Nakoa's Woman

by Gayle Rogers

  Mrs. Bentley was gone. She and Maria had probably gone for Jim so that she could give him their last farewell. She hoped that she didn’t look too bad. She wanted him to remember her as pretty. She wanted just to touch him, and to touch her boys—and in her touch to tell her love and her sorrow.

  Finally she dozed peacefully. She drifted softly into a warm sleep, heavy with the scent of the earth warming after a first rain. Near the garden, Jim came to court her again. His hair was slick and smelled of oil. He was so sweet and so shy. She was as gentle with him as he was with her; she soothed him and caressed him tenderly. Her dainty hands touched his rough ones. “Remember me gently,” she whispered to him. Joy was in his eyes because she loved him, and her boys appeared, and she touched each one with her love. Bright flowers bloomed all around them, and there was sweet flowing water, too, in the sunlight and the shade of that garden.

  “Mamma!” a frightened little voice called in all of the beauty of that garden. Yet, she sighed happily, the small voice’s sorrow hidden in the petals of new flowers.

  “Mamma! Mamma!” Again and again it was, and even in her own serenity, she knew its pain. She was jerked from her haven, torn between warmth and biting cold, and she became a chilled shivering thing. She gasped to breathe. The wagon was rocking crazily, wild shouts and running horses stampeded around her, and always came the cry of “Mamma!” and the tugging, tugging, the pull upon her of the barren earth. Why were they destroying the wagon? Wasn’t she dying fast enough? In the last convulsion of life she opened her eyes and looked up into the tear-streaked and terrified face of her youngest son. Lucid, she reached out to comfort him in his terror, but her little blue calico arms could not respond to her will.

  There is a different death for each life; there are as many deaths as there are lives. Upon that day in May of 1846, the wagon train died a separate death from all of its people. It died quietly when the Snakes first attacked; only a long sad sigh, not apart from the prairie wind, traveled from one helpless wagon to the next, as death so swiftly and silently swept down upon them. The Indians came from a green and innocent rise, scarcely more than a knoll, and the later shouts, the screams and the frenzied cries of the men to form a circle with the wagons, were all the convulsions of death, for the corpse had already been formed.

  The Indians were everywhere. The blue of the sky had been shadowed with their arrows. Amid the screaming of the women and the crying of the children, the pounding of the horses’ hoofs and the firing of the guns, the painted men darted, flashed, disappeared and appeared again, ten times as strong.

  “Oh, Maria! Maria!” Ana sobbed. “We are going to be killed!”

  “No, oh, no!” Maria said. “We will not die.” She grasped Ana’s hand. “Quick!” she said. “Get under the wagon!”

  Their father was riding down upon them, and he reigned in his horse with difficulty. He gestured them away from the wagon, and Maria saw with horror that blood was running from his mouth. “Take horses—and go,” he gasped. “Train gone lost—lost.” His words ended in a new torrent of blood, and Ana clapped her hands to her ears and screamed. Edward Frame looked down upon his terrified daughters with an agony upon his face that burned Maria’s soul.

  “I’ll cover—go,” and then he could speak no more but weakly clung to his gun and his horse.

  “Father,” Maria’s agony cried, “Father—please forgive me. Dear God, forgive me,” but she spoke not one word to their father and led the protesting Ana to the horses tethered behind the end wagon. Tears blinded her, but somehow she cut out a bay for herself and a roan for Ana.

  The horses were wild; the smell of the Indians, the smell of death, the rising clouds of dust, the shooting and the screaming had them white-eyed and dancing sideways in terror. Mounting, Maria glanced back at their father. Tears were streaming down his face and he looked at them both riding away without a gesture of farewell. Maria heard two horses pursuing them, and then heard two rapid shots. Their father had covered them and they had a chance to escape to the hills.

  Out upon the prairie they rode, with the tall grass whipping at their skirts and the wind blowing all of the pins from their hair. Ana’s braids loosened and her hair billowed out behind her, brilliant and yellow even in the light of the fading day. She was riding behind Maria, hugging the neck of the roan in terror, and Maria remembered Ana’s fear of horses.

  “Catch up!” Maria shouted back at her, for the gap between the two horses was increasing. “Kick him! Kick him!” Maria shouted, but Ana paid her no heed and did not even look ahead to guide the animal.

  Behind them, Maria suddenly saw dust clouds rising, and could see five Snakes riding after them. “Hurry! Hurry!” she screamed desperately to Ana, and kicked her own horse so viciously that his quick response almost threw her from his back.

  On and on their two horses raced, but the blue hills in which they could hide seemed to be as far away as ever. She glanced back at Ana again and was stunned to see how the Snakes were gaining upon them, and how far behind her Ana had drifted. Her sister was looking at her pleadingly, her face completely drained of color. She looked so innocent, so sweet, and so terrified, that Maria wanted to ride back to the Snakes and give her life so that Ana might escape. But while she watched, the roan stumbled and threw Ana to the ground. Maria tried to turn the bay back, but horse and rider fought each other in mounting terror, the bay wheeling and thrashing and refusing to be turned back. Sobbing, Maria beat him without mercy, choking upon clouds of rising dust and the agony tightening in her throat.

  “Maria!” Ana screamed.

  Around and around the bay turned as if he were pursuing some mad game of chasing his shadow.

  “Maria!” Ana screamed once more and when Maria looked toward her she saw the Snakes brandishing the locks of her golden hair.

  There was a woman’s scream. Maria heard it clearly. It had no beginning and no end, as if it had always existed in its own horror. The earth shatters the living and gives the living an end, cover, burial, but this thing, this scream, could never end, could never be shattered into even an echo. Its sound had torn her into pieces, and fragments of herself clung stubbornly to the bay that was once more racing for the hills.

  Behind the thundering hoofs of the bay, flames from the wagon train and prairie grass licked the sky. The bloody sunset generated its own force; the prairie wind was quickened and its low sad sound reached her ears, its breath touching her face and stretching out across that broad land in the split second before the bay plunged into the shadow of the forest.

  In the early darkness, Maria saw branches of the dense trees sweep down at her. A blue jay screeched excitedly. Suddenly a limb hit her upon the side of her head, and she was swept from the horse. She lay stunned upon the ground, and when she opened her eyes, she remained inert, watching the patterns that the branches above her made against the sky.

  The bay stood quietly by her and remained even when there was the sound of the Snakes’ horses moving toward them. With effort, Maria got to her feet and held onto the horse for support. Blood rushed from her head wound and even began to cover a part of her bodice. Everything became blurred and indistinct. It seemed as if two Snakes had found her, and one swiftly dismounted and seized her. She struggled to see his face and met his eyes. They had no expression. They bore no hatred for her, no lust, not even an expression of mild anger. Yet he was going to kill her, as swiftly and silently as possible. In a great roaring he was strangling her, and she put up a tremendous struggle to breathe.

  Suddenly the iron hands loosened their hold, and air burst into her starved lungs. The Snake looked at her in amazement, his hands clutching desperately at her shoulders. He made a low cry, almost indistinguishable, then slid to the ground. An arrow had been driven deep into his back. Maria looked up at the other Snake; amazement was upon his face too, and he slid swiftly from his horse. He drew his knife, his eyes searching the darkness all around them. There wasn’t a sound. The bay then moved slightly, and th
e silence returned.

  With her heart hammering in terror, Maria began to inch toward the bay. She had just touched the horse when there was a sudden flashing of movement, and almost before she could see it, another Indian, a giant of a man, had come and had broken the Snake’s neck. Just as swiftly, he bent and cut and seized the Snake’s scalp. As she watched him in horror, he kicked over the corpse at her feet and just as neatly scalped it. The ripping of the flesh, the smell of the blood brought Ana to her mind, and she screamed. The Indian stifled her cry and threw her to the ground, covering her body with his own so quickly that she did not even have a chance to take a fresh breath. He would suffocate her. He would strangle her as surely as the other had almost done.

  It was now completely dark. There was no light beneath the thick trees at all. Maria heard the approach of other horses. The rest of the Snakes were calling out to their companions. The Indian’s grip upon her tightened. His weight crushed her breasts and tortured her throbbing head. The Snakes rode all around them and finally went away. Still, the Indian held her in the vise of his strength.

  When he finally released her, she was too numb to sit up. He picked her up and put her roughly upon the bay, mounting behind her. Without a sound, he guided the bay through the thickest recesses of the forest; like fellow phantoms his and the Snakes’ horses followed, and Maria felt that she was living through a nightmare of silence.

  The Indian held her closely. The bloody scalps at his belt dampened her dress, and she strained as far away from him as she could. But he would give her no leeway. The pain in her head worsened, and each step that the bay took grew to be agony.

  After more than an hour’s riding, they reached the forest’s edge. The Indian stopped the horses. He dismounted, looking up at her and studying her in the starlight. He then seized her and stood her before him, as if he were measuring her height and the contours of her body. The terrible paint upon his face drove her from looking at him, and she turned away. He touched the side of her head, either seeking the seriousness of her wound or trying to see her face again, and all Maria knew was the smell of fresh blood upon his scalps.

  Suddenly dim shadows of mounted men appeared at the forest’s edge. They stopped, looking at Maria and the Indian. “OK-ye,” someone called softly.

  “Ok-ye,” the Indian replied, and four men rode toward them. They were staring at Maria in amazement. “Pyeeteokweeweewa waapeakesiwa!” one said in disbelief.

  They, too, were painted. They all looked terrifying, and Maria uttered a low cry of fear in spite of herself. Her captor immediately gagged her, doing it so roughly that she became dizzy with pain. He bound her hands behind her back and placed her upon the bay. Once more, he mounted behind her and led the others out upon the prairie. The grasses were wild and thick and from a distance looked like a carpet of silver. But when the horses began to travel at a steady gallop, the grasses became cruel, whipping at her through her thin skirts and hiding deep and treacherous ravines that the bay took unknown, stumbled upon, and started fresh blood running down her neck.

  Maria spun in and out of fainting spells. The fire of the wagon train had not burned itself out upon the prairie; it was searing yet in her brain, and there would never be enough blood in her body to quench it.

  On and on they rode, their pace quickening, the flying hoofs of the horses following the path of the prairie wind. They rent soft land, leaped ravines and plunged unheeding through the deepest of rivers. Cold water made her skirts cling to her shivering legs; hot blood coursed eternally down her neck and congealed thickly between her breasts. She slumped against the savage behind her, but in no way did he know her pain, her weakness, her womanhood.

  At daylight they changed course and sought the shelter of the hills. The Indians talked in low voices and then Maria was lifted from the bay. From out of old mists the painted face came before her again, this mask of this most hideous of men, and not ungently she was laid upon the ground. As she was covered with a buffalo robe the bloody scalps brushed against her and in them she saw the scalp of Ana. Strangling, she fled to a sanctuary deep inside of herself where this most agonizing of all days had never dawned.

  Maria

  Chapter Three

  Maria awakened, and pain was still violently upon her. She opened her eyes and looked up into the clear blue sky and prayed for help. She was still bound and gagged. She tried to move and nausea came, and she began to strangle on vomit. Quickly her gag was removed, and when she had vomited, she lay weakly back and felt someone untie her arms. She was nothing now, for where were all those who had loved and cherished her? With nothing to love and cherish in turn she was not even a seed upon empty winds. She moaned in agony, and someone touched her and raised her to a sitting position. Two strong hands held her head and applied something cool and comforting to her wound. The burning in her head lessened, and with relief she opened her eyes. It was her captor; she knew this although he now wore no paint. The hideous face that had come at her from the mists was gone. In the morning sunlight she saw before her a handsome man. Here was a new strength too, more masculine than she had ever seen before. His black eyes were fierce with pride, and she wondered at the fact that he was Indian. He held no resemblance at all to the poor begging savages that she had seen back East.

  She was staring at him, and she soon became conscious that her appraisal was making him angry. He stopped treating her wound and just as boldly studied her. His eyes traveled from her own to her lips, to her breasts and waist and hips and then back to her breasts. Fear of him made her heart hammer, and she dropped her eyes and felt her face grow hot. He said nothing. When she looked at him again, the boldness upon his face was gone. He knew her fear.

  Slowly he raised his right hand in front of her, palm out and even with his shoulder. He rotated it a few times, trying to tell her something. She looked at him in perplexity. He placed the fingers of his right hand against the palm of his left, sliding his right off as if he were cutting meat. “Iksisakuyi?” he said.

  He was asking her if she wanted food. “Yes,” Maria said. “Please! I am hungry.” When she nodded her head he understood her meaning. He handed her a calfskin bag in which was a mixture of meat and berries that she began to eat greedily. He signaled that she was not to eat so fast, and when she persisted, he angrily took the bag away from her. He then motioned her to get up and when she refused, scowling because he had taken away her food, he pulled her to her feet. “Menuah,” he said, pointing into the forest. He made sign that she should follow him, and she meekly walked behind him. She now saw the other Indians, and when they passed them, one of them called out something, and her captor laughed. Deeper in the forest, she lagged behind him, and impatiently, he reached for her again, holding her at his side for the rest of the way.

  They came to a river, and he indicated that she was to drink. When she had quenched her thirst, he made sign for her to remove her clothing. Maria refused, and he again signed that she should bathe. She gestured for him to leave her alone, and he shrugged his shoulders, walking away from her. Watching the trees for a sign of him, she removed her dress and washed it, but she would not take off her chemise and stand where he might see her naked. When she had bathed, she lay upon a large rock and waited to dry her wet chemise. Birds called happily from the trees, and the water rushing by her made such a sweet and melodious sound that for a while she forgot grief. The air was pungent with the smell of warming pine and spruce. The sun was so warm that she could feel her chemise drying and the gathering of perspiration between her breasts. Still exhausted, she began to doze, with the water continuing to murmur contentedly at her.

  Two hands touched her face, and then lips fiercely found her own and held her in a long and agonizing kiss. The Indian’s eyes were closed, and his face was even darker with passion. She gasped and began to struggle against him, but he effortlessly removed her chemise from her entire body. Maria felt an agony of terror and embarrassment. When she tried to cover herself, he held her hands,
and then his lips went back to her own, down to her throat, to her breasts, and his hands caressed her hips. His excitement was so intense that he shuddered in his postponement of raping her, but rape her he would, and Maria now knew this was why he had taken her to the river and away from the others.

  More than terror made her weep. More than the humiliation of being stripped and appraised, assaulted where she never had been touched before. His rape would be not just the destruction of her innocence and her virginity but the destruction again of the wagon train, dying in its own horrible and bloody sunset. Ana fled from her again; her mother died in the dismal rain; the Maria and Anson of just yesterday burned under orange pillars of smoke. Edith Holmes lay white and ashen and blood seeped and seeped from beneath her thighs.

  “God! God!” screamed Maria.

  He struck as if he had come in a nightmare from the dark and lustful core of her own being. But he stopped with her. At the beginning of his penetration he stopped, and suddenly the pressure of his whole body was gone. She turned on her stomach, hiding as much as she could from him, not able to bear looking into his face. She wept in hysteria.

  When she was drained and could cry no more, she felt a cool little breeze ruffle her hair and pass over her naked body. Her dress had been brought from the rocks and placed beside her. Numbly she reached for it, and after she had put it on and fastened every button of her bodice, she looked up at him. He stood towering and mute, almost blocking the whole sky. Here was the shadow that had come to make her die.

  He touched her arm, indicating that she return with him to the others. She started to walk with him, hiding her face from his own. Before they moved, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips. He could not have been more tender. His black eyes were filled with a new light, and she noticed the sweetness and sensitivity of his lips. He yearned to speak with her but did not know how to convey his thoughts. He closed her eyes and kissed her lashes, and then searched her face to see if she understood: in his new gentlemanliness, she was to close her eyes to what he had done. She understood and looked at him mutely. He moved away from her, indicating the distance between them, and she read this to mean that he would never again attempt to rape her.