White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  Jeremy gasped and backed away, holding one hand out to ward her off. He pressed the other to his stomach. “Don’t go blamin’ me, Jess. Jordan came across you and Wolf at that pool tonight.” Pandemonium broke forth. James and Jordan launched themselves at Jeremy, demanding to know why he hadn’t said anything.

  Jessie turned her back on her brothers, furious with the lot of them. They were going to ruin everything with their damn interference. She rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, trying to find a way out of this mess. She glanced at Wolf. He looked disgusted. “Wolf—”

  He took her by the upper arm and led her to the minister, who looked on with bright interest. “You boys can fight it out later,” Wolf called over his shoulder. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Jessie yanked out of his grasp. Surely he wasn’t going to go along with this absurd wedding? “Wolf, you don’t have to do this. They can’t make us marry,” she said, her voice quavering. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Do you really think they’d shoot you if you refuse? We’ll both refuse.” Chills ran up her arms. She wanted Wolf to accept her as his helpmate because he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, not because her hot-tempered brothers forced him into it.

  Wolf lifted his chin, his blue eyes filled with pride. “No. We’ll marry. It’s the honorable thing to do. Your brothers are right to demand it.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to run, to hide from the cold resolve in his gaze.

  Honorable thing to do. A hollow pang hit her stomach and left her reeling. I don’t want honor, she wanted to shout.

  Wolf pulled her to his side. The preacher started the ceremony. His voice droned on, lifting in volume as the wind kicked up. Miserable, Jessie watched the dark clouds roll in. They echoed the grim, foreboding silence surrounding her. Beside her, James and Jordan stood, hands clasped behind their backs. Jeremy stood at Wolf’s side.

  She sneaked a glance at her husband-to-be. He stared straight ahead, his jaw set and arms crossed. Where had the tender, sensitive man gone? Tears threatened. This was her wedding day. Where was the happiness? The words of love? The secret smiles and giddy rushes of warmth? She rubbed her arms. All she felt was cold despair. This wasn’t what she had wanted. Yes, she wanted Wolf, wanted to be his wife. But not like this. The first crack of thunder boomed. Beside her, Wolf frowned and motioned for the preacher to hurry. Her heart sank. He couldn’t wait to get it over with so he could leave.

  A jab to her ribs startled her. Beside her, James whispered “Say, ‘I do.’” Jessie bit her lip and glanced at Wolf. All she’d wanted was his love. Had her brothers’ interference killed it? In a whisper, she sealed her fate. And when it was all over, Wolf, at the insistence of her brothers, pulled her close for a chaste kiss. Then he issued orders for everyone to return to their posts. Watching him stride off without a backward glace, Jessie felt all her hopes of him accepting her into his life shrivel until they lay in a corner of her heart.

  After a week of no rest, Wolf halted the emigrants after only six hours of travel, near a massive bluff on the south bank of the North Platte River. For many of the emigrants, Scotts Bluff was one more grand display of nature that helped lessen the boredom of the endless flat prairie. In awe, they stared at the bluffs, which resembled immense fortifications with their many bastions, towers, battlements, embrasures, scarps and counterscarps. The wagons circled, and the never-ending round of chores began anew. Jessie eagerly embraced the hours of hard work that followed. It helped keep her mind off her fight with Wolf and their mockery of a marriage. Everyone knew of their wedding, and many knew the reasons.

  As she had for the last two days, she took on more chores than normal. And if by chance she finished early, she found other tasks that didn’t need doing but did them anyway, just to wear herself out. The last thing she wanted was to lie awake wondering if Wolf would come to her during the night. But he hadn’t come near her since the minister had pronounced them man and wife. Right after the kiss that had sealed their vows, the skies had opened up, pelting the wedding party with hail the size of small stones. She grimaced. It was a sign that boded ill for a marriage that really wasn’t a true marriage yet.

  Depressed that Wolf refused to acknowledge their marriage or share her bed, Jessie spent the afternoon checking equipment, then baking biscuits to restock their supply of bread for times when they couldn’t cook a hot meal. She even tried her hand at making pemmican from a recipe Rook taught her. The men enjoyed chewing it during the day when they were riding. She grimaced. It sure beat chewing tobacco. That was one habit she found disgusting.

  When the sun began its showy descent, Coralie and Rook joined her to start the evening meal. Jessie forced thoughts of Wolf from her mind. Together they worked, the only sound Rook’s gruff voice as he continued instructing her sister-in-law. Several hours later, long after the hired hands had left and the kettles and fry pans had been scrubbed clean, Jessie took her own plate of food and sat down. She stared at it with disinterest.

  Jordan and Coralie walked past. Her brother held his wife close. She giggled softly. They were so happy, and that depressed her. Not that she wished them ill, but their joy in each other was a painful reminder that so far her own marriage was a disaster. When Jordan glanced over at her, she turned her back on him and forked a bite of beans and bacon into her mouth. The food was tasteless and hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. She tossed the plate down.

  Rook lifted a brow. “I’m sick of beans,” she grumbled, watching Sadie lick the plate clean. Sadie glanced up with soulful brown eyes, asking for more. “You’re getting fat, girl,” Jessie scolded. The dog whined softly and gave her mistress a quick face-washing with her tongue, then trotted off to lie beside Wahoska. Sighing heavily, Jessie stared morosely out into the black cloak of night, feeling an echoing bleakness deep inside.

  “How long you gonna hold on ta yer anger, lass?” Rook plopped down onto an old stump he’d fashioned into a seat and guarded zealously so no one would chop it up into firewood. As usual, he was whittling a piece of wood.

  She shrugged. “They interfered where they had no business.”

  “They love ya, lass. Can’t blame ’em fer that.”

  Tears threatened once again. It used to be that only fights with her brothers could reduce her to tears. For a fleeting moment she wished things could return to the simple, everyday life she’d once known, but then she’d never have fallen in love.

  When Rook cleared his throat, she glanced at him. “Maybe, maybe not,” she answered. “They should’ve talked to me first. They’re always making decisions that affect me without asking. It’s wrong. I’m old enough to handle things my own way.”

  Rook lifted his brow and resumed his whittling. “Well, now, what’s done is done. You make yer peace with them, and soon. It’s tearin’ ya apart, and don’t ya be denyin’ it.”

  Jessie sent Rook another pained look. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on one fisted hand as she watched Rook whittle away at the wood. “I know they meant no harm, maybe were even trying to help. I’ll settle with them soon.” She gave a weak grin. “They can suffer just a tad more.”

  “That’s my lass. Now, off to bed with you, and don’t you worry none ’bout Wolf. He’s a stubborn cuss, but he’ll come around. Just be patient.”

  She hugged Rook. He’d become more father than friend. “I hope you’re right.”

  Rook lifted a brow. “’Course I’m right. Now off with ya. Give an old man his peace afore bedtime.”

  Star Dreamer shivered despite the warm nighttime breeze sweeping across the land. Nearby, her parents and siblings slept. How she envied their ability to sleep. She longed to fall into a deep, soothing sleep, but it wouldn’t happen. The visions were growing stronger, more frequent as they neared the white man’s fort. The brief flashes of color and emotion haunted her day and night. But those she could handle.

  What troubled her now was the cry. Wrapping her arms around her kn
ees, she rested her forehead on her warm leggings, wishing for her husband’s comforting arms. But Two-Ree was on guard duty near the hobbled horses. She cleared her mind, concentrating on the sounds of the Maka: the chirp of insects, the brush of rodents scurrying through the night and the gentle sound of water slapping the bank of the nearby stream. For a time, it worked. Then, unbidden, it came.

  The cry of a child. Star Dreamer shuddered, and a low, guttural moan escaped from her tightly clenched lips as images flashed across the lids of her eyes. And she was frightened by what she saw: the green-eyed woman and a child in the clutches of an evil two-headed form. When strong hands closed over her shoulders she cried out. The tender words of her husband reassured her as he drew her into his embrace and held her securely while she cried noiselessly. Nearby, Striking Thunder rose to stand guard. He met the worried gazes of his mother, father and sister, none of whom were asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jessie kept her gaze trained on the ground to avoid the blinding glare of the sun bouncing off the sandy prairie. Clouds of dust hung in the air, and it was stifling hot. In short, it was another miserable day on the trail. She sneezed, then choked on the thick waves of dust that rose from the prairie. The square of calico she held to her nose did little good.

  Swatting at an annoying insect crawling on her arm, she grimaced when dust rose from the long sleeve of her shirt. Over the past week she’d been forced to wear the same blue flannel shirt and woolen pants. First their group had been assaulted by a dust storm, which left a thick layer of dust everywhere. Then two days later a rainstorm turned the dust to clinging mud. She was at least grateful that her woolen pants offered protection against the heat of the sun’s rays and the sudden drops in temperature at night. After leaving Scotts Bluff six days ago, they’d followed the trail through Mitchell Pass which was more popular than the older Robidoux Pass.

  Coralie fell into step beside Jessie, then nervously looked behind them. “You don’t think those Indians will follow us, do you?” Yesterday they’d stopped for the night a few miles from the Grattan massacre site and were visited by a large band of fierce-looking Indians.

  Jessie shook her head. “Wolf says there’s nothing to fear.” The evening had been fraught with tension, made worse by whispered reminders of the massacre that had taken place nearby several years before. Though Wolf tried to reassure everyone that they had nothing to fear, fear nonetheless ran high. He’d finally divided the men into groups to rotate guard duty and had even remained on hand to keep a close eye on things. She’d hoped he would come to her, but he hadn’t. Depression fell upon her.

  Coralie leaned close and lowered her voice. “Those Indians seemed so savage. Wolf gave them some cattle and horses. He bribed them not to attack us, didn’t he?” She shuddered and drew a shaky breath. “I heard Lars and Rook talking about that massacre. It sounded like it just happened,” she babbled, throwing worried looks over her shoulder.

  Jessie hooked her arm through her sister-in-law’s and squeezed, putting her own troubles on hold to reassure Coralie. “Quit stewing, Corie. Rook told me they didn’t give Wolf any trouble. Seems they’re also Sioux Indians. As for the massacre, that happened a couple years ago. Some soldiers tried to arrest several Sioux Indians for killing and eating a stray cow that belonged to a Mormon emigrant.”

  Coralie bit her lip. “But the Indians killed the soldiers. I heard Rook telling the story last night. Only one soldier made it back to Fort Laramie before he died. Rook said the Indian chief also died.” She wrung her hands in front of her. “I’ll sure be glad to reach Fort Laramie. After all that horrible noise those savages made last night, I just know I won’t sleep unless there are soldiers nearby.”

  “Come on, Coralie. We’re safe enough,” Jessie said, giving her a gentle shake.

  Morning gave way to afternoon. Jessie relieved Rickard to give him a break. In the wagon train, both man and beast plodded along the vapid trail, shuffling through sand a foot deep, kicking up clouds of dust that lingered in the air, making it hard for Jessie even to see the wagon in front of her.

  During the hot afternoons, it wasn’t unusual to see men sitting or standing on the wagon tongues, nodding off or resting with their hands planted on the rumps of the oxen. But at some point, someone would swat their oxen halfheartedly and remind the sluggish beasts to keep moving.

  Up ahead, Elliot grumbled those very same words to his team.

  Without glancing up, Jessie mechanically repeated the words, then jerked her head up to listen for Rook, who walked behind her. This daily form of prairie telegraph amused her. Commands were repeated up and down the long line of wagons from one man to another. Sure enough, she heard Rook’s admonishment— “Get up thar” —his voice as sluggish as the oxen. Jessie would have grinned, but she felt too tired and lethargic. Instead she grimaced, a wave of depression and regret overcoming her, stemming in part from lack of sleep and partly from the man riding ahead of them on his big black horse.

  She lifted her eyes, her gaze straining through the clouds of dust for a glimpse of her husband, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Since becoming man and wife, they hadn’t exchanged more than a few polite words at mealtimes. A dull ache of hopelessness spread through her. How she missed him—missed the secret smiles and the stolen kisses they’d shared behind the wagons or shielded by their horses. Her body felt bereft of their sweet lovemaking in the darkened prairie.

  And now that she didn’t have them, those stolen hours beneath the stars seemed all the more precious. But what she missed most was what followed their loving. Sated, cuddled together, they’d talked late into the night, about everything and nothing. Her shoulders slumped further. Wolf was still angry, and she didn’t blame him. His pride had taken a beating. She smacked her fist into her palm. Damn her interfering brothers. She took a calming breath, then regretted it when she choked on dust. Coughing, she dropped back to the rear of the wagon and uncovered the water barrel. Filling the tin cup hanging on the inside, she drank the tepid water. Though stale, it relieved her parched throat. She resumed her place beside the lumbering oxen.

  Coralie left Elliot’s side. “Elliot’s not very good company right now.” She pouted. “This is so boring! There’s nothing to do all day but walk and stare at a bunch of scraggly bushes.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. Though her sister-in-law had matured, some things hadn’t changed. Of course, not so long ago she herself would have made a snide comment back to her, so Jessie supposed she too had matured. With fondness in her voice, she spoke to Coralie much as one would talk to a young child. “Where’s your knitting?” she asked.

  Coralie threw up her arms. “Ruined. It’s just ruined. I’ve dropped five stitches and can’t get them back on the needle, and now they’ve unraveled too far down. I’ll never learn to knit,” she wailed, moving over to the wagon tongue. She sat, securing her skirts around her legs so they wouldn’t get caught in the wheels.

  Jessie bit back a laugh as she watched Coralie scoot as far from the rumps of the oxen as she could. She was practically hugging the wagon front. “It takes time, Coralie. Be patient. You’ll learn. Why don’t you take it to Anne tonight? She can help you straighten it out.”

  “Coralie, I’d be happy to give you a hand tonight after my babies are asleep,” Eirica said softly. “Do you mind if I join you? The children have finally fallen asleep.”

  “You know you’re always welcome, Eirica, but shouldn’t you be resting also?” Jessie asked, eyeing the rounded belly that clothing no longer hid.

  Eirica wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you start in on me, Jessie. Having your brother constantly nagging after me to ride or rest is quite enough, thank you,” she said primly. She glanced over her shoulder as if watching out for James.

  “He cares for you, Eirica.”

  Eirica shook her head. “I’m just an added commitment he took on because he thinks he’s obligated to.” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. Your brother is a good man, but he
doesn’t need a ready-made family. He deserves a nice young woman and a chance to start his own family, and I need to prove to myself that I can take care of me and mine.”

  Jessie heard the thread of wistfulness in Eirica’s voice but wisely kept her mouth shut. James loved Eirica; there was no doubt in her mind of that. She could see it in his eyes. But Eirica had to discover it on her own. After all, she knew firsthand what well-meaning interference could do. Silence fell. It was just too difficult to talk with the choking dust. Coralie jumped off the wagon tongue with a disgusted squeal when one of oxen added his share of the cow patties to the prairie.

  Wolf alternated between riding ahead of the wagons and keeping an eye on the livestock, even though he didn’t anticipate any trouble from the band of Lakota Brule Indians who had paid them a visit last night. So far the emigrants had dealt mostly with the Pawnees who held the territory along the Platte River on the other side of Scotts Bluff. They were for the most part curious and friendly, seeking to trade or to beg food and clothing when they wandered into camp. But the Sioux Indians who’d visited last night, with their striking colors of paint slashed across their cheeks, foreheads and chests, had not been out for friendly trade. They had eyed the horses and wagons with malevolent intent.

  But once they’d learned that Wolf was of the Miniconjou tribe, son of Golden Eagle, the mighty warriors had welcomed him as brother. The Brule, Miniconjou and Hunkpapa, his mother’s tribe, all belonged to the Teton branch of the Sioux. But despite Wolf’s Indian blood and their respect for Golden Eagle and Striking Thunder, they still expected payment for crossing their land. The bargaining went on for hours. He’d finally agreed to a dozen head of cattle, two horses, flour, tobacco, a sack of coffee, a battered coffeepot and some calico shirts brought along for trading purposes. In return, the warriors agreed not to harass any more wagons that summer.