by Shirl Henke
“My uncle knows I have no need of protection, but unlike you, I honor our laws. A Cheyenne cannot shed Cheyenne blood.”
“You are no Cheyenne. Your have lived among the White Eyes for too long. Your blood is tainted!”
Involuntarily Chase's hand went to the knife on his hip but he did not draw it. The half-breed stigma had never left. him. Even here with his father's people, the people of his heart, he knew there were others who agreed with Pony Whipper. But he would not shed Cheyenne blood.
“The White Wolf has brought us food when we were hungry, medicines to cure the spider people's diseases, guns to fight them. He has proven he is one of us, a leader of worth,” Elk Bull said.
Since the older man, too, was a member of the Crazy Dog Society and a tribal elder, Pony Whipper was forced to subside. He stepped back from Chase with an angry oath and stalked away.
“He will not let this rest,” Stands Tall said to Chase. “I am sorry I told the council that the woman belongs to a Blue Coat.”
“You had no choice but to answer their questions,” Chase replied.
“Will you keep her with you?”
Chase knew there was more to the question than what was immediately obvious. “I cannot return her.”
“Then she will betray you?”
Chase sighed. “I honestly do not know.”
“And yet you cannot kill her.” It was not a question.
“No, I cannot kill her,” Chase echoed softly, looking over to where Stephanie stood, so slender and delicate among the strong and sturdy Cheyenne women.
She watched the terse exchange among the men and knew it concerned her. What would Chase do with her? What did she want him to do? Her apprehension mounted as he walked over to her.
“What did that man say?” she asked. “I know you were arguing over me.”
“Bringing you here endangers my people. He was right about that, even if he is an old enemy.”
“You could take me back to Rawlins,” she ventured.
“Or I could do what Pony Whipper suggested...kill you.”
She stepped back, her heart pounding in her chest as if he had struck her a blow. She refused to give in to fear. “You always did enjoy shocking people, Chase, even back in Boston.”
“We aren't in Boston anymore, Stevie,” he replied bleakly, as his eyes swept over the soft doeskin tunic she wore. “Not exactly conventional attire for an officer's lady.”
“Kit Fox gave it to me. Your people are very generous,” she replied, noting his slight flush at the mention of the lovely young Cheyenne's name.
“For bloodthirsty savages, we do have our redeeming qualities,” he replied in a combination of black humor and bitterness.
“You'll never let me live down those words, will you, Chase?”
He hardened his heart against the whisper-soft entreaty in her voice. She was another man's wife, a white woman. He had chosen a different path. He could not succumb, so he must not forgive. “Go back to Red Bead.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving her standing alone.
With a troubled expression on his face Stands Tall observed the exchange from across the camp. His beloved nephew was drawn to the white woman. He had confessed that he knew her since they were children and that their families had considered a marriage between them just before Freedom Woman's death. Did he still love her, even though she had now been given to another? He pondered the question of what was to be done...and saw no answers.
* * * *
“There will be a feast this night to celebrate the return of the White Wolf,” Red Bead told Stephanie as they made their way back to the village after an afternoon spent digging roots with cumbersome wooden instruments. The other women wielded the tools with ease and skill. Stephanie had done a minimum of gardening at a few of the posts where they remained long enough for crops to grow, but she was an abysmal failure at the task assigned her. Instead, Red Bead sent her to pick wild berries along the riverbank, in clear sight of the other women toiling across the flat open ground of the valley. The sun was high and Stephanie felt hot, sweaty and tired, altogether out of sorts by the time the old woman signaled it was time to stop.
A feast to honor the White Wolf indeed!
“Will I be expected to attend?” she asked Red Bead, still uncertain of her place among these people.
“You are my nephew's captive. You will serve him.”
During the day, Stephanie had observed the women and young girls preparing food for the men and boys and waiting upon them. Then they and the small children ate afterward. She had thought the custom demeaning. And now he expected her to act the part of an obedient lackey? She bit back a sharp retort to Red Bead. It would do no good to antagonize the old woman, who had been kind enough in her own peculiar way.
Stephanie was a stranger, a captive at the mercy of savage people who could kill her with as little thought as they'd give to swatting a mosquito, she reminded herself. The best thing would be to swallow her pride and do as she was bidden. Perhaps if they feasted, they would drink, too, and fall into a stupor. Then she might steal a horse and make good her escape, although finding her way back to civilization would not be easy. Yet anything was preferable to remaining a prisoner. Anything was preferable to remaining so close to Chase.
Kit Fox, carrying a heavy basket overflowing with thick whitish roots, approached Stephanie.
“Would you join us at the river? The day has been hot and Swan Flower, Green Grass and I go to bathe again before we prepare for the feast.”
Stephanie looked to Red Bead and her old guardian nodded. The laughing, chattering young women quickly took the roots and berries to the village, then headed for the grove of alder trees at the river once more. The quartet stripped and dived into the cooling water. This time Stephanie did so less self-consciously than she had that morning when the hostile older women had been present. The young women laughed and played for a short time but Green Grass and Swan Flower had family duties back in camp. After they departed, Stephanie and Kit Fox decided to stay a bit longer.
“I would practice my English,” the Cheyenne girl said with a smile.
“You want to please the White Wolf, don't you?” Stephanie asked, deciding on candor with her newfound friend.
Kit Fox's expression was uncertain as they made their way to the shallows and began to dry off. “Yes. I wish to please him so that he will offer my brother a bride price. But I do not think he will...” She hesitated.
“And you think it's because of me?” Stephanie shook her head. “No, Kit Fox. He left me over three years ago. He chose this life—he chose your people. I am married to another man now. There can be nothing between us.”
“You cannot undo what already has been done?” Kit Fox asked hesitantly. “Do your laws not allow a wife to leave a husband if she does not love him?”
Stephanie considered the question. Kit Fox had obviously learned enough about white society to comprehend the concept of divorce. “It is possible,” she said hesitantly, “but very, very difficult, especially for a woman to obtain a divorce.” She shook herself mentally for even saying such a thing aloud, much less discussing it. “I can never divorce Hugh for Chase. It would be immoral—wrong.”
“Yet it is right to live a lie? White men have strange ideas,” Kit Fox said, shaking her head in perplexity. “Our people do not often separate once a man and woman have joined their lives together, but if the husband or the wife no longer wishes to be married, it is right to part. No one thinks less of a woman who has done this thing. All she need do is set her man's possessions outside their lodge and he must go away.”
“It's a great deal more complicated in my world. Women have few rights,” she said softly, recalling the painful betrayal of her father who had given her inheritance to Hugh as if she were less than nothing.
“I am sad for you, then...if you still wish to return to such a life.”
Kit Fox sees too much, Stephanie thought to herself, but there seemed to be no ad
equate response. She changed the subject, asking, “Do you think the Crow children we brought with us will be happy with the woman who took them?”
Kit Fox replied, “Yes, I know Crow Woman will love them as her own children. And because she speaks their tongue, she will quickly teach them ours. You grew to care for them?”
Stephanie nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, very much. Do you think I might be permitted to visit with them from time to time?”
Her companion considered this. “Perhaps you could ask Red Bead. She and her husband were never blessed with children. She might understand your longing.”
Stephanie smiled. “You are wise, my friend.” She reached out her hand and clasped Kit Fox's and they stood smiling, holding onto each other for a moment.
Then the two women finished dressing in silence. Divining that Stephanie needed some time alone to think, Kit Fox said, “I promised my mother I would gather some chickada to make a sleeping potion for Grandfather. I will see you this night at the feast.”
After she had departed, Stephanie sat and stared at her reflection on the smooth surface of the water. What might it be like to be master of one's own destiny? To have the freedom to begin all over again? Undo past mistakes? Hugh was a mistake. “No! I married him in church, of my own free will. I cannot abandon my vows even if he has his.” If ever she were to have children of her own, they must be Hugh's. The thought offered no consolation for she had already concluded that she did not want a child of his.
Yet you would want Chase's baby, wouldn't you?
“No! I cannot,” she cried in the silence. Stephanie massaged her aching temples with her fingertips as the ironic thought came to her—Chase had given no indication that he would ever touch her, much less marry her even if she were free! Kit Fox had unwittingly placed troubling thoughts in her mind. Best if she supported her young friend in her pursuit of the White Wolf. He had always intended to wed a Cheyenne woman and Kit Fox would make a perfect wife for him.
Her painful thoughts were interrupted by the sound of angry voices—a man and woman arguing. The woman was Kit Fox and the man was the big hostile warrior who had confronted Chase earlier. A sudden muffled scream followed by the sounds of a struggle brought Stephanie running through the trees to help her friend.
Kit Fox glared at Pony Whipper. She had clearly spurned his advances, yet he refused to accept the rejection. When he reached out and seized the front of her tunic, tearing it, she was incredulous and furious. As she slammed against him, her left hand brushed the war club hanging at his belt. She yanked it free, angry enough to cleave his skull with it but at such close quarters she could not maneuver. He wrenched it from her grip and tossed it away, then continued ripping her tunic. When she tried to scream, he covered her mouth with one large hand. He was going to rape her!
Pony Whipper had her friend pinned beneath him. Her tunic was ripped down the front, baring her breasts. He held her with his powerful thighs while clamping one hand over her mouth. His other hand had pulled up her tunic and now was unfastening his breechclout! Stephanie knew she must stop him at once before irreparable damage was done to Kit Fox!
She started to run at him, intent on pummeling him with her bare hands, anything just to get him to stop, but then she saw the club lying on the ground and scooped it up. Just as she raised it to strike, he sensed her presence and turned. His flushed face contorted and he gave a snarl of rage but before he could raise a hand to stave off the blow, Stephanie swung and the club struck his temple. He crumpled to the ground, knocked partially clear of the struggling girl, out cold.
Choking back a sob, Kit Fox wriggled free of the big man, then pulled down her skirt and covered her breasts with the ripped pieces of doeskin. “He has no more shame than a weasel,” she spat, looking at his bare genitals, obscenely revealed when he tore loose his breechclout. “You have saved my honor. I owe you my life,” she said gravely to Stephanie as the white woman helped her to her feet.
“Come, let's get you some help. Then send the chief to deal with him. I hope the punishment for such a crime will be swift and terrible.”
“No!” Kit Fox cried, surprising Stephanie. “You must tell no one.”
“But—I don't understand. Is such an act not punished by your leaders?”
“Yes, of course. We never kill our own people, but he could be banished—if my brother Plenty Horses asked for it. But Plenty Horses would never do that. He is Pony Whipper' s friend and he has been pressing me to accept Pony Whipper' s offer of marriage. They are both members of the Crazy Dog Society and they hate the White Wolf. My brother does not wish me to wed him.
“Among our people, when a crime has been committed, the chiefs prefer to arrange for a payment to make up for the injury rather than to banish the offender. My brother would ask that Pony Whipper atone for dishonoring me by offering marriage. I would be forced to accept.”
“They planned this together to make you marry against your will! But that's terrible.”
“You see why we cannot tell anyone about the shameful thing Pony Whipper has done,” Kit Fox said as the man groaned and rolled over.
Both women stepped back but he did not attempt to arise, only reached one hand to his head and massaged the lump forming on it. “If he had not turned and dodged the full force of my blow, I might have killed him. Dear God, the other Crazy Dogs would have demanded my death, wouldn't they?”
Kit Fox nodded. “As a captive, you do not have the same rights as a Cheyenne. We could hardly banish you,” she added with impish amusement. Then she sobered. “Come, you have made a deadly enemy. Pony Whipper dare not speak of his dishonor, but he may try to harm you for spoiling his plan. I will protect you. I will speak with my brother. Plenty Horses has much to answer for. I think he will be ashamed for this day's work.”
The two women left the dazed man sitting on the ground and quickly returned to camp. Kit Fox slipped into her lodge before anyone saw her torn clothes. Stephanie returned to Red Bead, deeply disturbed by the dangerous situation in which she had now become embroiled. As if I were not already in enough trouble.
Chase spent the afternoon in discussions with the chiefs and leaders of the warrior societies, planning the move for the winter into the high isolated region of the Bighorn Mountains to the north. There they would be safe, far from the Long Knives, the railroad and all the deadly dangers of white civilization. But soon they would be hemmed in. The Union Pacific was already established in the south and the new Northern Pacific would run to the north. The High Plains tribes were slowly being squeezed by a pincer of rails. How long could they hold out, fighting the hit-and-run sort of war he had taught them?
Deeply preoccupied, Chase walked back to his lodge only to find Stephanie waiting outside it. What was he to do with her? He must take her with him to their secret hideaway. Yet that bastard Phillips would love nothing more than to ride into the stronghold and massacre every man, woman and child. Once she had journeyed there, could he ever risk freeing her? Isn't that what you want? To keep her forever? He repressed the disturbing thought, concentrating on how to treat with her for the moment.
She looked lovely with her hair falling like molten silk over her shoulders. The Cheyenne clothes fit her tall slender body perfectly. He could almost make himself believe that it would work out if he took her, but he knew he was deceiving himself. She had pledged herself to his sworn enemy and if there was one thing of which Chase was certain, it was that Stephanie Summerfield would never break her vows.
Stay clear of her. He smiled coolly as he approached her. “I see you're ready for the feast.”
“Red Bead said I was to wait for you.” Her tone indicated how much the idea appealed to her.
“Come,” was all he replied, turning sharply.
He expected her to heel like some damned camp dog! Fleetingly she wished for the war club to bash in the thick skull of another Cheyenne male, but common sense prevailed. Best to play along. Perhaps there might be a chance for escape later. She f
ollowed him to the open clearing surrounded by the semicircle of lodges.
The area was already filled with people of all ages, laughing and talking excitedly. Many greeted Chase in obvious friendliness and admiration but here and there she noted several hostile young warriors watching him with narrowed eyes and angrily furrowed brows. Were they all members of the Crazy Dog Society Kit Fox had mentioned? Stephanie could not discern enough about tribal insignias and nuances of dress to be certain.
As he approached the front row of the circle of men seated around the large fire, he turned to her. “Go to Red Bead and she will direct your tasks.”
“Of course, my lord. I am your obedient servant,” she said dulcetly.
“And property,” he replied with indifferent arrogance calculated to enrage.
She swallowed a retort and walked furiously over to Red Bead. Chase sat down beside Stands Tall who smiled thinly. “I do not think she enjoys being your captive.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Chase replied dryly.
“Only watch she does not scald you with a bowl of stew,” the older man retorted with a chuckle.
Chase grunted, not at all sure of what Stevie Summerfield might do. When she approached him with a bowl of steamed trout, he was wary, but she sat it beside the basket of fresh gooseberries and hackberries. He knew some of the food would repel her—the roasted intestines of buffalo calf stuffed with fresh meat and nuts, and the marrow bones that were broken open so the rich black marrow could be sucked out and eaten raw by the men. By the time she brought him a chunk of buffalo stomach filled with a gelatinous mass of congealed blood, Chase expected her to be pale and queasy looking, but she surprised him. Anger had always made Stevie even stronger. And he knew that playing slave was infuriating her.
He nodded to her with respect after all the food had been set out and the men were eating. Many warriors fed choice tidbits to their favorite sweethearts, wives or children.
Chase indicated that Stephanie should at last take a seat on the ground behind him and his uncle, then passed her some fruit and a chunk of roasted buffalo hump.