White Owl

by Veronica Blake

  Maggie had thrown her hands over her eyes in shock. She swung around and presented them with her back. “I-I-I, oh,” she choked out. “I’ll be-be in the kit-kitchen.” She disappeared as she took off running down the hall.

  White Owl slowly turned to look down at Rose. His dark skin was a ruddy hue of scarlet, and his hands were still clasped securely over his man parts. Rose could not control the burst of laughter that flew from her mouth. He was supposed to be a feared warrior, yet standing here now, there was nothing fearless about him.

  “This is not funny,” White Owl growled through gritted teeth. “Your aunt—”

  “Will laugh about this someday, too,” Rose cut in. She pushed herself up from the settee and wrapped the blanket around herself, tucking the ends in securely above her breasts. “I’ll go grab your clothes. I hope they are dry enough.”

  White Owl huffed. “I don’t care if they are soaking wet, you bring them to me now!”

  Rose started to smile, but decided against it. He still did not appear to be finding the humor in this yet. “Don’t go anywhere while I’m gone,” she could not resist adding. If possible, his scowl grew even deeper.

  She rushed from the room and headed down the hall, past the doorway to the kitchen and into the washroom. The floor had more water floating on it than was in the tub. She would worry about the mess later. She had a green velvet dressing gown hanging from a hook on the wall, and she quickly slipped it on and tied the long belt around her protruding waist as she entered the kitchen. To get to the backyard and White Owl’s freshly washed clothes, she had no choice but to face her aunt.

  “Aunt Maggie, I’m so sorry. But it’s really not what you are thinking—I mean—we weren’t doing anything there—well, not right then—”

  Maggie’s hands flew up in the air as she turned toward her niece. Her face was a shade of red that Rose had never seen before, and she shook her head from side to side as she threw her hands over her ears. “No—no. I don’t need to know any details. Just get that man of yours some clothes before one of my students decides to come over here to look for me.”

  “Oh,” Rose gasped as she rushed out the back door. They didn’t need to traumatize anyone else today, especially one of the students. But most of all, the very last thing they needed right now was for anyone to know that White Owl was here. Hatred of the Utes since the White River Massacre had not diminished, and in fact, was growing worse.

  Rose hurried back in with an armload of White Owl’s clothes. Her aunt met her at the door with a picnic basket in her hands.

  “I will go out this way,” Maggie said in a stern voice. “And when I return tonight, I will expect a proper introduction to your husband.” She walked past Rose with a toss of her head. Her thick reddish-blonde hair was piled on her head in a loose bun, and her face was still flushed.

  Rose gulped, then sighed heavily. She had no doubt her aunt would welcome White Owl with open arms once she had a chance to get to know him—with his clothes on.

  He was waiting for her, still as a statue and with his hands frozen in place over his groin. Rose gritted her teeth to keep from laughing again. She held the damp clothes out to him.

  “Where is she?” he demanded as he grabbed the clothes and began to slip into his damp suede leggings and loincloth.

  “She went back to the school,” Rose replied. She finally felt in control of herself, and the urge to giggle had passed, for now.

  “Does she want me to leave?”

  “No, of course not. She wants a proper introduction when she gets home this evening.” Rose helped him pull his suede shirt down over his muscled chest and flat, rippled stomach, triggering a familiar longing. Obviously, she thought again, the child has no effect on my never-ending desire for my husband.

  White Owl placed his hands on his narrow hips. “You still think this is funny, don’t you?”

  Rose shook her head. “Oh no, I-I—” She looked up and saw the glower on his face. It was too much to resist and she couldn’t control the peal of laughter that burst forth.

  White Owl glared at her for a moment, and then Rose heard him laugh, too. Soon they were holding on to one another shaking with laughter.

  “You should’ve seen yourself,” Rose choked out when she finally was able to talk. “A big bad warrior, standing there with your hands holding your-your—” She struggled to find the right description.

  “Well, you didn’t look any better,” White Owl retorted. “Sitting there with your enormous breasts pushed out above the blanket.” He stopped when he saw the way her laughing mouth turned into a heavy pout. “I mean, your beautiful, milk-filled, life-giving—”

  “You can stop now,” she interrupted. “Are they really that enormous?”

  His lip curled up on one side as his brow rose up in a distinctive arch. “Yes, and I love them. I hope they stay like that forever, even after my daughter is born.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Rose stared at the paper lying on the kitchen table in disbelief.

  “I rushed back here as soon as I saw the headlines,” Maggie said. “I knew I could not let you leave for the village tonight now.” She glanced around. “Where’s White Owl?”

  Rose drew a shaky breath and said in a distracted voice as she picked up the paper and started to read, “He’s taking one last bath. I have a feeling we will have to have a tub in our tepee.”

  “Well, you can’t leave now, Rosie,” Maggie repeated just as White Owl entered the room. Her gaze briefly traveled down over his body before settling on his face.

  His damp hair was smoothed completely back away from his handsome face, which was scrubbed to a shiny bronzed glow. The suede fringed suit he wore skimmed along his muscled body with just enough snugness to accent every muscle and bulge.

  He obviously heard Maggie’s words, because he looked back and forth between the two women who were ogling him without shame. “What is going on?” he asked as his gaze settled on Maggie. “What are you talking about?”

  Maggie pointed to the paper in Rose’s trembling hands.

  “Wild Rose?” White Owl approached her tentatively. “What is it?” he asked.

  Rose held the paper out, but when she saw the frown on his face, she decided to relate the news to him and pulled the paper back. She remembered he had told her that although he had learned to read as a child, it was difficult for him to decipher written words in the English language now.

  “The paper says that all of the Utes from the White River Agency area have been rounded up and taken to a reservation somewhere in Utah.” She exhaled sharply and looked up at White Owl, who was staring at the paper as if her words had not sunk in to his mind yet. “I’m so sorry, White Owl. Your family—they all must be at the reservation now.”

  His jaw clenched. Rose had heard him say many times that he would rather die than live on a white man’s reservation. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “I have to finish getting ready for the trip,” he said quietly as if he hadn’t heard the words Rose had just spoken. He started to turn away.

  Maggie stepped close and placed her hand on his arm. “White Owl, you should stay here until after the baby is born. It’s not that much longer. Then you and Rose can figure out what you will do next.”

  White Owl gave her a forced smile. “We will never be able to repay your kindness already, but I have to go back, no matter what is waiting for me.”

  “Waiting for us,” Rose corrected as she placed her hand on his other arm. She sensed she knew what her aunt was thinking, but Rose knew there was nothing either of them could say to convince her to let White Owl leave without her, not after the long separation they had already endured. Nor could she imagine that he would agree to stay here for another couple of months. He had already been confined to the house for the past four days since his surprise arrival. He had tried to hide his restlessness from her, but she knew he was ready to return to the freedom of the life he loved as much as she did. S
he glanced at the paper, wondering if that life existed anymore.

  “Wild Rose,” White Owl began just as her thoughts had predicted.

  “I will not even let those words come out of your mouth. We have everything ready to go, and we are leaving here together—tonight.”

  “Soldiers will be looking for renegades to round up to take to the reservation, and I will have to hide like a hunted animal. I can’t ask you to do that, especially now.” He glanced down at her swollen belly. “I can come back after—”

  “Absolutely not!” Rose said. She touched her stomach in a protective manner, and added, “We all leave together, or we all stay here together. There are no other options.” She had no doubt that he wanted them to be together just as desperately as she did. She also knew how worried he was for her safety, and now also for their child. Yet she would not allow him to convince himself or her that they would be better off apart.

  “We’ll leave as soon as the sun sets,” he answered in barely more than a whisper. He attempted to smile back at her. The fear in his raven gaze was stronger than the relief in Rose’s expression, though.

  Leaving her Aunt Maggie was hard, and Rose could not help but shed tears as they rode away from the little white house on the banks of the muddy Platte River. Maggie had gone above and beyond in her duties as an aunt ever since Rose’s father had first dumped her on her doorstep all those months ago, and even more so once White Owl had unexpectedly shown up a few days ago.

  After her initial shock of finding a naked Indian and her equally naked niece in her drawing room, Maggie had recovered quite quickly and was totally smitten with Rose’s dangerously handsome husband. She had asked him endless questions about Indian customs and beliefs and had not shown a moment of discrimination against his people. She said she planned to teach the students in her classroom the things she had learned from him in the hopes that they would develop an understanding of the Indian ways and realize that all people were created the same.

  Rose’s gratitude had no limits, but she couldn’t help laughing inwardly at the shameless way her aunt sometimes flirted with White Owl. It was apparent he had a way of charming all women, and that Rose wasn’t the only one to fall under his spell.

  Rose was overjoyed, however, that her aunt found him intriguing rather than terrifying. She had no words to thank Maggie for her kindness, and she knew how much it pained her aunt for them to leave tonight. Not only had she and Rose become extremely close during the past few months, but she had been so looking forward to seeing the baby.

  In spite of her sorrow over seeing them leave, Maggie had still done everything in her power to help them prepare for the trip back to Milk Creek. In the days preceding their departure, she had purchased a horse from the livery stable for Rose and had ridden out with White Owl to help retrieve Niwaa from the hiding spot where he had left him. Both horses had been kept in her little backyard for the past couple of days, regardless of the fact that she could have gotten in trouble for having the animals on school property. She had gathered necessary supplies for them and was prepared to tell Rose’s grandparents yet another story about Rose’s cowboy husband showing up unexpectedly and taking her back to Wyoming with him.

  Rose glanced back one last time and glimpsed her aunt standing at the kitchen window as they rode along the riverbank. She waved and was certain she had seen her aunt’s hand wave back. Another chapter in Rose’s life was coming to an end, but she hoped that someday all the hatred and prejudices between the white men and the Indians would finally come to an end, too. Then her family and White Owl’s family could all live together in harmony and peace. She just prayed that they would all live long enough to see that day arrive.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The pace they were forced to travel at because of Rose’s discomfort in the saddle was agonizingly slow. The same trip that had taken White Owl less than a week when he had journeyed to Denver alone was taking them more than twice as long going back. It was made even longer by the unpredictable Colorado springtime weather.

  The first several days and nights had been warm, and the blossoming April countryside had reminded Rose of just how much she had loved it here. She had been in awe of this wilderness ever since she had traveled here with her parents to homestead in the western territory of Colorado nearly three years earlier. There was nothing to compare to the vibrant shades of green grasses and budding aspens. Tiny wildflowers of yellow, blue and purple sprouted everywhere. Their fragrant scent filled the air with a natural perfume.

  Then the weather had turned cold, and it had started to rain. They had been forced to hole up in a tiny cave they were fortunate to find along the back trails. The rain had turned to sleet, then snow. The cave became their sanctuary for over a week until the muddy landscape dried out enough for them to resume their journey.

  By the time Rose climbed into the saddle again to continue the rest of the way to Milk Creek, her entire body ached so much that she was not sure she would be able to ride much farther. She did not want to complain to White Owl, because he was so anxious to get back to the Milk Creek area to find out more about his tribe’s exile. He was certain there would still be some of his tribesmen—maybe even his own family—in the area who had escaped the march to the reservation in Utah. He hoped to meet up with them before the birth of the baby.

  As they entered a lush green valley with a deep river running along the base of a pine-covered mountain, an odd sound distracted her from her discomfort.

  “What is that?” she asked as she halted her horse and tilted her head to listen. It was a strange chugging sound and reminded her of the steamships in the New York harbor when she had lived there as a child.

  White Owl stopped Niwaa beside her horse. They were on the top of a small hill overlooking the fertile valley. “See that little pool of water down there by the river?”

  Rose nodded her head. The water looked like it was flowing out from a protrusion of rocks that clung to the side of the hill on the other side of the river. It tumbled over the craggy rocks like a miniature waterfall and came to settle in a bubbling pool that boiled like a pot over an invisible fire.

  “That is called the Steamboat Springs by your people. Years ago it was named that by French trappers. My people call it the Medicine Springs, and we believe it has great healing powers.”

  “Oh,” Rose said excitedly. “It sounds exactly like a steamboat. Is the water hot?”

  White Owl shrugged. “It’s warm.” He scrunched up his face, adding, “And it tastes like rotten eggs, but smells even worse. If the wind blows we will smell it all the way over here.”

  White Owl’s gaze grew distant. “Only a year ago, I visited the Yampah tribe whose village stood in this spot.”

  The remnants of campfire pits were scattered around the hilltop, and there were several stacks of logs and tepee poles piled throughout the area.

  “Where are they?” As soon the words left her mouth, Rose realized the truth. “Oh,” she gasped. “They were forced to go to the reservation in Utah.”

  White Owl nodded but did not speak. He stared out across the valley as if he was remembering the past and mourning the future. Rose drank in the quiet, peaceful beauty of the area. She could only imagine what a wonderful life the Yampah tribe must have had in this incredibly beautiful valley with the abundance of water from the river and the seclusion provided by the surrounding mountains.

  “We will stay here tonight,” White Owl announced. “But we will need to be careful. There are settlers not far from here. They have lived there for several years, but now that the tribe is gone, we should not alert them to our presence.”

  “They lived here—in the same area with the Utes?”

  White Owl nodded. “Don’t sound so surprised, Wild Rose. Not all settlers fight with the Indians.”

  She clamped her mouth shut as she started to remind him about the kindness her aunt had showed to him. But he was suffering the loss of his people’s entire way of life; the
last thing he needed right now was for her to make him feel worse. Besides, she had her own needs right now. Her back hurt so bad it was all she could do to swing her leg over the saddle horn. Before she had slid to the ground, White Owl was at her side. He held on to her until he was certain she was steady on her feet.

  “You look tired,” he said. “We should have stopped sooner.”

  Rose bent her arms and placed her hands on her lower back and attempted to stretch her weary body. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, and she quickly straightened up. She glanced at White Owl, but he hadn’t noticed her grimace. Moving slowly, she walked over to the clump of purplish chokecherry bushes where he was already spreading out blankets for her to lie down on. He rolled one blanket up so that she could use it for a pillow.

  White Owl helped her to the ground, and as she lay back she placed her hands cautiously over her stomach. She was certain their son had grown double his size since they had left Denver. Now, she felt awkward and heavy. Her belly felt as if it was pressing down against her pelvis bone. What if she had miscalculated the impending birth, or what if the baby came early? She had estimated he would be born in late May or early June, but it was only the end of April.

  “I’m going down to the river and catch some fish for dinner,” White Owl announced after he had cared for the horses.

  Rose smiled and waved him on. She was frantic as she waited for another pain to hit, but luckily, nothing happened. She listened to the curious steamboat sound of the bubbling spring. The constant chug, chug, chug never missed a beat. By the time White Owl had returned, the sound had lulled her into a peaceful mood, and she was ravenous. “Did you catch anything?” she called out as he walked toward her.

  He snorted indignantly and held up a willow branch with a string of brightly colored rainbow trout hanging from it. “You would doubt it?” he asked in an incredulous voice.