Members of her clan normally did not take for wife a female within the tribe. Warriors sought their mates outside their tiyospaye to prevent inbreeding. With few exceptions, males left their family to live with their wife’s tribe. But Waho’s family, also of the Miniconjou, had joined their clan years ago when illness killed most of their tribe. So, as he was not related to anyone in her tribe, he was allowed to court her.
Overhead, the songs of birds reminded her that though no other human was in sight, she wasn’t alone. Standing, she cleared her mind and turned in a slow circle, arms out at her sides as she sent a prayer of thanks to Mahpiya, the spirit who presided over the heavens, clouds and sky.
If displeased, the spirits would withhold pleasant weather or send a hot wind as punishment. With her life in turmoil, all Dove wanted was peace. Realizing she’d been gone much longer than usual, she headed back through the woods. A clinging mist swirled around her ankles.
When she left the sheltering trees, she stopped to study her brother’s home. Once she’d found the small log cabin to be very strange and had wondered how Wolf could sleep in a house of wood with no twinkling wicahpi to watch at night.
Beside the cabin, a barn, two corrals and another building made of sod made up her brother’s home. The sod house served as a schoolroom during the day, and the place where the Sioux children slept during the night.
The door to the schoolroom opened, reminding Dove that there was much to be done. Five girls ranging in age from six summers to ten spilled out into the early dawn. The youngest ran to greet her. “Wetu has arrived. Soon we go home?” The child’s big, dark eyes silently pleaded.
Dove smiled. “Have you not enjoyed your stay, Gray Bird?”
“Yes, but I miss my family.” The little girl tried to smile, but her lips trembled.
“I know. Me too. Do not worry. Our warriors will arrive any day to escort us home,” she assured her. None of the children had ever been separated from his or her family, and the winter had been long for most, especially for the younger ones like Gray Bird. The arrival of spring meant it was time to be reunited with their parents.
At the news, Gray Bird smiled with happiness. “I am glad.” She rejoined the others and their giggles filled the air as they ran toward the stream to bathe. An older girl of thirteen hurried to catch up.
Sighing, Dove headed for the main house, more eager herself now to return home. She loved her people, loved her life among the Sioux. Why did that have to change?
Passing a corral of once-wild horses, she stopped to stroke the nose of a friendly mare. Speaking in Lakota, she greeted the animal, noting the glossy coat and bright eyes that watched the lush green grass on the other side of the fence with longing. Dove silently commiserated. The horse had already lost its freedom. Soon, Dove would lose hers.
The mare nibbled on one of Dove’s braids and she pulled back. “You, my friend, will be sold. A new life awaits you. But not so for me.” She knew what awaited her; that was the problem. She felt like a wild creature trapped and forced into an existence shaped by others, like these once-wild horses.
Yet what more was there for a Sioux woman? And Dove enjoyed more freedom than most. No other woman in her tribe hunted or knew the ways of a warrior. She sighed. No one else wanted that, either.
She didn’t understand them. How could they not see there was more to their existence than raising children, taking care of their mates and tipis?
Dove didn’t want to be hemmed in to the conventional life of a woman, yet unless she left her people as her sister and brother had done, there was little she could do. For her, leaving was not an option. Her life lay with the Lakota. This winter spent away from them had proven she would not be happy living in a house of wood. She needed the freedom that came with the nomadic lifestyle of the Sioux.
Which left her with no solution. In just a few days, she would return to a life where she walked along the edge, a woman skirting the line between the sexes. One side would not fulfill her, the other didn’t want her.
A group of boys ran past, eyeing her with awe. Yes, she was a warrior-woman. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head proudly. She’d spent her life becoming as warriorlike as she could in order to fulfill her grandmother’s vision, and yesterday she’d proven herself by killing a bear, a feat accomplished only by the bravest warriors. This proved that her mate would be a great warrior—no one else would suit. So where was he?
Dove glanced at the barn. A pair of pale green eyes came to mind, making her shove away from the corral. With steely resolve, she cut off all thought of Jeremy. He wasn’t Lakota, and he wasn’t a warrior, it was that simple.
Once more in control, she entered Wolf and Jessie’s dark house. The room boasted two windows, one set on either side of the door. She opened the shutters to allow the morning light to spill in. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. The front of the house faced west.
Glancing around, she smiled. Jessie had tried to brighten the dark interior with a braided rug they’d worked on each evening. It added color to the floor of the main room. Quilled artwork from the visiting girls supplied other colorful touches to the walls. But, basically, the room was designed and built for function with a large stone fireplace to provide warmth, light and an added cooking source, if needed.
Across from her, a ladder led to the loft where Dove slept each night, the bed her mother had once used while growing up here in this same cabin. Though she didn’t particularly like living in a white man’s dwelling, it made her feel close to her mother to sleep in the same bed as she had. Below the loft, Jeremy slept in a small alcove, and a closed door along that same wall led to the small bedroom Wolf and Jessie shared with the twins.
A quick glance revealed Jeremy’s bed lay empty, unslept in. Surprised, she scanned the room. Where was he? An early riser he wasn’t. She usually took great pleasure in waking him each morning when she added wood to the dying embers in the fireplace. She glanced out the window toward the barn. It had been cold yesterday. Had he slept out there all night?
Dove firmly put the worry from her mind. She refused to feel sorry for him. He’d brought it on himself. Just thinking about those motherless babies made her angry all over again. The fool hadn’t even known the proper way to gather the honey, let alone the right precautions to take. He’d destroyed the hive in his eagerness. “Senseless.” And that he’d done it to gain her attention upset her. Was she in some small way responsible, as her brother hinted?
No! She hadn’t challenged him, or goaded him, or in any way influenced Jeremy’s decision. Therefore, the consequences rested on his shoulders. But a small amount of guilt could not entirely be shrugged off. She had spent the whole winter baiting him, finding great amusement in his challenges and in watching his temper rise to the surface when she proved over and over that her skills were sharper than his. He couldn’t even outrun her!
Adding wood to the fireplace, she coaxed the flames to life then headed into the kitchen. Though more of an extension off of the main room, the recently added chamber faced east. Bright light streamed in from the generous-sized windows. This sunny room was her favorite, though she’d rather be outside than in.
After building a fire in the stove, she slammed a kettle of water on a burner to heat. Water sloshed over the side, followed by an angry hissing.
By the time the aroma of hot, strong coffee filled the kitchen, she felt vibrations on the wood floor. Pouring three cups of coffee, she set them down on the rough-hewn table, cradled one in her hands and bent her head to take a cautious sip. “Ahhh.” She loved coffee.
“Hau, my sister. Wolf walked in, stretched, then grabbed one of the steaming mugs.
“Hau, my brother. You grow lazy to sleep so long,” she teased.
“You do not have two toddlers waking you in the middle of the night,” he shot back, running his fingers through his long, gold
en-brown hair.
“Good morning, Dove,” a sleepy voice greeted her. “Don’t mind this grouch.” Jessie stood on tiptoe and kissed her spouse on his scowling mouth.
Dove smiled at the play between husband and wife. She, too, had been awakened by the cries during the night. Noting the dark smudges beneath her sister-in-law’s eyes, she frowned. “Perhaps you should sleep in.”
“I told her to stay in bed, but she refused.” Wolf led his wife to the table, held out a chair and seated her. “I’ll have Sofia or Rook take over the classroom this afternoon so you can nap. No arguing.” He bent his head, gave Jessie another kiss, then grabbed a bar of soap and a towel and left by way of a door leading from the kitchen to the vegetable and herb garden.
Jessie grimaced. “Sarah woke several times, which of course woke Sam. Then there is this one.” She leaned back and rubbed her swollen belly.
A slight jump, followed by a rolling motion, brought a smile to the two women. Dove reached out to touch her niece or nephew and grinned. What would it feel like to feel life growing inside one’s body? She loved children but knew when she married, all her other, non-female activities would come to an end, denied to her by her husband.
Dove couldn’t imagine spending each day just tending to children and her tipi. She needed more than that. Panic welled inside her. To push it aside, she jumped up and poured herself a second cup of coffee and paced. Though there was much to be done to get the meal ready for twelve children, two toddlers and six adults, neither woman made a move to do so. Dove had learned early that the kitchen fell to the domain of Rook and Sofia, the cooks who ran the house with their combined iron fists.
Raised voices warned of the couple’s arrival. Rook burst in carrying a pail of fresh milk. At his side, his wife Sofia pushed past him, a basket of eggs swinging dangerously high. “I’ll start the biscuits.”
Within minutes, Sofia had gathered everything she needed and dumped it onto the table. Pouring flour into a bowl, she watched as puffs of the finely milled powder billowed into the air. Dove and Jessie glanced at each other and headed for the doorway. They waited.
Rook, upon noticing what Sofia was doing, stomped over to her. “Woman, ya gots to measure!” He grabbed the bowl, dumped the flour back into the sack then carefully measured out the necessary portion. Flour coated the table. “This is why my biscuits are better ’n yers.”
“Roxbury Seymour Thorndike, I know how to cook and don’t need or want advice from you. And you’re forgetting, old man, my biscuits are perfect!” She kissed her fingers, grabbed a second bowl and poured in more flour. “We shall see whose biscuits are better.”
“Here we go again,” Dove murmured, unable to stifle her snicker when Rook turned red. He hated the use of his full name, which to the amusement of all, Sofia used to her advantage. He rounded on her.
“Ain’tcha got work ta do, girl? Yer in the way.” Rook speared Jessie with the same lowered-brow glare.
She laughed dryly. “Sweet as ever, Rook.”
Dove bent her head to her nearly empty cup. Every morning was the same. The older couple argued over who made the best biscuits—and though she thought Rook’s were the best, she didn’t dare say so—then they started to argue over the rest of the meal and who would cook what. And it wasn’t just the morning meal. Every meal was a contest of sorts between them, each cooking whatever they wanted, providing a vast array of food choices at every serving.
“I don’t understand them,” Dove whispered, shaking her head as the arguing continued.
“Oh, that’s just their way. Those two have been fussin’ at each other from the very beginning.” Jessie lifted her voice, earning her a baleful glare from both Rook and Sofia. She smiled innocently, then lowered her voice so the couple on the other side of the room couldn’t hear. “But you know, they’re perfect for each other. She’s been so good for him, and I’m glad they both decided to return home with us. I’d have missed them terribly if they’d have stayed in Oregon with my brothers.”
Dove shrugged, giving up on trying to figure out how Rook and Sofia could be so happy when all they did was argue, fuss and fight. That kind of marriage wasn’t for her. When she married, it would be to a warrior who knew her worth, who treated her as his equal. She yearned to do something with her life, as Jessie was doing by teaching the Indian children their letters and numbers, history and the ways of the whites.
Yes, Jessie was indeed very fortunate. Not only did she have an understanding mate, but she’d traveled across the Maka to Oregon, had seen wondrous sights with which she regaled them during the cold winter evenings.
Rook marched over and handed Jessie a cup of milk, his pointed gaze going to her rounded belly.
“Milk, that’s what you need with that babe growin’ inside you. Nice, fresh and rich.”
“Tea. That’s what the child needs. Some soothing herbs,” Sofia said, pointing a knife at her husband as she paused in slicing pork.
“Not more arguing,” Dove muttered, grabbing another cup of coffee. She pulled on Jessie’s arm. “Come on, sister. I hear the babies.”
Standing in the center of the main room, she handed Jessie her cup of coffee and took the milk. “Here,” she whispered. “You get dressed and I’ll get Sam and Sarah up and give them the milk.” This, too, was the same each morning. Jessie hated milk.
“Don’t you go giving them babies any of that there milk,” Rook roared from the kitchen.
“Not to worry, old man,” Dove shouted back with a grin. She loved these exchanges, so different than the way her people addressed each other. Most of the time she addressed Rook with the honored title of grandfather, but it felt good, free to tease him as he teased her.
“Don’tcha git sassy, lass,” came Rook’s gruff reply with just a hint of amusement lurking in its booming depths.
“Always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?” Dove whispered.
“An’ don’t ye be forgittin’ it, lass.”
Both women giggled as they fled to the bedroom where the twins were awake and calling to be let out of their crib.
Nearly two hours later, all that remained of the morning meal were soiled plates, cups and empty platters on the table. The children had left for the schoolroom, the men for their chores. Dove carried one load of dirty dishes to the sink. Rook thrust a plate covered with a clean cloth at her. “What’s this for?”
“Take it out to the boy. Poor lad spent the night in the barn. Didn’t eat no supper neither. Must be near starved. And after he eats, ya send him in here to get his bandage changed.” He held out a small pail containing two makeshift bottles Wolf kept on hand for hand-rearing livestock young. Rook had already filled the bottles with fresh milk.
Dove put her hands behind her back. “Jessie’s waiting for me in the schoolroom. I need to go fetch the twins so she can start teaching.”
Rook speared her with a stern look. “She can wait. The boy can’t.” Pointedly, he held out the plate and pail. “Yer both stubborn as mules.”
Dove blinked. “And you and Sofia are not?”
Rook shoved the two items into Dove’s hands, his bushy white brows lowered. “Don’t go gittin’ sassy, lass. We’s different—I loves that woman. Now if you ask me, the lad is jest trying to impress ya and it wouldn’t hurt ya to—” He broke off when Sofia walked in the back door, carrying a basket of wood.
“I love you, too, old man, now quit buttin’ into business not yours.” Her strong features softened. “No matchmaking.”
Shaking a finger at his wife, Rook bellowed, “Now who’s buttin’ in? Ya know as well as I that they’s well-suited.” Stomping over to her, he took the heavy load from her arms. “And why are ya carryin’ in tha’ wood? Tol’ ya I’d do the heavy work.”
Seeing her chance at escaping yet another session of listening to those two argue, not to mention
having to listen to Rook talk about Jeremy, Dove fled the kitchen with the plate and pail.
* * *
“Roxbury, I’m warning you. Leave those kids alone.” Sofia glared at her husband, her arms folded across her ample bosom.
Staring out the window, Rook stroked his bushy beard. “Now, Sofie, ya know I’s right. Time’s runnin’ short. Gots ta be somethin’ we can do.”
“Maybe so, old man. But it’s for them to find out. Stay out of it. A more blatant bit of matchmaking I’ve yet to see.” Sofia busied herself with a bowl of dough, punching it down, turning the blob to coat it with melted butter, then covering it all back up to allow the dough to rise a second time. She pulled another container with a bulging crown of dough toward her and repeated the process.
“Seems we did all right with James and Eirica,” Rook commented, punching the dough in a third bowl.
“Not the same. Things are different here. Jeremy and Dove lead different lives. She’s right. Jeremy isn’t suited to her lifestyle, and I can’t see her living here or in some town. Too spirited.” She held her butter-glistening palm up to stop her husband’s protest. “Much as I love Jeremy and want to see him settled, he’s not ready.”
“But the lass is leavin’. By the time he sees her again, it’ll be too late. There’s gotta be somethin’ we can do.” He pulled his wife into his arms and held her close. “Jest want them all ta be as happy as I am, Sofie, lass.”
“I know, old man. I know.” They remained silent in each other’s arms.
Tugging playfully at his beard, Sofia slid one leg between his. “I think we’re done in here for now.”
Rook’s pale blue eyes sparkled. He pulled her closer until she straddled one of his bent knees. “Are we now? Wouldn’t be so sure of that.” With a quick movement, he untied her apron and tossed it to the table.
Sofia smiled wickedly. “Don’t suppose we have time to get back to our own cabin?”
White Dove Page 5