“I have my gun, and you could come with me,” I insisted.
“You are talking crazy! This is our farm. Why would I want to leave? I am not the one having to marry someone I never met. Besides, with the Indians attacking travelers, it would be too dangerous anyway. Just don’t set your stakes, Connie, you might have to pull them,” Emmet advised, and then gave me a smile. “Who knows, you may end up falling in love with that woman’s son,” he winked.
“I doubt it,” I sighed.
The thought of Muraco came to mind, and I was not sure anyone could attract me in the same way he had. Only he was a Kiowa Indian, and there was no way in heaven I could ever get entangled with an Indian, no matter how much I was attracted to him. I realized I was missing him more than I had expected. His dark eyes seemed to haunt me still.
The days followed, one another, with the regularity they always had, filled with normal daily activities and evenings sitting around the fireplace, talking over the days events and hopes about the future. We tried not to talk about father bringing home a bride, because it upset Darie. She could not imagine anyone taking Mother’s place, and she resented father for having forgotten our mother so much, that he wished some other woman to take her place.
Nigel never mentioned it, after that first day we read father’s letters. I think he was pretending like it wasn’t going to happen, or maybe he believed that father would change his mind, once he got to Dodge and met the woman in person. Only I knew a proposal was a difficult thing to back out of, once offered. Even if that woman’s first choice had turned her down, father was a man of his word.
I could not think of them as Bertha and Clinton. They were always ‘that woman and her son’, in my mind. She had sent father a photograph of her and her son, but it was one she had taken when she was young, and her son was only ten. She probably could not afford to have a new likeness taken of her, I decided. She was pretty enough, but that had been several years ago, I reasoned. Her son was now older than I was, no longer that ten-year-old boy standing stiffly at his mother’s side in the tintype, that had been enclosed in one of the letters sent to father.
The day that we could not hold at bay, finally arrived, and Sport, our spaniel, started barking, long before the buggy and wagon reached the yard. Therefore, we were all standing in the front yard, awaiting the dreaded arrival.
Emmet stood with his arms folded across his chest, while Nigel stood listlessly beside him. I had my arm over Darie’s shoulder, as the buggy and wagon pulled down the drive, with the crunching of wheels against gravel, and the clop of horse’s hooves, coming to a halt. The buggy pulled up first, concealing its passengers, since it was an enclosed affair. The wagon followed, driven by a stranger, which I assumed must be Clinton. He was not a bad looking man, but I already had my mind set not to like him. After all, he came from Dodge, which was a wild, lawless town. No decent person would prefer to live there, I reasoned.
We all waited, not saying a word or moving forward to greet father, which was unusual for us, since all other times, we were eager to see our father, and discover what he had brought back. I think he could tell something was amiss, when we all stood stoically in a row, watching his approach, instead of rushing forward. I am sure he expected us to be excited about the new buggy, and anxious to greet him, after his long absence.
I glanced up at the man sitting on the bench of the wagon, appraising me with bold looking eyes. They sparked green at me, as the sun caught against them, when he removed his hat, giving me a half smile, but I quickly looked in the other direction. In one instance, I had sized him up, and decided I did not like what I saw, regardless of his good looks.
He looked rugged with a few day’s growth of a beard hiding his features. He came from a town that was notorious for being wild and untamed, so what did I expect? He had put his battered hat back on his head, and it now shaded his eyes, so I could barely see what color they were. He looked tall and lank, sitting there, with his foot resting on the wagon brake, as he began wrapping the reins around the brake handle.
I noticed that a new horse was pulling the buggy, and I was wondering how much money father had spent on everything. I thought our finances had been running lower than usual, since the stream was not giving up as much gold as it had in the past. However, I knew nothing about the amount of gold father actually had.
Finally, the door of the buggy was flung open, and father stepped down. He was wearing a new set of clothes, and I could tell as soon as I saw him, that he was feeling nervous.
“Why are you all standing like bumps on a log?” he asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me home again, safe and sound?”
“Who’s the man driving the wagon?” I asked, standing my ground.
“Someone who has come to help us work the farm,” father replied.
“We don’t need an extra hand.” It was Emmet making the statement.
“Well, that decision is not up to you, son,” father replied. “I have some news for you.” He held the buggy door open, and reached his hand in, helping Bertha down from the enclosure. We all stood with flat expressions on our faces, as father helped her disembark.
“I hate to break it to you this way, children, but I have brought home a new wife. This is Bertha, and that is her son Clint, sitting up on the wagon. They will be part of our family now, and I want you to welcome them and show them your best manners.”
I took in the woman, now my step mother, with resentful eyes. She was nervously smiling at us. No one said anything. Father was probably expecting a shocked response from us, or even some sort of protest, but no one moved. We merely stared at father and his new bride.
She was thin, and her hair was immaculately arranged into a modern hairdo. She wore an expensive looking dress. Her face was a distant resemblance to the photograph I had seen of her. Even so, her eyes looked unfeeling, and I could not read them. Her son didn’t look anything like that young boy who had been standing beside her, all those years ago, when the photograph had been taken.
“How could you?” Darie finally broke the silence. “You said no one could ever take mother’s place!” She didn’t wait for an answer. She merely bolted forward, darting past father and ran for the barn.
“I know it may seem sudden to all of you, but I have been corresponding with Bertha for a year now. I just wanted to meet her first before I informed you of my plans to marry her. She is here now, and is my wife, so there will be no complaints coming from you. She’s a good woman and you need to make her feel welcome in our home, since both she and her son will be living here from now on.”
I wondered how he could call her a good woman since she had worked for the last ten years as a Hurdy-Gurdy Girl, taking strange men to her breast, and then expecting to marry into a respectable family.
“There’s not enough rooms in the house for extra guests,” Emmet said flatly.
“We will make room. Darie can double up with Connie in her room. The same as Nigel doubles with you. Of course, Bertha will be sharing my room, and Clint can have Darie’s room.
“She is not going to like that,” I mumbled. “We built this house for the five of us. It’s not fair that Darie be put out of her room. If you want, you can take my room. I would rather sleep in the barn anyway,” I stated, and then I turned and went into the house.
“You will do no such thing!” my father called after me, but I was not listening.
I stormed up to my room, and started stuffing my clothes and personal items into a satchel. I really didn’t care, because I did not plan to remain here after the winter anyway, I told myself.
When I came back down, with two satchels, one in each hand, father, Emmet, Nigel and Clinton were all bringing the supplies into the house.
“I got you some material to make a new dress with,” my father said, as he grabbed my arm and stopped my progress. “Be reasonable, Connie. Bertha and her son are fine people. You need to give them a chance.”
“I don’t want to make a new dress,” I s
aid, shrugging my arm from his hold. “You come home and spring this on us, without any warning? I would be more shocked, but we have already had time to think about your selfish plans, without even consulting us! I found her letters in your chest of drawers, when I was cleaning, so this is not a sudden shock.
“Had it been, I probably would not even be speaking to you right now. It is merely confirmation that you don’t consider us family, if you couldn’t even discuss your proposed plans with us and see what we thought about it, before you took off to collect your bride, who by the way, can’t be a fine woman since she has been working as a Hurdy-Gurdy girl!”
I gave her a stony glare, and then turned back to father. “You have known for a long time what your plans were, and you never said a word!”
“You read my private mail?” father growled at me, giving me an angry scowl.
“Don’t act betrayed, father. There was an innocent reason that we did it, but you are the one who betrayed us, by making plans to bring a strange woman home with you, and then expecting us to welcome her with open arms, knowing full well the kind of woman she really was. Are you so desperate to have a woman in your bed, that you would bring the likes of her home?”
Father’s look became even stonier. “I am still the father here, and I make the decisions around this place, in case you are starting to believe that you run things, just because I have let you be in charge of the farm and family. You don’t need to play the mother any longer, Connie. You can start thinking about raising your own family, instead of being mother to your brothers and sister.”
“I’m not going to have my own family, because I never plan to get married, so now you can just let your new son run things, because I wash my hands of it. As soon as spring comes, I’m going back to Missouri and live with Aunt Sally and Uncle Ted!” I hissed, and then marched out of the house.
“Don’t you speak to me in that tone of voice,” father called after me. “You will not be going anywhere, so just put that thought right out of your head!”
When I reached the barn, I found Darie sitting and petting Hope, as tears ran down her face.
“I can’t believe he married someone else,” she murmured, when she saw me enter the barn.
“There is nothing we can do about it now. I’m moving out here, since Clinton will be using my room now. You will just have to be brave,” I told her. Maybe, when the time came, I would bring her with me, I thought.
As we spoke, the barn door opened, and I could see the shadow of a man standing with the light behind his back. At first, I thought it was Emmet, but when he stepped inside the barn, I could see it was Clinton.
“Go in the house,” I said to Darie, as I gave her a push.
I wanted to make sure that Clinton understood that I did not want to become his friend, or anything close to it.
When the door closed behind Darie, Clinton stepped closer.
“I can understand you being upset,” he said lamely, as he looked down at me.
He was taller than I had figured.
“Yes, I am upset, and anything you say is not going to change it,” I responded.
“I was hoping we could become friends,” he stated, letting his eyes, which seemed too intense in color, rove over me.
“We aren’t going to be acquainted long enough to become friends,” I informed him. “I’m going back to Missouri as soon as the snow melts.”
“You can’t do that. Your father wants you to remain here on the farm. He built this place for you and your brothers and sister. He wants to see his grandchildren born here, and the farm to expand. Why would you just up and leave him, simply because he married my mother?”
“It was the way he did it! We read his letters he got from your mother, and there is no way he is going to give me to you to be your wife, so you can just put that thought right out of your head, if that is what you were counting on!”
I stared boldly up at him.
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat.
“Well, I’m not putting it out of my mind. Your father promised you to me. He wants us all to be a family, and this way he can keep his family around him. Where else are you going to find a husband? You aren’t so young any longer, and won’t have as many birthing years ahead of you, if you wait much longer.”
“I don’t want a husband. I don’t plan to marry, so you can just find yourself another girl to marry,” I said flatly. “…and birth your babies,” I added with a sneer.
“You have no say in this matter,” he stated. “Your father is not going to allow you to leave, and so you have no other choice but to marry me. However, I’ll give you time to get used to the idea, so don’t worry. By spring, you will have changed your mind,” he predicted.
“Never!” I growled back. “So you can just leave me now, and tell my father I will never marry you, even if he ties me up and tries to force me!”
Clinton only chuckled. “We’ll see about that, is all he said, and then he left the barn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Muraco urged Helaku forward. His worry for his tribe was strong, but something just as strong seemed to hold his thoughts even tighter. All he could see was the shining face of Pi au-dau , which filled his head, his heart, and his very soul.
He was sure the star-men had sent her to earth directly to him. Why else had his horse brought him there when he needed someone’s help? The moment his eyes had settled on her face, he knew he could love none other but her. However, she was a white woman. The only way he could actually have her was to capture her against her will. Somehow, he felt he could never force her to come with him. She had to want to come with him, he told himself.
His future was unknown, if what she told him was true. He had to see for himself what had happened to his tribe. Even though he wanted to take that heaven-woman and care for her, maybe she was right. Perhaps there was nothing to go back to. How could his life suddenly change so drastically pulling him between his loyalty to his people, and his love for the woman who saved his life?
Muraco guided his horse southward, back down towards the Canadian river, where the tribes usually camped over the winter. He wondered how many of his people, and the Comanche people, had been slaughtered. He thought about Islandman and how the Osage had come upon the Kiowa when he was Chief, and had killed most of the women and children. Now the white man had done the same thing.
Only Dohasan had not run and hid, like Islandman. He protected his people and tried to fight back. Only that terrible white man’s weapon was too powerful to fight against, he thought.
Absently, he touched the spot where the white man’s fire ball had pierced his shoulder. However, he could only feel the gentleness of Pi au-dau ’s fingers, tending to his wounds. He wondered how he could even go on without the softness of her touch?
His trusted pony brought him back to the familiar territory. Helaku seemed to sense they were headed back, and he seemed eager to return to where the remnants of the disbanded tribes had gathered.
Muraco’s eyes searched the banks of the river, and saw signs of campfire smoke snaking its way up into the sky. He urged Helaku onward. When he finally arrived, he could see that the Comanche and Kiowa had joined in the same camp, he had ridden to, to plea for help to fight the white soldiers off. There were a lot more people than the teepees could hold, he thought, but there was no way they could get new hides to build more shelters.
Muraco could see that some of the tribe had resorted to making lean-to’s built over dug out holes, to protect them over the winter, but he also knew there probably wasn’t enough food to feed all the survivors, if the soldiers had destroyed their winter store. This meant they may be forced to raid near by ranches and farms, if hunting was slim, which would mean more white soldiers coming to get revenge. The white people would also be looking for winter game, and it seemed like the competition with the whites was becoming more and more difficult to overcome.
Little Mountain greeted Muraco with open arms.
“We thought you to be dead,” he told his nephew when he strode up to Muraco, as he jumped down from his pony.
“I would have, but a young, beautiful white woman saved my life. I tried to convince her to come with me, but she is afraid of our ways. She knows how our camp was burned, and our store of food destroyed. How will we survive the winter?”
“We will have to rely on the Great Mystery to guide us,” Little Mountain told White Moon.”
“Then there will be no raiding?” White Moon asked, not believing that Little Mountain would back down to the white man.
“I cannot risk our entire tribe being wiped out,” Little Mountain murmured. “If we survive the winter, I will have to try to make peace with the White Leaders once again.”
“But they have been pushing us from our land,” White Moon grumbled.
Little Mountain gave him a long stern glare. It was not White Moon’s place to criticize the Main Chief of the tribe, even if he was an uncle, and White Moon’s eyes fell in humility. Little Mountain put his hand on White’s Moon’s shoulder.
“It is not easy making decisions that will benefit our people. Every time we bend to the white man’s demands, they make even more demands of us. Soon we will be living on a little patch of ground, where no buffalo, or other game roam, and it will be left to the white man to feed us. Then all our self-dignity will be gone. Maybe someday, you will become a leader and make better choices, but for now, I have no choice but to give in, or face annihilation.”
Anger rose up into White Moon’s soul, but he knew rebelling would only mean death, not only to him, but to many other Indians that the white man wished did not even exist on the face of the earth.
Mother Earth had once sheltered the Indian, and fed them, but now she was being torn apart by a people who had no respect for her, or the Red man’s ways. He thought, wistfully about Constance’s offer to have him live in the cave over the winter, but that would be giving up his independence, and accepting the white man’s way of living.
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