by Sharon Ihle
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the storm passed and Dominique slowly pulled herself together. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, then plotted her next move. She could sit right on this spot and wait for the bear to become hungry again and track his runaway supper.
She could return to the riverbank and toss herself in, completing God's apparent plan for her.
Or she could save herself.
She could pull herself up on her own two feet and go in search of the closest thing she would find by way of protection in this harsh land—the Hunkpapa camp.
Knowing this was her only real option, Dominique struggled to her feet and made a quick survey of her battered body. Rivulets of water ran off the hem of her dress and down her scratched and scraped legs, but she was able to stand and walk with just the slightest pain. She tried to raise her right arm, and winced as the muscles running up along her shoulders balked. She slid her hand across the back of her neck and found it tender and swollen. Where had she received that injury? Further investigation revealed several deep clefts, but none felt as if her skin had been pierced. Had the bear clamped her in its mouth and dragged her by the neck? She shuddered at the thought, at how close it had probably come to snapping her fragile bones.
A stickiness in her bent elbow diverted her attention, and she finally looked down at her arm. Angry grooves of torn flesh still weeping bloody teardrops greeted her vision. The bear had clawed her. Repulsed, Dominique shuddered again, then looked away from the wound. She would have to resume her journey now or die. The scent of her blood, her fear, would soon bring the scavengers—and probably the grizzly as well. It was time to go. Time to think about her life and the strange turns it had taken of late, time to wonder what part she would allow others to play in her suddenly uncertain future, however short it might be.
Using the river as her guide, Dominique trudged through the hills and valleys and the impossibly crooked trails running parallel to the Little Missouri. As she walked, the unseasonably warm sun beat down against her damp hair and buckskins, giving her an eerie ghostlike appearance as clouds of steam rose up from her body. By the time she found her way back to the camp, Dominique was not only dry—she was also in control of her own destiny, and she had made an unshakable decision about the course of her life.
Pausing at the outer perimeter of the camp, she caught her breath and searched through the village for the one face that had given her the strength to go on. When she found it, she straightened her shoulders and held her head high. Then Dominique Custer DuBois marched through the center of camp and headed for the group of squaws standing around the cooking fire.
As a rapidly approaching figure got within range of her vision, Spotted Feather looked up and gasped. "Many Quills? We were certain that you had fallen into the river. I thought you had drowned."
"I'm sure you did, you lying red bitch."
Then Dominique drew back her fist and drove it into the Indian woman's chin.
The other women backed away, buzzing among themselves, but none offered to help their fallen friend, and none thought of attacking the crazy white woman.
Taking advantage of Spotted Feather's confusion and her loss of equilibrium after the stunning blow, Dominique leapt onto the squaw's chest and straddled her body. She grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the ground, then drove her knee into the woman's throat. Keeping enough pressure on the spot to cause Spotted Feather to choke for air, but not enough to kill her, Dominique held her firm.
"Listen to me, you red bitch, and listen good. Your answers will determine whether you live or die, understand?"
Gagging as she tried to make a reply, Spotted Feather managed to nod.
"Good," Dominique spat. "I'm here to tell you I've had it with you and your miserable back-stabbing friends." She shot a vicious glance at the others, knowing if they didn't understand her words, they could certainly understand her mood. Then her scathing glare dropped back down to Spotted Feather. Increasing the pressure of her knee, she said, "Do you have any idea how easily I could kill you right now? Do you know I'm within one inch of snapping your scrawny neck, you bloody red—what is it you like to call me—dog face?"
With considerable difficulty, Spotted Feather again managed to nod.
Unmindful of the crowd of warriors as well as squaws who had gathered around, Dominique went on. "Then if you value your life, you'll listen up and listen up good. I'm not interested in killing anyone, not even a piece of garbage like you, but I guarantee if you ever look, touch, or talk to me again, you had better be prepared to do a better job than you did on me at the river. Understand?"
Dominique stared down at the squaw, waiting for an answer, then noticed the bulging eyes and protruding tongue. She eased her knee back and shook the woman's wrists. "Understand that I'll kill you if you ever come near me again?"
Through a hoarse gurgle, Spotted Feather said, "Yes."
"You'd be wise not to forget it." Dominique released her and got up off her body, shooting an afterthought at the squaw as if it were a spear. "Bitch."
Again straightening her shoulders, Dominique lifted her chin and began to stomp through the camp. "I've had it with all of you," she shouted at no one in particular. "I'm not taking any more orders or doing any more of your disgusting jobs—you hear?" As she passed by a crudely constructed drying rack with strips of buffalo meat draped across it, she lashed out with her bloodied arm and sent it flying into the mud, jerky and all.
Continuing her tirade as she approached Jacob's tipi, she raised her voice a notch. "And if any of you don't like it, that's just too damn bad. I invite anyone who disagrees with me to come to Redfoot's tipi. I'll be more than happy to tangle with any one of you yellow-bellied cowards." She turned and punctuated the announcement by kicking a parfleche across the campsite. As if blasted from a shotgun, buffalo chips scattered in all directions. With a triumphant nod, Dominique whirled around and stepped through the opening of Jacob's tipi.
Once inside, she felt her bravado waver. Legs wobbly, her breath coming in short gasps, Dominique sank down onto the buffalo rug. She sat there trembling, and prepared to meet her end. Surely when the others, Spotted Feather in particular, got over the shock of what she'd done, they would come for her. They would string her up, perhaps stake her to the ground, and practice unspeakable tortures on her. In spite of the grim thoughts, Dominique smiled. She was ready for them now. She hadn't been before. They couldn't hurt her anymore.
And then a tall figure appeared at the entrance of the tipi. In a voice that sounded very much like that of Chief Gall he said, "Please come outside, crazy one. I wish to speak to you."
The end was near. Dominique slowly got to her feet. After stopping a moment to smooth her tousled hair, she took a deep breath and adopted a solder's stance. Then, her manner reflecting nothing but pride, she stepped through the flap.
"What is it?" she said crisply.
Wrapped in his summer blanket, a necklace of bear claws protruding through the opening, Gall stared at the white woman. The setting sun seemed to funnel up from her glorious halo of hair, lighting the afternoon skies with streaks of red and gold. Smiling his appreciation, he finally said, "You have had some trouble today."
Through a short chuckle, she said, "If you could call being attacked by a totally insane squaw and an enraged grizzly, trouble, then yes, I guess I had some trouble today."
Gall's thick brows drew together at her words, then he scanned her body. Seeing the deep grooves on her arm, he let his breath out in a whoosh. "You have been set upon by a great bear?"
She shrugged. "Looks that way, doesn't it? I don't know what really happened. I saw a bear coming, and I fainted. When I woke up, he was burying me. Then he left."
"You must have great medicine to have survived such an attack," he said, his awe complete.
Again she shrugged. "Maybe he didn't like the way I tasted." Cocking her head from side to side to ease the ache in her neck, she pressed on. "Surely you didn't stop by t
o inquire about my health. What do you want?"
"I come about your troubles with Spotted Feather. She has admitted her attack on you at the river."
Dominique's breath whistled out through her teeth. Here it comes, she thought, staring down at the damp earth.
Accepting her silence, Gall went on, trying to explain. "She had hoped Redfoot would bring his marriage blanket to her. When my son chose you for his wife instead, even I wondered about the wisdom of his choice."
"His wife?"
Unaware of the reason for her confusion, he nodded solemnly. "Yes, daughter. On the night he wrapped you in his marriage blanket and took you to his tipi, I prayed to the gods that all would be well in your union. I see now the wise choice my son has made. You are a very strong, brave wife for a warrior such as he. You and my son will create many fearless children."
Her head spinning, Dominique couldn't speak, could barely think. She scanned her memory, trying to remember something, anything, that would have given her a clue about a marriage between them, but she was blank. Jacob had said only that he wanted to protect her, that he would make certain the others knew she was his woman. If what Gall said was true, he'd certainly done that.
Shaking her head, she said, "I don't know what you want of me, what I'm supposed to do."
"I come to make things right for the wife of my son. That is all."
She cocked her head. "Sir?"
"I come to inform you that Spotted Feather has been severely punished. Her jealousy has nearly cost the life of my son's wife. We are at war now. We have no time for jealous women in our camp. I have banished her from our village." He pointed to a spot near a stand of trees.
Turning slowly, for suddenly every joint and muscle in her body seemed to cry out in pain, Dominique searched the perimeter of the camp. Finally she spotted the lonely figure of a woman sitting hunched in a ball.
She looked back at Gall. "How long do you plan to make her stay out there?"
"She is banished. She may not return to our camp, ever."
Dominique wheeled around for another glimpse of the figure, then back to Gall. "But the soldiers are coming. She'll die alone out there."
"Spotted Feather has her knife. She will be able to choose when and how she dies."
"No. You can't do that, it's not right."
"I am Gall, chief of the Hunkpapa. I do what I must."
Dominique slammed her hand onto her hips and began tapping her toe, in spite of several sharp jabs of pain. "And I," she began to lie boldly, "am the crazy white woman who wrestled a grizzly bear and won. Think about that. I had a monster by the throat, screaming the worst imaginable threats in his face, and he ran away."
Dominique waved her arms in spite of the pain, hoping to convince Gall, "I scared the hell out of that bear, don't you get it? I do have powerful medicine. I just didn't want you to know about it. You shouldn't argue with a powerful person like me. It's bad medicine. Let me take care of Spotted Feather. I'm the one she hurt so I should be the one to carry out her punishment. I demand the right to be in charge of her." She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes, daring him to disagree.
Gall worked at his sternest expression, but his eyebrows wavered between confusion and amusement. Women, white women in particular, never spoke to him in such a manner, never dared even to think the thoughts this one had just voiced. He ought to banish her along with Spotted Feather. It was his duty to teach her a very important lesson: to hold her busy, busy tongue. But as he stared at her, at the determination in her big brown eyes, he knew he would never be able to do it. How did Redfoot manage with this one?
Gall broke into a grin and slowly shook his head. "I fear I am growing old when I cannot deal firmly with a silly white woman. I fear also that I did not wish my son nearly enough luck for his future with you. He has chosen your name well, crazy one."
Dominique let his last remark slide, knowing she would have to figure out what to do about this "marriage" before Jacob returned. Instead, she addressed the business at hand. "Then you agree? Spotted Feather is mine to punish?"
"Against all the Lakota stand for, yes. I give her to you to do with as you please. But understand this—I will not hear any of your complaints regarding her again."
"It's a deal." Dominique stuck out her hand, but the big Indian merely cocked his eyebrow. She withdrew the offer, then leaned over and kissed his cheek instead. "May I go talk to her now and bring her back to camp?"
The naturally reddish hue of Gall's skin deepened to a rosy burgundy as he gruffly said, "Yes. Begone now, and do not speak to me of this again."
"Thanks, Chief," she said as she whirled around, feeling curiously lighthearted and happy.
Dominique hurried to the edge of camp, but as she approached the trees, she slowed her pace and quietly approached the dejected woman. Spotted Feather's legs were drawn up close to her chest, and her face was pressed between her knees.
Slowly sinking to the earth beside her, Dominique quietly said, "I think the clouds have finally rained themselves out, don't you?"
The Indian turned her head slightly. One large black eye stared at her visitor, widening with surprise, then she buried her face again.
"Ahhh." Dominique breathed a sigh. "Would you look at that sunset filtering through the storm clouds? Funny," she went on, talking as if she spoke to a rapt audience. "When I lived in Monroe, I hardly ever noticed the sunsets. Watching the sun come up over the water is the thing to do where I come from. Now it seems the farther west I get, the more dramatic and beautiful sunsets seem to be. I wonder what it must be like to watch the setting sun from the California coast. Why, it must be absolutely spectacular to see a fireball of sunlight dipping below the ocean waves, crashing and—"
"What do you want?" Spotted Feather cut in, her voice a dull, flat monotone.
Acknowledged at last, Dominique came right out with it. "Do you love Jacob? Is that why you tried to kill me?"
Her dark eyes suspicious and mistrustful, the Indian raised her head and stared at her enemy. Then, with a tiny shrug, she shot a wad of spittle near her foot and stared back down at the ground.
Dominique bristled. "You mean to tell me you shoved me in that river and damn near drowned me on the chance, the meager chance, that you might be in love with Jacob?"
Spotted Feather raised her head again, but kept her suddenly fearful gaze on the cottonwood trees. "No, no. I did it because I do love him."
"Well, I love him, too," Dominique said softly, surprising herself with the admission.
Anger and hurt flared in the Indian's black eyes. She raised her proud chin and said, "How you feel does not matter to me."
Dominique shrugged. "I can understand that. I'm not too crazy about you either. But what about Jacob? Doesn't the way he feels count for anything?"
Spotted Feather shot her a sideways glance, then bit her lip. "I do not know how he feels," she finally said in a low whisper. "We have never spoken of such things."
Her voice as low, but misted with tenderness, Dominique admitted, "I know how he feels. Jacob has told me he loves me."
The Indian's head whipped around, and tears sprang into her midnight eyes. She stared at Dominique for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her mouth, then looked away. "Redfoot is Lakota," she choked out. "He needs a Lakota wife. You cannot make him happy the way I could."
"Jacob is also a white man. I admit that I don't know much about making any man happy, but maybe neither of us can meet all of the needs of a man like Jacob."
More dejected than ever, Spotted Feather stared down at her thumbs. Then her eyes brightened as a new solution occurred to her. "Perhaps the only way for him to be happy is to take two brides. One red and one white."
"Ah—no, dear. I don't think so." Dominique reached out to the Indian and rested her hand on her knee. "As long as there is still some craziness left in me, and since I seem to be married to Jacob, I'm the only wife he's going to have. I wouldn't wager your moccasins on things being any other wa
y."
Spotted Feather frowned, then looked away and sighed. "It does not matter anyway. I am banished and cannot live with my people any longer."
Dominique swallowed hard, knowing the next thing she said might open the doors to more danger for herself, knowing also that if she didn't do so, she could never live with the guilt of Spotted Feather's death. "Your banishment is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I have spoken to Chief Gall, and he has given me permission to bring you back into the camp."
Spotted Feather jerked her knee from under Dominique's hand, and moved away. "You lie, white dog. Father will never let me return to our people. Why do you lie so?"
"Listen, lady," Dominique said, the embers of her own temper sparking, "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling me all those dog names—in fact, I must insist that you stop. The chief pretty much said that I could do with you as I pleased. Your punishment is up to me."
"This is true?" the surprised woman said through a rush of breath. At Dominique's affirmative nod, the squaw's voice took on a note of disbelief. "And my punishment? What is my punishment to be?"
"I really haven't thought about that." She leveled a thoughtful gaze on the Indian and said, "I think I'll just sentence you to being nice to me for as long as I'm part of this camp. No more names, no more laughing and saying nasty things about me, and most definitely, no more making me tan hides and fetch water. Sound fair?"
Spotted Feather's mouth dropped open and again her incredulous eyes became moist with tears. She turned away from the white woman, at a loss for words, unwilling to let Dominique see the weakness controlling her.