by Karen Kay
“But please, you must know that I would never let anything like that happen to you. I would testify in your behalf.”
“I do not know what this ‘testify’ is, but I like to think that this Mrs. Eubanks might have tried to explain, too. If she did, she was not listened to. No, I think I will do as I think is best.”
She gulped. “Which is…?”
“I do not reveal my intentions to a white woman.”
“Are we onto that again? Please, sir, I implore you, please take us to a white settlement. I promise that I will do anything that you say.”
He leered at her. “Anything?”
She nodded. “Within reason.”
He sent her what he hoped was a wicked glance, his gaze skipping over her physical assets. He asked, “What is meant by this ‘reason’?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I could not climb the highest mountain for you, I suppose.”
“But you might do other…feminine things…for me?”
She had turned her face away from him and he was uncertain she understood his implication, for she said, “I suppose that I could.”
He groaned, his sexual reflexes immediately screaming at him. But he did not see an answering gleam of erotic awareness in her physical demeanor—something, anything, more than words that would indicate she was willing to act the part of a kept woman. And so he battled with himself over the desire to take this woman in his arms.
“I assume that I might be able to cook for you and mend your clothing and that sort of thing,” she continued, “but I must warn you that I have no experience at working over an open fire—or how to mend clothing without the use of thread for that matter.”
“Humph!” he muttered and turned his back on her, hoping she would go away and not witness the telltale evidence of his arousal.
But she would not leave him alone and she persisted, “Please, sir, as you can see, I am more than willing to act the servant for you, if only you would—”
“These are not the feminine acts that I would require, if I were to even…consider your request.”
“Are they not? Then, sir, I do not know what you mean.”
He reached out and caught a lock of her hair in his fingers, twirling it this way and that.
Still, he witnessed that she did not understand such an insinuation, and she looked at him with barely controlled impatience.
At last, he said, “I mean that an Indian man can sometimes take on more than one woman to act in the capacity of a wife.”
She let out a harsh breath, still unaware. She queried, “Can he?”
“He can,” he confirmed, “although most Cheyenne men content themselves with only one such woman.”
“Is that so?” she asked, although it appeared she really did not care to hear the answer. She added, “Why only one wife when a man could have so many more to serve him?”
War Cloud did not miss the sarcastic emphasis on the word, “serve.” He said, “Because my people have found that women do not always get on very well with one another when a man keeps more than one. And a Cheyenne man likes to have peace in his home.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, causing him to release that lock of her hair. She said, “That seems fair,” but her conduct said she grew tired of this game.
“Does it?” he asked. “And could you be this kind of woman? Could you pleasure a man who has had many wives?”
“I could not,” came her ready reply. “My faith would not permit this.”
“And yet,” he said, “that is the capacity that would have meaning to me.”
“What?”
“I mean that if you definitely wished me to do this thing for you, you would act, perhaps, in the most feminine role of a woman and assume the pleasurable duties of a wife.”
“A wife?” she asked, her arms falling to her sides, her eyes wide and her mouth open.
“At least those specific kinds of duties that please,” he said, and into the silence that followed this declaration, War Cloud paced swiftly away.
Chapter Seven
Anna found herself suddenly without the means to express herself. Truly, it felt as if the air had been knocked from her lungs and she found herself staring—and possibly quite stupidly, too—at the man’s retreating back.
A wife? Had this man just asked her to marry him? She, who had assumed she would never enter into the holy state of matrimony?
Though she conjectured that the man had remarked upon this course in an attempt to throw her off her task, this was not exactly the result she had contemplated when she had chosen to take her stand against him. But it wasn’t bad.
Was this possibly a way to save the children? Was there, after all, an asset she had by which she could barter with this man?
Well, good. The knowledge filled her with a sense of accomplishment. She hadn’t failed exactly; she just hadn’t completely succeeded.
However, the thrill of winning dimmed as she realized that she would never be able to do what he required.
To marry a man of another religion? Of another race? A race at war with her own? A people that might hate her on sight?
Puzzled, she turned in the opposite direction from the man and took a few steps away. Why was she stirring herself up over this? It had been a simple statement, a casual remark, one he had made as an attempt to get rid of her, in all likelihood.
Yet, though it defied logic, she could not stem the flow of memories that his mere suggestion had brought to life. As though her mind had a will of its own, it began to roll back recollections of unhappy years and, like a walking picture that would not be stilled, she could not help but remember…
“Yer jest like yer father,” her mother complained for the umpteenth time to her eight-year-old daughter. “Ne’er-do-well. At least you dinna inherit his handsome mug, and more’s the blessing.”
Stumbling to keep up, Anna held on tightly to her mother’s hand, fearing the worst. Only this morning, her mother had dressed Anna in her Sunday best. Even though Anna’s coat was two sizes too small and her feet were pinched into last year’s shoes, Anna had been happy to have her mother’s attention.
But her gladness soon gave way to fear.
“Yer pa’s gone off and left us, Anna, and Lord forgive me, but I canna keep you wit’ me. Where I’m goin’ you canna go. What I’m goin’ ta do, you canna be a part of. Do you understand me, lassy?”
Anna nodded without thought, while her mother continued, “Leastways as I see it, I’m doin’ you a favor. I’ll be marrying no one else, no mistake, and if yer smart, you’ll think twice afore takin’ up wit’ a man, yerself. I kin only hope you‘ll be outgrowin’ yer awkward years. But don’t be rushin’ it, lassy, don’t be rushin’ it.”
Her mother sized Anna up and down with a discerning eye. “Although you may na have to worry about that anyway. Too tall, you are, with no redeeming features in yer face. Best you keep it that way, Anna. Don’t go and make the mistake I did, my girl, do you hear me? Don’t you paint an’ dress yourself up ta look pretty. Wouldna do you any good, right enough. Have never met a man yet that dinna think all women were the work of the devil, anyway, to tell God’s truth. Now, dunna cry.”
Her mother had left Anna at the local Catholic orphanage, and Anna had never seen the woman again.
Anna had, of course, overheard the nuns’ whisperings. But it hadn’t been until she was older and on her own that she had grasped the significance of the phrase, “Her mama has taken to the calling.”
Anna had never blamed her mother for what she had done; the woman had been left little choice. In a way, it had been the best thing for Anna.
As it was, although Anna had never received the love and attention that kindly parents might have indulged, she did not consider herself lacking. The orphanage had seen to her education, for which Anna had been grateful. That she had gone on to become their best student was a blessing, for it had been this education that had allowed her to make herself into an invaluable pa
rt of the orphan movement.
No, Anna reminded herself, she did not blame her mother. She thanked her. Anna was exactly the kind of woman she wanted to be…although sometimes…only occasionally, if she were really honest with herself, Anna would admit that she found herself yearning for the love and comfort of a family. For perhaps a husband of her own whom she could love; one who would also love her in return.
But Anna was also realistic enough to know that these things were not for her. They were mere myths as far as she was concerned; fairy tales invented to do nothing more than put children to sleep at night. Although…today for a moment, perhaps a brief little bit of time only, she had felt…feminine…
Anna immediately squared her shoulders and let out her breath. She had to stop this line of pondering and think.
There was only one thing she understood with any degree of certainty: she would have to cause this tall brave to change his mind. That was all there was to it. She was going to have to convince him to take her and the children to a white settlement without the marriage contract he seemed to require. But how to do it?
She frowned. There had to be a way. She lifted her head and raised her face toward the twinkling stars; there must be a way.
Off in the distance, the sky rumbled and Anna watched as storm clouds raced silently across the moon, blocking out its light. The result was, of course, darkness. But what was so strange about it was how quickly it had happened. Did storms come on that rapidly out here?
Her eyes scanned the heavens. Stars to the north, dark clouds to the south. She looked away from the sight, took another step or two, but after a few moments, found herself glancing back up above.
What was it about the heavens out here that made the sky appear so much more vast than anywhere else? It was not as if Anna had never before witnessed a beautiful, starlit sky, nor a magnificent sunset. It was only that the horizon here seemed so much more immense than she would have ever imagined it would be. For a moment, she let herself dream: the dream of being alone on this prairie, perhaps at the mercy of this very same Indian man; a man who would find a beauty in her that others might have missed. A man, she reminded herself, who had mentioned marriage and her in the same breath…this tall brave…
She pulled her thoughts up short. Alone? At his mercy? What was she thinking? She gave herself a derisive snort and turning, trod back to the children.
“Miss Wiley?” a young voice ventured.
Anna glanced down to find young David at her side. She immediately drew him to her and hugged him.
“What is it, David?”
“Is the Indian going to kill us?”
Anna found herself smiling. “No, he’s not. Come now and I’ll tell you all about the talk I had with him. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Is it really?”
She leaned down and kissed the top of the boy’s head. “It is. I promise you.” And to herself she added, she would make it so.
“He has said that, given the right circumstances, he might help us find homes,” Anna said, knowing it was a long stretch of the truth, but unwilling to tell the children the bald facts. Besides, so long as she lived, she would do everything in her power to change this tall brave’s attitude. Perhaps her willing sacrifice might suffice, if there were no other way.
Anna sat on the ground, next to the children; their shelter being the rocks against their backs, and the ground, their beds. She gazed lovingly at each child, finding a great deal about every one of them to admire. No one had whined and no one had screamed or yelled; there had been little talk at all among them. Actually, most of the children were so tired, they had gone to sleep at once, still in a sitting position.
“It’s very kind of the tall Indian to help us find homes,” said Patty, the only girl who still remained with their party. That Anna’s heart went out to the youngster, she could not deny, for Anna was certain that the only reason Patty had not been picked out of this group was because she was plain of face. Also, the girl was petite and because of this, Anna feared that these midwestern farmers looked upon Patty as a liability, rather than an asset.
Anna said, “Yes, it is very kind of him to help us. I think he has a good heart.” She situated one of the sleeping children against another child as she spoke, hoping to place each one in a position so that when the children awoke, no one would have stiff muscles. She turned back to those who still remained awake and said, “But remember that we must do as he asks us. Kansas is at war with these Indian tribes, and we do not want to stumble into the middle of another fight. One was enough,” she added beneath her breath.
“Yes, Miss Wiley,” a few of the children said, somewhat in unison. Anna smiled.
“It’s quite pretty here, isn’t it?” commented seven-year-old Patty.
“Yes, it is very pretty,” Anna agreed, then added, “This land is not at all as I thought it would be.”
Wide brown eyes stared back at her, then timidly the young girl asked, “What did you think it would be like, Miss Wiley?”
“I’m not sure,” Anna said, as she brushed her fingers through Patty’s hair. “It’s only that the land goes on without seeming to end; there is so much space here, so much room. And tonight it was so quiet, I felt as though I could hear myself think.”
“Did you really?” asked Patty, distracted. “Look, Miss Wiley, do you see? Over there?”
Anna looked in the direction Patty pointed. There was nothing there, nothing but land and sky.
Patty continued, “Do you see it? That’s how to draw the sky. It’s not a line at the top of a page, is it, Miss Wiley?”
Anna glanced at Patty as though she had never before seen the girl. What an adult comment, as well as the observation of an artist.
“See,” Patty went on to illustrate. “The sky meets the land there and there and there.” She pointed. “Now I can draw it.”
Anna grinned and hugged the girl. “And so you shall, my love, so you shall.”
Several of the boys were already asleep. Anna watched them for a few moments before deciding that she had better take this opportunity to seek out this tall brave once more. The winds had picked up some force, their gusts causing her to shiver, inciting Anna’s fear for the children’s health.
She arose and plodded toward the man, finding him some distance away from their camp, next to the horses. Unaware that she might have presented a most charming picture, Anna did not think to tie back the long tresses of her hair, which had long ago come loose from her tight chignon. Instead, she let the wind stir the locks against her face.
The wind also caught at her dress, whisking her skirts to and fro, now and again catching the breeze perfectly, the gale outlining her body against the frail cloth. But, still of the mind that her body presented little to stir the imagination of a member of the male gender, she did not consider such a thing.
She raised a hand to her bonnet, to keep it on, not noticing until she did so that the hat had come loose and was hanging around her neck by its ties. After several attempts at sticking the article back on her head only to have the wind chase it away again, she finally gave up and glanced heavenward.
That was when it happened. Truly, it occurred so quickly, and without her willing it, that her reaction took her by surprise. Her spirits lifted, as though in complement with the storm, and she felt…free and…content, if only for a moment.
It made her want to spread out her arms like wings, perhaps to catch the next gust of wind. Captive or not, at war or not, storm or not, she was abruptly aware of the beauty that surrounded her, and Anna felt like twirling round and round. She did not do it, however. Hers was not an uninhibited heart.
Unaware of the picture she displayed, she glanced up innocently to find Mister Tall Brave watching her. And with that look, although the wind might have continued to whip its worst at her, the world stood still, if only for a moment.
What was it about this man? she wondered. What was it that made her want to reach out toward him, yet cr
awl away from him at the same time?
Surely, it was a strange sensation, given their circumstances, and yet Anna could not look away. What was happening?
Anna did turn away, however, as though in defense…against what?
“You felt it.”
The soft masculine words came from directly behind her. But she did not turn around.
“Felt what, sir?” Anna said.
“The beauty of this place has stirred your spirits, has it not?”
“I…I do not know what you are talking about.”
She heard the harsh snort in his voice and forced herself to keep from turning around, from confronting him with perhaps the validity of her feelings.
He said, “You are just like all white people, I think. You cannot speak the truth even when it is obvious to you.”
Anna could not say a word. Instead, she found herself looking straight to the horizon, and unconsciously, she moaned. He was right and she did not know why she could not just admit it.
Perhaps the experience was too new. Perhaps she did not trust him with so vulnerable an emotion when she did not even understand it herself. Perhaps it was none of these things.
All she knew was that something about this land was taking hold of her. And Anna could not decide if it was for good or for bad.
When she did not speak right away, this tall brave uttered another grumble and she heard his footsteps moving away.
“Sir?” Quickly she spun around. “Sir, I think that you do me a disservice.”
He did not pivot to confront her.
“Sir, a moment please.”
He stopped, although his posture said that he was anything but amenable.
She began, “You say that I am like all the others of my race. Yet, for a few moments tonight, I think I began to understand what is going on here. You are right, I did feel…something stirring in my soul. I do not know why I could not say it a few moments ago, except that perhaps my feelings were too new, too personal, and you, sir, are a stranger.”