by Conn, Phoebe
She had quickly discarded her hooped petticoat in order to move more easily behind the counters, but her pretty gowns were still the envy of all their female customers as well as being greatly admired by the males. While she had never sewn more than a stitch or two herself, she was frequently called upon to provide advice on fine fabrics and the latest styles. Much to her aunt and uncle's delight, she swiftly produced a sizable increase in sales in all manner of fabrics and lace.
While she was far from content, Erica took pride in the fact that she was at least being useful. Like everyone else, she followed the news of the war, hoping daily to hear it had drawn to an end. When a letter arrived from Mark, she shoved it into her apron pocket, but the niinute she could leave the store to read it in private she did so.
The thriving town of New Ulm was built upon two gently sloping terraces backed by a bluff rising some two hundred feet above the level of the river. Rather than turn in the direction of her aunt and uncle's home. Erica instead chose to walk down to the river. Having lived on the Delaware River all her life, she felt a far greater kinship with the water than she did with the people of New Ulm, and she often went for walks along the riverbank in the afternoon. The day was quite warm, but the woods at the water's edge offered an inviting coolness and she walked for a long way before finally choosing a comfortably shady spot to sit down and read Mark's letter.
Even after she had slit open the buff-colored envelope. Erica hesitated to remove the two neatly penned sheets of stationery. Tears filled her eyes, for all she truly wished to read was Mark's urgent plea that she return home to become his wife. Thinking herself impossibly foolish for harboring that hope, she finally forced herself to read what Mark had actually written.
While she did not suspect how many letters the levelheaded youn^ man had penned before mailing this one, Erica found its stilted tone deeply disappointing. Mark had not sent a reassuring declaration of love but instead a factual account of his first week in the army. If he were angry with the way she had left him, he did not mention it. He said he hoped she was happy and asked her to write to him soon.
Erica must have read the friendly letter a dozen times
before giving up all hope of finding something suggested between the lines that Mark had failed to state in words. Apparently he felt not a shred of remorse for refusing the love she had offered so eagerly. Her cheeks filled with a bright blush of shame at that memory and she quickly stuifed the letter back into its envelof>e. She would write an answer, that much was certain, but she knew she dared not say what was truly in her heart, as he had already heard that and disregarded it too many times to repeat.
Frustrated that their weeks apart had done so little to aid her cause, she tarried there at the river's edge, so lost in dark thoughts that she did not see the Indian who had entered the water to bathe only a few yards downstream until he began to splash about noisily. Then, fearing the man would find her presence objectionable, she sat very still and prayed he would soon finish his bathing and be on his way. Her dress was a soft blue and blended into the shadows provided by the overhanging canopy of leaves from the elm tree at her back, and she thought if she sat very still she had a good chance of going unnoticed.
Erica had had scant opportunity to observe Indians, and had not realized any lived so near the town. Despite her silent pleas that the man would be swiftly on his way, he was not simply bathing, but flinging water about with a flamboyant exuberance that astonished her. He was a muscular individual and appeared to be quite tall from what she could judge from his sleek proportions. His hair was so long it brushed his shoulder blades, and its deep ebony color reflerted the same iridescent highlights as a raven's wing.
She knew she shouldn't be watcing the man, but since she had unintentionally violated the privacy he obviously thought he had, she was simply embairrassed rather than guilt-ridden. When he at last turned towaurd her, his glance was still focused upon the water but what she could see of his features beneath the flying spray of water and swirling cloud of black hair looked remarkably handsome. Her interest piqued, she gave no further thought to the fact that he would not appreciate her gaze be it openly admiring or not The setting was idyllic, and she continued to watch him cavort about like a playful child, wondering if Eve might not have also observed Adam in such an unguarded moment. It was not until the man started to walk
out of the river that her innocent appreciation of him came to an abrupt end.
Water dripped from the Indian's thick mane of hair down over his broad shoulders and chest, following the contours of his powerful frame to form a central rivulet that slid past the taut muscles of his flat stomach and was lost in the dense curls which framed his manhood. Her attention now squarely focused where she was positive it shouldn't be, Erica realized the full extent of her folly. The daughter of a physician, she had satisfied her curiosity about male anatomy at an early age by simply consulting her father's medical texts. This man was a superb specimen in all respects, but she knew she should have had the sense to flee the spot while he was too far out in the river to give chase.
She had merely stepped off the path before sitting down, and Erica suddenly realized that, once dressed, the Indian might walk right by her. Since he couldn't fail to see her then, and know exactly how much she had seen, she dared not remain there a moment longer. Hoping he would pay as close attention to getting dressed as he had to bathing, she waited until he had put one leg in his buckskins before rising stealthily to her feet. When he did not look up, she breathed a sigh of relief, but as she took her first step toward the path she heard the loud snap of a dry twig and froze, praying the Indian hadn't heard the sound over the constant churning roar of the river. Then she heard an angry shout, and certain she would never be able to outrun the man and knowing she would simply have to bluff her way out of a most unfortunate situation, she turned around slowly to face him.
The Indian was not simply annoyed to find he had not been alone at the river's edge. He was livid. After fastening his belt buckle to secure his loose-fitting fringed pants, he drew his knife and covered the distance between them in a near flying sprint. Stopping within inches of her, he greeted Erica with a wicked snarl: "Have you seen enough, or should I come closer still?"
In Erica's opinion he was already standing much too close, but as she tried to move back she tripped over the hem of her gown, which without its hoop was several inches too long. She was forced then to reach out toward the Indian rather than fall, but had she not grasped his
wrist lightly to regain her balance, she would most surely have landed in the leaves at their feet, for he made not the slightest effort to catch her.
Mistakenly thinking the woman was making a desperate lunge for his knife, the well-built young man drew tack his left hand intending to slap her aside. But Erica released her hold upon him before he could strike that intended blow. He was more puzzled than before, for he had never heard of an Indian brave's being attacked by an unharmed white woman, and he would not spread the tale that he had been the first.
That the Indian had come so close to striking her alarmed Erica all the more, and she raised her hands slightly to show she meant him no harm. Since the oaf at least spoke English, she tried to reason with him in a frantic whisper. "Please, put away that knife, and I'm sure we can settle this misunderstanding without either of us getting hurt."
The Indian's frown deepened, for he thought her daft to threaten him. "How could you possibly hurt me?" he asked with a currish sneer.
"I've no wish to hurt youl Certainly not," Erica assured him. Encouraged when he merelv stared in response, she rushed on with what she prayea would be an adequate excuse to permit her to quickly escape him. Gesturing toward the elm tree where she had been sitting, she continued, "I'd been seated there for some time, p>erhaps an hour, before you entered the water. Rather than embarrass either ot us I tried to slip away but—"
Apparently at least partially swayed by her explanation, the Indian slid his knife b
ack into the beaded sheath at his belt, but he then folded his arms across his bare chest and continued to stare down at her with a threatening gaze. Each year the valley teemed with more of her despicable kind, but that he could not even wash without being spied upon disgusted him so deeply that he had no intention of allowing her to go until he had frightened her so thoroughly she would never again venture into the part of the forest he considered his own. "Why did you wait so lon^ to leave?" he asked with a taunting grin. "Do savages fascinate you?"
Erica swallowed nervously, thinking the man's point well taken, for she had obviously waited much too long to
take her leave. She shrugged helplessly, hoping he would believe the truth. "Well, you must admit you were putting on quite a performance. You weren't bathing, nor swimming, but almost dancing in the water. Had anyone else been here they would have undoubtedly been as intrigued as I was." When he didn't laugh in her face for that remark, she seized what she hoped was becoming the advantage. "Had you taken the time to look around you would have seen me and gone elsewhere to do whatever it was you were doing. This is really your fault, not mine," she insisted proudly.
"My fault!" the Indian shouted in a hoarse gasp. He raked his fingers through his still dripping hair to push it out of his eyes aind called her a name he could not equal for foulness in English.
"Yes, your fault, and whatever it is you just called me I'm certain you are far worsel" Erica turned away, thinking she would be able to just walk off, but the man reached out to catch her shoulder with such force that he easily spun her back around to face him.
She had spirit, and he admired that, but the Indian would allow no woman to turn her back on him in the midst of an argument. "You must apologize," he commanded firmly.
Appalled by that demand. Erica straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. "For what? For being here first?"
"You know why," the man replied coldly.
Erica clenched her fists at her sides. She had done her best to fit in in New Ulm, which was the very last place she wanted to be. Her life was so far from the one she wished to be living that she dreaded each new dawn, and now she had absolutely no desire to spend the rest of the afternoon arguing with some ill-mannered Indian. "All right, I am sorry I interrupted your privacy, but you had intruded upon mine first I"
While many of the German immigrants who populated New Ulm were fair haired, he had not seen any woman so blond as this one. Her curls reflected the sunlight with the sparkle of new-fallen snow, and her eyes were more blue than the river for which the state was named. Her nose had a slight upward turn, imparting a saucy air to all her expressions. Her lips had a delectable rose hue and the inviting
shape of a bow, but he did not like any of the words that poured from them. "You do not belong here. I do."
It had not occurred to Erica that she might be trespassing upon the Indian's land, and she hurriedly looked around for some sign of a house or cultivated gardens but saw none. "The Sioux reservation is much hirther up the river, isn't it?"
The Indian made an obviously derogatory response in his own language before replying in English. "I am not an animal who can be kept in a pen. I go where I please."
"Well, it just so happens that I also have that privilege, and if you'll excuse me I'll be going on home now." This time Erica hesitated a moment to be certain he would have no objection to her leaving in hopes of avoiding another bone-jarring blow to her shoulder.
"As soon as you apologize to me you may go," the Indian replied calmly.
"I already did apologize," Erica reminded him.
"No, that was no apology."
The man had relaxed sufficiently for his features to assume the more carefree expression she had glimpsed briefly in the water. No longer appearing so menacing, he wasn't merely good-looking but extraordinarily handsome. His skin was a warm bronze. His features were even and strong, and his teeth were a sparkling white she was certain would lend a heady masculine magic to his smile, if he were ever happy enough t<5 smile. His brows and lashes were as black as his free-flowing hair, but his eyes were g^'ay* not brown. When he had first come running up to her they had glowed with the same evil light as the polished steel of his blade, but now both his glance and stance had softened. The color of his eyes struck her as being odd, but she knew so little about Indians she had no idea what color his eyes should be.
The woman was regarding him with an open curiosity that the Indian found most offensive, and he urged her to speak her apwlogy and be gone. "Your dress is very fine. Do you not have thfe manners to match it? Surely you can apologize to me without insulting me at the same time."
"You needn't have drawn a knife on me," Erica pointed out accusingly. "That scarcely showed any manners."
"You should be grateful I did not use it," the man responded sullenly.
Erica doubted respectable white women did much apologizing to Indian braves, but since the man was such an obstinent sort, she feared she might never get home if she didn't let him have his way. What possible difference did it make? she asked herself. They would probably never meet again. She picked up her skirt to be certain she would not trip a second time as she gave him the most sincere apology she could bear to speak. "I haven't been in New Ulm long, and I'll make a point of staying close to town in the future. I'm sorry we met under such unfortunate circumstances, but you can be certain I'll avoid this part of the river in the future."
The merest shadow of a frown passed over the Indizm's finely chiseled features before he dismissed her with a curt nod and turned away. He went back to where he had left his belongings and when he glanced back over his shoulder, Erica was gone.
Holding her skirts well above her toes. Erica ran all the way back to the steamboat landing before adopting a more sedate pace. When she reached her aunt and uncle's home, she found her cousin seated upon the front stejDS attempting to whittle a small horse out of a block of wood. He was a strapping lad who towered above her in stature, but he always treated her with a respect bordering upon awe. She stopped in front of him.
"Hello, Gunter, what are you making?"
"It was to be a horse, but it looks more like a mule, I'm afraid," the boy admitted self-consciously. He had inherited his mother's fair coloring and finely shap>ed features, but the fact that he would one day be a remarkably handsome man had as yet escaped his notice.
"Call it a mule then, and no one will know what it was you intended." Encouraged by the warmth of his smile. Erica dashed on by him and ran up the stairs to her room. The homes in New Ulm were all remarkably similar two-story frame houses with dormer windows in the attic bedrooms. She had been given the guestroom on the second floor. As she sat down at the desk, ready to begin a reply to Mark she suddenly realized she had lost his letter.
"Oh nol" Erica leaped to her feet and shook out her skirt before reaching into her pockets. She left her apron on its hook at the store and carried the letter in her hand when she left there, but what had she done with it when she
had gotten up from beneath the tree in her futile attempt to escape the Indian? It had been in her hand then, too, she was certain of it. She feared she had dropped it when she had grabbed the man's arm to keep from falUng. It had been insanity to reach out to him, she thought now, since she could so easily have cut herself on his knife.
Erica slipped back down into her chair, her expression forlorn. She would have no choice but to go back and look for the letter, but it was too late to go again that day. She had told the Indian the truth: she never wanted to stumble across his path ever again. Now she would have to go right back to his part of the forest the very next day. She folded her arms upon the desk and rested her cheek upon them. If she didn't find the letter she would have no way to send Mark a reply. He might think she no longer cared— especially after the way she had left him.
During supper. Erica's mind wandered so often to that afternoon's confrontation that she finally decided she ought to leam something about the Sioux reservations
without giving away the fact that she had actually met an Indian brave. Since her uncle was so knowledgeable, she spoke to him about it at the first lull in the conversation.
"From what I understand, most of the land around here used to belong to the Sioux, didn't it?"
Karl was surprised by that question, but he had been in Minnesota long enough to know the state's history. "Yes, but the government has talked them out of so much all they have left now are two thin strips bordering the south side of the Minnesota River. The Upper Sioux Agency is the farthest away. It's near the mouth of the Yellow Medicine River, and the Lower Sioux Agency is below the Redwood River. That's about thirty-five miles northwest of here, up past Fort Ridgely."
Britta was a pretty blonde, if not nearly so elegant a creature as her sister and niece. She adored her husband, but that did not prevent her from arguing with him upon occasion. "The government paid the Sioux for the rest of their lands, Karl, don't forget that."
Karl had a stocky build and the rolling gait of a bear. His features, while neither handsome nor distinguished, were pleasant, and he was so good-natured that Erica liked him immensely. He simply laughed at his wife's comment. "Oh yes, they were paid at thirty cents an acre. Under the
new Homestead Act the government is selling land at a dollar twenty-five an acre, so you tell me whether or not the Indians were cheated. Traders took a lot of the money to pay what they claimed the Indians owed them, don't forget that either. The Sioux were also promised annuities for fifty years, but Congress still hasn't voted them this year's money. After the poor harvest last fall, that's damn near criminal. The government's trying to make farmers out of them, but they are far better at hunting and fishing than anything else."