“You must have been into the spirits,” he grumbled when he caught up. How could this man he considered a friend tease him about so serious a matter? He’d have thought that of all men, Rook ought to understand. It had been after being alone for many years that he’d finally met and married Sofia. He knew what it felt like to be in love. He should have more sympathy.
Rook grunted. “If ya wants the lass bad enough, yer gonna have to fight for her.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving me advice, what with the way you and Sofia go at it.”
Reaching the back door, Rook set his load down and took out his pipe. Chuckling, he knocked cold ash from the bowl. “I gots her right where I wants her. She jest thinks she’s in charge. That’s the secret, boy. Think about it.”
The back door opened. Sofia stuck her head out and glared down her large nose at Rook. She pointed her knife at him. “Don’t you be filling that boy’s head with nonsense, old man.”
Rook muttered an excuse about an antelope waiting to be dealt with and fled, his bowlegs carrying his burly figure as fast as they could. Jeremy chuckled when the back door slammed. Loud hacking from Sofia’s knife convinced him that now wasn’t the time to go into the kitchen.
Instead, he wandered aimlessly around the yard, passing and sidestepping the crowds. This time he didn’t stop to appreciate the wonder of the Sioux around him. He crossed the stream and headed off into the thick woods behind the house.
Rook had to be crazy. Off his rocker. Become a warrior? The words circled his mind. Maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched an idea after all. Wasn’t he helping to teach the Sioux children the ways of the whites? What was the difference? Could he go with them? Could he learn their ways? Flexing his own biceps, he knew there was nothing wrong with him physically. All he lacked was knowledge. And knowledge, as his ma used to say, was power.
A thread of hope rose inside him. If he couldn’t win Dove here, in his own world, then maybe Rook was right. Maybe it was time to compete in her world.
Chapter Five
On the day of the feast, Dove rode into the midst of her people’s tipis with her bow slung over her shoulder, and a jack rabbit and squirrel dangling on either side of her horse. Dismounting, she led Psay, her chestnut gelding, into the pasture where Wolf kept his horses. Psay had been a gift from him during the winter. The name meant snowshoes, and with the horse’s four white feet, it fit perfectly.
Heading Moving away from the herd, Dove headed for a tipi with big swirls of blue near the top.
Going to the front, she called out, “Hau, unchee-dah. Hau, tunkashedah. I bring you meat.” Though Water Woman and Blue Wind weren’t her grandparents, she accorded them the honored title. She’d grown up with their children, had shared many meals from Water Woman’s cooking pot and even endured many scoldings from the pair.
“Hau, my child.” The woman straightened from her work of mixing lard with dried cherries. Her eyes brightened as she accepted Dove’s gift of food. Turning to her husband, she spoke. “She brings us mastinca and hetkala.”
Blue Wind nodded. “It is good to have our daughter once again among her people.” Once a great warrior, the old man sat in front of the fire. White clouded the vision of one eye.
Dove went to him and knelt. She untied a pouch from around her neck. “I bring you a gift.” She handed him the pouch and watched him dump five bear claws into his palm.
His weathered face broke into a wide smile. “From Mato?” At her nod, he leaned forward. “Let this old man hear of your bravery.”
Dove recounted the story. She’d already told it so many times, she didn’t even have to think to recall. The pride in Blue Wind’s eyes made her feel good, worthy. Already the meat not needed for the feast had been distributed and the bear hide staked out to dry.
Grinning, Blue Wind nodded. “You truly are a woman warrior who has made her people proud. I knew your grandfather. He was a great chief, as are your father and brother. He looks down upon you with pride from the spirit world. Tonight you will do us all proud.”
Dove wasn’t so sure she wanted a big deal made of her killing the bear. She’d heard from the other women that many of the warriors were unhappy with her actions. Having a woman among them who had accomplished such a great feat did not sit well with them. Waho, especially, was annoyed, as he’d borne the brunt of the other warriors’ teasing that he couldn’t live up to her expectations.
While that was true, it had nothing to do with killing a bear. She’d never marry Waho.
“So, my daughter. Tell me. Does the white man seek you for wife?”
Sighing as she thought of Jeremy, she nodded. “Yes. But he is not the one. He is no great Lakota warrior.”
“Ah. He is not. Tell me, daughter of Golden Eagle. Does the great warrior you seek exist?”
It was a question Dove had asked herself many times, yet still she had no answer. “He must. Unci promised me this.”
Blue Wind nodded serenely. “Then you must seek him out and fulfill your destiny.”
Relieved that he understood, she stood. “I do not know where he is or when he will come.”
Blue Wind also stood and motioned for her to follow him. He pointed at the ground near the backside of the barn. “Look there, and tell me what you see.”
“It is a nest.” Though she hadn’t seen it before, she knew it belonged to one of the loose hens.
“Look closer.”
Curious, Dove knelt and looked at the patch of brown earth surrounded by bits of dried grass and composted leaves. Well hidden inside were five small eggs. She studied the eggs, noted the hairline cracks, heard the soft pecks and chirps. Before her eyes, one chick broke his shell. He struggled and struggled, chirping softly whenever he stopped to rest. She was tempted to remove the bits of shell to assist the chick, but Dove knew better. Without the struggle to free himself, he’d die. She held her breath, silently willing him not to give up. Finally, he extricated himself from his shell. From the corner of her eye, Dove spotted the hen moving toward her. She stood and moved back to where Blue Wind waited.
“Well?”
She knew the answer was not the obvious one. He meant to convey some lesson to her. “I don’t understand.”
“You knew there was a nest. But you did not know what you would find. You might have expected eggs, yet you saw something more. You witnessed birth.” Blue Wind returned to his wife.
Dove left them, deep in thought, heading for her mother’s tipi. Her wise friend was telling her to look deeper, to see what was not obvious. But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t see Jeremy as the great warrior her grandmother had prophesied. The eggs of a chicken could never hatch the chick of an eagle. Putting Jeremy and Blue Wind from her mind, she gave herself over to the afternoon.
Cooking pots boiled and the scent of cooking drifted on the afternoon breeze. She passed many women huddled together to grind pine nuts and dry chokecherries. As they worked, their voices rose and fell. Preparing enough food for a feast meant hard work, but none minded. It provided an excuse to visit, exchange gossip and put aside a woman’s normal chores, which left them little time for much else. And by dusk, all would enjoy the fruits of their labor.
A voice hailed her from behind. At the sound, Dove winced, rounded a tipi and quickened her steps to avoid Waho. Why did the warrior insist upon courting her? She’d refused each offer he made, yet he would not accept no for an answer. Moments later, the brave caught up with her. “Have you no greeting for this warrior?” he asked.
Growling low in frustration, Dove stared straight ahead, ignoring him. She’d managed to avoid Waho all but once since his arrival, which hadn’t been easy as he kept following her. He’d been one reason she’d jumped at the chance to leave her people last winter. She’d hoped he’d have turned his attentions elsewhere, but she wasn’t surprised
that he’d waited. “I have no time to talk now,” she said to excuse herself. “I must find my family.”
She grimaced. He was one of the main reasons her father was forcing her to wed. In fact, the blame lay almost entirely with Waho, the worst corn-plainer of the lot. He was the leader of all those who spoke against her. For five summers Waho had tried to win her to wife and each time she turned him down, he became more vocal in his condemnation of what he perceived as her spoiled ways.
As she moved off to escape, Waho followed. “I will come. Soon, they will be my family as well.”
Snapping her head around, Dove gritted her teeth. “I have told you many times this maiden will not marry you. I have not changed my mind.”
Looking smug, Waho grinned. “Ah, but if you do not choose another by the Sun Dance, your father will agree to our joining. Soon, White Dove, daughter of the mighty Golden Eagle, sister to our chief, will take Waho for her mate.”
Confidence oozed from his voice, making Dove’s blood boil. Anger nipped at the edges of her control, threatening to burst free. But it did little good to talk reason to Waho. He thought only of himself, his own wants and needs.
Unaware of her simmering temper, Waho continued to brag, his chest swelled with importance. “You did not give me a chance to speak of my offer two days ago. I bring many horses to your father and many furs. Waho offers much. No other warrior has so much to give for a mere woman. My sister needed two travois to carry my belongings.”
Dove felt sorry for her friend, Tanagila, who even though she was married and had a young son, had to deal with her demanding, self-centered brother. Waho killed not just for food, but to prove he was the best. He prided himself in having the most furs and hides, regardless of waste.
Tipping her chin, she stopped and met his gaze squarely. She drew herself up, mainly because she knew he hated it, basking in the knowledge that she stood taller than him. “Waho is greedy to hoard so much wealth. Quantity does not impress this maiden. She would rather see your furs and horses go to the poor. This maiden seeks a generous heart and a brave spirit. Waho lacks both.” She knew he would not part with a single fur and had the satisfaction of seeing him go red. Greed among her people was considered a great sin. To be called a coward only added to the insult.
Waho stretched his short frame as tall as he could. “My wife can give them away to prove Waho is generous.” His voice turned boastful. “Waho will replace them as fast as she can give them away.” Staring at her with a set expression, he spread his legs and crossed his arms across his chest. “I will have your father’s blessing. It is time for Dove to stop acting like a warrior and take her place among the women. Waho will keep the daughter of Golden Eagle busy taking care of his children. There will be much work in my tipi for you.”
In perfect imitation of her brother, Dove lifted one eyebrow, ran her contemptuous gaze down over the warrior, then her lip curled in disgust. “Waho forgets. The tipi belongs to the woman.”
“The husband rules. And you will be mine by summer’s end. Your father has promised you to me.”
Slashing the air with her hand, Dove spoke, her voice cold as the north wind. “Waho lies. Do not twist my father’s words. The choice is mine. I will never choose you.”
Fury burned beneath White Dove’s calm exterior. As she strongly suspected that it was because Waho had become such a nuisance that her father had come to his decision, she would never forgive him—or her father. In fact, in order to avoid Waho, she had no choice but to choose some other—any other, for she’d never give herself to a coward and troublemaker.
Growing up, Waho had resented her skills. He’d done all he could to shame and discredit her. He’d thrown rocks to scare the rabbits and birds away, or ridden whooping toward a herd to scatter the animals she hunted. Then he and the other warriors would laugh. As she grew into womanhood, he’d continued his harassment, diminishing her prospects for a good match. She had no proof, but as each suitor faded, she suspected he had something to do with it.
During the Sun Dance when many of the Teton Sioux came together, she’d heard rumors from her friends that many warriors considered her oglu sica. Bad luck.
She’d never told her father that. In truth, she hadn’t minded, as she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to marry. In fact, it amused her at times, proving that the warriors who fled were nothing more than cowards deceived into believing bad spirits lived in her. Let Waho play his games. She’d spend the summer searching for a warrior who would not fall for the man’s lies or run from his threats.
Dove wished she dared to just leave, go live elsewhere. But she couldn’t. She would not bring shame upon her family. She’d hold her head high and marry as her father ordered.
Flashes of Jeremy’s laughter-filled eyes and his endearing grin with his slightly crooked front teeth sent a breath of warmth through her. Though he infuriated her, he also fascinated her. He made her want to scream at him, but he also made her laugh. And when he kissed her, he made her forget about everything except how good he tasted and felt.
The thought of marriage to Jeremy, lying with him, sharing more of those heart-stopping, knee-weakening kisses, made her tremble and ache with a need she’d never before felt. Somehow it didn’t seem strange to envision him teaching her the ways of a man and woman. If only he were Lakota, a great warrior.
Waho grabbed her upper arm. “You think of the white man. I see it in your eyes.” His voice was soft, dangerous. “You will not join with a wasicun! If you do, you will regret it.”
Furious that he’d caught her thinking of Jeremy, and even more furious that he would threaten and touch her in such a manner, Dove yanked free. Whatever her mind felt, her body did not find Jeremy’s touch repulsive—unlike Waho’s. “Waho forgets himself. I will choose my mate. If I choose Jeremy, that is my right.” She deliberately used the name, knowing it would infuriate her assailant.
Waho’s threat didn’t worry Dove. She’d heard it every summer—more than once. Every time a new warrior came to offer for her, Waho would make the threat. There was no bigger coward in her tribe. Like the spirit Zuzeca, Waho was a snake: sly, sneaking around to get his way, and not above using a lying tongue. She didn’t doubt that he’d cause trouble for her, for any warrior seeking to court her. But once she married, he could do nothing.
Dove smiled grimly. “Waho talks big. And falsely. Waho has not counted coup, he has not touched the enemy in battle. Waho does not fight the enemy and return with blood drawn from battle. Waho has not participated in the Sun Dance. Waho is not a great warrior.” She deliberately let her voice rise.
He winced and glanced around. Several women walking past snickered. Giving him a contemptuous glare, White Dove sneered. “All know Waho still carries his birth name. Howler is not the name of a brave warrior. Waho has not sought a vision quest.” Hoping to make him so mad he’d leave her be, she held up the necklace of bear claws and teeth she’d strung just the night before. “The spirit of Mato gave me her strength and courage. You are ruled by Mica, the spirit of the coyote. You are a coward and you cause much mischief among our people. Waho is not worthy of the daughter of Golden Eagle.”
Feeling as though she were suffocating in the man’s presence, she stalked away. It would do no good to keep arguing. She headed for her brother’s wooden home; Waho would not enter there.
Furious to be put in this position of having to deal with Waho by her father’s refusal to outright deny him, Dove stopped. Her father had given him false hope, made him even more determined to pursue her. Waho thought to force her, threaten her into accepting him as mate. But she’d meant what she’d said. She’d marry anyone else rather than him.
“This is my father’s fault,” she muttered, turning toward the large tipi belonging to her parents. Her mother had to help her. Entering, she stopped when she saw only her father and Striking Thunder sitting before the fire, eac
h reclining against a bone backrest.
Briefly, father and daughter stared at one another. Golden Eagle’s gaze remained passive, Dove’s full of anger and hurt. She’d never thought her father would betray her in this manner. All her life, he’d encouraged her to be free, to be herself. He’d taken her hunting, taught her to fight and defend herself. Against the advice of his peers, he’d taught her all he knew, as if she’d been a son. More importantly, he’d encouraged her to rely on her own judgment. Now he wanted to hand her over to a male who would rule her, to destroy her by forcing her into a role where she’d wither and die.
She longed to beg him not to do this, but pride and a stubborn nature stopped her. Stepping back to leave, she backed into someone standing outside the tipi.
“Hey, watch it.” Jeremy’s voice startled her but his hands were steadying.
Jumping aside, Dove glared at him, her arms warm where he’d briefly touched her. After the confrontation with Waho, Jeremy was a close second-to-last person she wanted to see—along with her father. Men. They were more trouble than the spirit of Unktomi, the spider who with his magic loved to torment the Sioux with pranks and practical jokes.
“What are you doing here?”
Jeremy glanced inside the tipi. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”
She narrowed her eyes. He’d come to speak to her father about her. Unlike her reaction to Waho’s offers, her heart betrayed her this time. It jumped with eagerness at the thought of Jeremy making an offer for her hand. “Don’t waste your time. I will only marry a great—”
“Warrior,” he finished. At her contemptuous tone, Jeremy drew himself up. “You want a warrior. Fine. I’ll become one.”
Sputtering with fury, Dove wanted to yell at him for being so stubborn. Why would none of these men take no for an answer? “What are you scheming now, Jeremy Jones? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I know you too well. This is another—what does your sister call them—ah, ‘another one of your half-cocked ideas!’”
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