Savage Winter

by Constance O'Banyon

  She had no idea how Windhawk and Tag had found her. She couldn’t even guess how Windhawk felt about having to kill Red Bird. He hadn’t spoken over two words to her before he left to take Red Bird’s body home to her village.

  Sun Woman fed her some thin broth and ordered her to rest while she sat beside her, crooning softly to Little Hawk. Morning Song and Tag came to kneel beside Joanna, and she smiled weakly at them before closing her eyes.

  “What happened?” she heard Sun Woman ask in a low voice.

  “I am not sure,” Tag whispered. “No one but Joanna can tell us what happened.”

  “I am glad Joanna and the baby are unhurt,” Morning Song said, leaning over and touching the baby’s soft face to make sure he was all right.

  Joanna’s eyes opened, but they felt so heavy they drifted shut again, and she felt as if she were floating on an endless sea. Too much had happened too fast, and she didn’t want to think about it right now. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, and perhaps when she awoke tomorrow, she would find it had all been a bad dream.

  Red Bird’s body had been wrapped in a buffalo robe and lashed to a travois. Windhawk mounted Puh Pom and gathered up the travois horse’s reins and rode out of the village. No one who watched his departure would miss Red Bird. There was much speculation about what had happened, but no one knew for sure.

  Windhawk stared straight ahead, feeling a numbness wash over him. Today he had watched as Red Bird had tried to kill his beloved. He had felt so helpless when he had realized what was happening. He had thought he was too far away to help Joanna and had feared she would die before he could reach her.

  No one would believe him if he told them that he had been over a hundred horse-lengths away from Red Bird when he had shot his arrow. The shot had caught her in the heart, and he knew Napi must have guided his hand. He had never made such a true shot before, and he doubted that he ever would again.

  If Joanna had died because of Red Bird, it would have been his fault for bringing the Piegan woman into his village. He had the urge to turn his horse around and ride back to his mother’s tipi to assure himself that Joanna was alive. Joanna had been in a state of shock when he had taken her back to the village, but he had been, too. He had wanted to cry out to her that he loved her, but he had remained silent.

  A shudder shook his tall frame, and he nudged Puh Pom into a gallop. He wanted to reach the Piegan village quickly, so that he could return home. He didn’t know what Joanna was thinking, but he was riddled with guilt. Perhaps it would be better if he were to let her go. She was no longer happy living with his people. The thought of never seeing her again was so painful to him that he felt a tear roll down his cheek. He thought of his son. Would he be able to let Joanna leave him and take their son?

  Windhawk was an even more extraordinary man than the legends about him suggested. He had strength of character. When he knew something was right, he would do what he had to—and now he knew that he would have to let Joanna go…because it was right!

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Three months had passed since Windhawk had been forced to slay Red Bird. The Piegan woman’s death seemed to stand between him and Joanna like an open wound.

  Each day Windhawk would come to his mother’s tipi to see his son. At those times, he paid very little attention to Joanna. Sometimes she would feel him watching her, but not once had he spoken directly to her.

  Joanna had become restless, wondering what would happen between her and Windhawk. She realized that they couldn’t go on indefinitely acting as if there had never been anything between them. For some reason, she had become shy in Windhawk’s presence. She thought perhaps her shyness came from knowing she had wronged him, or perhaps it was because of the deep love she carried in her heart for him.

  It seemed the whole village watched and waited to see what would happen between their chief and his woman. Joanna often saw the people watching her, but not one of them questioned her about Windhawk, and no one ever spoke about Red Bird’s death in front of her.

  Joanna had no way of knowing that Windhawk was wrestling with himself, believing it would be best for her if he were to take her back to her own people. He just couldn’t seem to bring himself to the final act of allowing her to leave. He was content for now to let things go on as they were, thinking the alternative would be to never see her again. He wasn’t ready to deal with that right now. He realized he might only be postponing the inevitable, but each day he would put off making any decision about sending her away.

  The weather had turned warmer, and the snow had melted weeks ago. Along the river there were patches of green grass, and Joanna found several scattered wildflowers growing in the woods.

  Joanna now had plenty of time to reflect on her situation. She knew that Windhawk had not been unfaithful to her with Red Bird. She remembered Red Bird’s telling her that Windhawk still loved her. There was no evidence of that love now. Perhaps it had been just one more cruel way for the Piegan woman to hurt her. She wondered each day where her life would go from here. She loved Windhawk and wanted nothing more than to be his wife.

  Two jealous women were responsible for the trouble between her and Windhawk. They had been torn apart not only by Claudia’s hateful lies, but also by Red Bird’s interference. Joanna realized that it was her fault for allowing outsiders to manipulate her life. If she had insisted on telling Windhawk the truth about the baby when he had rescued her from her uncle, they would both have been spared so much pain. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on the way she was living now. Each time she saw Windhawk, her eyes followed him hungrily. She noticed everything about him: how tall and proud he carried himself, the way his muscles rippled across his broad shoulders when he walked. She would feel herself quivering inside when he looked at her with his soft, dark eyes.

  Joanna knew what she needed from him; she just didn’t know how to go about getting what she wanted. He was a proud man, and he might never come to her. She was an equally proud woman, and she would not be the one to reach out first.

  Tag had led his horse down to the river to drink. He glanced upward, and his eyes followed the last dying embers of the sun, which reflected off the restless river and turned it the color of a burning lava flow he had once seen in a book.

  He sat down on the riverbank, lost in thought. He was now a member of the Blackfoot tribe in every way that counted. He tried to remember the face of his father, but it was no more than a vague memory. His mother’s face was a bit more clear to him, but that, too, was no more than a shadow.

  Tag thought of his Uncle Howard and tried to feel the anger he had once felt toward the man who had stolen his birthright from him, but even that was difficult. How little importance he now placed on what was lost to him in Philadelphia.

  He watched as his horse raised its head and tossed its mane, shaking off a horsefly. This was where he belonged. Everyone he loved was here in this village. He wanted so much to be like Windhawk and live as a Blackfoot. He thought of Joanna and her constant drilling, teaching, and reminding him that he was not a Blackfoot, always making sure he remembered he had a destiny to fulfill.

  By now, the sky had turned a deep purple and cast a dark glow in the west. He laid his head back on the grass that was just starting to show the first signs of spring. He could feel the river’s tranquil effect, and his body began to relax. How could anyone want more than what he had found among the Blackfoot tribe?

  His thoughts then transferred to Windhawk’s sister, Morning Song. Something was different in the way he felt about her. “I have not changed—I am still the same Tag,” he told himself. But he was changing, and so was the way that he looked at Morning Song.

  Morning Song walked up beside Tag. It was as if thinking about her had made her appear.

  “Why do you sit here alone, Tag?” she asked, dropping down beside him on the grass.

  He watched as the soft breeze ruffled Morning Song’s long ebony hair and felt a tightening in his chest
. “I like to come here when it is quiet as it is now. I do my best thinking when I am alone.”

  Morning Song got to her feet, thinking Tag was trying to tell her he wanted to be alone. “I am sorry. I did not realize that you wanted your solitude. Please, forgive me for disturbing you.”

  Tag reached up and took her hand. “I did not mean for you to leave. Stay with me for a while, Morning Song. I would like to talk to you.”

  She sat back down and gazed at the river. “Were you thinking about the white world, Tag?”

  “Yes, in a way…I was thinking about how much I love it here. I feel like this is my home now.”

  Morning Song’s heart was gladdened at his words. She hoped he was saying he would be content to stay with her people and not return to the white world that had once beckoned to him.

  “I know there are many in the village who care much about you, Tag.”

  He sat up and smiled slightly. “Are you one of those who care about me, Morning Song?” he asked in a half-teasing, half-serious voice.

  She ducked her head to avoid his eyes. “Yes, I care, Tag,” she replied in a soft, quiet voice that hardly reached his ears.

  Suddenly, Tag needed to hear her admit that she thought of him as more than a friend. He now knew why he had been feeling so many strange emotions about Morning Song. He loved her…not as a friend, not as a sister, but something more! He couldn’t explain even to himself what he was feeling. Joanna would probably say he was too young to feel love for a girl, but Tag knew that love was exactly the emotion he was experiencing for Morning Song.

  “Do you care about me as a brother, or perhaps a friend, Morning Song?” he asked, leaning closer to her.

  “No, Tag. There was a time when I thought of you as a brother, but no more,” she said, raising her dark eyes to look at him.

  “I do not understand,” he said, thinking how all the young braves talked about Morning Song’s beauty. He knew they went out of their way to talk to her, each thinking he could win a smile from her. Lately it had begun to bother him that his friends wanted to pay court to her. Now he knew why—he had been jealous!

  “I…think I should go back to my mother, Tag,” she said, standing up.

  Tag sprang to his feet and stood in front of her. He would settle this thing that had been gnawing at his insides for many weeks. He needed to discover how she felt about him so he would know if he had reason to believe she cared for him as he did for her.

  She stood very still as he reached out his hand and softly touched her face. His hand then drifted down to lightly touch her trembling lips. “Do you think of me as a man?” he wanted to know.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Tag felt as if his heart would burst with joy. He cupped her face between his hands and pulled her closer to rest his cheek against hers. “That is good, Morning Song, because I think of you as a very beautiful woman.” He now felt a new uneasiness, a strange urge from deep inside him. He leaned forward and dipped his head to touch her mouth ever so softly with his own.

  It was a sweet, tender kiss: the kiss of love’s first innocent awakening.

  Morning Song felt a warm glow move throughout her body. She couldn’t believe that she was actually in Tag’s arms and he was kissing her. She loved him so much it was almost painful to her.

  Tag raised his head and stepped back a pace as their eyes met. He would never look at Morning Song as a little girl again, but as the maiden he loved!

  Tag lowered his head and looked down into Morning Song’s lovely face. He had been totally unprepared for the warm feelings the touch of her soft body had awakened in him. He wanted to stay with her forever, protecting her from harm and keeping all the other young warriors away from her. The realization that he wanted no one else to love her came as a shock to him!

  The love of a girl was a new emotion to Tag and had come upon him unexpectedly. Not knowing how to handle this new, all-consuming emotion, he smiled and hugged her tightly to him.

  “Do you feel as I do, Morning Song? Do you feel as if the stars are so close you could reach up and touch them with your hand?”

  She rested her face against his buckskin shirt. “Yes, Tag…oh yes!”

  “Come, Morning Song, I will walk you back to the village,” he said in a soft voice, thinking he didn’t know what else to say to her at this time.

  Unknown to Tag and Morning Song, Windhawk stood on the hill above them viewing the scene between the two young people. A smile came to his lips as he realized he had just witnessed love in its purest form. He turned and made his way back to his lodge, feeling he had lost the sweet, innocent love he and Joanna had once shared.

  Tag gathered up the reins of the horse and started up the path toward the village, holding Morning Song’s hand. “Did you know that tonight I have the honor of watching Windhawk’s horses?” he told her, not knowing what else to say.

  She nodded. “It is a great honor, Tag.”

  He was making small talk, afraid to talk about what had happened between him and Morning Song beside the river. Love was too new to him, and he didn’t yet know how to deal with the emotion.

  “All the warriors are going on the buffalo hunt in the morning. Windhawk said that I may go also.”

  “I had heard that,” she replied, wanting Tag to speak of the beautiful thing that had just happened between them. She realized he was feeling shy and smiled to herself, thinking there would be other days when they could talk about what had happened to them.

  “It is not usual for all the braves to be away from the village at the same time,” she said, playing his little game.

  “That is true, but we are fortunate—a large buffalo herd has been sighted no more than a short ride to the north. Should there be trouble, we could be here quickly.”

  When they arrived at the village, Tag walked Morning Song to her tipi. Not wanting to end their time together, he squeezed her hand. “I…we…I must go. The hour grows late, and I have to watch Windhawk’s horses.” In a daring act of courage, he leaned forward and quickly brushed her lips with his. He then bounded onto his horse and rode out of the village with his heart pounding in his ears. He would have all night to examine his feelings for Morning Song.

  When Tag rode into the village the next morning he was tired. The night before had been long and tedious. A coyote had spooked the herd, and he had spent most of the night rounding up the horses. His eyes felt heavy as he made his way to the tipi he now shared with Windhawk.

  His bed seemed to beckon to him, and he thought he would lie down for just a few moments. His eyes drifted shut, and he was soon in a deep sleep.

  Windhawk came into the lodge and saw Tag asleep. He smiled at the young boy, thinking it would be well for him to sleep, since he had been up all night. He picked up his spear and left quietly, knowing Tag would be disappointed when he awoke. There would be other days the boy could go on the buffalo hunt.

  Windhawk remembered the scene he had witnessed between Tag and Morning Song. The time would come when Tag and Morning Song would realize what had happened between them. Windhawk wondered if it was love…or merely a young boy and girl finding out about the attraction that can spark between them. He smiled slightly and mounted his horse.

  Farley had left Fort Union a week before. He was tired—these trips to the fort were getting harder on him all the time. He yearned for his own bed and the companionship of his Blackfoot friends.

  It was early morning, and his mount was still fresh, since he had just started out. His two pack horses were loaded down with supplies for Joanna. He smiled, thinking Joanna would be pleased with the blue print material he had gotten her as a surprise.

  Looking skyward, he gauged the position of the sun thinking he would be home by the noon hour.

  Suddenly, the instinct that had kept him alive for so many years told him something wasn’t right. He could sense something on the other side of the ridge just ahead of him.

  He dismounted and tied his three horses to a tree
. Silently, Farley made his way to the top of the ridge where he dropped to his knees behind the protection of a bush and peered down into a deep ravine.

  His breath came out in a low hiss when he saw a large number of Assiniboin warriors. What in tarnation were they doing this far west? Farley asked himself. Why had they come to Blackfoot territory?

  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. Sitting near the campfire, he saw what appeared to be two Cree warriors, which puzzled him further. He watched as one of the Cree stood up, and the Indian’s voice carried to him.

  “River Walker and my friends of the Assiniboin tribe, I say to you that today we will cover ourselves with glory. Before the sun sets, we will have defeated the Blackfoot and will have the scalp of their chief, Windhawk!”

  At that moment, Farley recognized the young warrior who had just spoken. He was one of the two Cree warriors whom he would never forget. Everything was clear to the old man now—there could be no mistake: The two Cree traveling with the Assiniboin were the same two who had killed She Who Heals, captured Joanna and Morning Song and tied him to the tree!

  He watched as the warriors began painting their faces, and then he hurried down the hill, knowing that time was against him. He had to get to the Blackfoot village to warn Windhawk of the impending danger.

  Farley led his three horses away as silently as possible. When he thought he was a safe enough distance away from the Assiniboin camp, he mounted and rode toward the Blackfoot village as fast as he could. He was thankful that his horse was still fresh. The pack horses were slowing him down, but he knew he couldn’t let them go just yet for fear the Assiniboin would come upon them. He would have to travel some distance before turning them loose.