A look of sheer terror flooded her sea-green eyes. “No!” she shrieked almost instantly, imagining hundreds of strangers and what they might expect of her. “I… think it would… be better if I met them a few at a time, Gray Eagle. Is that all right? Will they be offended if I don’t attend tonight?”
“Hiya, Shalee. They know you are hurt and weak. I did not tell them of your lost memory; I pray returning home will also return your thoughts,” he speculated.
She reluctantly told him, “I’m sorry, Gray Eagle, but I remember none of this, not even you and your son.” What if her memory never returned? How long would it take before this place seemed like home and the Oglala her people, before this man and child seemed her own family?
“Why do you call him my son each time? He is our son,” he stressed. “You must stop resisting such facts. You must think of him as your son, our son. I am your husband and this is our home. You must practice such thoughts,” he encouraged.
“Is Bright Arrow all right? How is he taking this strange news?”
“He is a child. He does not see or feel the greatness of this problem. But he will if you treat him as a stranger. His mind is keen and quick; he will know something is wrong. He will hurt deeply, as I do. You are brave, Shalee; you must conquer your fear and doubts.”
“That’s very simple for you to say, Wanmdi Hota, but it is difficult for me to do. So much has happened since I regained consciousness. You’ve told me so many incredible and tormenting facts. I need time to adjust to them. The only life I remember died years ago; now I’m confronted with a life and family I can’t even recognize. Put yourself in my place.”
“How is it possible to become Shalee?” he asked, losing her meaning.
“I meant, try to imagine how I feel and what I am thinking. What if you woke up one morning and I told you the same things you’ve told me? What if I were a complete stranger to you; yet, I vowed to be your wife? What if I placed a child before your eyes and said, Gray Eagle, this is our son? What if I told you all your people were dead? What if you were surrounded by whites and couldn’t understand a word they were saying? What if the last thing you recall as yesterday happened over five years ago?”
“I would know you spoke the truth. I would know the Great Spirit was holding my thoughts in His grasp, deciding when it was best to return them. I would fight to bring them back into my heart and head. I would accept those who love me and need me. But I am a warrior, not a woman. I do not feel or think as a winyan does. You are afraid and confused. You must try even harder than I would to recall your past.”
In some ways, he did understand; in others, not at all. Men were ruled by a physical nature and logic; women, by emotion in both areas. But perhaps she wasn’t trying hard enough. Her life and happiness were not the only ones in the balance here; she must think of others. “All right, Wanmdi Hota; I’ll try to be brave and helpful. I’ll fight as you said. But you must teach me how; help me,” she entreated seriously.
“I will, Taopi Cinstinna,” he vowed cheerfully.
“Is that my name?” She began her studies.
“It means Little One. Shalee is your name. Do you feel strong enough to meet Running Wolf? His heart was heavy at your loss; to him, you are also his daughter.”
“How do I say his name?” she asked, her question revealing her agreement.
“Suntakca Ki-in-yangki-yapi,” he replied in a vital tone.
“It takes all that to say Running Wolf?” she asked in dismay, wondering how she would ever learn such a complicated and guttural language.
He chuckled. “It means, He-Who-Runs-Like-TheWolf. Soon, you will say it with swiftness and ease,” he confidently flattered her.
She repeated it several times, each time the saying becoming easier. She smiled at him. “Does he know I can’t speak Oglala anymore?”
“I have told him. He is confused. He feels shame at not protecting you while I was at the Sisseton Camp. He wishes to see you are here and well.”
“Why does he feel responsible? He isn’t to blame for the evil of other men, white or Indian,” she reasoned, brows lifting inquisitively.
“The success of the cunning and daring of the Bluecoats burns at his pride. He is chief; you were under his care and protection. He allowed the Bluecoats to injure you and to steal our son,” he calmly expounded.
“But we’re safe; you rescued both of us. He should be relieved and very proud of you,” she softly debated.
“He knows pride in me for tricking the white soldiers and relief in finding you. But he searched for you many moons; he believed you dead. His skills and his faith in Wakantanka suffer at his mistakes.”
“I think I understand,” she murmured thoughtfully. Men were such proud and stubborn creatures. Why did they believe everything hinged upon their courage and intelligence? An attack was an act of violence, not a dishonor. Or so Shalee mistakenly assumed, unaware of the importance of such actions and beliefs.
“I will bring Running Wolf to see you,” he stated, rising agilely.
“Wait!” she hurriedly shrieked. “I need to freshen up first.”
“Freshen up?” he queried her befuddling English term.
“Wash my face, brush my hair, and change my clothes. I look awful,” she concluded aloud, scanning her dirty and torn dress. “Surely I have other clothes here?” she suddenly asked.
He grinned. “Sha. There,” he said, pointing to where her garments hung upon a side pole. “Ku-wa,” he called for her to follow him. “Mni,” he offered, handing her a water skin and a softened piece of deerskin. He searched until he found her porcupine quill brush and two leather ties for her braids. He selected his favorite dress and moccasins, offering them to her.
She smiled and thanked him. As she hesitated, he glanced at her askance. “Is there another need?” he asked.
She pinkened, then lowered her gaze. “I need… privacy to bathe and dress,” she hinted modestly.
Hearty chuckles escaped his smiling lips. “You do not need my help?” he jested mirthfully.
Her glow brightened as she shook her head. “I will wait until you are ready, then bring my father.” He smiled and caressed her flushed cheek, then casually strolled outside, sealing the flap behind him.
She could detect his shadow upon the skins. Yet she felt she could trust him to remain there until she finished. She hurriedly stripped, bathed, and dressed. Noting the beauty and softness of the garment, she beamed in pride, recalling his allusion to her sewing talents. She pulled the moccasins on her bare feet and laced them snugly. She brushed her lengthy auburn tresses and neatly braided them, securing the ends with the beaded thongs. She studied the lovely headband before securing it around her forehead. She twisted this way and that to scan her manner of dress. If this exquisite attire seemed natural, she did not realize it.
She walked to the flap and called softly through the leather barrier that separated them, “I’m ready, Wanmdi Hota.”
He returned to observe her appearance before fetching his father. His eyes gleamed and flamed at the sight before them. He smiled and inhaled loudly. “You are beautiful, Shalee. My heart sings with pride and love.”
He came forward with the grace and speed of a jungle cat, drawing her into his arms. His mouth came down upon hers, savoring the sweetness there. Caught by surprise, she swayed against his tall and hard physique; her senses reeled madly at the taste of him and the warring sensations that assailed her body. The kiss seemed eons long; yet it was brief and staggering. He leaned back and visually traveled her face. As she trembled, she stared up at him.
He sobered quickly, not wanting to alarm her. He slowly and reluctantly released her. “Your beauty drives all other thoughts from my mind,” he promptly excused his siege upon her senses. “I pray Wakantanka returns your thoughts quickly; I fear my understanding and patience wear thin. Such great love and need are hard to deny and to master,” he confessed with a beguiling grin.
Bewildered by the powerful waves that
threatened to carry her away upon some unknown and turbulent sea, she swallowed loudly and remained silent. What a potent and perilous attraction this man possessed! He was right; it would become harder each day to deny the feelings he stirred!
“Your eyes and silence tell me you resist the feelings that fill your heart and body when we touch. Am I so…” he faltered as he searched for the correct English word to explain his disappointment. “Am I so repulsive to you, Shalee? Do you wish you were not my wife?”
She was stunned by the questions that she dreaded to answer.
“No, Wanmdi Hota, I do not find you offensive. You are the most handsome and stimulating man I’ve ever seen or met. But the feelings that plague me when you look at me this way or touch me are confusing and alarming because I don’t understand them. I know we have a son, but I remember so very little about… love. Is that what I feel when you kiss and hold me?” she candidly asked.
“My innocent and beautiful Shalee, how I long for you to recall what lived between us. There was a bond, which drew us together long ago; that same bond cries out for you to yield to it, to imprison yourself within the circle of our love. Do not fear or reject the feelings I stir within you.”
“This new bond must have time to grow, Wanmdi Hota. Surely the first one didn’t ensnare us overnight? When I yield to it, it must come from my heart and not your words. Do you understand?”
“Sha. I ask only for you to let it have freedom; do not so fiercely resist it. My memory is alive and green. Never has any battle asked more from me. My heart pleads for a swift victory, but not at such a great price.”
His meaning was clear to her, clear and compelling. She smiled. She boldly caressed his taut jawline. “You are a very unique man, Wanmdi Hota. More and more I see how easy it must have been to love you. With the combined forces of you and my emotions against me, your victory shouldn’t require too long,” she confessed.
He laughed mirthfully. “It will be so, my love; it will be so.”
He brushed a light kiss upon her lips and left. She sighed, wondering at her unnatural and wanton streak. Wanton, she echoed in absurdity. How could it be wanton to entice your own husband? Were these feelings that assaulted her called love and desire? Did her heart or body recall things that her mind could not? Were they struggling to defeat her warring brain? Why? .
The meeting with Running Wolf was initially stressful. Guilt and amazement laced his speech and manner, while confusion and reserve tinged hers. Gray Eagle translated his apology and good wishes for her recovery; he did the same for her genial understanding and encouragement. After a short conversation, Running Wolf stood up to depart. His last words pleased and warmed Shalee. She smiled as her husband repeated them in English.
“My father says he watched you change from a white woman to his daughter once before. He will do so again. He freely offers his life in exchange for the protection of yours.”
Tears clouded her eyes. “Thank him for me. I can’t explain how much his words and acceptance mean to me. Perhaps my return won’t be so difficult after all.”
The aging man with his noble features and proud stance smiled and nodded as her words entered his ears in Oglala from his son. He left, standing taller, as if some weighty burden had been removed from his once powerful shoulders and dauntless heart.
“How old is your father, Wanmdi Hota?” she asked when they were alone.
“Sixty of the white man’s years. Each winter his body grows weaker and his sight and mind duller. My heart is heavy to view such changes in him. Soon, I will become chief. War demands keen eyes and senses, just as the whites demand that war. I wish it were not so, Shalee. My heart yearns for the peace and happiness that their coming has taken from us.”
“Changes of any kind are frequently painful, Wanmdi Hota. Still, life demands them. From what I have observed and learned, you will make a great chief. But I wish this war wasn’t with my people. It pains me to think of such hostilities and hatred.”
“Kokipa ikopa, Shalee,” he encouraged her, then promptly clarified, “Do not be afraid, Shalee. No harm will come to you again.”
“When I’m with you, I’m not afraid, Wanmdi Hota. I wish my journey back to you wasn’t so difficult for both of us.”
“The light in your eyes and the smile upon your lips removes much sadness from my heart. I feel the courage and daring that grow within you. You will battle this darkness and win. As with me, Wakantanka’s shadow falls over you, as many times in the past.”
“I hope and pray you’re right, Wanmdi Hota.”
“You will see, Little One; you will see.”
Shalee’s first test of courage and intelligence came that following day around midmorning. “Shalee?” Leah’s voice called from just inside the tepee opening. “May I come in and talk with you?” she asked politely.
Shalee turned and glanced at her, paying close attention to their resemblance. She had no way of knowing Leah’s brazen entrance was an unforgivable breach of Indian etiquette. She nodded and waited for the tense white girl to approach and sit down beside her.
“I must hurry. They’ll be furious if they find me in here with you,” Leah stated mysteriously, heavily lacing her words with fear and furtive accusations.
“Why would they be so angry, Leah? I don’t understand. Leah is your name?”
“Yes, Leah Winston. You’re a princess here; they guard you like a treasure. You’ve always been so kind and friendly toward me. I had to make sure you’re all right. Do you need anything? Is there something I can do for you? They forget you’re half-white, too. They refuse to believe you don’t hate or scorn me as they do. Whatever will become of me now? My only friend and protector can’t even remember me,” she wailed, sobbing and wringing her hands.
What did she mean by “protector"? From whom?
“Don’t worry, Leah. I won’t let them harm you. I’m at a disadvantage here; I honestly don’t remember you or them. Tell me everything you can. What was it like here before my injury? I don’t even remember who or what Indians are. I saw a few from a distance on our journey here. But I heard such terrible tales about them. I’m confused. Gray Eagle certainly doesn’t match those horrible stories,” she unwittingly stated.
“Only because you don’t remember the awful things he…” Leah played her game well, instantly scoring a critical point in her favor. She halted at the precise moment to prevent actually lying, but she boldly insinuated a ghastly time that Shalee was fortunate not to recall. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that! He’s your husband,” she hastily pretended to rectify her curtness and cheeky outburst. “Is there something you need?” she added, artfully changing the topic.
“I need the answers to many questions, Leah, five years of questions.” Shalee softly demanded for the dismaying subject to remain open. Did she need to reevaluate her mysterious situation?
Five years? “I can’t talk about such things, Shalee; they’ll either torture me or kill me,” Leah vowed fearfully, secretly gratified. “When did you first meet Gray Eagle?” she suddenly asked.
“I don’t know. The last thing I vividly recall happened on the way here from St. Louis. He told me we met right after I came here.”
From St. Louis? The baffled Leah asked, “Did he tell you how you met?” A white settler? But she was an Indian princess, wasn’t she?
“Yes,” Shalee bravely replied. “But something must have happened afterwards. After all, I loved him and married him,” she reasoned.
“Did you?” Leah asked, viciously sucking upon the oblique wound like a greedy leech. There was a riddle here to be solved!
“What do you mean? He said I was his wife,” Shalee inquisitively replied, pondering this girl’s baneful insinuation and motives.
“You are his wife. I meant, did you really love him?” Leah boldly ventured. “How did Princess Shalee get hooked up with whites?”
“I must have!” she exclaimed. “Why else would I marry him?”
“Maybe he
didn’t give you any choice. You’re a princess. He lusted for you. Perhaps he forced you to marry him,” Leah craftily hinted.
For some unknown reason, Shalee didn’t argue her alleged identity. But the words “lusted for you” had a disturbing effect upon her. Was it carnal lust that had compelled his challenge and their marriage, not love? Would she know the difference? “He said you’re a slave here. How do they treat you? What’s Gray Eagle really like?” she queried, trying to piece together her own puzzle.
“Physically, you can judge him yourself. He’s handsome and virile. But he terrifies me. It’s no exaggeration, Shalee; there’s not a more feared man alive than him. He is power. He’s a living legend. Every eye and ear train upon him when he speaks or moves. Our people fear him. His tribe thinks he hung the moon itself. Other Indians won’t even challenge him. He’s not a chief yet, but he rules this entire land at the mention of his name alone. He’s the last man I would anger or resist. Now, do you see why I’m stupid for even being here?” Her tone was resentful, but… but what?
“Why are you?” Shalee unexpectedly asked, guarded.
“The warriors are out hunting. Most of the women are too busy to care what I’m doing. As long as the chores are done by nightfall, I could be a ghost for all they care! It’s so hard to play the coward and fool, Shalee. But I would do anything to avoid torture. I force myself to be obedient and helpful. Everything will be all right until…” Again, she dramatically halted, lowering her gaze as if embarrassed and greatly distressed, as if modesty or terror froze any remaining words.
“Until what, Leah?” Shalee probed, too sensitive and naive to avoid Leah’s cunning trap. Was there some point to be made?
“I must go! Send for me if you need anything done,” Leah stated, making a move to leave, hoping her ploy to cause resentment had worked.
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