Tender Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  He sat down to ease the tremblings within his shaky legs. Bright Arrow sat down beside him, not daring to break his concentration on the bittersweet past. “A past friend of Shalee’s who had led her people here found her. She was ill and dying, for she had lost our first child. Powchutu had allowed white trappers to attack them and injure her. When she was well, Powchutu took her from the friend’s dwelling and went to where many other whites lived. Within a few moons, Powchutu was killed by the Bluecoat with yellow hair who had somehow escaped the destruction at Fort Pierre. Yellow-hair then took Shalee prisoner.”

  “A white man held her captive?” Bright Arrow angrily exploded, distressed by the agony his dear mother had suffered. He was their second child?

  “Yes. He threatened to tell others about her life with me if she did not join him. She had no money, as the whites call it. She was alone and afraid, so she joined him. I had dishonored him at the fort and many other times. He had been injured and could no longer take a woman to his mat. He hated me, and he hated her for not going to his mat at the fort. He wished revenge on both of us. He placed what the white man calls a bounty upon me, offering much money for my scalp and wanapin. I went to slay him, for he also paid much for such things of other great chiefs and warriors.”

  “My mother joined a white-eyes who traded in bloody souvenirs! She would die first!” Bright Arrow disputed such repulsive claims.

  “She was very young, Bright Arrow. She did not know of his evil trade. Her heart was lost to me, and she believed I had betrayed her, had left her to die. Her choice was either join him or become a whore to survive. Which evil was greater?” he asked.

  “This is strange and confusing, my father.”

  “I dressed as a white-eyes and sought him out. After slaying him, I found Shalee in his wooden tepee. I was furious, for I thought she also wished me dead. Powchutu had told me many lies. He said she had only accepted me for the safety of their unborn child which she supposedly carried. But the child was in truth mine!”

  “What did mother say when you found her?”

  “Nothing! For I was too proud and angry to allow her to speak. I treated her as shamefully as when she was my white slave. The white friend I spoke of before followed after us to speak for her. We had met many times in the past; we were friends. He knew many things I did not, things even Shalee did not know. He came and talked to us. It was good, for Shalee was then carrying you. There was much to forget and to forgive. But our love and desire were strong. We did this, and we have been happy many winters. The friend who came to uncover Powchutu’s treachery was called Joe Kenny.”

  This name obviously meant nothing to Bright Arrow. Yet, he sensed that it should from the way Gray Eagle stressed the name and now looked at him. The enlightenment came when Gray Eagle added, “The girl in our tepee is called Rebecca Kenny.”

  Baffled, Bright Arrow reasoned upon these new and disturbing facts. Rebecca’s father had been his mother’s friend and protector. Yet, Rebecca was too young to be the child of Joe and Shalee, to be his half-blooded sister. That deduction elated him, but inspired another mystery. Since his father knew these facts, why did he resent Rebecca and wish her gone?

  “Rebecca is the daughter of your friend Joe Kenny?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Gray Eagle laconically replied.

  “How could you hate the daughter of a friend?” he inquired.

  “The white woman with whom Joe Kenny joined had loved another man before him. He had been slain by Yellow-hair. It was that man’s child she carried. Rebecca does not know she is not the true daughter of my old friend,” he hinted, testing Bright Arrow’s intuitive skills, allowing him to gradually extract the full truth.

  Dreadful qualms filled Bright Arrow. “Who is her true father?”

  “Powchutu,” he tersely replied, that one name exposing all.

  It required only a brief time for Bright Arrow to digest the implications of this one crucial fact. “She does not know this truth you hold within you?” he stressed for clarity.

  “No. Koda Joe told me before he left to join her. Your mother learned this and rebelled against sending her away. That is why we battled, over Powchutu’s daughter and the secret I had kept hidden from her.”

  “You punish Rebecca for the evil deeds of her real father?” he questioned.

  “Powchutu stole Shalee from my mat shortly after our joining day. He filled her head with many lies. He caused her great shame and anguish. He caused the death of our first child. He placed her within the hands of Yellow-hair. Rebecca carries his evil blood. How could I allow the daughter of Powchutu to have my only son? Does a wise man hand his life and honor over to his worst enemy?”

  “She does not know about this evil!” he argued in her behalf.

  “That changes nothing! She is white! She is his daughter! You are the son of Gray Eagle. You could become the next Oglala chief at any sun. A warrior faces constant death and danger. The whites could strike me down with the rising sun. Would warriors follow a chief who keeps an enemy within his heart and tepee?”

  “You are wrong, Father. Rebecca is also a half-breed like my mother. She is innocent of his evil. A man must stand upon his own deeds and skills. We cannot take glory or blame for the acts and words of another. Is this not so?” he demanded.

  Gray Eagle pondered his logic. “In many ways, you are right. Still, it changes nothing in the eyes of our people. To them, she is white. A half-breed is even more despicable,” he reminded his son.

  “But I am a half-breed, Father,” Bright Arrow asserted.

  “You are the son of Gray Eagle and Shalee. What little white blood you carry does not matter. Hers does…Many know how Powchutu stole Shalee. To reveal who she is would endanger her life. If she remains here too long, others might guess her dark secret. How can a warrior present a face which is stained with weakness to his enemies? We have said much and I grow weary. Let us speak no more of these troubling matters tonight. I also have things which I must say to your mother. Return to our tepee and send her to me.”

  Bright Arrow returned to their tepee and told his mother to go to the stream and speak with Gray Eagle. She left Rebecca and Bright Arrow in silence, wondering at his moodiness.

  At the river, she questioned her husband about Bright Arrow’s strange behavior. Gray Eagle related their conversation to her. Wide-eyed, she questioned, “You told him all these things? About me? About us? Our past?”

  “There was a need for him to hear them from me, not another. I told him only of the things which others know. I did not speak of Matu’s trick. He does not know you are white. Only White Arrow knows this truth and he will never speak of it to anyone. Even so, Bright Arrow still desires to keep Rebecca. What do you say?” he candidly asked.

  “To me, she is the daughter of Joe and Mary. I cannot find hatred for her within my heart. She has suffered much. But I will not defy your decision. If you wish her gone, I only ask you to send her to someone who will not harm her. I fear what her stay could bring to light.”

  He smiled, for she had spoken the words he longed to hear. “My love for you increases each moon. I sense a great threat in her remaining here, but she can stay…for now. We all agree she must never know her real name. All secrets must be carefully buried again.”

  “It will be as you say, my husband.” Arm in arm, they returned to their tepee.

  Chapter Ten

  For the next few weeks, an unchanging pattern dominated their lives. For the men, each day was spent in one of two ways. The braves hunted game and protected the encampment; the warriors raided whites and harried the soldiers. Each morning the dauntless warriors would leave camp, only to return at dusk. From the prizes they brought home, it was abundantly clear who had been that day’s victor.

  Countless trappers and greedy miners were furiously driven from the Indians’ forests, hills, and plains. These particular men were frequently slain; any women or children with them were taken captive. Gray Eagle’s pretension of generosi
ty allowed most of these unfortunate captives to go to the other Indian villages. He declared that he did not wish his camp flooded with white-eyes whose blood would mingle with theirs in despised half-breed children. As was the Indian custom, confiscated goods and furs were passed out amongst those in dire need of them, mostly Indian women who had lost their mates in fierce and deadly skirmishes with the whites.

  This mode of operation seemed to please and to stimulate the warriors who were united against this new influx of white men. These raiding parties relentlessly ambushed small troops of soldiers from the newly established Fort Dakota, a strong fortress which was in sight of the previously demolished Fort Pierre. Perhaps it was this constant reminder of the awesome capabilities of the unconquerable Gray Eagle which imbued these soldiers with respect and fear. It was no secret how quickly and easily the mighty Eagle had swooped down and accomplished this drastic feat.

  The Indians would forcefully strike at the careless cavalry units without warning. Gray Eagle ordered several bands of skillful warriors to cut off the fort’s supply routes with frequent and costly assaults. Then many men and supplies found their way into the aim of an accurate, flaming arrow or as the target of a forcefully hurled lance.

  The cavalry’s counterattacks did very little to staunch this onminous surge of defiance. Within a few weeks, the soldiers were reeling from slashes of the sharp and lethal talons of the legendary, indomitable Eagle. Nothing they attempted seemed effective upon these determined warriors and their intrepid leader. In desperation, they practiced atrocities which made the Indians appear the ones who were civilized.

  Feeling condoned, the Indians retaliated in like manner. The cruelties and sacrifices escalated on both sides in this unyielding war. Gray Eagle requested another meeting of the Warrior Society in the camp of the Cheyenne, wanting to keep his beloved white wife as far removed from this heart-rending action as possible. He suggested another crafty plan to further harass and to eventually disable the fort. In a stirring tone, he outlined his thoughts and plans. The warriors listened intently and agreed with his logic and wisdom.

  Gray Eagle then assigned each side of the fort to four different tribes. Each group of warriors would be responsible for terrorizing all whites and soldiers in their designated area. It would be up to each band to make certain the cavalry did not use their secret doors in the fort’s towering walls to receive supplies, additional men, or much needed weapons. The cavalry would not be permitted to use those hidden exits to gather wood for cooking or heating, to hunt fresh game in the nearby forest, to carry out raids upon their camps which were vulnerable with the warriors occupied here and in the surrounding area, or to draw water from the river which was four hundred yards from the fort’s walls. Gray Eagle had shrewdly devastated the trough which ran from the river into the fort via a small, square opening at the base of the back wall. Surely this lack of water for the whites and their animals would take a heavy toll upon their resistance. Still, the Indians realized one critical point: if the fort was well-stocked, it could require great patience and persistence before this rigorous plan defeated their enemies. Anticipation of their triumph flooded the warriors with new zeal and valiance.

  “If our tribes were joined as one, Gray Eagle,” Chief Flaming Bow commented, “you would be our great leader. Perhaps in time, the Great Spirit will also give to me your same wisdom and cunning. We were wise to name you as the band leader for this last skirmish with our white foes.”

  Bright Arrow was consumed with happiness and genuine pride in his father. He listened closely to his father’s words, hoping to learn all he could from this illustrious warrior before the day came when he must lead the Oglala.

  Gray Eagle smiled. “Your words honor me, Flaming Bow. But I am no longer a young and powerful warrior. The final raid must be led by another warrior. Unless the Society says otherwise, I say the son of Chief Night Hawk should lead that important raid; he has earned this right with his courage and assistance.”

  The vote was taken; Gray Eagle’s suggestion was approved by each warrior and chief present. Gray Eagle’s next words disturbed the many warriors who inwardly knew they were accurate. “This war will settle our conflict for many moons. But more whites will come another day. Once before, we joined together to disband and to purge them from our lands. But more came. With the next winter, still more will press forward to take lands which are ours. The days of lasting peace have ended forever. The white man refuses honorable truce. He wishes to steal what is ours. Many warriors have been slain. The face of Mother Earth bears the scars of the white man’s treachery. Others will come, and the war will begin once more. With this battle, we only earn a few moons of peace and happiness. But we must continue to push back each new flow, for to allow them to gather strength and size would be dangerous to us.”

  “Your words bring sadness and anger to my heart, Gray Eagle,” Silver Star expressed in a strained voice. “But you speak wise and true. The survival of our people is in the hands of our new chief and our noble band leader. I am old and tired. I will remain in my camp to guard the women and children. Fighting belongs in the hands of younger and stronger warriors.”

  “There is no dishonor in growing old, Silver Star. This is the way of the Great Spirit. Soon, I will follow in these same steps, as will all men who live.”

  The old chief beamed in renewed spirits. The talk continued until many trying matters were settled. Finally, each band of warriors headed for its own village.

  Witnessing this new uprising, many white settlers moved out of the Eagle’s domain. Other pioneers and evil trespassers remained in the realm of the fearless Sioux, sealing their fates with this obstinance and greed. Men who were obsessed with the lust for gold, silver, and valuable furs recklessly invaded sacred burial grounds—and died for their greed.

  But the most obdurate group was the cavalry. They belligerently refused to heed the warnings in the air; they resolved they would not be defeated and humiliated by one mortal man. They reasoned if he could be slain, the others would lose their sense of unity…None seemed to realize if the famed Gray Eagle was somehow struck down in this noble battle, another chief would take his place, then another if necessary. To the Indians, Gray Eagle was a magnetic legend; but he was not viewed as an immortal god. Assuredly he was the greatest warrior to ever ride the plains; but he was only human, a human who was smiled upon by Wakantanka.

  For the Indian women and their white captives, this was a busy time. Their days were spent with routine chores, in tightly suppressed anxiety. It would not do to reveal worry and stress. Such emotions would display a lack of confidence in their warriors. So, this pattern continued: the braves hunted and fished; the women did their tasks; the warriors battled their enemies.

  July had shown her torrid face. The season for the great buffalo hunt to prepare for the harsh winter was nearing. Yet, this grueling warfare went on, increasing in violence each day. By now, it was evident the soldiers had been well-supplied before this daring siege. The Indians had no way of knowing the fort had just received a massive load of supplies, or that the commanding officer was also cunning and prudential, or that the fort’s water supply had been sagaciously safe-guarded against such a devastating ploy as was now in effect. The Indians did not know about the other trough which was buried beneath a foot of dirt and overgrown with prairie grass. This shrewd commander was most conscious of the defeat of his predecessor; he had studied every foreseeable measure which the Indians might take against them and had planned against it. A V-shaped, wooden trough had been placed in a long, narrow trench; covered with another matching, inverted trough; nailed together; and then concealed with dirt. As time had passed, new grass had grown over this area and blotted it from sight.

  Lieutenant Timothy Moore had also assured the fort and his men against coerced starvation. He had maintained a hefty supply of necessities, sending out hunting parties each day for fresh food, conserving his dried or salted meats and vegetables for a day such as this one
. At the first sign of coercible isolation, he had placed his men on strict rations in an attempt to out-smart and to out-wait the Indians. From where it stood now, he could hold out for another month; with luck, two.

  In the Sioux camp, another drama was gradually unfolding. With the casual acceptance of a white captive in the life and upon the mat of Bright Arrow, resentment was building up within several Indian maidens who had cast their eyes upon this valiant warrior and who had lost their heads and hearts over him. Each time these two people—the beautiful white girl and the stalwart Sioux warrior—were sighted together, this bitterness and hostility increased, especially within Desert Flower and Little Tears. Their rivalry for this famed warrior had been halted by the arrival of an intolerable opponent: a gorgeous white enemy. Sensing their loss more deeply with each passing moon he spent with this white creature, they inevitably joined forces against her.

  Desert Flower and Little Tears pursued any path which might harass or belittle her before the others. They pressed, ridiculed, and tormented Rebecca at each available opportunity. They sought ways to make her appear disobedient. Quick to notice this emotional battle, Shalee made this cruel treatment and wicked deception impossible for most of the time. Knowing the stress upon the minds of the warriors, neither female said anything to Gray Eagle or to Bright Arrow.

  As Shalee’s slim body began to plump with child, Rebecca generously assumed the heavier chores. With the men away for most of each day, the two warriors were unaware of the immense help this white girl was to the Indian princess. Aware of her husband’s feelings for this particular girl, Shalee did not expound upon her good qualities: the mistake of doing this same thing with Rebecca’s father had once bred a great deal of trouble between Shalee and her husband. Yet, Shalee came to depend more and more upon Rebecca’s kindness, attention, and strength. As a persistent spring flower which forces its head through the vanishing snows, their admiration and respect for each other grew each day.