by Karen Kay
No white man was ever arrested or punished. It was then that Moon Wolf realized that the white man had only one code of justice, and it did not encompass Indian rights or freedom.
Knowing this, Moon Wolf decided that he would have his revenge. Along with Never Laughs, he devised a plan, the two of them never once telling another soul what it entailed.
“There are caves beneath the fort where I can hide,” Moon Wolf suggested to Never Laughs as the two friends sat around a solitary campfire, talking and scheming into the early hours of the morning.
“Caves?”
“Aa, yes, I discovered them long ago during the time when the white man demanded our children go to the fort.”
“And they lead outside the fort?”
“Aa, yes,” Moon Wolf responded, “into the hills. I could use these caverns as a way to play hit and run with the seizers. I could hide in them where I cannot be discovered.”
“I think you dream, my friend,” countered Never Laughs. “Perhaps the seizers are not so keen as to be able to track you, but have you noticed that these blue coats lure our own, one by one, into being slaves for them? They ask our own people to scout for them, and all for this thing they call money. Saa, no, I think it would not work. Not when there are Indian scouts who are the slaves of these soldiers.”
Moon Wolf thought for a moment, his eyes suddenly bright. “Unless,” he suggested, “you were there—as chief of the Indian scouts. You, who are the best tracker in our camp.”
Never Laughs looked doubtful at first.
“It would be a good thing,” Moon Wolf went on to explain. “If you are there to cover my tracks, I would be able to annoy the white man where it hurts him most. Together we can destroy this liquor trade while helping our people at the same time.”
“Humph!” came the reply.
“But first you must become chief of scouts, “continued Moon Wolf, “you must become the one among them who is ‘trusted.’ Do you think you can do this?”
Never Laughs had grinned at this and had applied as scout to the military within a fortnight.
A few days later, Moon Wolf had discovered Makoyi. And the rest had become history…
Cold water splashing in his face reminded him of where he was and, plunging his head under the falling water, Moon Wolf came back to the present. It had all been so long ago, yet those events had shaped his future.
He thought back to Alys’s accusation that he was prejudiced. Perhaps he was, but with good reason.
When he had told her that she should marry someone from her own race, he had been quite serious. She would fare better that way, as would her children. Did that mean he was prejudiced?
Maybe.
Why, he wondered, was she not? It was something that he would have to ask her.
Considering who he was, considering who she was and her own way of life, he knew it was irresponsible of him to have gone as far as to kiss her. He should never have started down that path. Nor should he have teased her so readily in the beginning.
He bemoaned such thoughts, however, and reminded himself that such lines of contemplation were useless. As the wise men often counselled, what was done was done. It could not be changed. But the present, the future…ah, now that was something that one could determine.
The future. He came back full circle. What was he to do about her, about their marriage?
It was not as if he could avoid her. He had pledged himself to her. Besides, even without that commitment, he had to remind himself that he owed her a great deal. She had nursed him to health, was probably even now tending to Makoyi.
Perhaps it would not be so bad. He had offered for her already, once in the past, and it hadn’t mattered to him then that she was white. That she had denied him had been a wise decision on her part—at least so he had thought.
He wondered where they would live if he were to survive his mission. Certainly not at Fort Benton. Not with the memories that place held for him.
Would the reservation be any better? Without doubt his almost mother and sister would rejoice to have her. But would Alys thrive there? She, with her white man’s need for fancy clothes and elegant ways; a woman who had never known adversity or hunger? She wouldn’t survive the first small adversity, he feared.
And, as he had pointed out to her earlier, so too did he lecture himself: what if he succeeded in getting her with child, only to die soon after? It was a thought he could not ignore. Where would she go? There would be no society that would welcome her. And it would not matter that he had married her.
He had to do something, think of something. But what?
He had told her the truth, as much as he was able, and as he understood it. It was a fact that he did not think he would be a good husband because of all these things; it was also true that he adored her, relished her, despite the color of her skin.
What he hadn’t finished saying was that since she had returned, he no longer looked upon his own death as the ultimate sacrifice for Lone Owl, for Charging Boy, and for his people. Since she had come into his life, breathing the power of her spirit within him, he had begun to think more seriously of continuing to live, perhaps of happiness.
But this, too, was a path he could not travel, at least not right away. He was the Wolf Shadow. So much depended on him. Fathers, mothers, even the elders of the tribe relied on him to bring about a condition where their children could have a chance to grow up, free men and free women.
However, he digressed.
Of one thing he was certain. He could not get Alys pregnant. With his life hanging so delicately, with so much uncertainty for the future, this was not an act he could sanction.
Yet how could he avoid it?
He could leave here, put the caves behind him, that way carefully avoiding her and the enticement she offered. But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn’t do it.
He sighed. He had no ready solution, except this one: he could not plant his seed within her, even if he made love to her over and over again. How he would keep himself from doing this, he was uncertain. But he would do it, somehow.
Fantastic as it was, the thought caused him to feel better, realizing that in this, he had a solution, if a dubious one. If he could do it…
Her freedom would be his gift to her. Then if he died, she would be unfettered by her past, able to marry another, and to live the life that perhaps she was meant to live—with one of her own kind, a white man.
That this thought made his insides churn, that it set a rage to burning within him, he ignored. He would withhold that anger. After all, he could think of no other solution.
But the image of a white man with his beautiful Alys would not easily go away, and he cringed. Was that really the best solution?
Perhaps she was right, he considered; perhaps he was, after all, prejudiced.
Was that what the long years of doing battle with the whites had gained him? Only loathing and hatred?
Yet, was there any other way to deal with these strange beings, these pale-faces? If there was an alternative, he had yet to discover it.
But again, he digressed.
He turned around and faced back into the caves, tossing his head as droplets of water sprayed over him, pushing his hair away from his face. It was a good time to make resolutions, a good time for decisions.
He took a deep breath. Aa, yes, he had married her. He would be her husband in every way save one: he would hold himself from her and give her no children. If he had to, he would keep her attention diverted away from marriage and the marriage bed. For his own peace of mind, he must do this.
With this conclusion firmly planted in his mind and with a plan of action clearly decided, he stepped out, away from the water, and drew on his clothes.
Chapter 10
She had welcomed him back with a smile, which was perhaps why his question took her so much by surprise.
She had found him watching her, arms crossed over his chest, a brooding expression on his face. How long
he had stood there before her, staring at her, with his look so melancholy, she did not know.
He asked her again, “Why are you not prejudiced?”
It was an odd question considering their most recently shared intimacy. How could he think of prejudices at a time like this? His voice had been deep, though, as he had spoken to her, slightly husky, too, still mirroring a passion that she had little idea how to fulfill.
She grimaced at the thought of his fulfillment. Now, there was a topic she would like to discuss, since she was more than aware that he had not met with satisfaction.
She chanced a glance at him as he squatted down in front of her. Nervous and self-conscious, she hesitated to say anything to him, and she quickly looked away, back toward the wolf.
Having just finished applying an herbal compound to the animal’s wound, she was glad to see that the wolf at last was drifting off to sleep. She sat back, letting herself examine her handiwork as though she were witnessing not a bandage but a work of art, so closely did she inspect it.
However, she could not long deny the inevitable, and after several more lapses into silence, she found the courage to answer, picking her words well. “I don’t know exactly why I’m not prejudiced, perhaps because of my mother. But,” she lifted her eyes, stealing a surreptitious look at him, “don’t you think there is something else more pressing that we should discuss?”
His features became completely unreadable as he lapsed into silence.
She should say something else about it—quickly, before she lost courage—but how did one talk about these things? She sighed. He could give her a little more encouragement.
He didn’t, however. He sat before her, unspeaking, waiting patiently.
She peeked at him once more before venturing, “Moon Wolf, I would ask you something.”
“Humph.” He didn’t budge an inch, saying only, “I am listening.”
Taking in a quick gulp of air in the hopes that it would give her courage, she asked, “That isn’t all there is to lovemaking, is it?”
He drew back as though surprised. “Are you not satisfied?”
“Oh, yes, yes, I am,” she reassured him. “It’s not that. It’s only that I’m wondering…” Again, she swept up her eyelashes. “…are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you…satisfied?”
“Do you mean, am I happy to have you as my wife? I am.”
She sent him another curious look, not convinced.
“There are many things we will have to discuss,” he was saying, “many parts of our lives that we will have to reconsider, now that we are committed to one another. We have much time to do this, however.”
She nodded. “Earlier today, before we ah…” She cleared her throat. “Earlier today, you said something about…marriage?”
“Aa, yes, it is this that is on your mind. It is true that I have taken you for my wife. Did you think I would bed you without that?”
“I…I wasn’t…no, of course not.”
“Why do you ask? In my village a man marries a woman in one way alone, with intimacy. Is this not how it is done in your culture?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Do you need this cer-ti-fi-cate that you have spoken of?”
She nodded. “That and a preacher to seal the pact.”
“Aa, yes. Then it is probably true that we are married by my customs, but perhaps not by yours.”
“Yes.”
He contemplated this in silence. “Would the white man marry us within his own practice?”
She regarded him through lowered lashes. Did she dare tell him the truth? Of course she had little choice. “I do not think we could find such a man here in the west,” she said.
He nodded. “It is as I would have thought.”
She waited a few moments, then continued. “Moon Wolf, I…” She felt the beginnings of a flush on her face. Thank goodness for the cave’s poor lighting. “I…,” she began again. “There is something else that I would discuss with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Besides our commitment to one another?”
“Yes, I…what I mean to say is, what I need to know is…about the act…of love.” There, she’d said it.
And he looked stunned.
But at least she had his attention. “I was thinking that…”—she flashed him a quick smile—“well, I’ve been wondering, not about our marriage, but while you were taking your shower…I was musing over it and it seems to me that you should have also been…satisfied, shouldn’t you?”
He sat back, clearly stumped, though any initial surprise she glimpsed in his expression was quickly masked. His next words were spoken with care. “I know of few people, even when married, who discuss these things.” He raised his chin. “However, you are wise to ask me. For I will tell you now that I was gratified…greatly.”
She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Were you?”
“Aa soka’pii, yes, good,” he said, his right hand signaling out in sign language the words that he spoke.
“But I thought that when two people made love, the man also reaches a certain…ah, release…and you did not do that…and…you were really pleasured?”
“Aa, yes, it is so.” He held his head so high and sat so erect that she was reminded of this man’s tremendous pride as he continued, “Though you are correct in observing that I did not reach complete…satisfaction.”
“Oh,” she raised her eyes to his, “that was what I meant.”
“Humph!” He nodded quickly.
“Then…” She spoke with immense reluctance, not knowing exactly how to phrase these next words. But she would not stop now. After taking a deep breath, she asked, “Then shouldn’t you and I…shouldn’t we…ah…continue?”
“It is not necessary.” A long pause followed his words before he suddenly gave her a sharp glance. “This concerns you?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He acknowledged her with another nod, a stoic calm settling across his features. He said, “Do not worry. My passion is relieved for now.”
“Is it? How?”
He smiled without humor. “A bath under a cold waterfall is a good thing sometimes.”
“Oh.” She digested this in absolute wonder. “And so you…ah…are no longer in need of…”
He nodded. “For now.”
She fell silent, wondering how she was ever going to broach this next subject.
“But we leave the point,” he noted, “which is my first question to you. I will ask it again, why are you not prejudiced?”
She thought for a moment, then countered, “Why are you?”
He drew back, the light from the lantern next to him casting shadows upon his face, illuminating only one side. It reminded her of a half moon, and it gave him an odd, phantomlike appearance.
He had crouched down to squat in front of her. Now, he shifted his position and came to sit in front of her cross-legged, there on their blanketed carpet in the cave.
He lifted his eyes to hers and sat slightly forward, over Wolf, as he asked of her, “Is it your wish that I answer your question before you take up mine?”
She nodded.
“Very well,” he agreed and leaned back, only to lapse into silence, his attention obviously inward.
She waited, noticing little things about him…his hair, free of braids, hanging loose and wet over his shoulders; his eyes, dark and unfathomable, staring off into nothing, his look somber. He seemed slightly heavier now than when they had made love, though it appeared to be more a graveness of spirit, not of actual weight. Was something troubling him?
There was an intoxicating scent about him, too, a fragrance that was part mint, part sage, and part prairie grass, as well as all rugged male. Mixed with the earthy scents of the cave and the wolf, the aroma held her captivated.
There was no mistaking the enticing, sexual quality of this man, either. But there was something about him, a unique characteristic that was hard to pinpoint bu
t that had always drawn her to him.
It was not simply that he was handsome; he was, without being greatly aware of it. But that was not what drew her to him. There was something else about him…a beauty…an ethereal trait that she would have been hard pressed to express in words. It was as though he thrived, not only in this, our physical universe, but in some other world as well: perhaps a universe of beauty.
She gazed down to watch his hands as they petted the wolf. The dusky color of those hands, though only a few shades darker than her own, seemed a pretty contrast against the more whitened color of his nails. His fingers were long, graceful, and watching their movement, she could not help but remember how those hands had felt against her skin.
No body hair marred his figure, either, she was quick to observe; not on his fingers, nor on his arms or chest. Even his chin remained smooth, despite the lack of a razor. She noted again the chain about his neck, the same one she had returned to him, but she hadn’t the courage to ask about it, wondering why he simply did not return it to her.
He took his time responding to her question before finally replying, “You must allow me some moments in which to think before I answer you. You have brought up something that I must give careful consideration. I am not Certain why I am prejudiced, if I am. Perhaps you could answer my question first.”
She gulped. “Very well.”
He asked again, “I have observed that you appear to have no prejudice. You and your mother are the only white people I know who are not. Why?”
She didn’t know how to respond to such a question without sounding either righteous or indignant. But, after some thought, she replied, “I only know that being prejudiced makes little sense. Perhaps, too, I am not trying to take something away from the Indians.” Her own fingers came up to stroke the wolf.
“Take something away? You mean the land?”
She agreed. “That, and the furs, the horses, even your art.”
“Art?”
“Your robes and blankets, things your women make. They sell quite well in the east.”