Savage Winter

by Constance O'Banyon

  Windhawk heard his mother’s movements and sat up. He watched her approach, knowing something must be wrong because she would never come to his lodge in the middle of the night unless there was a good reason.

  “Joanna is having your baby, my son. She is in much pain…I fear it is very bad.”

  Windhawk stood up and turned his back, lowering his voice so Red Bird wouldn’t overhear. “You mean she is having the long knife’s baby,” he whispered.

  Sun Woman took his arm and turned him back to face her. “My foolish son. Joanna never lay with the long knife. The baby she is having is yours.”

  “That is not true! Did not the white woman tell me that Joanna had been with the white man?”

  Sun Woman felt anger at her son’s blind pride, but now was not the time to argue the point. “I have come to you to ask if you want me to save Joanna or the child? The baby is turned wrong.”

  She heard the sharp intake of Windhawk’s breath, and he reached out and gripped her by the arm. “Are you saying that Joanna might die?”

  “Yes, you must choose which one you want me and Swift Walker to save…Joanna or your baby? The choice belongs to you alone. You must tell me what to do.”

  Windhawk turned his back and lowered his head. He had never faced a more important choice, and he had never felt less able to make a decision. His mother wouldn’t understand his reasoning just now; to her, Joanna’s unborn child was the grandchild she had long awaited. He would never sacrifice Joanna’s life for the long knife’s child!

  “You know what to do, my mother. Save Joanna,” he said in a painful whisper.

  “No!” Red Bird cried out, coming up beside Sun Woman. “Save the baby! I will be a mother to the child. Allow the white woman to die!”

  Windhawk spun around and grabbed Red Bird by the hair and yanked her forward. “You have no say in this, woman! Go to Joanna and save her life, my mother.”

  Sun Woman nodded and made a hasty retreat while Windhawk still held Red Bird in a painful grasp. “Never dare to interfere in my life again. I did not want you here. I took pity on you and allowed you to enter my lodge because you said it would cause you shame if I did not. I do not like to look upon your face. Go from me!”

  Red Bird was raging inside. “You dare to pity me—Red Bird, daughter of a great chief?”

  “I grow weary of hearing what a great chief your father is. I will talk to you no more. Go from my sight,” Windhawk said in a deadly calm voice.

  Suddenly Red Bird felt fear; she pulled free of Windhawk’s grasp and backed away. She had heard about the effect Windhawk could have on people when he was angry with them, but this was the first time she had witnessed it herself. It was strange—he didn’t even raise his voice, and still she felt terrified of him.

  Windhawk walked out of the lodge and stopped before his mother’s tipi. He wanted to enter, and yet he feared to. He was filled with silent rage that the baby of the long knife might be killing his Joanna. He was glad the child wouldn’t live, but there was fear in his heart that Joanna might yet die.

  He heard footsteps crunching on the frozen snow and looked up to see Farley approaching.

  “I have word that Joanna is having your baby,” the old man said.

  “She is having the white man’s baby,” Windhawk answered angrily.

  Farley’s eyes narrowed in on Windhawk. “Come with me…I think it is time for you and me to talk.”

  “No, you have nothing to say that I would want to hear, old man.”

  “I think you will want to hear this. I am going to tell you the truth about Joanna and the long knife.” Farley walked away, knowing Windhawk would follow.

  When Windhawk entered Farley’s tipi, he saw that Tag was asleep. He sat down beside the old trapper and stared into the fire.

  “I want to hear about the long knife,” he said without looking at Farley.

  Farley placed more wood on the fire and then sat down. “It is not right that I must tell you this. You should know it in your heart. Joanna asked me not to tell you what happened to her, but I cannot keep quiet any longer and watch as the two of you tear each other apart.”

  Windhawk gave Farley a dark look. “I do not want a sermon, old man. If that is what you brought me here for, I will not stay. Tell me now about Joanna and the long knife, or I will leave.”

  Farley let out a long breath. “First, I will have to tell you about Claudia, the white woman. She has hated Joanna for as far back as I know. She is jealous because she wanted the long knife, but he loved Joanna and would not look at her as a woman.”

  “It would seem to me that the woman had much to be jealous of.”

  “Now, that’s where you are wrong,” Farley said, lapsing into his own brand of English. Windhawk gave him a warning glance, and he switched to Blackfoot. “Joanna was friendly to the long knife, Captain Thatcher, but she never loved him. He was good to her and Tag at a time when they needed a friend. If she had loved him, she would have married him at the fort a long time ago. In the white world, Captain Thatcher is very wealthy and has much to offer a woman, but Joanna chose you over him, as you will remember.”

  Windhawk looked skeptical. “Joanna ran away from me to be with him.”

  “No, that is not what happened at all. You know about the letter Joanna received, at least, what she thought was a letter from Captain Thatcher telling her he was in trouble and needed her help. The letter was actually from Joanna’s uncle. Claudia had written it so Joanna’s uncle could get her and Tag back. You know how her uncle controlled their life and caused them to run away in the first place.”

  Windhawk’s eyes veiled in thoughtfulness. “Yes, I know that Joanna was frightened of her uncle. But the long knife was with them when I found her.”

  “You will not want to accept this, but as I told you, the captain has been very good to Joanna and Tag. When Captain Thatcher feared Joanna’s uncle had captured her and Tag, he rode to Fort Union to try and help them. You have my word, he never laid a hand on Joanna, nor would she allow it if he had.”

  “If what you say is true, why would the white woman tell me Joanna had been with the long knife? Why did she tell me Joanna was going to have his child?” Windhawk asked, beginning to see that he might have been mistaken to believe the worst of Joanna. At the time, he had been so eaten up with jealousy that he had taken the white woman’s word as the truth.

  “As I told you, Claudia hates Joanna. She would do anything to hurt her. While Joanna was her uncle’s prisoner, she told Claudia of the love she had for you, and that she was carrying your baby. Think, Windhawk! Why would Claudia, who thought she was going to die by your hand, bother to tell you such lies? What woman who faced death would weave a web of untruths?”

  Windhawk shook his head. “I do not know the way a white woman thinks.”

  “In this case, I do,” the old man said. “Claudia thought she was going to die, and she wanted to punish Joanna. The only weapon she had at hand was Joanna’s love for you. It is a sad thing that her lies worked. You have helped Joanna’s worst enemy destroy her. You, the man who says he loves her and is supposed to protect her from all hurt, has been the instrument of her downfall.”

  Windhawk jerked his head back as if the old man had struck him. “I thought…”

  Farley cut him off. “I know you can count, Windhawk. How many moons does it take for a woman to deliver a baby? This baby can only be yours.”

  Windhawk stood up slowly. “May Napi grant me mercy! It is as you say. I have been the woman’s tool to harm Joanna.” Windhawk’s eyes were dark with grief.

  Farley nodded his head. “Joanna never betrayed you, Windhawk. It was you who turned away from her.”

  Windhawk looked at the old trapper. Everything that Farley said was true—he knew that now. “My punishment will come before this night is out, old man. The child I thought was not mine will die.”

  Farley stood and placed his hand on Windhawk’s arm. “I hope you will not suffer, but I am angry th
at you have done this to Joanna. It was you, not Joanna, who turned to another. It is you, not Joanna, who is guilty of betrayal. She wanted this child even though you did not claim to be the father. I was told by Swift Walker that Joanna might lose her life. If she does, I feel pity for you.” No one had dared speak to Windhawk with such disrespect, and Farley didn’t know how the young chief would take his words. He was unafraid as he watched Windhawk’s face darken. There was complete silence as Windhawk’s eyes rested on the old man.

  “I have not taken Red Bird to my mat. I could not…I did not want to.”

  “How was Joanna supposed to know that? Did you tell her?”

  Windhawk closed his eyes, then turned and left silently. He knew the old man had spoken the truth. Inside him, shame raged like a fever.

  He rushed across the village and entered his mother’s tipi, and his eyes fell on Joanna. Her eyes were closed, and she looked terribly pale. Windhawk’s eyes went to her stomach, and he saw that she had already delivered the child. He noticed his mother wasn’t in the tipi, but Swift Walker moved aside to allow Windhawk to approach Joanna.

  Going down on his knees, he touched her glorious red-gold hair. “Is she well?” Windhawk asked Swift Walker. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about the child, knowing the child whose life he hadn’t considered worth saving had been his own flesh and blood. He knew the child was now dead.

  “She has had a very hard time, my chief. She sleeps to regain her strength.”

  Windhawk stood up. “I will see the child now.” He knew he must see the dead child so he would have final proof of Joanna’s innocence. He despised himself because he needed that proof after what the old man had told him.

  Suddenly, the tipi flap was thrown aside, and his mother entered, carrying the baby wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes were unreadable as she walked over to him. “I went to your lodge to show you the child, but I did not find you there.”

  Windhawk felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He already knew the child was his. He didn’t want to know if it had been a boy or girl. He only knew he couldn’t bring himself to look on the face of his dead baby.

  “You see to the building of the funeral scaffold, my mother,” he said, moving to side-step Sun Woman. “Tell Gray Fox what you want, and he will attend to it for you,” he said, knowing he must be alone to deal with the emotions that were swelling his heart.

  “First, you will look on the face of your child, my son,” his mother insisted.

  His dark eyes locked with hers. “I cannot, my mother. I will not look on the dead face of…my child. Do not ask it of me.”

  Sun Woman nodded for Swift Walker to leave, and when she did she turned back to her son, blocking his exit. “So, you do admit that the child is yours?”

  Windhawk dropped his eyes. “Yes, have I not said so? Move out of my way!”

  “No, I will not move aside, my foolish son. It is time for you to face many truths.” Sun Woman pushed the blanket aside and, in spite of himself, Windhawk’s eyes were drawn to the face of the tiny infant.

  He was silent as his eyes moved over the dark hair so like his own. The child was dark-skinned, and its face was so beautiful in death that Windhawk felt tears wash down his face. As he reached out a trembling hand to touch the child, he drew back, not wanting to feel the coldness of death on his own flesh and blood. This was the child he had wanted so badly. This was the child whom he had condemned to death!

  His eyes were grief-stricken as he looked at his mother. “I do not ever want to hear if this child was a boy or girl. Never, as long as you live, tell me if this child was my son or my daughter,” he said in a painful whisper.

  Sun Woman whipped the covers from the child, and before Windhawk could look away he saw that the child was naked, and that it was the son he had always wanted. An agonized cry rose from deep inside him, but he wouldn’t allow it to pass his lips. Hot, unashamed tears washed freely down his face. With a trembling hand, he reached out to touch the soft black hair on his son’s head, but he drew away, feeling overwhelming grief and guilt. How easily he had condemned his son to death last night. Even now, looking on the face of the dead child, he knew he would have made the same decision. He would never have given the order that would allow Joanna to die.

  “This is my punishment,” he whispered, as his hand moved down to pick up the small limp hand of his son.

  “I do not think so, my son. Though you do not deserve it, I think this child is your reward,” his mother said, smiling brightly.

  Windhawk’s heart contracted when he felt the warmth of the child’s tiny hand. His son was not dead!

  He picked the child up in his arms and smiled down at him through his tears. The baby stretched and opened his eyes, and Windhawk’s heart swelled with fatherly love and pride. His hands were still trembling when he raised his son to his face, feeling the soft skin against his. Unbelievable love washed through his body.

  Joanna had given him a son!

  Laying the baby down beside the warm fire, Windhawk examined the sturdy little body to make sure the child was perfect. Sun Woman knelt down beside him, looking like the proud grandmother she was.

  “My prayers have been answered—Napi was kind. This day I have held the son of my son in my arms and watched him take his first breath.”

  Windhawk could hear the pride in his mother’s voice and knew she was feeling much the same as he.

  “I thought you could save but one of them?”

  “When I returned from seeing you, Joanna was in constant pain, and I thought we would lose both her and the child. I thought I would try one more time to turn the child, and I was able to do so.”

  Windhawk saw the tears sparkle in his mother’s eyes. The only other times he had seen his mother cry were when his father had died and when she had thought Morning Song and Joanna had been killed. He wrapped the child up warmly and handed him to his mother.

  Sun Woman watched him move across the tipi to kneel beside Joanna.

  Windhawk took Joanna’s limp hand and held it to his lips. As his eyes moved over every feature of her beautiful face, he felt a tightening in his chest. Her dark lashes rested against her pale cheek, and her flaming hair fanned out about her. His eyes moved down to her breasts, which were swollen with milk to feed his son. He felt such a deep hurt, knowing how he had tormented her.

  The old man had been right. Joanna hadn’t betrayed him; he was the betrayer for not believing in her. How could he have believed that white woman’s lies when he knew Joanna had always been truthful with him?

  When he thought of all she had been through alone, he felt ashamed. She had been his woman to love and care for, yet he had abandoned her when she needed him most, and she had been forced to walk alone.

  He knew that he would have to prove himself worthy of her before she would ever look at him with the eyes of love. Bending down, he kissed her soft lips and then stood up.

  “Take care of them both, my mother,” he said, walking out into the early morning sunlight. He felt the newness of the day—it was as if everything had been reborn. He was like a man who was told he was going to die only to find he had been granted life!

  The baby began to fret, and Sun Woman rocked it gently in her arms while softly crooning an old Blackfoot lullaby, feeling her heart overflow with love for the child. Soon the baby fell asleep, and she laid him beside Joanna.

  Sun Woman saw that Joanna was still in a deep sleep. “Sleep well, my daughter,” she whispered. “You have walked a long way alone, but my son will see that your days are happy from now on.”

  Sun Woman knew that her son would have much trouble winning Flaming Hair, but it would do him good to have to prove his worth to Joanna. Sometimes he was much too arrogant for his own good, she thought.

  She felt guilty for the part she had played in sending Red Bird to her son’s lodge. Her lips curled into a smile. Red Bird would soon be sent from the chief’s lodge. Sun Woman knew Joanna would never turn to Windhawk as long
as that woman was in his lodge!

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Joanna held her tiny dark-skinned son in her arms, smiling at the way he cuddled up to her. She kissed his soft cheek, loving him in the very depths of her heart.

  Tag took the small hand in his and looked at it in amazement. “He’s so little, Joanna,” he said in an awed voice.

  Sun Woman looked over Tag’s shoulder and grinned. “He might be small, but his cry would awaken the dead.”

  “May I hold him?” Tag asked hopefully, while Morning Song looked on, waiting her turn to hold her nephew.

  Joanna placed the baby in his arms, and Tag smiled brightly. “I guess I never thought about the baby being a real person. It is hard for me to realize I am an uncle,” he said, looking at the long black hair that was so soft to the touch. He felt choked up and hoped he wasn’t going to cry and shame himself in front of everyone.

  Windhawk had entered silently—the others were unaware that he had come into the tipi, but Joanna could feel his presence. She gazed up at him, and their eyes locked. She couldn’t read the message in his dark eyes, but she hoped he could read the anger in hers.

  He walked slowly toward Joanna, never once taking his eyes off her. “I am glad to see there is color in your cheeks this morning, Joanna,” he said.

  “Have you seen my son?” she asked pointedly, in a voice that dared him to deny the child was his.

  His dark eyes clouded over, and he nodded. “I saw my son last night.”

  She raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing. Watching Windhawk drop to his knees, she held her breath at the soft look that came into his eyes when he looked down at his infant son.

  “He looks like you, Windhawk,” Tag said, handing the tiny infant to his father.

  “This is true,” Sun Woman agreed. “This is exactly the way Windhawk looked as a baby.”