by Karen Kay
Only minutes later, a scream split the air. And in its aftermath, the wind rustling through the trees gave rise to the only sound in the air.
Neeheeowee stepped into the clearing, a dirty blond scalp in his hand.
Tahiska lay on the ground, unmoving, with a wound to his head. The major sat beside him, using his shirt to soak up the blood.
Wahtapah knelt beside his friend, and picking up Tahiska’s hand in his own, felt for a pulse. Faint, but still there.
“Quickly,” Wahtapah signed at the major. “He still lives. Go find water. Hurry. If you find a stream, bring back the mud.”
The major nodded, grabbing a pot from the camp, and shot away toward the stream.
Neeheeowee joined his friend, kneeling down beside Tahiska. He examined the wound. It was to the side of the head, but the bleeding was profuse, making it impossible to tell if the injury were fatal or only superficial.
Tahiska stirred. Wahtapah held him still. “Do not leave us in death, brother,” he voiced softly in Lakota. “I fear that if you leave us now, your wife will never forgive you or her father.”
The major returned with water and, dipping his shirt into the pot, began to cleanse the wound.
“Does he still live?” the major asked in sign.
Wahtapah nodded.
Neeheeowee watched for a while, then rising, he went to stand over the body of McKlinsley, finally picking up the dead body and carrying it into the woods where it would feed the wolves.
“It’s only superficial, I believe,” the major said, then signed his meaning to Wahtapah. “He will recover.”
Wahtapah merely stared at the white soldier, finally giving a short nod in acknowledgment.
“He saved my life,” the major continued to speak in sign. “How can I ever return such a favor?”
Had Wahtapah not been sick with worry, he might have grinned. He glanced at his friend, then at the major, and in sign he said, “If he lives, there will be a way, I promise you.”
The major stared hard at the warrior, the young man also returning the intense scrutiny. Nothing more was said, nothing more signed.
Both turned their gaze to their friend, both hoping, both praying.
“Have you had any sign to indicate your condition?”
Kristina shook her head, keeping her gaze downcast. “I’m not pregnant.”
“That’s good. I’m relieved to hear it.”
Kristina’s eyes filled with tears. “To tell you the truth, I was praying for a baby, just in case he never returns.”
“I see.” Julia’s glance darted around the trading center where both girls were assigned duty, but except for the women themselves, the post was empty. “I still find it hard to believe that he won’t return for you, Kristina. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He might have been upset, but he would never leave. I don’t believe he divorced you. Are you sure you understood it right?”
“No. But he spoke of divorce. He said that if I could not accept the way he was, it would be better if we parted. I don’t want to believe it, but what choice do I have?” Kristina raised her head. She stared directly into Julia’s eyes. “That’s why I wish I were with child. At least then there would be something of him remaining with me. This way I have nothing.”
Julia wondered again at what had happened to the Indians. She was willing to swear that Tahiska would not willingly leave Kristina. Never had she seen such looks of love. The brave had openly admired his wife with such craving in his expression that a few times even Julia could have swooned. Could something Kristina had said in a moment of anger really have been enough to drive him away for good? Somehow she didn’t think so.
Silently, she strode to the door of the trading center and, deciding they would both benefit from only a half day of work, she closed the door and bolted it from any further traffic. Returning to the counter, she found Kristina’s composure completely shaken.
“Tell me again. Why did the Indians really come to our post?”
“I don’t know the full story, only what I gathered from listening to Tahiska that day when they all stood in front of the cavalry.” Kristina’s voice was little more than a sob. “A couple of soldiers killed Tahiska’s father and the three Indians were here seeking revenge. This was their actual business here at the fort, the real reason they couldn’t leave until the trade wagon returned. They were looking for the two murderers.”
“And where are they now?”
“They’re tracking down the two soldiers. The men deserted shortly after being confronted with the crime.”
“And your father is with them?”
Kristina nodded.
Julia thought a moment. “Perhaps you and I should try to determine just what divorce is to the Indian. Neither one of us really knows. Didn’t you at one time try to divorce him, only he refused to believe it because you hadn’t ‘thrown him away’? What does that mean? I think you may be worried for nothing. Do you honestly believe the Indians would leave without word to us? I don’t think so. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I don’t believe your husband would ever desert you. Only in death…”
Kristina gasped. “Don’t even speak of death!” She laid her hand on her friend’s. “If they are tracking down these soldiers, their lives are in danger already.” Kristina suddenly put her hand to her head and winced.
“Kristina, are you ill?”
“My head—”
“Nerves,” Julia said. “Don’t worry I’m certain the Indians are fine, and I believe you are wrong about Tahiska. He will return to you.”
“No, I…” Kristina looked straight ahead, staring into empty space. “He will return if he is able. But, Julia, my head suddenly hurts in the most strange manner.”
Julia laid her hand over her friend’s head.
“Nerves,” she repeated. “And don’t worry. He will return.”
Kristina tried to smile, but the attempt only mimicked her regular grin. “I feel something is terribly wrong.”
She shivered then, and glancing quickly at her friend, moved from behind the store’s counter. “Come ride with me, will you, Julia? I feel the need to see the prairie.”
Julia smiled and nodded agreement, following her friend to the door. Odd. For a moment there, Kristina had looked haunted, as though she possessed some secret knowledge. Julia shrugged and scolded herself; overactive imagination on her part, surely, except that for a moment…
“Kristina!”
Wahtapah glanced at the major. The major met Wahtapah’s gaze, but neither man spoke. Both turned their attention back to the feverish man who, even after a few days, had yet to regain consciousness. The major, who at first was convinced that the wound was superficial, now worried. He tried to figure out how to move Tahiska into the fort for medical aid.
“Kristina! Hiya!”
Even Neeheeowee, who busied himself with camp chores, knelt down beside his friend. He stared first at the major, then at Wahtapah.
“Should I go get his wife?” he asked in sign, forgetting that the major didn’t, after all, know.
“Wife?”
Both Indians peered at the major.
“Wife!” Major Bogard signed again. “The young man is married?”
Neither Wahtapah nor Neeheeowee replied, both choosing simply to stare at the major.
At length, Neeheeowee asked again, “Shall I go bring Kristina here?” This time he spoke in his own Cheyenne dialect.
“What about my daughter, Kristina?”
“He calls for her,” Wahtapah answered in sign. “We wonder if we should go and retrieve her.”
“But what has this to do with wife?”
Silence. The wind rushing through the trees and prairie grass grew disproportionately loud.
No one spoke, and the major wondered at it momentarily. Something clicked. All at once, it made sense: The Indian and Kristina riding on the plains, the two of them dancing, the Indian escorting her home, the gifts.
Major Wendall Bo
gard couldn’t stand it. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Why hadn’t Kristina told him?
He leapt to his feet, glaring first at one Indian, then at the other. His face turned red with emotion, but the major said nothing. He glared at them, all three of them. A fool! Had they all played him for a fool?
He’d never felt more angry in his life, and he glowered at the unconscious man who lay at his feet—a man who had willingly offered his own life for that of his…father-in-law.
The major couldn’t consider such things. Betrayal, deceit. Had they all, including his own daughter, deceived him?
Still he said nothing. And though he wanted to rage at the man who lay unconscious, perhaps even strangle him, the major chose to leave, sprinting from the camp like one demented. He saddled his horse, barely able to contain his anger, and raced away, wondering for the first time if his wife weren’t perhaps right. Kristina didn’t belong here.
Neeheeowee glanced first at Wahtapah and then at Tahiska. He hoped his friend would forgive him his slip of tongue.
Finally, Neeheeowee shrugged, then glancing at Tahiska decided it was time that his friend recovered. Though descended from a long line of medicine men, Neeheeowee had believed that the powers that ran through his family had decided to skip him this generation. Though absent a vision, Neeheeowee had spent these last few days praying, meditating, asking his god to give him the power to heal.
And he wondered if his prayers hadn’t, after all, been answered. He’d never felt this way before, this knowing that he could save his friend. As he lay his hand over Tahiska’s head wound, chanting and praying, sprinkling grasses and herbs onto the wound, he felt the power grow within him.
Hours passed. Afternoon turned to evening, evening to night, and still Neeheeowee sat still, chanting, healing.
It was well after midnight when Neeheeowee knew he had done all that he could. He felt Tahiska’s breathing. Steady, deep, the breath of one who simply slept.
Had his medicine worked? Neeheeowee sat back and surveyed his work. Only time would tell.
Major Bogard approached Kristina’s room, his boots clacking loudly across the wooden floor, the abrupt sound an indication of his mood. He hesitated at her door, but only for a moment. He knocked, then again, a little louder, a little more forceful.
He had returned from the prairie only a few moments ago, racing straight to his daughter’s room, not even bothering to bathe or shave after a few days on the plains. He would have it out with her now.
He didn’t understand it. How could she have deceived him all this time? Yes, he’d been aware that her heart belonged to the young brave, but marriage? Had she lost her mind?
“Who is it?” Kristina called from the other side of the door.
“It’s me, Kristina. May I speak with you?” He heard a scuffling of hurried footsteps before the door swung open. Kristina stood before him with a quiet air of expectancy.
“Hello, Father. Have you just returned? Are the Indians with you?”
“Kristina.” His voice gruff, he briefly touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, I’ve just returned and no, the Indians are not with me. May I come in?”
“Of course,” she said. “Please forgive my rudeness. Come in. Sit down. Is there a reason why you’ve returned alone? Is something wrong?”
Nervously, he strode past her into the room. He paused, then turning suddenly he retraced his steps and stood before her.
“I’ve never seen this before.” Wendall Bogard indicated the rabbit’s foot Kristina wore around her neck.
“Tahiska gave it to me. I…I wear it always.”
“I see.” A coldness set into his gaze and he turned away from her, keeping the sharp retort to himself.
He seated himself. “I think it’s time we discussed your relationship with that young brave.”
Kristina gasped, and the major watched as she composed herself.
“May I ask you a direct question?”
She nodded and sat herself opposite her father.
“Are you married to him?”
Kristina paused barely a moment. “I… I’m not sure.”
“Not sure?” The major regarded her as all color drained from her face. And though he wasn’t certain at first, he gradually became aware that Kristina had been crying.
She shrugged. “I… He may have divorced me. I’m not certain. How did you find out about us?”
“Ah…” The major could feel the flush sweep over him. He rose, pulling at his hair. He started to answer, thought better of it, and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, until all at once he stopped, turning to face Kristina.
“Why? Why did you marry him?”
She barely looked him in the eye. “Because I love him and he loves me. I didn’t know at first, Father. And then I wouldn’t acknowledge it and now…now I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s left me.”
The major dropped back into his chair. What could he do? What could he say? He longed to yell at her, or better yet, take a stick to her, but he did neither. He sighed deeply instead. “I have some bad news for you, Kristina.”
“No,” she said. Then, as though she knew already, she asked shakily, “He isn’t dead, is he?”
“Almost.”
Kristina didn’t speak at first, and watching her, seeing the strength of commitment in her composure, Major Bogard was left with no doubt that his daughter loved this Indian well. Finally, she ventured, “What do you mean almost?”
“He is wounded. He suffered an injury to the head attempting to save my life. He battles for his life.”
“No!”
“I’m sorry.”
Suddenly she rose. “I must see him, Father. Take me to him.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” She said it with such determined purpose that the major knew that indeed, he could. “He is my husband,” she continued. “If you won’t take me to him, I’ll go out on my own and search for him.”
“You love him that much?”
“I love him that much.”
Damn!
Wendall Bogard watched her and knew that short of tying her up in her room, there was little he could do. He’d be better off escorting her.
“All right,” he said at length. “Your mother will hate me, but I see no other alternative. We’ll leave as soon as I have a bath and a shave. Why don’t you gather up supplies for a few days and prepare the horses?”
Kristina nodded and left so quickly that when the major arrived at the livery two hours later, he found Kristina was ready and waiting.
She glanced at him. “Did you tell mother about me?”
He shook his head.
“Do you intend to?”
The major paused. He looked at his daughter, then at the open land awaiting them outside. Finally, he glanced back at Kristina. “Nope,” was all he said at first, then, “if that young buck had come back for you, were you planning to leave with him?”
Kristina looked away from him, though she nodded her head in reply.
“And were you going to tell your mother and me?”
“I… No. Not until the last moment.”
“I see.” The major mounted his horse, but before he rode away, he turned to Kristina. “You’re old enough now to know your own mind, and if it’s the young Indian you’ll be wanting, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll try to control your mother.”
Kristina placed her hand on his arm, murmuring, “Thank you, Father. I will be indebted to you.”
He nodded and watched Kristina’s mouth curve into a smile before she kicked her mount into motion. Looking at her, he wondered at the wisdom of his own actions.
Chapter Nineteen
Kristina scanned the deserted campsite from her position on her mount. It was obvious someone had been here and had left in a hurry. These signs of impulsiveness were not typical for the Indian, who rarely left a trace of his presence.
What had happened? She dismounted and, keeping the reins in hand, wande
red through the camp. Why had they abandoned this campsite in such haste?
Was Tahiska still alive? It was a question she’d dared not ask, yet her mind wouldn’t let her forget.
If he weren’t alive, wouldn’t there be a scaffold nearby? Would there have been a need to rush his body home?
“Kristina.”
She spun around, her gaze catching that of her father’s.
He still sat atop his mount. “I think they’ve gone home,” he stated, his tone quiet.
She didn’t answer; she didn’t ask his opinion. She was afraid to voice any concerns, fearful of the answer.
At length, she brought her gaze back to the campsite, scrutinizing each sign left here. She bit her lip, then asked, finally, “How was he when you last saw him?”
The major fidgeted from side to side in the saddle, his reluctance to say anything obvious. But Kristina wouldn’t be put off. He’d been the last one to see Tahiska, and she meant to know as much as she could about his condition.
“He was still alive?” she baited him.
“He was alive…just barely.”
“Do you think he is alive now?”
“Kristina!”
“Do you?”
The major tore his hat from his head, slapping it on his thigh. He swung his gaze around the campsite.
“Father, I…”
“I don’t know, Kristina. He was in bad shape. The injury was to his head, and the whole time I was here, he never regained consciousness.”
“Where was it?”
“What? Where was what?”
Kristina expelled her breath slowly. “The injury, Father. Show me where he was struck.”
The major pointed to his forehead, the left side. “Here. I was never able to stop the bleeding. Kristina, honey, I don’t hold much hope for him.”
“When did this all happen?”
“All what?”
Again Kristina glanced at her father in irritation. “The injury. The fight. When did it all happen?”