by Lucy Inglis
‘No!’ I spluttered.
Your hands stilled instantly. ‘You don’t like this?’
‘No. No, I—’ I had said something wrong.
You knelt in front of me and rested your wrists on the edge of the tub, watching for a long time. I sat in your captivating pale gaze, blinking as water trickled into my eyes. Reaching up, you hesitated before running the backs of your fingers over the line of my collarbone to my shoulder and down my arm. My breath snatched and I sat back, away from you, hands crossed over my chest.
You crouched back on your heels, very slowly. ‘Emily, you need to work out what you like and what you don’t.’ Pushing to your feet, you dropped down from the porch steps and went to talk to the others.
I sat in the chill water, my hair a sodden sheet, eyes stinging with soap. And my fingertips tracing the path of yours across my skin.
I barely saw you for the rest of the day, busy in our home-coming chores as we were, and that night I felt awkward. We ate with the others but I wasn’t hungry and didn’t eat much of the rabbit Lucky had snared. You rarely looked at me and you all spoke in your scratchy talk. Getting to my feet, I went back to the cabin. Tara was by the corral again, flirting you said, so I ignored her, annoyed. Climbing into the armchair, I wrapped myself in the quilted coverlet and watched the fire as I gnawed on your words. Yet I was too exhausted to do so for long and soon I was fast asleep.
I woke, at dawn, in our bed, still swaddled in the coverlet, spine against your chest where the pigeon-feather mattress pushed us together in the centre. One of your arms was beneath my neck, hand slack on the sheet in front of my face, and now and then one of your fingers twitched in your sleep. The other arm was around my ribs. It felt wrong without the cramped bedroll; we weren’t on the plain any more. Yet it was so perfectly warm and comfortable after our weeks on the hard earth, my body was unwilling to move. I lay for a long time, reassured by the steady movement of your chest as you breathed, though agitated by it at the same time. But I didn’t know why. Full of confusion, I pushed your arm away as if it were burning me, and got to my feet.
‘You all right?’ you asked, no sleep in your voice.
No, I wasn’t all right at all. I opened my mouth to speak, but the truth stuck in my throat. ‘Perfectly, thank you.’ I roused the embers of the stove, then fetched some water to boil.
You were soon up and out, first to the stream, then to the corral. I washed and dressed and walked down to where you stood, bad foot on the rail and a blade of grass in the corner of your mouth. You were watching the white horse.
I settled my hands on a rail, unsure of my reception. ‘What’s going to happen with him?’
It was a long time before you replied, but when you did your tone was friendly. ‘Well . . . well, English. It’s like this. It’d be a damnable shame to back a horse like that one there. He ain’t never gonna be no riding animal. I like the horses I break to lie down and play dead if I ask them to, and he ain’t ever gonna be that biddable. Wouldn’t want him to be. Though he’s making a pretty good pretence of it now.’
‘He’s pretending?’
You were bemused. ‘I ain’t real sure, Emily. I mean, entires can be real placid around a mare, but . . .’
‘Entire what, please?’
You put the back of your hand to your cheekbone and rubbed it down your jaw, looking away. I realize now, of course, that it was in a sterling effort not to laugh.
The silence confused me. ‘So what will you do with him?’
‘My meaning was, he’s a breeder. So, I’m thinking, we should put him to a mare.’
Aware of my shameful ignorance, I said nothing.
‘Problem is, which one? Rose’s grey is one hell of an animal, but she’s been in season just a few weeks ago. And Rose ain’t one to stick in a place for that to come around again and, besides, she ain’t got no time for a birthing mare nohow. And I ain’t kept track of what Tara’s up to, when it’s just the two of us up here.’
As far as I was concerned, your words were nonsense. I had no idea.
You slapped the rail. ‘Problems for another day.’ Your knuckle touched my chin so briefly I half started and half wondered if it had happened as you turned and walked away to talk to the others, who were stirring in their camp by the stream.
The following days passed quickly. At night I pretended to be asleep when you turned in. And we slept in our bed as we had on the plain: companionably enough. Other than that, you didn’t touch me again.
I worked hard to restore the cabin to order, Clear Water ordered her camp by the stream and you, Lucky and Rose spent interminable hours with the horses. Often, you all rode out together to find food. Once, you brought back the carcass of a deer, which kept us going for some time. Apparently Rose had shot it with her bow from the saddle. In your absence, Clear Water and I had been surprised by a gigantic, cream-coloured animal in the meadow, looking like a cross between a colossal goat and a sheep. It grazed for a few hours, then moved off. When I mentioned it to you, you laughed.
‘You mean we rode five miles for a deer when we could-a had a mountain goat just here?’
‘Is that what it was?’
You nodded, still laughing to yourself as you hung up the red horse’s bridle, while below us in the meadow, Clear Water butchered the deer.
‘I’ve never seen a goat that big. It was the size of a small buffalo!’
‘Impressive, ain’t they? They’re coming down from the heights for breeding season.’ You took the cup of tea I was holding out and we sat on the steps and watched the others.
‘Do you have a headache?’
You looked at me. ‘Why?’
‘The way you keep almost closing your eyes.’
‘It’s just the weather changing. Always get it when there’s a big storm coming.’
Hesitating, I bit my lip. ‘Mama asks me to rub her temples when she has the headache. She says I have magic hands. I . . . I could try, if you’d like.’
‘Be my guest.’
I knelt behind you, sitting on my feet. You shifted on to the bottom step obligingly. I smoothed your untidy hair out of the way, surprised by how soft it was. It brushed your shoulders and was streaked with lighter shades from your time outside, and even glints of auburn here and there. I pressed on your temples, gentle at first, then with more pressure. Mama said it was good to build up to it. After some minutes, the tension leaked from your shoulders.
‘I wasn’t sure I could ever have something in common with your momma, English, but she’s right. You do have magic hands.’
I smiled, threading my fingers into your hair and pulling in sections, as Mama had taught me. You groaned.
‘You have more in common with Papa, I think,’ I said.
‘I do?’
‘Yes. He fought in a war too. In Crimea. That’s why he went into the diplomatic service, to try and prevent wars before they happen, so that men’s lives would be saved. Papa speaks very calmly, but once I heard him say at a dinner that he would spend his life in service gladly if it meant one more boy didn’t freeze to death in one more godforsaken foxhole on one more godforsaken battleground.’
‘Perhaps your daddy ain’t as bad as I’ve had him painted,’ you said after a while. ‘Do you miss them?’
I played with your hair, enjoying its glossy softness. ‘Sometimes,’ I said, as honestly as I could. ‘I wouldn’t have seen them again after the wedding, not for years anyway, so I think I had accustomed myself to that.’ I drifted in thought, and saw Clear Water standing by her smoking campfire, watching us. You noticed too. Reaching up, you took my hand and kissed the palm.
‘Thank you to your magic fingers, English. Much better now.’ Pushing yourself off the step you went to see the white horse, Tara still lingering by the railings.
Later that afternoon, I visited Clear Water. She had some white deerskin in her lap as I approached and appeared to be sewing, but when she saw me she put it away in a hurry. I halted, not wanting to
intrude, but she got up, smiling, then pointed to the cabin. I looked at her questioningly, then realized – she had never been inside.
‘Oh, do come!’ I said at once, starting up the hill.
On the porch she hesitated, peering inside the open door.
I beckoned. ‘Come in, please.’
She took a step inside, staring around her. The stove and our cupboards were examined thoroughly. She opened everything, including the chest at the bottom of the bed, looking inside. I stifled a laugh at her impolite curiosity. When everything had been investigated to her satisfaction, she turned to me and nodded in approval. Then she went back down the meadow to her fireside, and carried on with whatever she had been doing. I watched her go and wished I knew how to talk to her for I felt in my heart we could have been true friends, and I had never had a friend.
The afternoon grew humid as it wore on. I washed some clothes in the tub, including two of your shirts. Before I put them in the water I held them to my face, inhaling sweat, horse and pine, blushing when I saw Lucky ducking out of the corral, his eyes on me. Looking back, it must have been obvious to everyone that I was bewitched by you. I snatched the shirts from my face and dunked them in the tub. Lucky straightened up slowly and watched me for a few moments, before striding back down the meadow.
I was hanging the shirts to dry when you and Rose returned from a brief hunting trip. You had some sort of dead fowl hanging from your saddlehorn, head bouncing limply. I had spied two eggs from the roaming hens whilst hanging up the washing and brought them to show you, warm in my hands, as you untacked the red horse.
‘Good work.’ You glanced up at the sky. ‘If this weather holds we’ll eat well tonight.’ Unstringing the fowl, you went to give it and the eggs to Clear Water.
I watched as she took it with a smile and immediately went to work on it. Lucky sat, smoking. When you came back, I was standing on the porch.
‘Clear Water is always working, and Lucky and Rose are always sitting and smoking. Why?’
You glanced back at them over your shoulder and shrugged. ‘Just the way it is with Indians.’
‘It’s not very fair on Clear Water.’
‘Maybe not. But she ain’t riding into battle nor hunting neither, so I guess it evens out.’
My voice was doubtful. ‘But what will happen when Rose gets a husband? They can’t both sit and smoke or they’ll starve.’
You laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked, bemused.
But you only gave me a peculiar look and put a cigarette in the corner of your mouth, striking a match on the porch rail.
‘That is a truly filthy habit.’
You sighed, shaking out the match and putting the cigarette behind your ear. ‘They think I shouldn’t do no domestic stuff on account-a having you now.’
‘You haven’t been, I’ve been doing it.’
You gave me a cocksure grin and a wink. ‘Exactly.’
‘Oh,’ I said, in realization.
‘They’ll move off pretty soon. Rose is already restless. Thought I’d pick up any slack on the chores when they’d gone, but there don’t seem to be none. You’re becoming a real frontierswoman, English.’ You were still laughing.
I shook my head at you as sternly as I could, and went inside.
As the sun set over the western reaches of the lake, I saw Clear Water had banked up the campfire and the flames were much higher than usual. Rose lay on her back, watching the clouds gathering in the sky and smoking, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, hands behind her head. You were in the cabin stitching together a new bridle from all the scrap pieces of harness, working the thick needle through the ready-made holes in the stiff leather with an occasional curse. I saw the map on the corner of the kitchen table, sitting beneath the steel bit.
‘When will you go to Fort Shaw to tell them what you’ve found?’
You shrugged. ‘Meard is based in Helena, may have to go there if he ain’t in camp.’
I took a deep breath. ‘So how long will you be gone?’
The needle stilled. You were looking at me, pale eyes intent. Trying to work out why I wasn’t asking you to take me with you. ‘Maybe a week, maybe more.’
Nodding, I got up and tidied the map away into the chest.
‘Want me to ask them to stay while I’m gone? So you ain’t alone?’
I returned to the table, relieved. ‘Yes, please. That would be very kind if they would.’
Rising, you moved to stand in front of me and put the tip of one finger beneath my chin, your beautiful eyes searching mine. ‘You ain’t gonna ask me to take you back?’
I shook my head.
You stooped and, after a slight check, pressed your lips to mine in the most gentle of kisses. We hesitated. Your cool hair fell against my cheek. And against the backs of my fingers as I lifted them to your face. You kissed me again, so lightly our lips barely touched. I should have been doing something, or you should, but I didn’t know what. I stood on my toes, pressing my mouth to yours, clumsy and uncertain. You pulled away, and when I opened my eyes I could see you were smiling.
You were laughing at me. Again. Shame flooded my chest. I snatched my hand back and put my head down, turning away. I wanted to cry in humiliation, at everything I didn’t know. You caught my wrist.
‘Emily, I wasn’t—’
A shadow fell across us from the open doorway. It was Rose, watching and laughing her silent laugh.
I wrenched my wrist away and walked into the bedroom, hurt and flustered. I heard you leave with her, your voice talking over hers, irritated, as she very clearly teased you about what she’d witnessed.
Down in the meadow, the others were planning what looked like a feast of fireweed, wild flowers, stewed venison and the fowl, roasted. I made a large loaf of bread to keep myself occupied, unable to rid myself of the feel of your lips on mine. Twice I had to splash cold water on my face and wrists to calm myself. What did it mean? What if you touched me like that again? What if you touched me as Lucky touched Clear Water? At that thought, strange, tingling waves flooded my skin.
Did you want to touch me like that? The thought stopped me as I folded the stove cloth, breath catching. Did I want you to?
Intolerably confused, I wished for the hundredth time that there was someone I could ask.
The cloud-bruised sky was darkening by the time the food was ready, my stomach growling at the smells drifting up to the cabin from the campfire. Pulling my bread from the stove’s pocket oven, I turned it out and looked at it. Perhaps I could make an honest living in a bakery after all. I wrapped it in a cloth and went out to where you and the others were already gathered. I offered the bread to Clear Water and she took it graciously, smiling between me and you. I couldn’t look at you as I sat down next to where you perched on a rock, the booted ankle of your bad leg hooked behind the good one, arms folded and shoulders hunched, looking down.
Clear Water distributed the food and we shared a delicious plateful as the others sat on the ground. The stew was perfectly savoury and I wished I were the cook Clear Water was. The conversation around the fire was light, and Lucky was clearly recounting a story, with interjections from Rose.
‘He’s telling me a story about some battle with the Pikuni. Gotta big grudge going on with them. Rose thinks he’s over-doing it. Just called him a blowhard.’
We had barely looked at each other, despite our proximity. You were awkward and ill at ease, unlike your usual calm self. Perhaps your head was aching again. The pressure in the air was almost unbearable, and the wind was picking up. When the storm broke, we’d have to repair to the cabin. Then there would be no avoiding what had happened. Perhaps you would kiss me again, if I could make it clear I wouldn’t mind. But how? I saw you watching me, your eyes dark for once, in the firelight.
When we had finished eating, everyone became silent. Clear Water got up and went to her packs. With some small ceremony, she drew out a piece of folded cloth and presented it to me
. I took it in both hands cautiously. Holding it up, folds falling, I saw it was a white deerskin tunic-dress covered on the top half with blue beads and elk teeth, stitched in neat chevron patterns. It was the shirt she had put away so hurriedly when I had surprised her that afternoon. With it was a pair of white deerskin leggings, the blue bead pattern echoed down the outside seams.
Clear Water was talking to me. You cleared your throat. Rose was watching us, waiting for something. Clear Water gestured to you and then me, urging you to translate for her.
You took a breath. ‘It’s for you.’
‘It’s so beautiful, thank you,’ I said sincerely, looking up at her. ‘Please tell her how beautiful it is,’ I asked you.
Your shoulders became even more hunched as you stared resolutely down the mountain, saying nothing. Rose smirked.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked you, bewildered.
You gritted your teeth, not looking at me, and took a long time to answer. ‘It’s a marriage outfit.’
I stared at it, then put it down. Thunder rumbled above the lake. Clear Water looked terribly disappointed.
‘It’s so very kind, but did you explain that I’m not getting married now?’
My stupidity is obvious, of course, and with hindsight I can scarcely believe I put us all through such a pantomime. Your jaw was quilted with tiny muscles as you clenched your teeth hard enough to break them. Rose said something and you snapped at her. She made a rude hand gesture and Lucky admonished her with a single word, his eyes fixed on you.
I stared at them, looking from face to face. I was anxious because I didn’t understand and I truly didn’t want to offend anyone. Papa had taught me to say nothing in such situations at the embassy parties. A sheet of lightning lit us all up for a second, and stilled the swirling confusion in my brain.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Yeah, oh,’ you said.
I looked at the foods laid out, so beautifully, close to us, and at the plentiful, expensively salted roasted meat and stew, more food than I had seen the Indians make for one occasion. Unless it was a very special occasion. I stood, turning on you. There was an almighty clap of thunder and I raised my voice.