Savage Illusions

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Savage Illusions Page 35

by Cassie Edwards


  She gently to­uc­hed the leg­gings, sig­hing as she dis­co­ve­red the sof­t­ness of the buc­k­s­kin, but her eyes we­re el­sew­he­re as her fat­her slowly lif­ted a be­a­uti­ful In­di­an dress from the trunk. It was ma­de of an­te­lo­pe skin and was as whi­te as snow and or­na­men­ted with at le­ast three hun­d­red be­ads ma­de from elk tusks!

  This, too, was la­id ac­ross Jole­na's lap for her to ga­ze upon and to to­uch, but aga­in her at­ten­ti­on was drawn to so­met­hing el­se her fat­her was ta­king from the trunk.

  It was a sum­mer blan­ket ma­de of elk skin, well tan­ned, wit­ho­ut the ha­ir, and with the dew-claws left on.

  Brown Elk re­ac­hed in­to the trunk one last ti­me and drew out a be­a­uti­ful pa­ir of black moc­ca­sins. They we­re of de­er­s­kin with par­f­lec­he so­les and wor­ked with por­cu­pi­ne qu­il­ls. "The­se we­re yo­ur mot­her's on the day of her mar­ri­age to yo­ur fat­her," Brown Elk sa­id, gently stro­king his hand down the full length of Jole­na's un­b­ra­ided ha­ir. "This old man ne­ver tho­ught the­re co­uld be anot­her wo­man as lo­vely as yo­ur mot­her… not un­til now. Not un­til you. You will be as be­a­uti­ful. And yo­ur mot­her will be wat­c­hing from her pla­ce in the he­avens as you be­co­me a ra­di­ant wi­fe to Spot­ted Eag­le. She will bless this mar­ri­age, as I ha­ve al­re­ady."

  Jolena was at a loss for words. Te­ars splas­hed from her eyes. She felt both happy and sad. The clot­hes ga­ve her a sen­se of her mot­her's ne­ar­ness, yet they al­so ma­de it all the mo­re re­al that Swe­et Do­ve was not the­re to wit­ness her da­ug­h­ter's hap­pi­ness!

  At this mo­ment, Jole­na re­ali­zed just how che­ated she had be­en by fa­te. Her mot­her had be­en ta­ken from her be­fo­re she had known the won­ders of her to­uch, her kiss, her bles­sin­g­se­ven be­fo­re Jole­na had be­en ab­le to drink that first drop of milk from her mot­her's bre­ast!

  She tur­ned her eyes from Brown Elk, wil­ling her­self to stop crying!

  This was a ti­me me­ant for happy tho­ughts, not a past that she had ne­ver had any con­t­rol over!

  When the te­ars had dri­ed, she tur­ned a smi­le to her fat­her. "I lo­ve them all," she mur­mu­red. "Thank you, fat­her, for al­lo­wing me to we­ar the clot­hes my mot­her wo­re when she be­ca­me yo­ur wi­fe. I we­ar them with much pri­de and lo­ve."

  A soft vo­ice out­si­de the te­pee spe­aking Brown Elk's na­me ma­de him smi­le bro­adly. He ro­se to his fe­et and wal­ked to­ward the en­t­ran­ce. Then he nod­ded at Mo­on Flo­wer. "Go to Jole­na," he sa­id softly. "Ta­ke the clot­hes from her arms. Her arms must be free to ac­cept the gift One Who Walks With A Limp has ma­de for her. Lay the clot­hes asi­de and go with Jole­na and as­sist her in set­ting up her lod­ge, for she has no know­led­ge yet of how this is do­ne."

  Brown Elk ga­ve Jole­na a glan­ce over his sho­ul­der. " Ok-yi. Co­me, my da­ug­h­ter," he sa­id. "Co­me and see what One Who Walks With A Limp has bro­ught you."

  Moon Flo­wer went to Jole­na and ca­re­ful­ly to­ok the clot­hes from her arms, then ga­ve her a qu­i­et smi­le as Jole­na got to her fe­et and mo­ved to­ward her fat­her with soft steps.

  As the en­t­ran­ce flap was lif­ted, Jole­na saw an el­derly lady with wa­ist-length gray ha­ir and wrin­k­led fa­ce, bur­de­ned down with a be­a­uti­ful cow­hi­de de­co­ra­ted with ela­bo­ra­te dra­wings.

  "These are for the da­ug­h­ter of Brown Elk," One Who Walks With A Limp sa­id, as she smi­led a to­ot­h­less smi­le up at Jole­na. "The lod­ge po­les, back rests, and in­ner li­ning for the te­pee li­es whe­re you will bu­ild yo­ur te­pee."

  Jolena step­ped from the lod­ge and to­ok the bur­den from the slight, el­derly lady. "Thank you so much for do­ing this for me in the ab­sen­ce of my mot­her," she mur­mu­red. "It is so­met­hing I shall ne­ver for­get."

  One Who Walks With A Limp nod­ded and bo­wed her he­ad humbly, then slowly lif­ted it and ga­zed at Brown Elk as he pla­ced a gen­t­le hand on her sho­ul­der. "It is with much joy that I ma­de this for yo­ur da­ug­h­ter,'' she mur­mu­red. "It was go­od to be sin­g­led out for such an ho­nor. Thank you, Brown Elk. It is as tho­ugh I was a yo­ung girl aga­in, ma­king my own lod­ge, for my own man. It was go­od… fe­eling yo­ung aga­in."

  Brown Elk drew the wo­man in­to his arms and ga­ve her a ge­ne­ro­us hug. "You will al­ways be yo­ung in yo­ur he­art, and in my eyes," he sa­id.

  When he eased her from his arms, she tur­ned and wal­ked away, lim­ping he­avily with each step.

  Moon Flo­wer mo­ved qu­ickly to Jole­na's si­de and hel­ped re­li­eve her of so­me of the bur­den by ta­king one end of the cow­hi­de in­to her own arms. "Let us go and bu­ild the te­pee so that the dowry can be so­on pla­ced the­re," she sa­id, gi­ving Brown Elk a la­ug­hing smi­le.

  Jolena ra­ised an eyeb­row, still not kno­wing exactly what this talk of a dowry was all abo­ut. "Yes, let's," she sa­id, la­ug­hingly wal­king away with Mo­on Flo­wer, clum­sily sha­ring the hi­de as they half stum­b­led along ac­ross the stam­ped-down gro­und of the vil­la­ge.

  As he wat­c­hed Jole­na and Mo­on Flo­wer, Brown Elk smi­led and fol­ded his arms ac­ross his chest.

  Spotted Eag­le wat­c­hed from his te­pee as Jole­na and Mo­on Flo­wer step­ped in­to the cen­ter of the vil­la­ge and be­gan erec­ting the lod­ge.

  Then his ga­ze shif­ted as he lo­oked over at Brown Elk, won­de­ring what the dowry might amo­unt to, for he wan­ted to send over to his fat­her-in-law's lod­ge twi­ce the num­ber of gifts his bri­de's fat­her wo­uld pay his son-in-law.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jolena had tri­ed to sle­ep but fo­und it im­pos­sib­le, so she'd spent the night pre­pa­ring the spe­ci­al me­al for Spot­ted Eag­le, with Mo­on Flo­wer gi­ving her hints in co­oking the sorts of me­ats that Jole­na was not fa­mi­li­ar with. The mor­ning sun was now splas­hing its gol­den light down the smo­ke­ho­le, and Jole­na's fat­her's dwel­ling smel­led ple­asant with frag­ran­ces of the best of fo­ods ta­ken from his fo­od supply, so­me cho­ice berry pem­mi­can, and the ton­gue and "boss ribs" of the buf­fa­lo, sa­id to be the most de­si­red parts by the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­ors.

  "I see that my da­ug­h­ter is re­ady to ta­ke her of­fe­rings to the man who will so­on be her hus­band," Brown Elk sa­id, as he ca­me to the fi­re, yaw­ning and stret­c­hing. He ga­ve Mo­on Flo­wer a ple­asant smi­le and nod, then con­ti­nu­ed tal­king to Jole­na. "Spot­ted Eag­le su­rely has not ever had such a fe­ast as that which will be pla­ced be­fo­re him to­day."

  Jolena tur­ned from her pre­pa­ra­ti­ons and ga­ve her fat­her a bright smi­le. "I've ne­ver be­en so ex­ci­ted," she sa­id, gi­ving her fat­her a he­arty hug. "Will I ac­tu­al­ly be­co­me Spot­ted Eag­le's wi­fe to­day? It isn't just one of my dre­ams?"

  "If this is a dre­am, it is a go­od one, is it not?" Brown Elk sa­id, chuc­k­ling as he eased Jole­na from his arms. He re­ac­hed a hand to her brow and smo­ot­hed so­me lo­ose locks of her ha­ir back in pla­ce.

  "Oh, yes," Jole­na sa­id, clas­ping her hands to­get­her be­hind her. "It is all so won­der­ful. But it is re­al, and so much bet­ter be­ca­use it is."

  "The lod­ge you pre­pa­red for my son-in-law is han­d­so­me," Brown Elk sa­id, sit­ting down on a co­uch cus­hi­oned with soft pelts. "You ha­ve pla­ced yo­ur wed­ding at­ti­re in it al­re­ady?"

  "Yes, fat­her," Jole­na mur­mu­red, wat­c­hing as Mo­on Flo­wer de­vo­tedly lad­led Brown Elk a lar­ge bowl of buf­fa­lo stew. "I am now re­ady to ta­ke the me­al to Spot­ted Eag­le. Do you think he will be awa­ke?"

  Brown Elk ac­cep­ted the bowl of stew and a spo­on, then ga­ve Jole­na an amu­sed smi­le. "Will he be awa­ke?" he sa­id. "Da­ug­h­ter, I do­ubt he slept a wink all
night."

  Jolena ner­vo­usly brus­hed her fin­gers thro­ugh her ha­ir, then no­ti­ced so­me sta­ins on her skirt that had splas­hed the­re whi­le she was co­oking. She tur­ned an­xi­o­usly to Mo­on Flo­wer. "Per­haps I'd best ta­ke a bath in the ri­ver and chan­ge clot­hes first," she sa­id.

  "Your bath sho­uld be ta­ken just be­fo­re you chan­ge in­to yo­ur wed­ding at­ti­re," Mo­on Flo­wer softly sug­ges­ted. "You will then smell fresh and cle­an li­ke the ri­ver for yo­ur hus­band when you go to him la­ter, af­ter you mo­ve yo­ur te­pee be­yond the vil­la­ge, clo­se to the outer frin­ges of the fo­rest, whe­re you can ha­ve pri­vacy from prying he­arts and lis­te­ning ears."

  "I must mo­ve the te­pee af­ter ha­ving ta­ken so long to erect it?" Jole­na as­ked, her eyeb­rows ra­ised in puz­zle­ment. "I ha­ve even go­ne many ti­mes thro­ugh the night to add wo­od to the fi­re, so that the te­pee wo­uld be warm and cozy when Spot­ted Eag­le went in­si­de. I wan­ted ever­y­t­hing to be per­fect. Why must I chan­ge it?"

  "Moving in­to the mid­dle of the cir­c­le is con­si­de­red an ho­nor," Mo­on Flo­wer ex­p­la­ined. "Only im­por­tant pe­op­le bu­ild the mar­ri­age lod­ge in the cen­ter of the vil­la­ge. Next to his fat­her, Spot­ted Eag­le is the most im­por­tant per­son in this vil­la­ge. He will one day be chi­ef. You ha­ve erec­ted a won­der­ful lod­ge for him to show off to his pe­op­le. And the­re are ot­her re­asons for the lod­ge which you will dis­co­ver thro­ugh the day."

  Jolena had felt that her ef­forts with the mar­ri­age te­pee had be­en was­ted. But now she un­der­s­to­od.

  "Your war­ri­or sho­uld not be ma­de to wa­it much lon­ger for the me­al his wo­man has pre­pa­red for him," Brown Elk re­min­ded her. "Go to him, Jole­na. Ac­com­pany her the­re, Mo­on Flo­wer. Fill both yo­ur arms with plat­ters of fo­od for this man who will so­on be a hus­band."

  Jolena nod­ded. Her he­art ham­me­red in­si­de her chest as she pla­ced her many of­fe­rings of fo­od in­to a bas­ket. Af­ter Mo­on Flo­wer had her own bas­ket fil­led, Jole­na and Mo­on Flo­wer left the te­pee. They step­ped out in­to a glo­ri­o­us mor­ning of co­ol, soft bre­ezes, a cle­ar, blue sky, and the songs of birds as they be­gan awa­ke­ning in the fo­rest be­yond.

  Jolena wal­ked be­si­de Mo­on Flo­wer with a pro­udly lif­ted chin, ra­cing he­art, and trem­b­ling fin­gers, fe­eling many kno­wing eyes on her. She co­uld he­ar the hus­hed buz­zing of vo­ices as ever­yo­ne pus­hed clo­ser to ob­ser­ve the first sta­ges of the wed­ding ce­re­mony. Jole­na co­uld fe­el a hot blush ri­se to her che­eks as mo­re and mo­re pe­op­le pres­sed clo­ser, the chil­d­ren gig­gling.

  Doing her best to ig­no­re her audi­en­ce, Jole­na set her eyes on Spot­ted Eag­le's te­pee. She felt her he­art do a flip-flop when she no­ti­ced that the en­t­ran­ce flap was open, held back by a yo­ung bra­ve.

  Not kno­wing how long this lad had be­en for­ced to stand the­re hol­ding the buc­k­s­kin flap open, Jole­na has­te­ned her steps.

  When she fi­nal­ly ar­ri­ved at Spot­ted Eag­le's te­pee, she smi­led a si­lent thank-you to the han­d­so­me yo­ung bra­ve, then went on in­si­de, with Mo­on Flo­wer fol­lo­wing clo­se be­hind her.

  Jolena's he­art mel­ted when she fo­und Spot­ted Eag­le sit­ting be­si­de his lod­ge fi­re in only a bri­ef bre­ec­h­c­lo­ut, his legs fol­ded be­fo­re him, his hands res­ting on his kne­es.

  When he lo­oked her way and ga­ve her a slow, te­asing smi­le, she al­most swa­yed with the for­ce of the pas­si­on bet­we­en them.

  She had to swal­low hard and will her­self to con­ti­nue with the­se cho­res that ca­me be­fo­re the ac­tu­al co­ming to­get­her as man and wi­fe. She had tho­ught of not­hing but be­ing with Spot­ted Eag­le thro­ugh the long hard night whi­le her hands had be­en pre­pa­ring the fo­od for him.

  She had wan­ted to slip away and go to his te­pee and snug­gle up next to him. She had wan­ted to be held wit­hin his po­wer­ful arms as he whis­pe­red swe­et not­hings in her ear.

  Jolena wren­c­hed her tho­ughts back to the cho­re at hand. She fol­lo­wed Mo­on Flo­wer's le­ad in pla­cing the fo­od be­fo­re Spot­ted Eag­le, ta­king one empty bowl away so that he co­uld eat from anot­her.

  He spo­ke not a word as he enj­oyed his me­al.

  He ref­ra­ined even from ga­zing Jole­na's way, which un­ner­ved her.

  Soon the fe­ast was over. Jole­na and Mo­on Flo­wer left the te­pee and rus­hed back to Brown Elk's dwel­ling, aga­in wat­c­hed by ever­yo­ne of the vil­la­ge.

  Jolena and Mo­on Flo­wer be­gan ta­king the empty bowls and plat­ters from the bas­ket to wash in a ba­sin of wa­ter that was al­re­ady sit­ting be­si­de the fi­re­pit. As Jole­na was do­ing this, she won­de­red abo­ut her fat­her's sud­den si­len­ce as he pre­pa­red him­self to le­ave. "Do not qu­es­ti­on him now abo­ut an­y­t­hing," Mo­on Flo­wer whis­pe­red to Jole­na as she bu­si­ed her hands was­hing the dis­hes, whi­le Jole­na dri­ed them with a thin strip of buc­k­s­kin. "It is a so­lemn ti­me for yo­ur fat­her and Spot­ted Eag­le. So­on I shall show you why."

  Out of the cor­ner of her eye, Jole­na wat­c­hed her fat­her le­ave the te­pee, then she con­ti­nu­ed drying the dis­hes un­til they we­re stac­ked and re­ady to sto­re away.

  "I think we can lo­ok now," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, ta­king Jole­na by the hand and ur­ging her to co­me to the en­t­ran­ce flap. "Lo­ok to­ward yo­ur mar­ri­age lod­ge. See what yo­ur fat­her pla­ces the­re as yo­ur dowry."

  Moon Flo­wer lif­ted the flap. Jole­na's eyes wi­de­ned as she wat­c­hed her fat­her in­s­t­ruct se­ve­ral yo­ung bra­ves to le­ad fif­te­en hor­ses to her lod­ge, tying them the­re on posts that had be­en ham­me­red in­to the gro­und.

  "My dowry?" Jole­na whis­pe­red. "And… so many?"

  "Hurry away from the do­or now," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, half drag­ging Jole­na back to sit down by the fi­re, just in ti­me for Jole­na's fat­her to en­ter the lod­ge aga­in, fol­lo­wed by the sa­me yo­ung bra­ves who had pla­ced her fat­her's hor­ses in front of her lod­ge.

  Jolena wat­c­hed bre­at­h­les­sly as her fat­her gat­he­red up his very own war clot­hing and arms, a lan­ce, a fi­ne shi­eld, a bow, and ar­rows in an ot­ter-skin ca­se, his war bon­net, war shirt, and war leg­gings or­na­men­ted with scalps. He then sent his com­p­le­te war equ­ip­ment out with the yo­ung bra­ves and fol­lo­wed pro­udly af­ter them.

  "We can watch aga­in," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, gig­gling as she scram­b­led to her fe­et. "Co­me, Jole­na. See what is hap­pe­ning!"

  Stunned by all of this, Jole­na mo­ved to her fe­et and aga­in went to the en­t­ran­ce flap and wat­c­hed from it. Her lips par­ted in a gasp as she wat­c­hed all of her fat­her's war­ring ge­ar be­ing set up on tri­pods in front of her lod­ge.

  "The gift of tho­se things from yo­ur fat­her to Spot­ted Eag­le is evi­den­ce of the gre­at res­pect felt by him for his new son-in-law," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, lo­oking softly over at Jole­na. "His res­pect is gre­at, Jole­na, for see what he has gi­ven? Ever­y­t­hing that me­ans so much to yo­ur fat­her is now Spot­ted Eag­le's."

  Spotted Eag­le was wat­c­hing from his te­pee, to­uc­hed de­eply by the gifts of his wo­man's fat­her. Se­ve­ral yo­ung bra­ves we­re stan­ding be­fo­re him, awa­iting his or­ders as to the num­ber of gifts that wo­uld be gi­ven back to Jole­na's fat­her. He had al­re­ady de­ci­ded that he wo­uld gi­ve back twi­ce the num­ber of hor­ses that Jole­na had bro­ught with her in­to the mar­ri­age.

  "Go," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "Ta­ke the hor­ses from in front of my wo­man's lod­ge, and al­so the war­ring ge­ar of her fat­her. Pla­ce them in my cor­ral. Then cho­ose thirty of my fi­nest hor­ses and pla­ce them i
n front of my fat­her-in-law's lod­ge."

  The bra­ves scam­pe­red away. As so­on as Brown Elk and the ot­her yo­ung bra­ves had left Jole­na's lod­ge with the gifts that had be­en left the­re for Spot­ted Eag­le, Spot­ted Eag­le left his te­pee and wal­ked with a lif­ted chin and smi­ling he­art to­ward the lod­ge of his wo­man.

  When he en­te­red, he fo­und a go­od fi­re and soft pelts be­si­de it, but as was the cus­tom, he to­ok his pla­ce at the back of the lod­ge, awa­iting his wo­man's ar­ri­val.

  Already he co­uld he­ar the ste­ady be­ating of drums in the dis­tan­ce, songs be­ing sung by the wo­men of his vil­la­ge, and the gay vo­ices of chil­d­ren at play, all of which sig­na­led the be­gin­ning of a long day of ce­leb­ra­ti­on among his pe­op­le.

 

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