Reckless Love

by Madeline Baker

  Sunbird and I quickly became friends. She was a dear sweet woman, one who loved to be of help to others. She often went calling on those who were sick, taking them a pot of soup, a bit of candy, some fresh baked bread. She also acted as a midwife, staying with the Indian women through their labor, making sure the mothers were comfortable, the babies healthy and able to suckle. She sat with the dying, giving them the warmth of her smile and the strength of her presence.

  She quickly grew to love my children as if they were her own blood and before long, Heecha and Mary were calling her grandmother and trailing after her.

  After San Carlos, the Rosebud Agency seemed like Heaven, to me at least. I knew Shadow still felt keenly that he was no longer a free man, but I hoped, in time, he would come to accept our new way of life and find happiness.

  It was wonderful to be able to bathe in a tub again, to have sweet-smelling soap and hot water and fluffy towels. It was a rare treat to have sugar and cream in my coffee, to be able to munch an apple, to satisfy my sweet tooth with a piece of hard candy.

  I bought several yards of material and made dresses for Mary and myself, as well as several shirts for Shadow and Heecha. It seemed strange to wear petticoats and a chemise again. Strange, but nice. I felt feminine again, though I refused to wear stays or a corset. I kept my moccasins, as well. Tight, hard-soled shoes seemed like some kind of Chinese torture after the comfort of Indian footwear.

  Shadow continued to wear his buckskins, refusing to don the garb of a white man, Heecha, copying his father, also refused to abandon his buckskins in favor of corduroy and cotton.

  I enrolled my son in school at the Fort. Heecha protested loudly, but Shadow insisted he learn to read and write, as he had been taught. It was a useful talent, Shadow said, and Heecha stopped complaining.

  "The day will come when you will need to know these things," Shadow had explained. "A wise warrior is one who learns everything he can, even if he must learn from an enemy."

  Heecha had been going to school only a few days when he came home with a bloody nose and an eye that was swollen and already turning black.

  "What happened?" I asked, horrified.

  "Some white boys were making fun of my name," Heecha said. "So I hit them."

  "And they hit back?"

  "Yes."

  "Perhaps we should give you a white name," I suggested. "Then you will not be so different."

  "No," Heecha said, lifting his head proudly. "I am not ashamed to be Cheyenne."

  "But you are white, too," I reminded him gently.

  Heecha looked at Shadow. "Should I change my name, nehyo?"

  "If you wish," Shadow replied. "But it must be your decision."

  "Do you have a white name?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever wanted one?"

  "No."

  Heecha pondered that for a moment. "Will I be able to seek a vision when I am older?" he asked at length.

  "I do not know," Shadow answered. "I do not know if the white men will allow you to go into the hills to seek a vision. I do not know if there will be any ancient ones left to guide you in your quest."

  "Tell me of your vision, nehyo," Heecha coaxed.

  A vision was sacred and not to be bantered about, but Shadow had shared his vision with us several times. It was a story Heecha and Mary never tired of hearing.

  "I was sixteen summers," Shadow began, "when I went to Elk Dreamer for instruction. When I had learned the things I needed to know, we went to the sweat lodge to purify ourselves. My father was there also. It was a scared time. I tried to empty my mind of everything as I prayed to Maheo to grant me a vision.

  "The next morning, I went to the mountain alone. Morning and evening I made an offering to Man Above and to Mother Earth and to the four directions, pleading with the spirits to grant me a vision. Three days passed and nothing happened, but on the fourth day . . ."

  "The hawks came," Heecha interjected, his voice swelling with excitement.

  "Yes. The sun was high overhead when it seemed to split in half and out of the middle flew two red-tailed hawks.

  "'Be brave,' the male hawk cried in a loud voice. 'Be brave, and I will always be with you. You shall be swift as the hawk, wise as the owl.'"

  "What did the female say?" Mary prompted.

  "She said, 'Be strong and I will always be with you. You shall be smart as the hawk, mighty as the eagle.'"

  "And that was how you got your name, Two Hawks Flying," Heecha finished.

  "Yes."

  "Tell about the Sun Dance," Heecha said, his dark eyes glowing as he envisioned himself following in his father's footsteps.

  "Elk Dreamer slit my skin, here, and here," Shadow said, touching the scars on his chest. "Skewers were inserted under the skin, and then rawhide thongs were attached to the skewers and I was lifted high into the air to hang from the sacred pole. The pain was great, but it is a pain a man must bear if he would truly be a man. The sun beat upon my flesh and my sweat mingled with my blood as I offered my pain to Man Above, praying that he would accept my suffering."

  "And then the hawks came," Heecha said. "The same hawks that came before."

  "The very same. 'Be brave,' the male admonished. 'Be brave and you shall be a mighty leader among the People.'''

  Shadow smiled at his daughter. "The female said, 'Be strong and everything you desire shall be yours.'"

  "Do you have everything you desire?" Heecha asked.

  "Yes, naha," Shadow answered, his eyes moving from Heecha's upturned face to mine. "I have everything I ever desired."

  "Did the hawks come again?" Heecha asked.

  "Once, when I needed them."

  "I would like to see them," Heecha said, and Mary nodded a vigorous agreement.

  Shadow nodded slowly, a faraway look in his eye, and I knew he was thinking that the hawks would not come to a man who was no longer a warrior.

  "I will keep my Indian name," Heecha decided. "And if the white man will not let me go away when it is time for me to seek my vision, then I will run away and go anyway!"

  "And I will help you," Shadow vowed.

  "And I," I promised, smiling fondly at the men in my life. "But now it is time for dinner."

  One afternoon I went to the sutler's store at the fort and came face to face with Kathy Sanders. I stared at her for several minutes, wanting to be certain it was really Kathy. And it was. The same blond hair, the same blue eyes. She was seventeen now, and as pretty as ever.

  "Kathy?"

  She turned, frowning when she saw me, and I realized she did not recognize me. And who could blame her? I bore little resemblance to the young girl she had known in Bear Valley.

  "Kathy, do you remember me? Hannah Kincaid? I lived at the trading post in Bear Valley."

  "Hannah!" she cried, and put her arms around me. "Of course I remember you. You used to give me candy whenever I came into the store. What are you doing here?"

  "It's a long story. My father is here, you know."

  "Yes, I've seen him," Kathy said. "He lives with an old squaw."

  There was no mistaking the contempt in Kathy's voice.

  "What are you doing here, Kathy? How did you get away from the Sioux?"

  "I didn't get very far away," Kathy said bitterly. "The warrior who kidnapped me lives on the reservation."

  "Are you still living with his family?"

  "No. When his tribe surrendered, the commander of the fort, General McKay, took me away from the Indians. He and his wife took me in. I've been living with the General and his family ever since."

  "Are you happy with them?"

  "I guess so. Hannah, where's my mother? I wrote to her when the McKays took me in, but I never got an answer. Is she all right? Did she go back East after my father was killed?"

  I looked away, unable to meet Kathy's eyes. Florence Sanders had been a lovely woman, deeply in love with her husband. When he was killed by the Sioux, she had withdrawn into a world of her own. From that day on, she neve
r spoke. The Walker famlily took her in. I remembered as clearly as if it had been yesterday going to visit Mrs. Sanders. She had never known my mother and I were there. Stony-faced, she sat in a straight-backed chair staring out the window, one of her husband's shirts clutched tightly to her breast. She never recovered. When the talk of war turned to acts of war, the Walkers packed up and left for Oregon, taking Florence Sanders with them. They never made it.

  "Hannah?"

  "Kathy, I'm sorry."

  "She's dead, then?"

  I put my arms around Kathy while she cried. Several women paused to stare at us, then hurried out of the store.

  "Can we go someplace and talk?" I asked.

  Nodding, Kathy led me through the back of the store into a small room packed with crates and boxes. A worn sofa stood against one wall. Kathy sat down, still weeping softly, and I sat next to her.

  When her tears subsided, she dried her face on the hem of her skirt. Smiling faintly, she looked at me. "I'd like to hear your long story now."

  Her eyes were wide by the time I finished. "You actually married an Indian? How could you marry a savage? I hate them all."

  "I understand how you feel, Kathy, truly I do. After all, the Sioux killed my mother, too. But you can't spend your whole life hating. In the end, you're the only one who suffers."

  "I can't help it. I don't see how you could possibly love an Indian. They're nothing but heathen savages. As soon as I turn eighteen, I'm leaving this place and never coming back. I never want to see another Indian as long as I live."

  "Well, as long as you're here, you will come to dinner tonight, won't you? I know my father would love to have you. And I want you to meet Shadow and my children."

  "I don't know . . ."

  "Please. It's been so long since I've seen anyone from home."

  In the end, Kathy relented and came to dinner. She looked like a princess out of a fairy tale. Her hair was piled regally atop her head, revealing a slender neck and creamy shoulders. Her dress, of pink tulle, was frothy and becoming.

  Pa welcomed Kathy warmly and our meal was congenial and pleasant. Kathy was coolly polite to Sunbird, but she was completely smitten with Shadow. Watching her, I could see all her prejudices fading fast. I could not blame the girl for being infatuated with my husband. He was, after all, incredibly handsome. At twenty-eight, he was every inch a manstrong, self-assured, and very, very male. Kathy hung on his every word, asking him countless questions about the Cheyenne, just to hear the sound of his voice. When we went outside for coffee, she stuck like a cocklebur to Shadow's side, smiling up at him as though he were the most wonderful man in the world, laughing softly when something he said amused her.

  I was suddenly sorry I had invited Kathy Sanders to dinner.

  Later, alone on the porch with Shadow, I threw him a stern look. "Well?"

  Shadow lifted one black brow. "What is wrong?"

  "You seem to have made quite a conquest tonight."

  Shadow frowned. "What do you mean, a conquest?"

  "Kathy Sanders. She couldn't keep her eyes off of you. I believe the girl fancies herself half in love with you already."

  "Do not talk foolishness."

  "It isn't foolishness."

  "She is just a child."

  "Some child," I muttered petulantly.

  Shadow stared at me, and then he grinned. "You are jealous!" he exclaimed.

  He was right, but I didn't want to admit it. Kathy was so pretty, so young. Her figure was slim, shapely, and girlishly feminine. How could I possibly compete with her youthful freshness and innocence? I was not old or fat, by any means, but I had given birth to three children. And I was twenty-five years old, hardly an innocent young girl any longer.

  "Hannah."

  I refused to look at him, not wanting him to see the jealousy burning in my eyes.

  As always, Shadow knew what I was thinking and feeling even better than I did. "Hannah." He smiled down at me, his eyes warm with love as he drew me close. "Do not be jealous of Kathy Sanders or anyone else. It is you I love. Only you. Nothing will ever change that. You are a part of me, of my life. The best part."

  His words, softly spoken and sincere, chased all my foolish fears away. I closed my eyes as he kissed me, the familiar longing stirring in my blood as his mouth closed over mine. His hands cupped my buttocks, pressing my hips against his solid male flesh. The stirring of his desire fired my own and I sighed happily as he lifted me into his arms and carried me down the steps into the darkness. I did not question him as he carried me down the path that led to the river, content to be held in his strong arms, my head pillowed against his broad chest.

  He stopped at a secluded place beside the river, gently lowered me to the ground. Then, his eyes never leaving mine, he began to undress. My heart began to beat faster and faster as he removed first his shirt, then his moccasins, then his fringed buckskin pants. I was breathing heavily as he slowly shed his clout to stand naked before me, his desire plainly evident.

  I lifted my arms, silently urging him to come to me. His eyes, black as ten feet down, burned with a fierce light as he knelt beside me and began to remove my clothing. I shivered with anticipation at his touch, wanting him to hurry, wanting to feel his flesh against my own. But he was in a teasing mood, and he undressed me with infinite care, his lips brushing my skin as he removed my dress.

  "White woman wear too many clothes," he complained softly as he began to remove my chemise, and then my petticoat, his mouth caressing each area of skin he exposed. He chuckled as I let out a low moan and then, as I arched upward, pressing my breasts against his chest, he stilled his gentle laughter and drew me close. The game was over and we clung together, arms and legs entwined as the love we shared forged us together.

  Later, lying in Shadow's arms, I knew I need never be jealous of anyone.

  Kathy Sanders made many excuses to come to my father's cabin in the days that followed. She came to see Heecha and Mary. She came to see me. She came to ask Pa about a horse she wanted to buy from one of the Indians. She came to talk about old times in Bear Valley. She came to ask Shadow to teach her to speak Cheyenne . . .

  I was amused at first, but the more I saw Kathy with my husband, the more irritated I became. Kathy was learning the Cheyenne language, but she was also learning to love Shadow. You could see it in the depths of her clear blue eyes whenever she looked at him, which was often. I knew Shadow loved me, that he would always love me, but I wondered how long he would be able to resist Kathy's advances which, as the days went by, became more and more bold. She found countless excuses to touch Shadow's arm, his shoulder, his cheek. Once, she leaned forward, apparently intent on what he was saying, her hand lingering on his thigh.

  Pa and Sunbird thought it amusing. Harmless, but amusing. I did not think it was harmless and I did not think it was the least bit amusing. And when my patience wore thin, I began to get angry. Who did that little snit think she was, to openly flirt with my husband? To think, I had once given her candy and thought she was cute!

  It was on a day in late November that things came to a head. Walking to the river to fetch water for Sunbird, I spied Shadow and Kathy Sanders standing together beneath a cottonwood tree. Kathy was wearing a sky blue dress that perfectly complimented her honey blond hair and fair skin. The bodice was square-cut and edged with lace, revealing a generous expanse of flawless white skin.

  Kathy was gazing intently at Shadow, her head tilted back, her blue eyes shining with love, her pink lips slightly parted.

  They had not seen me and I quickly ducked out of sight behind a bush, my ears straining to hear what was being said.

  "Isn't it true that Cheyenne men sometimes have more than one wife?" Kathy was saying.

  "Sometimes," Shadow replied.

  "Have you ever thought of taking a second wife?"

  "No."

  "Oh." Kathy was obviously disappointed.

  I smiled, foolishly thinking that would be the end of it.

&nb
sp; "I would like to be your second wife,"

  Kathy said boldly. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to Shadow's. "I would do anything to make you happy," she murmured breathlessly. "Anything."

  Shadow looked momentarily surprised, then flattered. And then he smiled. "I am honored that you want to share my lodge," he said gently. "But I cannot take you for my woman. You are not an Indian, and your people do not allow a man to have more than one wife."

  Well, I thought, that was tactful.

  "I don't care what people would think," Kathy murmured sullenly. "I want you."

  "We cannot always have what we want," Shadow replied.

  Kathy thought Shadow was lamenting the fact that they could not be married, but I saw the wistful look in Shadow's eyes as he glanced into the distance and I knew what he was yearning for. He was not wishing he could have Kathy for his wife, as she supposed. He was longing for his freedom.

  Tears filled Kathy's eyes as, standing on her tiptoes, she kissed Shadow a second time and then ran back to the fort.

  Shadow sighed heavily and then smiled broadly. "You can come out now."

  I gasped in surprise. "How did you know I was here?" I demanded, stepping out from my hiding place.

  "I always know when you are near."

  Drat the man, he had ears like a lynx and a nose like a bloodhound.

  ''I do not think we will be seeing much of your friend in the future," Shadow mused.

  "You don't have to sound so sad about it," I retorted.

  "Well," Shadow said, grinning, "you cannot blame me for being flattered. She is very pretty and she thinks I am wonderful."

  "Oh, you!" Playfully, I punched him on the arm. "You're despicable!"

  Shadow frowned at me. "I am not sure what that word means, but I do not think it was a compliment."

  "It wasn't."

  "Do not be angry, Hannah," he chided. "You are also very pretty, and you also think I am wonderful, and that is why I have no need of a second wife. Why, I will never need anyone but you."