“Little Dove. Your name is Little Dove.” Black Hawk’s deep voice broke through Elisabeth’s thoughts. “She say your spirit sings even when you suffer. Like the little dove.”
Elisabeth’s mouth dropped open as her eyes drifted back to the sick woman who was staring at her with a wide, toothless smile.
“But there’s been a mistake,” she burst out. “I’m not Little Dove. I’m Elisabeth Greenwood. And I’m not her daughter.”
Black Hawk’s dark eyes were as sharp as eagle eyes, and he glared threateningly at her. “Tell her you forgive.”
Elisabeth gulped and looked from his stern face to the suffering woman. “I forgive you,” she said, staring into Morning Dove’s pain-filled eyes.
Black Hawk translated her reply, and the woman listened carefully as tears filled her eyes and rolled unevenly down her creased cheeks.
Watching her, Elisabeth felt a sudden surge of pity for this woman, Morning Dove. Even if she wasn’t her mother, Elisabeth decided it would do no harm to be kind. She was obviously dying. Elisabeth studied the brown hand, dangling in midair. Shyly, she reached out and grasped the cold fingers. New strength seemed to flow into the woman’s feeble body, and Morning Dove began to speak again.
Elisabeth frowned, carefully studying the sunken eyes, the nut-brown skin. No, this woman couldn’t possibly be her mother and yet—how did she know that Elisabeth had been left beside a wagon?
The trauma of what was happening seemed to center itself in one blinding pain behind her forehead. Elisabeth could no longer think straight; how could she know what to believe?
Morning Dove’s strange murmurings had ceased, and the grasp on Elisabeth’s hand weakened. An expression of peace settled over Morning Dove’s features as she closed her eyes and slept again.
Black Hawk nodded approval at Elisabeth then turned and swept out of the lodge.
Elisabeth’s eyes cautiously followed. As the flap closed behind him, she gently removed her hand from Morning Dove’s grasp.
The flap opened again, and the girl who had been keeping vigil returned with a clay pot of steaming broth. Elisabeth’s eyes dropped to the thin liquid, and her mouth began to water as her empty stomach reacted to the flavorful aroma. She was motioned to a corner of the lodge where a smooth rock served as a table. She sank down on a buffalo skin, her weary glance moving from the broth to the dark-skinned girl, who gave her a shy smile before she darted out again.
Elisabeth filled her stomach, trying not to think. But one worry after another raced through her mind. What happened to Trapper John? Did he return, or had he lit out in another direction, afraid to admit his mission had failed? What was going to happen to her?
She glanced around the small lodge, walled with buffalo hides sewn together between long, rigid poles that narrowed into a chimney at the top. The lining of the skins helped insulate the lodge against the harsh weather, but Elisabeth continued to shiver. As her eyes moved curiously about, she could see doeskin dresses, moccasins beaded in flower designs, and baskets shaped like jugs attached to the poles. Along the floor, there were more baskets of various sizes and shapes, and a clay bowl and crude wooden spoon.
Elisabeth sighed and returned to her broth. As she was finishing, the flap parted and the Indian girl returned, carrying a buckskin dress, a pair of moccasins, and several animal skins, which she indicated were to be Elisabeth’s bed.
Bone weary, Elisabeth sank onto the skins, too numb in mind and body to care what would happen next. The warm broth had filled her hungry stomach, and with only the snores of the sick woman to distract her, she pulled the extra skins over her and quickly fell asleep.
Elisabeth huddled before the morning fire, staring glumly at the interior of Morning Dove’s lodge. Absently, she counted thirteen slim poles that held the dried buffalo hides together. Her eyes roamed to the opening covered with a flap of skin held by two rigid poles. If only she could walk through that opening and leave this village behind. But an Indian brave stood guard outside, making her their prisoner.
She sighed and turned to stare into the fire. She was trapped within this lodge, this village. And to complicate matters, one of the braves had become a suitor of sorts. Still, she had refused to wear the clothes of an Indian maiden, had chosen to eat and sleep in her one rumpled dress until this morning when Black Hawk had demanded she wear the dress and moccasins they had given her.
Her eyes ran down the soft buckskin dress now, ending on her moccasined feet. She was beginning to feel like one of them, and she had noticed that her hair was as dark as many of the other maidens. Was it true that her father had been white, had actually raped Morning Dove, who had then left Elisabeth with the white people?
She had been told this over the past week, and at times she half believed it. But another part of her mind argued that this could not possibly be true.
She sat brooding, staring listlessly into the fire. Homesick tears welled in her eyes. Five days had passed, and the tense waiting had drained her energy. The Utes interpreted her silence as submission to this strange life, but they were wrong.
Her pent-up tears overflowed and streamed down her cheeks when she thought of the post and her adoptive parents. Surely by now they had heard from Trapper John that she had not reached Denver—if John were alive to tell them! Surely Ma knew they had not reached the Tillotsons, for there would had been no telegraph back to assure her. Elisabeth expected little from Jed Greenwood, but her ma…
She wandered over to lift the flap, trying to push those thoughts from her troubled mind as she studied the inhabitants of Black Hawk’s small village. On this cold morning, the men wore animal-skin robes over their breechcloths and moccasins. The women wore loose dresses fashioned from animal skins. Some of the dresses held painted decorations; a few were embroidered with beads. The women talked in low voices, smiling at one another, apparently happy in their work.
Near the fire, some of the women were skinning a large buck brought in from the morning hunt. Two squaws had cradleboards strapped to their backs. The dark-eyed babies appeared content, obviously accustomed to this kind of activity. The children roamed freely. A few were clustered together in some sort of game with a stick and a rock. Their dark braids bounced against their rabbit-skin coats as they raced merrily about.
Strange, Elisabeth thought, how the children here seem happier than those at the post. None cried or begged at their mother’s side. Suddenly, one of the children let out an excited shriek and jabbed a small finger in the direction of the trail leading into the camp. The other children joined in the excitement, laughing and yelling as they raced toward the road.
Elisabeth’s brow knitted in a curious frown, and she ventured outside to investigate. Everyone’s attention was centered on a man riding a black stallion into the village.
Recognition flashed in Elisabeth’s eyes. It was him! The missionary who had come to the post. Had her parents sent him to speak with Black Hawk? For the first time since her capture, her hopes soared.
The children crowded about him as he swung down from his horse and reached into his saddlebags. Hands shot out, eagerly awaiting the contents. Obviously, this man was no stranger here; certainly he must have been generous in the past. The children shrieked with delight as their small hands were filled with peppermint sticks and assorted trinkets.
She studied the man more closely. A friendly smile touched his lips as he spoke to the children. Elisabeth stepped outside, staring curiously at this man who had stood up to her father, as few men did, yet who could be generous and caring to the Indian children.
“How!”
The deep voice of Black Hawk rumbled as he swept past her. For the first time, there was a pleasant expression on his face as he looked from the man to the children who were jumping up and down with glee.
“How!” the stranger called back, lifting his hand. As the missionary returned Black Hawk’s greeting, he did not seem intimidated by the Indian chief. Still, he spoke with respect, half in English
, half in the Ute language, as Black Hawk approached his side.
As the sunlight filtered over the man who had so fascinated her, Elisabeth took in every detail of his appearance. His rugged features and buckskin clothes made him the epitome of the western man, yet the brown eyes held a look of humility as he spoke words of kindness to the children who flocked around him. As she stood staring, he glanced in her direction, and she saw a look of surprise flash over his face. But then Black Hawk spoke, reclaiming his attention.
Elisabeth’s brave smile began to waver. She had expected him to acknowledge her in some way if, indeed, he had been sent to take her home. But then she recalled his disagreement with her father. What, she wondered, had Jed offered him to come here for her? Maybe it was part of his plan, to appear casual, conceal his real intention.
When he turned to walk with Black Hawk to the center lodge, Elisabeth motioned to Deer Woman.
“Who is he?” she asked, pointing to the tall, handsome man.
“Friend…” The old woman spoke the word slowly, reverently, as she touched a thin silver bracelet on her wrist.
Elisabeth’s eye jumped from the bracelet back to Black Hawk’s lodge, into which the men had disappeared. Just then a wail of pain pierced the air, and Elisabeth turned back into Morning Dove’s lodge. The woman’s agonizing battle for life appeared to be coming to an end. Her dark eyes rolled back in her head, and her mouth that had issued moans of agony now sagged as Morning Dove sank into death.
Elisabeth stared down at her, dumbfounded at the reality of death, even a death that had been obviously imminent. She heard someone speaking rapidly, and she turned to see Deer Woman’s aging eyes widening in stunned comprehension as she stared at Morning Dove’s lifeless body. Then she dashed out, shrieking the news.
Gently, Elisabeth pulled the buffalo robe over Morning Dove’s still face; as she did, she was surprised to feel sadness welling up inside of her. She thought of what Black Hawk had said, that Morning Dove was her mother. She shook her head slowly, dismissing that unlikely possibility. There was not the slightest resemblance. It had all been a mistake, as her mother had insisted.
Black Hawk burst into the lodge, his dark face filled with sorrow at the sight of his sister’s covered body. Elisabeth could see the buckskin trousers of the stranger at the edge of the flap, as he politely waited outside. She glanced back at Black Hawk, who was momentarily caught up in grief.
Seizing the opportunity, she slipped from the lodge and motioned the stranger out of earshot of Black Hawk.
“I’m Elisabeth Greenwood from Greenwood’s Trading Post,” she spoke breathlessly, eagerly awaiting his reaction.
“I’m Adam Pearson. The people here call me Walks Tall.” He smiled. Removing his skin cap, he looked into her face. Elisabeth’s eyes ran over his slim, smooth features—thick brows over deep-set brown eyes, straight nose and sculpted lips, and a firm jawline. His skin was deeply tanned, and she noticed a slight cleft in his chin. Her eyes moved down the muscled neck; swept broad shoulders; narrow torso; and long legs, ending in dark leather boots. She shook her head slightly, trying to pull her thoughts back to her reason for speaking to him.
“Did my parents send you?” she whispered.
“Send me?” he tilted his head, obviously unclear as to what she was talking about.
Elisabeth swallowed, fighting the sick disappointment overtaking her. “I’ve been kidnapped,” she explained desperately. “I’m Jed Greenwood’s daughter from the post. You were there. I saw you!”
“Kidnapped?” he repeated, as though nothing else she had said registered in his mind. “I can’t believe Black Hawk would allow—”
“There’s been a terrible mistake,” Elisabeth interrupted, glancing impatiently toward the lodge. “I haven’t time to explain but you must believe me.” Her hand shot out, grasping desperately at his fringed sleeve. “You must help me. Please.”
His eyes widened, taking in every inch of her, from her tangled hair down to the buckskin dress and her dusty moccasins, as Black Hawk emerged from the lodge.
“She has gone to the Great Spirit,” he said, heaving a sigh.
“Black Hawk, may I say a prayer for her?” Adam asked gently.
Elisabeth stared at him. Why did he want to say a prayer for her? Did missionaries act as ministers also?
“Would you allow me to do that?” Adam persisted.
Black Hawk nodded, and Adam stepped inside the lodge. As he did, Black Hawk turned his attention to Elisabeth.
While their dark eyes locked, she heard the gentle tones being spoken inside the lodge.
“I want to go home,” she spoke in a small yet firm voice. “I have cared for her as you asked; I have told her I forgive her. Now my people will be worried.”
At that moment, Adam had stepped outside the lodge again and was looking curiously at Elisabeth and then Black Hawk.
“I think this man will be willing to see me back to the post. Please let me go!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears.
Black Hawk merely grunted and turned to motion Adam toward the lodge.
Adam stared at her for a moment, obviously puzzled by all he had encountered. When he turned and strode after Black Hawk, Elisabeth suddenly realized she hadn’t even asked him to take her home. Surely she could persuade him to do that; her parents would pay him well, she was sure of that.
But what if he was going in another direction? What if he refused?
Chapter Five
Elisabeth stared after them as they disappeared into Black Hawk’s lodge. Gripping her hands tightly against her waist, she suddenly became aware of the dirt on her skin. She looked down at her broken, grimy nails. No wonder Adam Pearson was reluctant to help her. She yanked a strand of hair from her head, examining its dull, lifeless color. Why, she looked like a vagabond, she looked…like a squaw, only these squaws were cleaner than she was.
Footsteps whispered behind her, and she whirled to see Deer Woman returning to Morning Dove’s lodge. Sighing, Elisabeth stepped inside, determined to find a way to say good-bye and leave with Adam. Deer Woman was gathering up Morning Dove’s clay bowl, her beaded moccasins, and doeskin dress.
“What are you doing?” Elisabeth asked curiously. Deer Woman motioned to the lifeless body then held the articles up and indicated through hand motions that these would be buried in the crevice of the red rocks with Morning Dove.
Elisabeth nodded. Unlike their Cheyenne neighbors who buried their dead high above the ground, the Utes buried their people in rock crevices, and they particularly favored the high red rocks.
A low, mournful wail broke over the camp. Other voices joined in, and soon the sound of dozens of stamping feet filled her ears. A chant swept over the village; this was the mourning dance she had heard about at the post.
The tent flap was thrown back, and two braves entered.
Elisabeth quickly looked away, unable to watch as they hoisted the lifeless body and carried it from the lodge.
Watching them go, a strange emotion began to sweep over her. She had developed a feeling for this woman over the past days, one she had not yet identified. When she first came here, she had known that the woman’s death might permit her to return to the post; now, there was an odd, hollow feeling, an emptiness welling up inside. Why did she feel this way? Her mother had once told her that folks didn’t always understand what went on in the heart. She had thought the words strange at the time, but now they made sense to her.
She frowned, following the men from the lodge. As she stood on the edge of the crowd, her eyes met those of the brave who had been boldly watching her all week. Her breath caught.
She had to do something; she had to act now before the brave persuaded Black Hawk to keep her here.
Her decision propelled her feet into action, and she flew up the path to Black Hawk’s lodge and burst in, surprising Black Hawk and Adam as they sat quietly smoking the pipe.
She clenched her fists at her sides, summoning all her courage. �
��Let me go,” she said, her voice shaky yet determined. “Please let me go. She’s dead now. There’s nothing more I can do here.”
Black Hawk’s face was a bronze mask.
Adam Pearson laid down the pipe and rose to his feet. “Perhaps I can settle the problem,” he said pleasantly. “The God I worship does not believe in holding people against their will. If you will let her return to her people who care for her, I am willing to make a trade.” He reached into his pocket. “I panned many streams for this.” He withdrew a gold nugget, offering it to Black Hawk.
Black Hawk’s dark eyes glowed as he turned the nugget over in his palm, studying its soft gleam in the glow of the fire.
For a moment, Elisabeth’s eyes were frozen in shock as she, too, stared at the nugget. How humiliating to be traded for a…a piece of rock!
“You don’t have to do that,” she said sharply, her eyes relaying her offense.
Adam did not respond; he merely looked back at Black Hawk.
“Do we trade?” he asked.
Black Hawk’s eyes swept Elisabeth. “You want to go back to them?” he asked sharply.
“Yes, I do. They raised me. They’re my family now.”
With a sigh he began to nod. “Then we trade.”
Chapter Six
The sun was not yet midway across the sky when Elisabeth climbed on her horse again and rode off with Adam. She had changed back into the rumpled clothes she had worn for days, but she had managed to bathe and redo her hair.
Neither she nor Adam spoke as their horses plodded away from the camp. She dared not look back, though many eyes followed them.
“Where do you come from?” she asked, shifting nervously in the saddle. She hoped to make conversation and put the unpleasant situation behind them as soon as possible.
“I was raised in the South.” He looked across at her. “But I’ve been in Colorado for three years. I ride the circuit, visiting people throughout the territory. I also pan a little and trap a little to make ends meet.”
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