them, spreading shadows across the land. Concealed within one of many deep shadows came a slight movement. Hidden by darkness, the nearly invisible shape crouched low, darting from shadow to shadow.
Peering intently, dark eyes scanned the sleeping village. Seeing no movement, Wild-Flower continued to sneak away from the sleeping village.
Reaching a horse hidden a distance away, she reached out and stroked the quivering flesh, her voice softly reassuring the animal with soothing words. The voice was so soft that anyone about would have taken it for the breeze whispering to the trees.
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