He turned and left her standing there, bewildered. Evelyn listened to the sound of his horse trotting away, and she wondered for a moment if she had only dreamed these last few minutes. It did not seem possible the notorious Black Hawk had really come here asking her to teach him and his son to read. She moved on shaking legs back to her desk, and then she noticed the beaded hairpiece lying on top of her papers. She had not seen him untie it from his hair. She picked it up, studying it closely, treasuring the gift. She realized how very much it meant, coming from a man like Black Hawk. She pressed it close to her heart.
Lucille continued to watch the crowd for Miss Gibbons, not even sure why. It just seemed that the woman’s presence would give her some kind of hope, even though she would probably be too afraid to talk to her even if she were here. She suspected that if Miss Gibbons knew the full story of what her and Katy’s lives were like with Seth Bridges, she would find some way to get them away from him. The woman was educated and resourceful… but she was not here. She had been so certain that someone as pretty as the teacher would have been invited to the dance. She had thought perhaps the Reverend Phillips would bring her, but he had brought the Indian woman Anita Wolf.
She supposed she should be having a good time. She had bathed and primped and fixed herself up the prettiest she had ever been. She wore a yellow print dress, the only one that fit her well rather than being too big. Her leather shoes were worn but presentable, and she wore a yellow ribbon in her dark hair. Seth had been surprisingly encouraging, allowing Katy to come along and help at the refreshment table, leaving her alone before they left the farmhouse so she could get ready. He had never done that before.
That was what bothered her. It was not like Seth to be kind or behave like a father ought to behave. And since he enjoyed her in his own bed, why had he set her up with Sergeant Desmond? Why did he suddenly want her to see another man? Did it have something to do with Katy? Was he trying to marry her off so he could have Katy to himself? She would never let that happen.
The little orchestra, which was composed of a couple of fiddles, a guitar, and a piano that had been dragged out from a social room at the fort, struck up a waltz, and before she had a chance to finish the glass of punch the sergeant had brought her, he was back, urging her to set the glass aside and dance with him again. She thought if she could have come to the dance and take turns dancing with all the men, she might have enjoyed it; but Desmond had hoarded her as though he owned her, and she was embarrassed at how close he danced with her.
All evening he had kept her on her feet, pressing her breasts against his chest. Now he urged her toward the edge of the circle of a hundred or so people—soldiers, settlers, Indians—everyone having a good time… everyone but her. All evening Desmond had made suggestive remarks, his eyes constantly resting on her breasts, his hands moving over her back as they danced. He had not even asked her yet if she would like to eat. It was dark now, and several people were beginning to retire. She did not like the fact that she could smell liquor on his breath, nor did she like the leering grin on his face. Did his commander know he had been drinking? How had he gotten hold of liquor when it was forbidden on the reservation?
“I’ve had a good time, honey,” Desmond told her, his eyes combing her hungrily. “I knew you were pretty, but you outdid yourself tonight. Ole Seth came through on his pay-off real good.”
He led her off into the darkness, and Lucille stiffened. “What do you mean?” She gasped and cringed when the sergeant jerked her close once they were away from the others, her back to him. He began fondling her breasts as he spoke in a low growl.
“I mean this is one time I’ll agree that the pay-off on the gambling debt is better than money.”
Her throat began to tighten as the reason for the whole night began to become clear to her. “Gambling debt?”
Desmond kissed at her neck. “Didn’t Seth tell you? I won you, honey. Seth got in over his head a few nights ago in a card game, put you up for the pot. I won.”
Lucille shivered with horror. It was bad enough that she had to submit to Seth Bridges. Did he expect to start selling her off to other men now, like some common whore? She jerked away. “Don’t you touch me!”
Desmond grinned. “No protest now, for two reasons.” He grasped her wrist painfully. “I know from the way Seth talks you’re no virgin, sweetheart, so I’m not takin’ anything precious; and if you yell, I’ll say you led me on, make you look like a little slut in front of the others. After all, you did let me dance awful close to you all night. You think the other men didn’t notice that?” He yanked her against him, twisting one arm behind her back. “Besides, Seth said you’d cooperate if I reminded you that if I’m not pleased with my winnings, he’ll pay off with your sister instead. I’ll admit she’s young, but she’s ripe enough; and any man would rather have somethin’ sweet and tight like that. Which way is it gonna be, honey? It’s your decision.”
Lucille could hardly get her breath for the sickening reality of what he was telling her. So, this was the reason Seth had been so attentive, so willing to allow her to get prettied up and come to a dance. This was the reason he had set her up with the sergeant, not with any intention of finding someone for her to marry. It was only to pay off a gambling debt, and if she didn’t make it worthwhile…
Tears stung her eyes and her stomach churned, but she was not about to let Seth or this man—or anyone else—touch Katy. If she screamed for help, she might get it… for tonight. But what about once she and Katy went home with Seth? If Miss Gibbons had been here, perhaps there would be a chance that she would step in and not allow her and Katy to go home at all. She didn’t trust anyone else to see to that, not even the reverend, who was afraid of Seth. As she did when she was with Seth, she began shutting off all feeling, both physical and emotional. “Where would we go?”
“I’ve got a place all made up for us, out a ways from the fort. Nobody will know. When we’re through, we’ll come back and have us a bite to eat. I don’t know about you, but I expect to work up quite an appetite.”
She could see his sickening grin in the moonlight. “Let’s go then,” she said.
Desmond thought her voice sounded deeper, harder. He led her away, and from that moment on, Lucille Bridges never said another word, either of protest or pleasure. When he finished with her, he left her lying there naked on a blanket in the grass, curled up and motionless. He walked off to get himself something to eat, satisfied that Seth Bridges’s debt to him was paid in full.
Ten
Evelyn rode through Falling Eagle’s village, feeling the stares, wondering if Janine and others who had asked believed her when she said she wanted to visit other villages on her own, to get to know as many of the Sioux on a personal basis as she could. Reverend Phillips had been very upset that she would even consider going out alone, and she had had a difficult time persuading him not to come along, something he had at first insisted she allow.
Now she wondered what the Sioux themselves might think once they realized it was Black Hawk she would come through here twice a week to see. She hoped their loyalty to the man would prompt them to trust her more, simply because Black Hawk apparently approved of her. If he decided she was worthy to teach his son, perhaps they would begin sending their own children to school. She wondered what Reverend Phillips and Janine would think of her daring to come and visit alone with the notorious Black Hawk. Would they consider her bold and brave, or terribly sinful and foolish?
Perhaps it was the latter after all. In her own heart she was doing this for reasons more than teaching Black Hawk and his son to read or encouraging other Sioux to send their children to school. She wanted… needed to be alone with Black Hawk… to gradually tell him the whole truth; and she needed to know where her dreams and her heart were leading her. All night she had lain awake thinking about her mother and Wild Horse. She could still remember how her mother looked at the man, how she looked for years afterward wheneve
r she talked about him. She had loved him very much, and why shouldn’t a white woman be able to love an Indian man? Was it such a terrible thing?
She chastised herself for fantasizing over the meaning of her dreams. His reaching out for her was probably a symbol of an Indian asking a white person to help him cross the wide chasm that separated their two worlds. Teaching the man to read was the beginning of the bridge across that chasm.
She arrived at the twin hills Black Hawk had told her about, Mother’s Nest, and she rode toward the center of them. As she made her way through the hills, her thoughts turned for a moment to things Anita had told her about the dance. Apparently, Lucille Bridges was not at all happy about being there with Sergeant Desmond, who had danced embarrassingly close to the poor girl. She was even more glad that she had not gone to the dance herself with the man, but at least she could have handled him better than young Lucille.
The situation with the Bridges girls was still something she wanted to look into, but there was just so much time in a day, and now her weekends would be taken teaching Black Hawk and Little Fox. She had thought at first that she would find only loneliness and boredom in this place so far removed from civilization, but in truth she was very busy. One thing occupying her mind was how to find a way to make Reverend Phillips see how Anita felt about him. When she had asked Anita about having a good time at the dance, she had seen the disappointment in the woman’s eyes.
“I am just a friend to him,” she had answered. “He was very upset that we left you behind, and it was all he talked about. He does not truly see me when he looks at me.”
I will make sure he does see you! Evelyn thought. Sometimes men could be so ignorant of a woman’s needs and feelings. Steven probably still did not have the slightest understanding of why she had needed to come to Standing Rock. By his thinking, she should have been satisfied to marry and settle on his farm and get fat and have ten babies and never leave.
She came upon a stunning canyon beyond Mother’s Nest, a place where it looked as though the earth had simply dropped away, leaving a gaping hole filled with a maze of layered rock formations, the crevices between them formed, she surmised, by rushing waters over thousands of years, or by an ancient glacier. She was glad she had worn her slat bonnet against the penetrating sun. It was early in the day, but already hot. A shadow moved across the ground in front of her. She looked up to see a hawk floating overhead as though to represent Black Hawk’s spirit, for when she followed it, her eyes fell to a distant rise, and, as promised, there was Black Hawk, waiting for her. He waved a lance, and, heart pounding harder with trepidation, she urged her horse down a rocky escarpment and along the canyon floor toward the place where he waited.
She watched Black Hawk also head down an embankment, one so steep she feared he could never make it safely, but his sure-footed Appaloosa and its skilled rider found their way to the bottom with no mishaps. He halted the horse, facing her as she approached. She could not help being impressed by the sight of him. His hair was pulled back into a tail at one side, tied with long, beaded rawhide. Leather armbands accented his powerful biceps, and again, he wore only a vest on his upper torso, except that today his chest was decorated with a beautiful turquoise necklace in the shape of a sunburst. He wore doeskin leggings that were open at the sides, and when she realized they revealed his bare hip to the waist, she quickly looked away. She thought she saw a note of surprise in his eyes, and she supposed he did not really believe she would come alone as promised.
“Before we go farther, you must give me your word you will not tell others where I make my camp.”
“Your own people probably already know,” she answered.
“Some, but not all. It is not my own people who matter. I do not want your white friends or the soldiers to know.”
“I won’t tell them. You have my word.” Evelyn looked around at a confusing array of scraggly stone formations, already feeling confused. “Besides, I wouldn’t know how to begin to find my way around in this place.”
Black Hawk studied her quietly for a moment, then turned his horse. “Follow me.”
She rode behind him, studying his broad shoulders, wondering what she was getting herself into. She was even self-conscious of how she had dressed. She had fussed half the night deciding, finally putting on a light cotton, pale-blue dress, rather plain, with three-quarter sleeves and a high neckline. She wanted to be properly covered but as cool as possible, and this dress was the lightest material of the ones she owned. She had wanted to look nice for Black Hawk, but now she felt silly for caring.
For several minutes they rode without speaking, the only sound being their horses’ hooves echoing against the rocks and the occasional cry of a hawk or a crow. Evelyn felt as though she had ridden into another world, totally removed from the one she had always known. The reservation itself was a far cry from Wisconsin, yet this place was even more remote. It made the reservation seem lively and civilized. Riding into this canyon was like riding into the past, into a time when the Sioux lived free and wild. She could understand why Black Hawk liked it here. Who would bother to come into this confusing mass of twists and turns and hot pathways to find just one man? It was not worth the Army’s time, and she wondered why he had made her promise not to tell where he made camp. She could never find it alone no matter how many times he might bring her here.
Finally, to her surprise, they came upon a stream where there was actually some shrubbery and grass and a few trees. She followed Black Hawk through some underbrush, and they came upon a tipi. Little Fox stood in the stream trying to catch fish with his hands. He turned to smile at his father.
“Ate!” he called, using the Sioux term for father.
Black Hawk halted his horse and slid off it, calling a greeting to the boy. He walked over to help Evelyn down from her own horse, wrapping big hands about her waist, and lifted her down as though she were a small doll.
Evelyn tried to ignore the pleasant feel of his hands on her body. “Thank you,” she said quickly turning away from him to take some books out of her saddlebag.
“I will take the saddle from your horse so it can rest and graze before the ride back this afternoon,” he told her.
“Yes. That would be nice.” Suddenly, she felt awkward and terribly foolish. What on earth was she doing here? If she never returned no one would know for certain where she had gone. She might never be found. She breathed deeply for courage, telling herself that at least it was cooler here, surprisingly pleasant, considering the hot, dry maze of rocks through which they had just ridden. She walked to the edge of the stream while Black Hawk took care of the horses. She noticed that across the stream the land rose steeply, the bank green and flowered smattered with trees part way up, before turning into nothing but rock and clay again.
What an oddly beautiful place this is, she thought. No one would expect to find trees and grass in this pit of gray-and-white and yellow rock. She looked over at Little Fox, who was handsome like his father. He stood watching her curiously. “Hello, Little Fox,” she said aloud giving him the hand sign for greetings.
He answered in a hand sign, his eyes moving then to his father, who moved to stand beside Evelyn.
“Come inside the lodge,” Black Hawk told her. “It is cooler.” He told Little Fox in the Sioux tongue to also come inside. Evelyn followed Black Hawk into the tipi, realizing with relief that he was right. It was even cooler there than beside the stream. The bottom of the tipi skins was turned up to allow air to circulate, and inside it was quite roomy. As she looked around and began untying her bonnet, she drew in her breath at the sight of many beautiful painted pictures on the inner lining of the tipi. The artwork showed fine detail: a sunrise over a rocky canyon; an Indian woman holding a child; Indian children playing; a warrior on his horse, looking out at distant hills. There were various other scenes, all in splendid colors, the people and animals portrayed with as much skill as any professional painter.
“Bla
ck Hawk! Did you paint these scenes?”
He studied them with her. “When a warrior can no longer hunt or fight his enemies, and when he has no family left but one little son, he has much time on his hands. Yes, I painted them. It is the only reason I have for going to the agency, to get brushes and paint that they order for me. Otherwise I do not need the agency. I hunt for my own food. Little Fox and I hunt together now. He has become very skilled with the bow.”
Evelyn glanced from Black Hawk to his son, who had also come inside and now stood in front of his father, grinning. “I am sure he will be as fine a hunter as his father someday,” she said in the Sioux tongue, watching the boy’s eyes light up with pride.
She wondered if Black Hawk realized what a talent he had for painting. He could surely make money by selling such paintings if he would put them on canvas that could be framed. She decided not to mention it for the moment, sure he was not ready to hear how he could earn money the white man’s way. “Your paintings are very beautiful,” she told him as she removed her hat. They show you are a man of compassion, with a beautiful inner soul, she wanted to add. “I did not know you had the ability.”
Sadness came into his eyes, mixed with a hint of anger. “A man learns to fill the empty days, or lose his mind,” he answered. He put out one arm. “You will sit over here,” he said, indicating the back side of the tipi, across from the entrance. The central fire, which today was just a few glowing embers, was between her and the entrance. “It is the place of honor,” he told her.
Evelyn was touched. Black Hawk was a different man here, away from the rest of the reservation, away from commotion and settlement. She knew enough about Sioux culture to realize how honored she was to be offered the position across from the entrance, rather than ushered to the right side, which was usually the place for women. “This area is called Catku,” she said as she sat down on a pile of robes and laid her hat aside.
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