The Bride Wore Feathers

by Sharon Ihle

  Jacob grinned. "With a horse."

  "Of course." She laughed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  Caught by the sparkle in her playful brown eyes, Jacob indulged himself with a long look into them before he gestured for her to follow him. "I have come to know all the animals in the barn. There is a mare who will be very gentle with you."

  "Oh?" she sighed, disappointed. "I assumed I would be riding my aunt Libbie's horse. She talks about that animal as if it were human."

  Jacob stopped in front of a stall and began to untie the rope. "I have heard that Mrs. Custer has ridden many times with the general. Her mount is spirited, meant only for a rider with much experience. This mare will serve you best."

  Dominique opened her mouth to protest, but one quick look at the animal in the stall kept her reply in her throat. Good heavens. Did she actually have to climb up on that monster's back in order to keep up this charade? Could she really go through with the riding lessons, with this suddenly insane excuse she'd dreamed up in order to see Jacob again?

  Unaware of Dominique's attack of nerves, Jacob attached a leather lead line to the mare's halter, and led the animal out of the stall. "This is Peaches. Come to her, Dominique. Let her get to know your voice, your scent. Talk to her in a gentle voice. Be kind to her and she will be your friend for life." He handed the lead to her and added, "I will get a saddle while you become friends."

  Alarmed, Dominique stood there looking at the length of leather resting in the palm of her gloved hand as Jacob walked away. Then she glanced up at the horse. Peaches began nodding her head, and her lush black mane moved back and forth across her long neck like a pendulum. For the first time since Dominique had come up with the idea, the enormity of what she'd gotten herself into dawned on her. A horse was a very big animal—much bigger than she. Why, if the beast chose to it could simply walk right over her and crush her into the ground as if she were nothing more than a sapling.

  Terrified Dominique stepped back.

  Peaches followed.

  "Stay," she ordered, her voice wavering as she took several backward steps. Frantically searching her mind, she tried to remember the words liverymen used to make a horse do as it was told, but she could remember only the plush leather seats and the comfort of the carriages her father hired to take her from place to place.

  The horse began nodding again and resumed trailing after her new mistress.

  What had started out as a lark, as a way to pass the time and learn more about the intriguing soldier called Jacob, was rapidly becoming another of her follies. Frightened almost as badly as she'd been when the ferry capsized, Dominique dropped the line and backed down the dirt and straw aisle. "Stay, horse, please?"

  Peaches tossed her head high and emitted a shrill whinny. She punctuated her song with a resounding snort, splattering her new mistress in the bargain. Then she resumed her forward march, curiosity prompting her to pick up the pace.

  Panic replaced fear as the mare bore down on her. Dominique wheeled around, determined to race from the barn and never return. Instead, she tripped over a rake and fell flat on her face.

  The plodding of hooves against the hard-packed dirt floor resounded. Clip-clop, clip-clop. The noise grew louder as the mare approached her prone body. Dominique covered her head and screamed, "Help me. Help!"

  The pitiful pleas reached Jacob's ears as he stepped out of the tack room with a saddle slung over his shoulder. Inclining his head, he slowly approached the woman whose cries were now reduced to unintelligible whimpers. Peaches stood directly above her, nickering softly in her ear, nuzzling the knot of hair at the back of her neck.

  A grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, Jacob dropped the saddle and hunkered down beside her. "This is a very strange way to become friends with your mount. Peaches will think you are afraid of her."

  "I am, you... you nincompoop. Get her away from me this instant."

  Jacob laughed.

  "Get her away," Dominique demanded, her jaw taut.

  Realizing now that her panic was real, Jacob stood up and reached for the halter, but before he could catch the leather with his fingers, Peaches snatched Dominique's hat between her teeth and began shaking it as if it were a clump of grass. Laughing to himself this time, he pulled the tattered ruin from the mare's mouth and tied her to a nearby post.

  Still paralyzed with fear, Dominique remained prone, her arms up over her head, her eyes shut. Jacob dropped back down to his knees and whispered, "You are safe. I have restrained the dangerous beast."

  Dominique peeked over her shoulder. Satisfied the horse couldn't reach her, she sat up in a huff. "I thought you knew these horses," she said, trying to sound brave as she dusted the dirt off her bodice. "That animal came after me. I think she meant to stomp me."

  "Peaches's only wish was to be your friend." Impulsively, he reached out and brushed away a smudge on her cheek.

  Dominique slapped his hand away. "I still think she wanted to hurt me. Oh," she cried, reaching for her hat, "look what she's done. Isn't there a gentler horse for me to ride—one who will listen to what I say?"

  Jacob grinned at her, amused to find this sign of weakness in one so brave. Choosing the method he felt would best reinforce that inherent courage, he issued a challenge. "No. You will learn to ride Peaches or you will not learn to ride at all. Perhaps your day would best be spent with the other women up on Suds Row instead of in the stables."

  Dominique's jaw snapped shut and her eyes grew round. A sudden burst of temper running her tongue, she said, "We'll just see about that, you nincompoop. Please help me to my feet."

  Jacob stood, offering his hand as he asked, "What is this you call me—nincompup?"

  As Dominique smoothed her skirts and brushed the dirt from her jacket, she blanched at her lapse in decorum. She shrugged and said, "Oh, haven't you ever heard anyone say that before?"

  Jacob shook his head. "My German family struggled with English. Then, after they were gone, I trapped and prospected, which are two very lonely ways to survive. I apologize for my poor English."

  She waved him off with a nervous chuckle. "You do just fine, and that word is just a slang word. It doesn't mean much of anything."

  But he persisted. "Much of what?"

  She expelled her breath in a long sigh and mumbled, "It's just another word for... soldier. Now, can we get on with my lesson?"

  Jacob stared at her for a long moment, reasonably certain she'd been less than honest with him, but he opted to let it go. "If you wish to learn to ride, you will do as I say. Can you do that?"

  "Absolutely." Dominique regarded the ruined hat, muttering to herself, and then tossed it aside. Smoothing her mussed hair, she checked the back of her head and found it was still wound into a bun and held securely in place by a wide-looped hair net. "I'm ready," she announced.

  "I hope Peaches is." Jacob laughed as he started toward the horse.

  Dominique stayed one step behind him, peering over his shoulder as they approached the animal. He turned, taking her hand in his, and softly said, "I am going to raise your fingers to her nostrils. She must smell you to know you, feel your touch and know that it will be gentle. Do not make any sudden moves."

  "I understand," she breathed, wondering how on earth the warmth of his hand could affect her so, even through the leather of her gloves.

  Then he pulled her forward so she could reach the animal, and Dominique brushed up against Jacob's broad back. She stood there, a captive of sorts, and found herself mimicking the mare's fascination with her fingers. She breathed deeply, absorbing, learning, identifying Jacob by his scent, branding his unique aroma into her brain, wondering if it would ever stop reminding her of the Sioux, Redfoot. Once again she felt those odd sensations, grew giddy as feather tips from the past brushed her memory, and sensed a kinship with the private she'd tried to understand but couldn't seem to reconcile in her mind.

  "Very good," Jacob softly encouraged, unaware of the turmoil behind him. "Stroke her wit
h tenderness, show her you are not afraid."

  On their own, for Dominique had no idea what her hands were doing, her fingers massaged the horse's jaw, then slid up along the lines of her round cheeks and slithered down her long silky neck. She continued the movements, but Dominique's gaze was fastened to the expanse of muscles across Jacob's back, watching as they strained against the smooth material of his gray flannel shirt. She could feel the mare's muscles bunching and expanding at her touch, and she wondered if Jacob's reaction would be the same if she were to manipulate and stroke his shoulders in a like manner.

  Pleased by Dominique's progress, Jacob turned to comment on her quick reversal, but instead, he noticed the glazed look in her eyes, the slightly parted lips—so full, so pink, so inviting. Memories of their softness, of the lush texture and eager response, took him by storm. Jacob's breath caught in his throat and his mind could concentrate on only one mission—to find a way to make this woman his own. The mare forgotten, he leaned forward and took her face in his hands. "Dominique." His throat slammed shut, cutting off his words, his air as reason whispered in the recesses of his mind: You cannot jeopardize your mission over this woman—over any woman. But still he could not seem to release her.

  "Jacob," she breathed with difficulty, drawn to him by something equally frightening and thrilling, unable or unwilling to consider the impropriety of what she was doing. She found herself wondering instead if his kisses would be like those of the Indian, if the memory of Jacob's touch would heat her, then linger in her body even as she slept. He pulled her closer to his tantalizing mouth, and Dominique knew that the answer to those questions would soon be burning on her lips. Bolder than she'd ever been in her life, Dominique slid her tongue across her bottom lip, closed her eyes, and inclined her head to receive him.

  Peaches had more sense than either of them. With a shrill whinny, she bobbed her head and slammed her muzzle into Jacob's back. He lurched forward, crashing into Dominique. She went flying across the aisle.

  She kept her balance as she stumbled, and for a moment, Dominique thought she would also keep her footing.

  But then the heel of her boot connected with a pile of fresh horse dung.

  Dominique shot backward, scattering and then landing in the manure Jacob had carefully raked into a small mountain earlier that morning.

  * * *

  Later that evening after the nine-thirty lights-out, Jacob tucked his blankets around pillows he had formed into the shape of his own body. Then he crept silently out of the barracks. He made his way on foot to the meeting spot in the trees to the north of the fort, where he found a tethered horse waiting for him. It was his old friend, the stallion, Sampi. Jacob launched himself on the animal's back and dug his heels into the horse's flanks.

  He rode in a zigzag fashion for five miles before reining his mount to a halt at the crest of a small butte. Leaning back on the stallion, he pointed his chin to the moonless sky and uttered the staccato signal: "Yip! Yip! Yip!" He followed this with a perfect imitation of the howl of a lone wolf.

  And then he waited.

  When he heard an echo of the signal from the west, Jacob wheeled the horse in that direction and rode until he came upon another rider. After the warrior recognized the horse and the soldier it carried, he raised an arm in greeting and led the man dressed as a Long Knife into the Hunkpapa camp.

  Chief Gall stood outside the warrior's lodge and waited for his son to greet him. When Jacob approached, the two men clasped hands and stared into each other's eyes before the elder finally spoke: "It is good to see you my son. Are you treated well?"

  "Well enough, my Father."

  "Come, then, let us hear the news you bring." After opening the flap to the warriors' lodge, Gall stepped through and waited for his son to enter before he took his place of honor and sank cross-legged onto a buffalo rug.

  Following his father's lead, Jacob eased onto the rug at his right and removed his cavalry-issue hat. Sitting Bull passed him the pipe the men had been smoking, and even though the acrid smoke stung his eyes, Jacob took a puff and handed it to his father.

  "And now, Redfoot, what news do you bring us?" the Father said.

  "Much information, but little news, I am afraid. The Long Hair left on a journey to his Chief's home in Washington two days after I came to the fort."

  Chief Gall grunted and pointed to a young warrior who had just earned his way into the warriors' lodge. "Little Dog has made coup on a worthless soldier from the Seventh Cavalry. The soldier wandered too far off course during his duty as a guard. See the feather in Little Dog's hair to show his first victory over the enemy? Is this achievement to be the only tale for us this night, my son?"

  Jacob slowly shook his head and began repeating the story Barney had told him only hours ago. "A message came to the officer in charge this morning. On Saturday, three days past"—as I was spinning the beautiful niece of my enemy around in my arms, his troubled mind added. Jacob swallowed hard and went on. "A company of Long Knives led by Colonel Reynolds attacked Crazy Horse and his village at the Little Powder River. More than one hundred lodges were destroyed and many were killed. I am told that Crazy Horse survived, but now he will be hunted fiercely."

  "As we are," Gall amended.

  "As we are." Jacob regarded the thin yellow braid stitched along the outside seams of his trousers, then made an observation. "From what I have seen and heard, these Long Knives will not be happy until all warriors, regardless of nation or tribe, are lying in their final resting places."

  His expression grim, Gall slowly nodded, then asked, "Was the Long Hair, Custer, fooled by the camp you led him to after your escape?"

  Jacob regarded his father, suddenly unsure how much he ought to reveal. Dominique was paramount in his mind. Was he honor bound to mention her name? Should he give the Lakota the true identity of the crazy one? Should he tell them how fragile his disguise had become and that the mission might be in jeopardy? He thought back to his rescue of Dominique, to the night in his tipi, and he remembered her fire and spirit. In peril, she had spit on him, issued threats he didn't understand, and told him she was not afraid. But then he thought of her lying in the barn only a few hours past, trembling with fear as a timid mare nuzzled behind her ear. He thought of her reaction when she'd fallen into the horse droppings, how she'd sputtered, all fire and spirit again, and he nearly laughed out loud.

  Jacob admired and desired her, but he feared the power she held locked in her mind. She intrigued and enticed him, yet she represented all that he'd come to hate. How could he explain these feelings to Chief Gall when he wasn't sure he understood them himself? One day, perhaps soon, he would have to speak her name, reveal her threat to their mission. For now, Jacob took another puff from the pipe and relished the light-headed sense of freedom it gave him.

  Too soon, his head cleared, and he knew he must answer his father. "I led the Long Hair to our camp myself. He thought I was a good scout and said so many times. I am certain, too, that he believed it when I said the Hunkpapa had fled the area. He also thinks I will make a good scout when the soldiers begin their war against us."

  "That is good to hear, my son." Gall sucked at the wooden pipe as he mulled over his worries, and finally said, "What have you learned of the troops who were searching the area while you were confined to the prisoners' tipi with the Long Knife? Did so many seek one missing soldier, or was there another purpose?"

  Dominique. But what was he to say, what could he do?

  Jacob looked into the kind onyx eyes of the Lakota chief and slowly shook his head. Then, for the first time in his life, he lied to his father. "I do not know."

  Sensing Redfoot was troubled, Gall's wide slashing mouth softened and the corners turned up in an understanding smile. "We have stirred your brain like a pot of stew in our hurry to gain knowledge of the white eyes. Rest, my son. Tell us what you have learned as it comes to you."

  But the words didn't comfort Jacob; they added to his burden of guilt, his sen
se of betrayal. "I do not need rest. I have come to inform. Inform I shall." He took a deep breath and condensed the story of his first few days as a soldier in the United States Cavalry. "The soldiers have very strange ways. Everything they do must be done by a timepiece like this."

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out gold watch and chain. He passed it to Gall, who examined it and then sent it on to the other warriors. Jacob explained as each man studied the shiny object. "Each morning before the sun has awakened, a soldier blows air into a long metal horn to rouse the others. Then we are obliged to stand and have our names called before we are sent to a long room. In this room," Jacob said with a grimace, "we are forced to eat what is called breakfast."

  "Is this breakfast an animal the Long Knives have tamed?"

  Jacob laughed. "It is the name of a meal, like tankapa. The food they force us to eat at all meals is not fit for our dogs. They make stew and hash with beans and molasses. Each meal seems to be made with these things, and each has a different name. All of it angers my belly."

  Sitting Bull spoke up. "I will prepare a potion for you to ease your pain."

  "Do not bother. Your medicine will only make my belly think all is well, when I know I must return and feed it more of this poor food. It will be better for me to continue this way." Noticing the men were through looking at the watch, he took it from the blanket and checked the time. Soon he must return to the fort or be discovered.

  "I must finish my story and return." The others quieted and urged him to continue. "The soldiers spend much of the day doing women's work when they are not filling their bellies. For one hour they practice what is called a drill. This is their only preparation for war, and all they do is march around the fort on foot and sometimes ride the horses. They do not fire their guns. When I asked for instruction in this, I was told it was not necessary and a waste of bullets."

  Gall's thick eyebrows leapt to his forehead. "They do not want you to know how to shoot a gun?"

  "They seem not to care if any of their men can shoot or hit what they aim at. They think all they have to do is ride into our camps and frighten us away like scared women and children."