Soaring Eagle's Embrace

by Karen Kay

  “Aa, really.” He pulled in a cinch. “There. Done. Gilda, take my pinto and go on back to the village. But do not tell them what has happened. I’ll follow you with my herd and with Miss Wallace here.”

  Gilda nodded, and without another word to either of them, mounted the pony and left.

  From her peripheral vision, Kali marked that Soaring Eagle watched the woman until she was no more than a speck on the horizon. Finally, he turned back to Kali, his eyes suddenly alight with mischief.

  What now?

  They were alone, utterly, completely alone—and she was not immune to his charms, a fact he probably knew well. But he didn’t reach out to touch her as she had thought he might. Instead, cocking his head to the side, he said, “You came to my defense.”

  She shrugged.

  “I did not expect that.”

  Looking away from him, she noted, “You would have done the same for me, I’m certain.”

  “True, but that is different, I think.”

  “Is it? I don’t see how.”

  His eyes narrowed as though he might dispute with her, but in the end he merely commented, “It is possible that I owe you my life. So perhaps we are even. I saved you. You saved me. That way neither one of us is in each other’s debt.”

  She nodded.

  But then he grinned, adding, “Pity.”

  Chapter Ten

  Without being romantic or naive, we can argue that studies of reservation life that see only poverty and despair do not see the whole picture.

  Peter Iverson, When Indians Became Cowboys

  Had he been asleep all these years? What was happening to him?

  Something was, that was a certainty, for Soaring Eagle’s spirits were as buoyant as a feather caught in the up-current of a wind. Indeed, he felt as innocent as a child and as carefree as an adolescent. And why?

  Because of a kiss. Because of a woman. Because he had found her at last. The one.

  Shifting his weight, Soaring Eagle glanced at Kali as she sat upon the wagon seat, her beautiful red hair aglow, shining beneath the rays of a brilliant sun. Her skin was a delicate, pale affair, though he noted she was turning slightly pink despite the covering from the brim of her hat. Slim to a fault, Soaring Eagle thought she might surely blow away with the slightest hint of a breeze.

  But that delicacy was an illusion, he realized. He had only known her for little more than a day, yet already he had witnessed her spirit and her courage, both more dynamic than many men of his acquaintance.

  He’d thought he hated her. He’d thought she was like all the rest, and had been ready to send her packing. But with no more than a few hours of being in her presence, he had changed his mind.

  This afternoon, everything about her had been right. And he wondered, was it possible for a man to be ensnared by a kiss?

  It must be so. Truly, it must be so. Even now, he recalled how her red lips had fit his perfectly, as though made for him. Her breath had been sweet, tasting of honey, mint and pure, intoxicating female. Her fragile scent still clung to him, it alone a stimulant, making him wish he could do things he dared not do…at least not yet.

  What would she say if he told her his thoughts? Would she think him crazy? After all, they barely knew one another.

  No, that didn’t seem right. He felt as though he’d known her a lifetime.

  And she? Did she feel the same way? Dare he ask?

  Probably not, he decided. After all, she was female…and white. And to date, his acquaintance with this breed of person was not full of promise.

  Yet, remembering the way she had stood up to those cowboys, defying them to do their worst…

  Aa, there was something different about this one. What that was exactly, however, he didn’t know. But this he did realize: somehow, in some way, that kiss had opened his senses to her. It was as though he’d caught a glimpse; a glimpse of a life they might share together…a life filled with love, with passion, with devotion.

  He wanted that. Aa, he wanted that.

  Yes, there would be barriers to cross, but he wouldn’t think of that now. After all, what was life if not one barrier after another?

  He sighed. Sometimes he wished the world around him would go away and let him live the life he was meant to live, without censure, without interference and without prejudice—if only for a few days.

  But, he finished to himself, he was who he was. And Kali was who she was.

  And though on the surface, their worlds seemed universes apart, were they really? What was prejudice, after all, but a failure to communicate fully and completely?

  Perhaps he should speak to her on the subject. Certainly, she was not repelled by him. She had proved that earlier today, there in his arms.

  It would take courage on his part; courage to speak out and tell her the truth, courage to say what was in his heart, for he was treading on unknown ground.

  It would be an about-face for him as well, and she might doubt him. She might even laugh at him. Was he willing to chance that?

  Still, life without a few risks was no more than mere existence, wasn’t it? At this moment, opportunity was his. Would he reach out and take it?

  Or should he adhere to the easier, the calmer path? After all, he was not without romantic involvements, and with women he understood much more easily than this one.

  And yet he couldn’t deny that today, with her, he’d felt alive, whole, complete, as if he might be able to take on the whole white world alone. And that was something.

  Aa, that was something…

  The sun was setting by the time they reached the Indian encampment. Sitting high atop a butte and looking down on the village, Kali wondered if she had ever witnessed a more peaceful sight. In the reddening rays of twilight, the lodges looked picturesque and serene. Streaks of gray-blue smoke curled up from each of the lodges, and on the air was the appetizing aroma of supper.

  She let her gaze meander a short distance from the camp, there espying a pony herd grazing silently in the lush, tall grasses. All about her, above and below, were larks, sparrows, even thrushes serenading the listening ear with sweet, soulful music. Enchanted, Kali inhaled and was set upon not only by the scents of many campfires but by the fragrant meadows, the wildflowers and the clean, solid feel of the earth.

  Oh, how she would love to capture this moment on film, and her fingers itched to grab her camera. But she controlled the impulse. She dared not do it. Plus, the camera was loaded on her wagon, which sat at the foot of the butte.

  She and Soaring Eagle had left the vehicle a while earlier and climbed to this spot, coming to a halt here at the butte’s crest. Both she and Soaring Eagle were silent, bathing themselves in the beauty that surrounded them. Before them, vast mountains sat off to the west, while the last rays of the sun were sketching the clouds above in kaleidoscopic colors of deep reds, pinks and oranges.

  What an artist was nature, Kali thought, as a feeling of well-being swept through her. With only a slight turn of her head, she glanced toward Soaring Eagle. At the sight, she caught her breath. Did he know, she wondered, what a handsome silhouette he made? Standing there against the crimson rays of the glorious sunset?

  And the only thing that came to mind as she continued to gaze at him was that of dignity, of majesty as though he were lord and master over all this domain. Not even his cowboy attire could detract from the image of quiet strength, of fellowship and understanding.

  All at once it came to her: this man possessed an unearthly trait, a spirituality that was as rich as this lush prairie. He was different from anyone she had ever encountered, as though he were the embodiment of thousands of years of cultural perfection. And for a moment, she understood. He didn’t merely believe in the godly qualities of the world around him; he lived his spiritual nature day to day, as easily as if he were the very soul of this vast, beautiful land.

  It was an odd thing for a sensible girl like Kali to realize. Never on any of her previous expeditions had she been given cause
to become even remotely attracted to the beliefs of any of the native peoples that she had photographed. Certainly, though her interest was centered on the aboriginal cultures of the world, she had never considered that a single one of these communities might have something to offer her in the way of personal insight.

  She’d been wrong.

  But perhaps she’d never really looked at them with unbiased eyes…until now.

  She studied him. Though outwardly Soaring Eagle was as different from her as a summer day is from winter, there was much about him that was familiar. Like a nobleman, he possessed obvious pride, though in truth, Soaring Eagle exuded more magnetism, more charisma and perhaps more presence of mind than any other man she had ever met.

  Staring at him, she knew without doubt that the rumors she had heard about his people—if Soaring Eagle was to be a representative—were false. Dirty heathens, filthy beggars, thieves. So far she had found none of these descriptions to be true. In faith, far the opposite.

  And if the rumors were false, she carried the thought one step further, what was the truth? Could she discover it? Could she capture that truth, whatever it was, on film? For coming generations?

  “Soaring Eagle,” she voiced softly, drawing his attention to her. “It’s almost night, and it occurs to me that I’m far away from home.”

  He nodded. “Do not be afraid. No one will hurt you here.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He grinned at her. “Of course not.”

  “It’s true. I’m only thinking that perhaps, if I’m to stay here, we might send word to my father to join me. Otherwise,” she said, “if I’m not home soon, he will worry.”

  “I will see to it as soon as we enter camp.”

  “Thank you. Ah, Soaring Eagle?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Where am I to stay in the meantime?”

  “Do not worry You can stay with me.”

  With him? Kali gasped. She opened her mouth to speak; however, no words of censure, nor even of wisdom, spilled forth.

  Shaking herself, she knew she had to say something. Soaring Eagle was, after all, only a man. And like men everywhere, she supposed, he would test the ground, leaving it to the woman to erect barriers.

  “Ah, Soaring Eagle—”

  “My grandmother has a lodge,” he interrupted, “that is large and will provide you with enough room to sleep comfortably…that is, if you sleep this night.”

  “Oh. Ah…and is there a r-reason,” she stumbled, “why you are thinking I might not sleep?”

  He turned his gaze on her, his look telling her clearly that he was enjoying himself. Worse, that he sensed her discomfort and was amused by it.

  All he said, however, was, “Keeping a Medicine Pipe is not without its difficulties.”

  “Oh?” said Kali.

  “Aa. He who would have the pipe must pay well for it with many ceremonials and feasts. It is not a duty for a weak or a poor man.”

  “I see,” said Kali, and she did. Her father had intimated as much. “And this has something to do with why I might not sleep?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, his eyes bright. “When a man is ready to pass on the duties of the Medicine Pipe to another, this is not kept secret from others in the tribe. One of our chiefs, Comes Running Bird, has had the pipe in his possession for several years, and he is getting ready to find a new member who can take it. And so any able-bodied man who does not wish to accept the responsibility for the pipe may sleep outside his lodge, that he not be given it. For to be offered the pipe and not accept it can bring on death or hardship to one’s family.”

  “Oh? Is that so?” She paused. “I’m still a little unclear about what this has to do with my sleep.”

  Soaring Eagle grinned. “Do you hear the sound of singing from the camp?”

  She listened. “Yes.”

  “That is the Medicine Pipe Society singing Owl songs and drumming. They will keep this up all night, sending out people from the society who will accompany Comes Running Bird. He will have the pipe concealed beneath his robes. If they can catch a man unaware, he being a man of some importance and wealth, there will be a ceremony to transfer the duties and the rites of the pipe to the other. This singing and going about will take place throughout the night.”

  “Oh, I see. So is this what I might be able to photograph?”

  Soaring Eagle shrugged. “I have not promised you that. Only that I will speak to the council on your behalf.”

  “All right. I expect that’s good enough.”

  He nodded, then eased his lips into another of those disarming smiles before he commented, “Did you think there could be another reason you might not sleep?”

  She turned away, momentarily embarrassed by the intimacy of the question, unaware that her chin reached for the sky.

  As though to put her at ease, however, he said, “I do not share my grandmother’s lodge if that is what you are thinking.”

  “The thought never entered my mind,” she lied, still looking away from him.

  “Come, let us sit here on the prairie,” he gently placed a hand beneath her elbow, “and I will tell you the story of how the Medicine Pipe came to be in our possession. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, turning toward him, her embarrassment disappearing as easily as that. “Very much.”

  “Soka’pii,” he said, bending gracefully into a sitting position, motioning her to do the same. But it wasn’t to be an easy task for her. To sit down daintily required a much longer dress than her hunting outfit provided, especially since she couldn’t very well sit as he was; her skirt was too short. True, she wore puffy trousers beneath her skirt, but that didn’t mean her modesty was more easily shielded. Finally she settled for sitting with her knees and legs to the side.

  He began, “It is told to us that it happened long ago…” He frowned at her as she tried to straighten her skirt.

  She glanced up, catching his eye, which was trained on her. “Yes?” she said, bestowing him with what she trusted would be a sweet smile, perhaps in hopes of encouraging him to keep speaking, thereby drawing attention away from her discomfort.

  But this was not to be, and he said, “May I be of any help?”

  She laughed self-consciously. “It’s this skirt. Though the outfit is good for hunting or for walking through the prairie’s grasslands, it doesn’t cover my legs adequately. And even though I wear boots and these Turkish trousers, it’s not quite the same, is it?” She pulled at the offending article, trying to lengthen it, if by intention alone.

  “I think I can help,” he said, coming to his feet, and before she could utter a word of protest, he was clambering down the butte in the direction where they had left his pony herd and her wagon. He came back to her presently with a brightly colored red and blue blanket under one arm and an orange and yellow one under the other.

  “They were on a few of my ponies,” he informed her as he unfolded one of the blankets and set it out over the grassy soil. Then, helping her first to her feet, he sat her down on the blanket, finishing by throwing the other of the two over her lap. Standing back as though observing his handiwork, he said, “Is that better?”

  She grinned up at him. “Much. Thank you.” And pulling the warmth of the blanket over her legs, she said, “Do continue your story. Please.”

  Once again, he settled himself gracefully into a sitting position, only this time he sat on the blanket, quite close to her.

  But she didn’t pull away. In truth, she wanted him to be close.

  As though he was perfectly aware of this, he leaned in even nearer to her, his head mere inches from hers as he began, “It is told by our elders that there was once a Blackfeet man who was struck down by the Thunder. Now as the man lay there on the prairie, barely alive, the Thunder Chief came to him in vision, holding a pipe. The man was instructed to make a pipe like the one the Thunder Chief was holding. He was also told to make a medicine bundle for it, and the medicine
bundle was to contain the skins of many animals. In this way, if ever any of our people are sick or are dying, if a vow is made and a ceremony given, the sick will be cured.”

  Kali nodded. “And has this happened?”

  “Aa, many times.” Soaring Eagle scooted an inch closer to her so that his arm was touching her arm. It was no more than a slight graze, yet Kali felt the effect of it all the way to the tips of her toes. But she didn’t pull away. Alas, she leaned in toward him as well. “But there is more,” he said, his voice very, very low. “After the Thunder Chief appeared to this man, a grizzly bear came to him, telling him that he, the grizzly, was giving up his skin so that the man might make a large bundle. Said the grizzly, ‘If you ever transfer the Medicine Pipe, you must steal upon the man quietly in the time before dawn, as does the grizzly. Take him by surprise, singing my song, and give him the pipe. He dare not refuse’.”

  “Oh, I see,” Kali whispered, her head so close to his that her breath fanned the wisps of hair at the side of his face. “Then that’s why the men steal about in the middle of the night?”

  “Aa,” said Soaring Eagle softly. “The Owl songs that you hear down there are sung because the owl is an animal of the night, and by singing his song, the members ask the owl for help, that they might catch a man in sleep. This casts a spell over the man that he may not escape. Before this time, the Blackfeet had never seen a Medicine Pipe, but now the ceremony is continued on and on, as the power of the bundle has cured many of our people.”

  “Oh.” Kali stared at him, her eyes almost on a level with his as he bent in toward her.

  He caught her gaze, his eyes mirroring a hushed intensity, as though he were anticipating something. But what?

  She looked down and fidgeted with her hands nervously. She was awaiting something from him, too, she realized; she needed something from him. However, exactly what that was remained a mystery to her. She murmured, “That is a wonderful story,” and chanced to glance up at him. But he wasn’t looking at her directly then.

  His attention seemed to be centered on her hands, seemingly engrossed with them. Feeling momentarily reprieved, Kali took a bit of time to watch him, herself mesmerized by the feeling that something imminent was upon them.