Serena shrugged and opened her hand to indicate she didn’t understand.
Wolf said, “Hello, friend, hau kola.”
She liked the way the words rolled from his lips. “Hau kola,” she whispered shyly, trying to speak Lakota herself.
“Washtay, good!” Wolf praised. He dismounted with ease. How could he tell Cante Tinza how beautiful she looked this morning? Her red hair was a bit frayed at the crown, and Wolf realized it needed combing and braiding. But he’d had to leave early this morning to help with the jobs that came with being second in command.
As always, Wolf monitored his body language with her, because more than anything, he wanted to gain Cante Tinza’s trust. Moving slowly, he came within a foot of where she sat. “Dawn Sky?”
Serena glanced down at the sleeping baby. “Yes. Deer Woman asked me to care for her while she packed.”
With a grunt, Wolf shifted his attention to his tepee. He could see Deer Woman working hard, and he nodded his approval. Perhaps the girl was going to become more responsible. He hoped so.
“Your horse is beautiful,” Serena said, hoping that Wolf would understand her.
“Wiyaka, Feather, is her name. She buffalo runner.“ Wolf saw the admiration in Cante Tinza’s eyes for the mare.
“Buffalo runner? What’s that?”
Crouching down, Wolf dropped the rawhide rein. The mare, trained to be ground-tied, didn’t move. With his hands, he tried to imitate a horse running after a buffalo.
“Oh, a hunter!” Serena was delighted. Finally, they were able to talk somewhat with each other, even if it was part language and mostly hand gestures.
“Han!” Wolf smiled suddenly as he saw Cante Tinza’s cheeks once again grow rosy. She bowed her head to avoid his gaze.
“Come,” Wolf told her, holding out his hand.
Serena stared at his large hand and realized how long and graceful his fingers were—the fingers of an artist, she thought. What was he going to do?
Wolf read her expression. “Come. You ride Wiyaka. You and Dawn Sky.”
“Oh…but…Wolf…“ There, she’d said his name. Panicky, Serena blurted, “I’ve never ridden a horse!”
“Ah,” Wolf murmured. He took the cradleboard from Serena, set it on the yellowed grass and placed his hands around Cante Tinza’s small waist. He saw her eyes go wide with surprise, and he felt her hands grip his thick wrists as he lifted her into the saddle.
Luckily, the buckskin dress had slits in the sides of it, she thought. Even luckier, she had been given leggings that stretched up to her knees so that none of her skin was revealed as she settled her legs across the saddle. Nonetheless, her face flushed, and she gripped the front of the saddle so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Chuckling, Wolf retrieved the cradleboard and handed it to Cante Tinza, who was forced to release her death grip on the saddle. In one easy motion, Wolf mounted Wiyaka. He heard her gasp as he settled against her back, one of his arms going around her and the cradleboard.
Serena stiffened instantly, making her less steady as the horse began a slow, plodding walk. She was more worried about dropping the baby than anything, even though Wolf’s sun-dark arm and hand was wrapped firmly around them. The feeling of entrapment was very real to Serena, and she closed her eyes to fight back a cry. Wolf wasn’t hurting her, she told herself.
Deer Woman’s mouth dropped open in amazement when she saw Wolf approaching with his passengers aboard the black mare. She scowled as he halted in front of her.
“Don’t you have anything to do,” she flared hotly, “besides giving the wasicun a ride around our camp?”
Wolf frowned. “You are not my wife, so do not chastise me, girl.”
Pouting, Deer Woman threw the heavy buffalo robe to the ground. “You act as if she’s your wife! Last night you combed and braided her hair!”
“And what I do is not your business, Deer Woman.”
“You treat her as if she will break!” she cried, angrily stomping her feet. “And yet I work like a camp dog for you and get nothing but your harsh words and angry looks.”
Wolf held on to his temper. There was no doubt that Deer Woman was jealous. He’d hoped otherwise, ignoring the other subtle signs. “If you were injured like Cante Tinza, I would treat you the same. But you are not. You are young and healthy. You have not been raped and starved as she has been. You saw her wounds. She cannot comb or braid her hair for herself yet.“ Wolf watched his words shake Deer Woman from her angry stance. “And if you had been there yesterday in the tepee as I wanted, you could have taken Cante Tinza to the sweat lodge, washed her hair and combed and braided it. As it was, my sister had to do your duties. So, do not admonish me, Deer Woman. Cante Tinza is to be treated with respect because she saved many women’s and children’s lives. I owe her much for saving my sister, and if she cannot comb and braid her hair, then I will do it for her if you are not around as you should be.”
Breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling sharply beneath her buckskin dress, Deer Woman glared at Wolf. “I can do nothing right for you! I brought a rabbit home—”
“No one asked you to go hunting with Swift Elk,” he reminded her less harshly. Wolf felt the tension in Cante Tinza as their angry words were traded. He wondered why she became so frightened by raised voices. There was much he wanted to know about his red-haired woman, in time.
“At least Swift Elk pays attention to me! He’s glad I’m around.”
“I am too, when you are around,” Wolf reminded her grimly. “I am going to take Cante Tinza and the baby to my sister. Then I will come back here and help you.”
Mollified, Deer Woman muttered, “Very well. It is the least you can do.”
Wolf allowed her disrespect to go unchallenged for now. The girl was upset enough, and he didn’t want to endure her pouty anger tonight around the campfire. For three days they would be traveling south through the Paha Sapa, the Black Hills, following the star constellation of Wincincala Sakowin, the Seven Little Girls. Normally, Chief Badger Mouth didn’t range that far south with his band, but because of the miners being killed, he didn’t want his people to be blamed by the horse soldiers. It was better, he felt, to go far past their usual wintering camp, and avoid any confrontation or blame for the event.
As Wolf nudged the mare away from his tepee, he felt Cante Tinza once again begin to relax. This time, she leaned lightly against him, using his body to steady herself on the moving horse. Smiling inwardly, his heart sang because he realized that his sister was right: Cante Tinza was beginning to trust him. Wolf longed for a time when he could speak privately and at length with her about her past. He had so many questions.
* * *
Wolf made sure that Deer Woman took Dawn Sky with her when she went to help the other women skin several deer that a few warriors had killed along the willow-laden banks of the river where the band of Indians now made their new winter camp. They worked quickly because Father Sky was a leaden-gray color, and snow was sure to come by midday.
The three-day ride had been hard on Cante Tinza. However, Wolf attributed her exhaustion to trying to do too much to help his sister, with whom she rode, and to not resting as much as she should have. Little Swallow was inundated with work, and Wolf had watched from the distance as Cante Tinza had tried her best to lend support. She took instruction well, and soon was cooking, feeding the Old Ones and almost exclusively caring for Dawn Sky.
Wolf moved quietly about in the tepee he had just raised the day before. He still needed to unpack many items for his altar, as well as the cooking utensils. Deer Woman was glad to flee her cooking duties, so Wolf decided to rest today. He would remain with Cante Tinza and enjoy her presence. The red-haired one still slept, wrapped in the dark brown buffalo robe that revealed only the shining crown of her hair. Wolf felt contentment as never before. Just her presence made him happy.
He cut up pieces of freshly killed deer and put them into a small cooking pot that was suspended over the fire pit. A
dding water and dried wild onion to the mixture, he stirred it. The fragrance soon filled the tepee. Cante Tinza awoke during his cooking duties. Wolf crouched before the fire and enjoyed watching her awaken.
Cante Tinza’s eyes were heavy lidded and slightly puffy with sleep as she roused herself and then braced herself on one elbow. Her messy hair was the result of three days without combing or braiding. Her cloudy emerald gaze settled on Wolf.
“Good morning,” Serena murmured, her voice thick.
“It is good to see your face,” Wolf replied.
Serena sat up and rubbed her eyes. As sleepy as she was, Wolf’s voice blanketed her with such vibrancy that she gave him a shy smile. First, she had to attend to her toilet needs, so she located her moccasins and went outside. The dawn air was icy, and the first snowflakes began to fall as Serena hurried back to the warmth of the tepee.
No longer did she think Wolf was going to jump her as Blackjack had done. The past three days had been a series of exciting lessons for her. Little Swallow had made it clear that Wolf was a medicine man, a healer, to the tribe.
“Take this,” he told Serena as she entered the tepee.
She took the wooden cup. “Thank you.“ She held it close to her nose and inhaled the pungent fragrance. “What is it?”
“Ceyaka, mint. We drink often. Good for you.“ He was thrilled to see the grateful look on Cante Tinza’s face. Again her cheeks grew a rosy-pink color, and Wolf was beginning to realize that meant she was pleased.
Sitting down on her robe, her legs beneath her, Serena sipped the fragrant tea. “It tastes sweet.”
“Honey,” Wolf told her. Then, in a mixture of Lakota and English, Wolf continued, “Last summer I came upon a fallen tree that a grizzly was digging into. He hunted the bee’s honey. After he left, I gathered what I could find in my birch container.“ His mouth curved. “Honey is wanted, but hard to find.”
Sitting there, only six feet separating them, Serena sipped the tea. Having learned much Lakota, she understood Wolf perfectly. Today he wore his usual buckskin shirt, leggings and breechclout, she noticed. Except for the choker around his neck, he wore no other accoutrements as he had during the journey to Dried Willows. His hair was shining black, clean and neatly braided. She had found out that the otter fur the Lakota wore around their braids protected their hair.
As Serena watched Wolf prepare the stew, she felt bold enough for the first time to ask him a question. This morning, he didn’t appear to be so overwhelming to her, or perhaps, Serena thought, she was finally adjusting to his presence.
“Wolf?”
He lifted his head and studied her. Cante Tinza had both her long, thin hands wrapped around the dark cup, the rim of it inches from her lips, her eyes huge and velvet green. “Yes?”
“I—I’ve been meaning to ask you something?”
“Yes?”
The burning light she saw in his eyes no longer frightened her. Wolf was a man of intense focus, she realized. When someone spoke to him he devoted all of his attention to that person. Nervously, Serena licked her lower lip. “Am—am I a prisoner? A slave? I’ve heard so much about Sioux warriors stealing white women and—”
“What? Prisoner?”
Tensing, Serena held his gaze. “Yes, am I a prisoner of yours?”
He laughed. It was a booming, rolling laugh, filled with pleasure. “No, Cante Tinza free.”
She saw the puzzlement in his face over her question. Wolf’s laughter, which she’d heard often when he played nightly with the baby, wasn’t aimed at her. He’d found her question funny, that was all. Setting down the cup, she laced her fingers together and once again met his amused gaze.
“Free?”
“Yes.“ He gestured around the tepee. “Like us. You are free.”
“You mean, I could leave if I wanted to?”
Wolf lost his smile. He stirred the soup vigorously. The silence deepened. His heart cried out against her question. Did Cante Tinza want to leave? He had been dreading this moment. Finally, he stopped paying attention to the stew. He sat cross-legged in front of her, tensely resting his hands on his knees. He knew he must be truthful with her.
“Cante Tinza is free to go where she pleases. Do you have husband?”
It was her turn to laugh, and the sound spilled melodically through the tepee. She saw Wolf’s face once again take on that puzzled look. “Me? Married? Heavens, no.”
“But—“ he gestured “—you are of marrying age.”
Sobering, Serena cleared her throat and looked away. “I’m not married. I don’t think anyone will ever marry me, if the truth be known.”
Perplexed, Wolf considered her words. They carried so much pain with them; he could see the hurt reflected in her green eyes. “You come from far away?”
“Yes. Ireland.”
“This land, is it near?”
“No. Far away. Across an ocean.”
“Eh?”
Serena smiled softly. “I come from across a large lake,” and she pointed toward the east. “Far, far away from this country, America.”
With a grunt, Wolf understood. “Your tribe is red-haired, yes?”
Nodding, Serena realized how badly Wolf wanted to know about her. How much should she tell him? Although she was ashamed, Serena knew Wolf didn’t deserve anything less than the truth. He had saved her life when he could have left her to die, as Blackjack had done. She opened her hands and looked down at them.
“Wolf, I come from a very poor family. My parents are dead. I was barely surviving in Wexford, Ireland, my home. A man named Calvin McIntire paid my ship passage to come to America. He promised I would make good wages as a washerwoman.“ She looked up for a moment and blinked back the tears. Glancing at Wolf, she realized he was entirely focused on her.
More nervous now, Serena felt her hands flutter over the mint tea in the cup. Then she whispered, “McIntire lied to me. When I got off the ship, he said my job was here, in the Dakota Territory. He said that a man named Blackjack Kingston, a very rich gold miner, needed a washerwoman. I came west on a wagon train. When I arrived, McIntire took me over to Kingston’s house.”
It hurt to think about it, and Serena hung her head. Tears blurred her vision, and she tried desperately to hold them back. Sniffing, she went on, her voice broken. “McIntire made a deal with Kingston. I became his slave. He didn’t need a washerwoman. He wanted a—a soiled dove. I wasn’t one, but it didn’t matter to either man.“ Touching her brow with trembling fingers, Serena said hoarsely, “Blackjack raped me. For four months he kept me a prisoner in his house. He had a wife and son but they didn’t seem to care about the situation. No one did. I—I fought him, trying not to let him take me, but he was so strong…. And when I fought him, he’d beat me until I was senseless.”
Lifting her head, Serena made a little motion toward herself. “I had to escape. I couldn’t take it any longer. Even death was preferable to him. The night I tried to escape, Blackjack caught me. He beat me. I—I guess he was tired of me, so to punish me he took a hot poker and burned my breasts. He laughed at me and said that if I managed to survive being dumped into the Black Hills, no man would ever touch me again.”
Serena choked on a sob. She willed herself to go on, to tell Wolf the truth because he deserved to know what kind of woman she was. “I woke up the next morning beside the river. I was in much pain from the burns, but I was alive. I remember seeing a group of miners, so I hid in the bulrushes. And then they disappeared around the corner of the river.“ Wiping her eyes quickly, Serena added, “Soon I heard the Lakota women screaming, and I ran to help them. When I saw the miners were hurting them…raping them as I’d been raped, I became crazy with anger. I remember running down the hill screaming at them and waving an oak branch around my head.”
It was impossible to lift her head and look into Wolf’s face. Serena knew the shame that the rape stamped upon her. She was a fallen woman—no longer a virgin. No man would be interested in her as wifely material now
. And the scars on her breasts would remind her until the day she died that a man had hated her enough to brand her like an animal.
Serena buried her face in her hands, waiting for Wolf to ask her to leave because she was a scorned woman. She didn’t know her status here, anyway, and she was sure that now Wolf knew the truth he would not allow her to stay. Hadn’t Blackjack dumped her out in the wild with the hope that wolves would find her and kill her off? Serena knew she was worthless, and waited her sentence.
Wolf sat there, stunned. He hadn’t understood half of Cante Tinza’s story, but he quickly pieced together her explanation. Blackjack Kingston was his mortal enemy, but she did not know that. The shame he’d seen on Cante Tinza’s face had torn at him, and when he understood that she had been brutally raped and beaten by a wasicun he hated more intensely with each breath he drew, Wolf could not longer stand her pain.
He knelt down inches away from Cante Tinza. Gently, his hands closed over her hands. She was trembling, and Wolf knew that even though she made no sound, she was crying. How many times had she cried alone after Kingston had hurt her? How many? He eased her hands away from her face. Wolf shared her anguish when she lifted her red lashes and revealed the haunted terror in the depths of her eyes. Tears wound silently down her pale cheeks, caught and held on the corners of her parted lips.
Framing her face with his hands, Wolf began to methodically wipe away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. “Tears are good,” he told her, his voice husky with emotion. “Tears show that we are alive. It is good to weep for what has been taken from you.“ How badly Wolf wanted to lean down and touch her lips with his. How badly he wanted to simply enfold Cante Tinza into his arms and hold her. Hold her and rock her like the hurt child that she was.
Wolf’s hands were large and warm against her flesh. His unexpected gentleness released months of suppressed grief and terror from her enslavement by Kingston. As the sobs started to well up and be released, Serena tried to pull out of Wolf’s grip.
“No,” he whispered, “do not run from me, Cante Tinza. Run to me….“ And he opened his arms to her. She came without fighting him, and Wolf bit back a groan deep within himself. He raised his head, allowing her to nuzzle against his shoulder and chest. As he placed his arms around her shaking form, Wolf closed his eyes. He felt her pain as if it were his own, but then, he was a healer and he always felt the patient’s pain.
Brave Heart Page 8