White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  “There’s more.”

  “I know. I’m ready. Make me yours.”

  Jeremy drank in the sight of her, the rosy flush, the sheen of sweat, and sat up on his knees to remove his breechclout. At her gasp, he waited, letting her look her fill.

  She reached out and touched him. He jerked, needing her so much that one touch nearly sent him spiraling out of control.

  “Do you like it when I touch you?” she asked shyly.

  “Oh yes,” he groaned, forcing himself to let her explore him as he’d done to her. When he could stand no more, he moved over her and stroked her moist heat with long, slow motions that had her moaning. “I love you, Dove.”

  Her hips lifted. “I love you, too. But I’m afraid.”

  Jeremy sucked in his breath and tried to calm his body’s desperate need. “I’ll be gentle.”

  She gasped. “No, not afraid of you. Afraid you won’t come back—that I won’t ever get to show you how much I love you, to know your love. Make me yours. Love me…in case something happens.”

  Through the fog of raging desire, Dove’s words stabbed him. She wanted him to make love to her in case he got himself killed. Grief and fear drove her, not love. He groaned. He couldn’t stop. Not now. Too late. “Nothing will happen to me,” he panted. “Trust me.”

  Dove’s hands roamed up and down his back, tracing the curve of his spine down to his buttocks. “I trust you, but I don’t trust the Crow. Please, Jeremy. Stay. Don’t go. I need you.”

  He shuddered at her desperate panting and tried to hold back the passion raging inside him. “You don’t think I can do this.” He had to stop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wanted to make love to her with nothing but passion between them. Not fear.

  “I’m afraid for you,” Dove gasped, holding him as if it were their last time together. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him tightly, a very willing prisoner.

  Jeremy longed to thrust deep inside her and take her over the edge with him, to hold her and love her until her fears turned to confidence, but he couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted her, he couldn’t take her with fear driving her, not love.

  “Dove, we have to stop. I can’t do this. Not like this.” But his body was on fire.

  “No. No,” she sobbed. “Don’t stop.”

  Knowing it was too late for him, he reached between them and used his fingers to bring her again to her peak, then he stroked himself against her heated flesh until he shook with his own shuddering release.

  He sank down on top of her, most of his weight on his arms resting on either side of her face. His forehead dropped to her shoulder as their breath came in loud gasps. Finally, he rolled over, pulling her into an embrace. They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms until their pulses slowed and their breathing calmed.

  “Why?” Dove asked, her face buried in his neck. “I wanted you. All of you.”

  Jeremy kissed the top of her head, his fingers moving against her scalp. Gently, he tipped her head back. “When I take you as a man takes a wife, it won’t be out of fear. It will be out of love.”

  “But I do love you.” Dove reached out to touch his cheek.

  “You have to believe in me.” He smiled sadly. “You love me, but you don’t have faith in me.” It didn’t matter that he didn’t know if he had faith in himself, but it hurt to know that she didn’t.

  “I want to, Jeremy, but I’m afraid. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  He kissed her fingers and thought about her words. If their positions were reversed, if she were going to war, how would he feel? Would he fear that she would not return safely? Would he try to stop her in his own selfish need to have her at his side? Absolutely. So why did it bother him that she felt the same way?

  The answer was easy. She’d proven herself by saving his life. He hadn’t yet proven his ability to protect the woman he loved. His honor was at stake and, without it, he could not become her warrior.

  Leaning down, he kissed her. Gently, tenderly. Then he pulled her tight and closed his eyes. The words of the owl drifted into his mind before sleep claimed him. “You are needed.”

  Yes, he was. He would prove himself to Dove and earn the right to marry her.

  * * *

  High above, Owl watched over the young lovers. He will succeed, she told Wi.

  A cloud passed between Wi and Owl. There is much ahead, yet. He will be tested.

  Owl knew that to be true. She closed her eyes against the return of the bright light. Her thoughts turned to the white woman and her children. She just hoped it wasn’t too late for them. After an hour, she broke off a twig and dropped it on the sleeping pair. When they started awake, she flew off, wishing there was more she could do, yet knowing it now rested in the white man’s hands.

  She flew some distance, then silently swooped down into a tree. Below her, she watched over a young child.

  * * *

  Beth Ann sat alone near a tipi, staring with hatred at those around her. Four girls of approximately her own age ran past, spitting on her. She turned away. Two boys ran up behind and yanked on her blond braids. Picking up a rock, she threw it at her tormentors.

  A shout warned that she’d been seen. A woman came running over to her and slapped her, sending her reeling backward. The Crow children laughed. Jumping to her feet, Beth Ann walked away. She hated this place. Hated these people. She glanced around, searching for Jane, and found her young sister sitting behind their mother.

  Beth Ann wished she could go over there, but the Indian woman with no teeth didn’t like her so she stayed away. Across the way, her mother glanced up and gave her a weak smile. Beth Ann tried to smile back, tried hard to be brave but it was so hard. She was so scared.

  Noticing that her mother had stopped work, the toothless woman reached over and slapped her. Her mother ducked, which made the woman madder. Beth Ann clenched her fists, wishing she were bigger so she could protect her mom.

  Two men emerged from the tipi behind her mother. One of them had an ugly scar that ran down one side of his face. He scared her and Jane, and he made her mother cry each night while everyone slept—Beth Ann had heard it. Jane called him Big Bad Man. And he was. He was mean to her mother, but never to her. And that scared her even more. Beth Ann was afraid of Big Bad Man, who owned them.

  She watched him reach down and grab her mother, yanking her to her feet by her hair. Then he held her out to the other man who took her to another tipi. Though she was only six, Beth Ann understood enough to know Big Bad Man was selling his mother each night, taking furs and horses in trade for her.

  Jane tried to follow and was shoved away by their owner. Beth Ann ran forward. “Don’t hurt her,” she cried, grabbing her sister.

  The woman grabbed Beth Ann and shoved her down, pointing to the dried cherries her mother had been crushing. The woman kicked and screamed at her. Beth Ann braced herself for another blow.

  It never came. Instead, the scar-faced man hit his wife, and the two exchanged harsh words. The other woman looked very angry. When the man reached down to pick her up, his hand lingered over her blond hair. Then he smiled at her, but not with his eyes. His eyes had the same look that he gave her mother. When he indicated she could leave, that she didn’t have to work, she picked up her sister and ran a short distance away. From there she would watch for the return of her mother.

  Jane fell asleep. Beth Ann tightened her hold, wishing she, too, could rest. Maybe then the dreams of a beautiful woman who turned into an owl would return. The woman told her to be brave but it was so hard.

  * * *

  Shortly after Dove returned to camp—alone—the tipis came down and within minutes, the tribe assembled to move. Dove went down to the river’s edge where her mother knelt at the base of a trunk, sending a silent farewell to h
er father. Unlike most grieving women, she hadn’t cut her hair. She’d said that when her time came, she wanted to die with her hair long, for she knew her husband had loved it that way.

  Her mother’s words worried Dove. Since her father’s death, White Wind ate little, took interest in less. Dove feared she would soon join Golden Eagle. Taking a deep breath, she put the fear from her. She wasn’t ready to think about losing both parents.

  Instead, she lifted her eyes and said her own silent farewell. Golden Eagle’s final resting place was high in the tree where her mother now knelt. His covered body had been lashed to a forked branch. There, close to the spirits, he would complete his journey to the spirit world—once his murder had been avenged.

  Grief rose inside White Dove, but she bit it back, refused to give in. She told herself she had to be strong. For her mother. Her father would have wanted that. But it was so hard. Anger roiled inside her, threatening to burst. During her lifetime, there’d been dozens of burials, including that of her sister’s first husband. Only now did she understand the full impact of not just losing a loved one, but having to leave him behind.

  She went to White Wind. “We are ready, my mother.”

  The woman stared up at the fluttering cloth that covered her husband’s body. “He is no longer there.” She turned away, her shoulders slumped.

  Dove put her arm around her mother, led her back to where the rest of the tribe waited, then stayed at her mother’s side during the move to their new camp. Sofia set up her mother’s tipi while Dove saw to the unloading of their things. Once the camp was settled, the warriors chosen by Striking Thunder to go with him after the Crow gathered on horseback. Dove watched them, standing apart from the rest of her tribe.

  Her searching gaze found Jeremy among them. Like the others, he’d painted his body for war. Yellow-and-black lines slashed his forehead, cheeks and his chest. He looked every inch the Sioux warrior ready to ride out and avenge the People. Though she loved him and was proud of him, part of her resented his being chosen to go. All her life she’d fought against the idea of being forced to do a woman’s work. If she could do a man’s, why should she be forced to sew or cook or tan hides all day? She’d rebelled, worked hard, learned much and had proven herself. In all areas except for going to war and taking part in raids, she was a warrior.

  And so was Jeremy. Wisdom and goodness. Her father had been right. Jeremy might lack some of the physical abilities of a warrior, but he lacked nothing when it came to the inner man. His actions during the early hours had proven his goodness. She’d offered herself to him, afraid that he’d die in battle and she’d never know his love. She grew warm just thinking of the things they’d done, but he hadn’t taken all she’d offered. He’d refused, demanded love and trust from her. Faith, not fear.

  “You were right, my father,” she whispered. “He will be a great warrior.” Though she feared for Jeremy’s life, she knew he had to go. If he had given in to her plea to stay, she’d have lost respect for him. He was doing what had to be done, what she would have done if she’d been allowed to do so.

  “He will die.”

  Dove gasped and spun around. Waho stood in the shadows. She’d never seen him look so menacing. She turned to leave without giving him the pleasure of seeing her rise to his bait. He stopped her by grabbing her arm.

  “The white man will not survive against the Crow unless he hides and does not fight. When he returns, we will see that he is no warrior. He is a coward.” His lips twisted. “Your father should have given you to me, but Golden Eagle was a coward.” Waho deliberately used the dead chief’s name to show disrespect.

  White Dove shook with fury. “When my brother returns, I will tell him of this.” She’d had enough of Waho.

  He yanked her close. “Maybe your brother will not return. Then Waho will take his place as chief with you at his side.”

  Dove could only stare. Had he truly lost his mind? She laughed. Though he scared her with his crazy talk, the very idea of him ever being appointed chief was too much. “The council would never appoint a coward like you as our chief.”

  “Then I will take what belongs to me.” He strode away.

  Watching him go, Dove vowed to share this conversation with her brother. Perhaps Waho was more of a danger than anyone had ever suspected. Joining the others so he could not get her alone again, she focused on Jeremy. Please return to me, she prayed silently. You must.

  * * *

  Jeremy waited impatiently to be off. After sleeping for an hour with Dove, then a few more once they’d moved camp and settled, he felt refreshed and ready to go find the bastards who’d murdered her father. Around him, the other warriors also appeared restless, their faces set in determined lines.

  Anticipation raced through him. This was it; he was going to war! Fear and worry clung to his mind. What if he failed? Could he really go into battle and kill or be killed? Fighting a bully in a saloon was not the same as going out to kill. Though he’d been furious enough to have killed that Billy rapist, he hadn’t. There’d been others watching, ready to break up the fight.

  This was different. The warriors he rode with would show no mercy. One of theirs had been murdered, and only the deaths of those responsible would be acceptable. This was where the Indians and the whites seemed so different. His people had sheriffs, judges, trials. Out here, there were no second chances. Justice would be swift and without mercy.

  His gaze searched the gathering tribe. He found Dove. She stood next to her mother. Anger built in him as he was reminded that Dove could have been killed. When he’d told her that he would kill to protect her, he’d meant it. No one would ever harm her. His vow to protect her gave him the courage to do whatever he had to do when they found the Crow.

  He thought of the Owl-woman. She’d said he would not fight, yet he was needed. What did that mean? The arrival of the medicine man interrupted his thoughts. He struggled to understand the man’s blessing and prayers.

  Just as Striking Thunder lifted his lance high into the air, Thunder Dreamer, the Heyoka, came running up to them backward. He passed Jeremy, then stopped so that he was facing him. He held an object high above his head.

  “I prepared this shield for the white man who has dreamed of Owl-woman. The spirits commanded me to make him this shield. The white man is a Dreamer. This shield carries strong magic. It will protect him.” Thunder Dreamer handed the shield over.

  Pride and awe filled Jeremy as he took it. In the center, Thunder Dreamer had painted the Owl-woman who had come to visit him. It looked exactly like the girl in his vision.

  Disbelieving, he met the Heyoka’s gaze. “How did you know what she looked like?” he asked, fingering the tufts of owl feathers hanging from the four corners of the oval-shaped shield.

  Thunder Dreamer lifted his voice to be heard. “Owl-woman came to me as well. It was she who told me I must do this.” He bowed and touched his ratty hat—Jeremy’s—which was tied to his head, then walked away, this time on his hands.

  “Are you ready?” Striking Thunder looked to him.

  Jeremy stuck his arms through the straps of his new shield so that it lay against his chest as some of the others wore theirs. Determined to make Dove and his Sioux parents and friends proud of him, he nodded. “I am ready.” And he was. For whatever awaited him. He was ready to be a warrior.

  Without looking back, Jeremy rode away with the others.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For three days, the warriors searched for the Crow. From the notches on the arrow taken from Golden Eagle’s body, the Sioux warriors knew which tribe of Crow was responsible: the same warriors who’d stolen their horses.

  Jeremy stared out over the vast landscape, the rolling swells of land, the ravines and the miles of flat nothing. They’d bypassed an area of deep gorges that the Sioux refused to enter, saying bad spirits lived
there. What better place to hide? But Striking Thunder seemed to think that the Crow wouldn’t go there either.

  “How are we going to find them? They could be anywhere,” he addressed the young chief during one of their stops to rest the horses.

  “Our friend, Night Hawk, of the Cheyenne, says they are beyond the badlands. The Cheyenne, too, lost horses to the Crow.” He pulled out a strip of pemmican. “This band of Crow is far from their home. This land belongs to the Sioux—and Cheyenne. We will find them, and take our revenge. Soon.” He tore off a strip of dried meat and chewed.

  Jeremy had many questions, but he was learning that the Sioux did not sit and ask them one after another. They took time to reflect, observe and learn in a much different way. Staring up into the cloudy sky, he refrained from talking—long silences were conducive to thinking.

  Striking Thunder said they would take revenge soon. Which meant they were close. He studied the rest of the war party. He felt their suppressed excitement and anticipation: Long Feather was checking his bow and arrows, Speaks With Truth sat in silent prayer. Two other warriors were checking their horses. The rest had spread out. No, this wasn’t a time for talk. It was a time to gather thoughts for the upcoming battle.

  Jeremy went to his horse. Never much of a religious man, he’d come to appreciate the Indians’ deep affinity to the world around them. Spirits. God. In this respect, his people and Dove’s were very much alike. They both worshiped a greater being. The difference was that the churches he’d attended focused on behavior, on doing good. They’d harped on following the commandments, on worshiping the one God.

  His lips twisted cynically. Most men he knew were church-goers only because their wives demanded it; come Monday, they forgot about religion and God. The rest went to the other extreme, preaching their beliefs so hard that they seemed to act in a manner contrary to what they preached. Jeremy remembered the old pastor and his wife who’d been so kind to the Jones family after the death of his parents, but then, the wife had started a campaign to take Jessie from them, believing that three boys, the oldest only sixteen, couldn’t raise her. Instead of offering help, those people had wanted to tear their family apart.