Frontier Courtship

by Valerie Hansen

  Whirling, the young Cheyenne made a dash for the door, only to be stopped by running into Connell’s broad chest with a dull thump.

  He caught her neatly. Held her fast. His gaze shot to where Faith stood. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I thought we were becoming friends, then she suddenly got upset and tried to run away.”

  He spoke calmly to the girl. Her answer made him smile. “She thinks you want your old dress back.”

  “I do.” Faith continued to scowl. “I’ll need it to wear when we leave here.”

  “That’s not how this works,” he explained carefully. “Spotted Fawn Woman offered you the best she had. When you accepted it, you agreed to a trade.”

  “She wants my old calico? It’s a mess.”

  “Is it the best you had?”

  “It’s all I had,” Faith said.

  “Then she’s happy with it. If you insist on trading back you’ll be insulting her skill. She made what you’re wearing with her own hands. It probably took months of her spare time just to do the beadwork.”

  “Tell her it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned and I wouldn’t dream of parting with it.” Faith spoke to Connell, but her tender regard rested on the Indian girl. “I’ll treasure it always. And please say I wish I had something better, something prettier to give to her besides my old dress.”

  Watching closely, Faith could tell when he’d conveyed the full message because Spotted Fawn’s expression softened and her winning smile returned.

  “You do have one other thing,” Connell reminded her. “The quilt.”

  For an instant Faith’s heart rebelled. Then she got control of her selfish desire to keep her grandmother’s handiwork and nodded at Connell. “You’re right. That will be perfect. I’ll get it.”

  Lovingly displaying the quilt in her outstretched arms, Faith presented it to the younger woman. “Tell her I want her to have it,” she said sincerely. “To go with the dress.”

  He spoke, then said, “She wants to give you something else in return.”

  “No. This outfit is already an unfair trade. We don’t know what’s ahead for us. Anything could happen. I’d like to know my grandmother’s quilt is safe and treasured, as it should be.”

  Tears sprang to Spotted Fawn’s eyes when Connell translated the presentation of the gift. That emotional reaction was all the thanks, all the confirmation, Faith wanted or needed.

  It was wonderful to be so positive she was doing the right thing for a change. She knew there was a time, not long ago, when she would have clung to her last possession, seeing it as the most important element in her life. Yet, now that she’d been stripped of every concrete tie to her past, she felt liberated.

  Faith’s eyes also filled with unshed tears when the girl accepted the quilt and clasped it close to her heart as if it were the most precious gift she’d ever received. Giving it was certainly the most rewarding thing Faith had ever done.

  Being able to part with the quilt and be truly glad to have given it away felt like a direct answer to her prayers for deliverance from covetousness. Seeing how happy she’d made the girl doubled Faith’s blessing and she silently thanked the Lord that she’d been allowed to atone for her sins so perfectly. So conclusively.

  This is going to be the first of many more selfless decisions I make, she told herself proudly, beginning with not being jealous of Connell’s relationship with Irene anymore.

  To her consternation, that thought doused her jubilance like a bucket of water poured over a roaring campfire. Though a remnant of joy remained, it was overshadowed by a sense of loss that was just like the way Faith had felt when she’d realized she was going to have to put aside her own desires and leave the place she loved in order to keep the promise she’d made to her mother.

  This recent promise to eschew jealousy was even more binding, she realized with chagrin. It had been part of a prayer, so it was a vow directly to God.

  Faith was still scuffling with her inner self over that judicious reasoning when Connell said, “That was a real nice thing to do. I’m proud of you, Little Dove Woman.”

  She huffed in self-deprecation. “You’d best keep calling me a dirty dove for a while longer. I haven’t quite got the hang of keeping my thoughts pure yet.”

  The surprised look on his face was bad enough. Watching him erupt into laughter a few moments later was worse.

  “I think you’ll do just as you are,” he said when he finally stopped chuckling enough to speak.

  “Ha!” Faith made a face, said aside, “I hope the Good Lord agrees with you. Somehow, I doubt it.”

  Before she left the lodge, Spotted Fawn Woman carefully combed and braided Faith’s thick, dark hair once again, this time also rolling the plaits into spirals, one on each side of her head, and fastening them there with leather thongs trimmed in beads and small, colored feathers. It wasn’t until the girl was leaving with the quilt that Faith realized she had stripped the decorations she’d used from her own hair.

  Standing alone in the center of the teepee, every nerve in her body taut, Faith listened. She could only imagine what was going on outside. Most of the individual calling and conversing had died down. Chanting and the syncopated beating of drums had taken their place. Everything vibrated in unison, as if the camp itself contained a living, throbbing, human heart.

  Instead of the noises lulling her, as before, this cacophony raised gooseflesh. Where was Connell? He’d promised to return for her as soon as he could. Suppose something awful had happened to him? Suppose he’d been hurt? Attacked? Even killed! That notion was enough to spur her into action.

  “If he’s not back by the time I count to a thousand I’m going to find him,” she muttered. “One, two, three…”

  The tent flap swung back. Faith gasped, then took a ragged breath of relief. It was Connell.

  “Thank heavens! Where have you been?”

  “Busy,” he said. His glance traveled over her from head to toe and back again. “I wish you didn’t look quite so pretty tonight.”

  “Thanks, I think. Would you like me to rub some mud on my face again?”

  “Too late for that.” Turning, he started through the door. “Follow me. And don’t say a word. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, but—”

  He stopped only long enough to scowl down at her and say, “Hush. If you don’t do one other thing I tell you the rest of the way to California, do this. Understand?”

  Faith nodded solemnly, lowered her eyes and fell into place behind him like the subservient person she was supposed to be.

  It was not his plea for silence that made her comply, it was the glitter of warning in his stare, the threat of menace underlying his tone.

  She didn’t think for a minute that Connell would harm her if she disobeyed.

  But what the Cheyenne might do if they discovered Irene’s subterfuge in displaying the so-called magic of the watch was quite another matter. One Faith didn’t even want to consider.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Flames from the communal fire in the center of the camp bathed the gathered throng in a shimmering aura. The aroma of roasted meat mingled with more earthy odors, swirling toward the heavens in smoky eddies that both tantalized and repulsed Faith.

  Connell must have sensed her uneasiness, because he glanced back to tell her, “You’re doing fine. We’re almost there.”

  In passing, Faith was able to pick out Spotted Fawn among the dancers primarily because the girl had the familiar quilt draped over her shoulders. Trancelike, the Cheyenne followed one another around the fire with a shuffling, bobbing gait, paying no heed to anything but the drums and their own repetitive steps and chants.

  No wonder Connell had wanted her to stay inside the lodge! Getting too close to this ceremony could undoubtedly be dangerous as well as foolhardy, especially for someone who knew almost nothing about tribal lore. Clearly, her experiences with Spotted Fawn Woman, although fascinating and rewarding, ha
d imparted a sense of security where none existed.

  Faith shivered imperceptibly. She might be dressed as a Cheyenne, but she was still an outsider. It would behoove her to remember that, especially if she didn’t want a hank of her own hair added to Black Kettle’s scalp shirt!

  She chanced a brief look at the chief. There he was, big as life, wearing the proof of people he’d killed like so many war trophies.

  Which was exactly what they were, she reasoned. Those scalps were his medals of valor. They might be more grisly than the ribbons or stripes the soldiers at Fort Laramie wore, but they stood for exactly the same thing. What a sobering thought!

  Studying Black Kettle from a distance, Faith was struck by his departure from the amiable nature he had displayed before. Here and now, he was the unquestionable ruler of all he surveyed; a force not to be trifled with. Everything about him, from his proud posture to his defiant expression, insisted that he be obeyed.

  In Faith’s eyes, the only person more formidable looking was Connell McClain. Praying silently for his deliverance, she watched him stride forcefully toward the chief and the tribal council. He never faltered, not slowing until he stood eye to eye with Black Kettle.

  Frenzied chanting and drumming ceased. Even the dogs seemed to sense a momentous event in the offing, because they stopped yapping.

  Faith was sure anyone standing near her could hear the wild thumps of her heart. She certainly could. She held her breath as Connell began to speak. Though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice came across strong, his confidence in himself and his cause evident. Irene couldn’t have asked for a better champion.

  And speaking of Irene, where was she? Faith wondered, scanning the crowd.

  That question was answered quickly. Connell swept his arm in a grandiose arc and pointed. Irene was approaching on foot, accompanied by Walks With Tree. Between them they led a magnificent horse. Bunches of feathers and beads were tied in the horse’s mane; a blanket was draped across his back and he was decorated with war paint. That was why it took Faith a few seconds to realize she was looking at Connell’s horse, Rojo!

  Overwrought on behalf of the plainsman, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from protesting.

  The assembled Cheyenne closed ranks behind the little procession and pressed in on their chief and his captive medicine woman.

  Faith edged closer, too, wanting to keep Connell and Irene in sight, but she was far too short to see over the heads of those in front of her. Determined to follow the drama, she circled around to the opposite side of the campfire where a group of wide-eyed youngsters had gathered to watch the show. Their smiles of remembrance warmed her heart. One little girl even reached up and took her hand.

  “Hello again,” Faith whispered.

  The child tugged her to sit beside her on the ground.

  “Okay.” How Faith wished she could educate this dear child, could tell her the truth about the so-called magical watch without risking everyone else’s life. She didn’t dare, of course. Too much was at stake. Yet it seemed so unfair to let the impressionable girl go on thinking a mere pocket watch held spiritual significance. Perhaps someday, after they’d rescued Charity and found Papa, she’d be able to return to the Cheyenne as a teacher or a missionary or both and set things right.

  That notion took her totally by surprise. Before she could pursue it further, however, Irene held up the watch. On cue, the alarm sounded.

  Children gasped. So did many of the adults. The little girl who had befriended Faith ducked beneath her arm to hide.

  Faith pulled her closer and leaned down to offer quiet reassurance. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  She thought she’d spoken cautiously enough to keep from being overheard, yet in seconds two sinewy warriors appeared in front of her, grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her to her feet as easily as if she weighed less than one of the children she’d been sitting with.

  Shock overrode any modicum of remaining restraint. “No!” she screeched. “Let go of me. I haven’t done anything!”

  They ignored her protests and dragged her through the assembled throng while she writhed and kicked like a rabbit caught in a snare. The child left behind began to wail.

  Faces passed in a blur. Angry faces. Hostile faces. Shouting faces. The braves delivered Faith to the chief and dropped her in a heap at his feet, then shoved her facedown into the dirt.

  Spitting and struggling, she tried to right herself but was immediately forced prostrate once again. They pushed her so violently this time she could hardly catch her breath.

  Over the sounds of the surrounding melee she heard Connell shout something in Cheyenne. His voice held so much pathos she needed no translation to know he was pleading on her behalf. She covered her face with her hands and lay very still, too shocked to think straight let alone pray rationally.

  More nearby voices joined in expressions of rage. Faith’s head was spinning. This was all wrong! She was innocent of any crime. If only she could explain and apologize, surely they’d see she’d simply been trying to comfort a frightened child and had meant no harm to anyone.

  She suddenly remembered that Black Kettle spoke English. He’d understand what she was trying to convey.

  She pulled her knees under her, preparing to rise, but before she could even look up, Connell gave a guttural shout and threw himself over her as a human shield, knocking her back down and keeping her there.

  His mouth was inches from her ear when he rasped, “Don’t move.”

  “I—”

  “And don’t say another word.”

  Faith bit her lip so hard she tasted blood mixed with the gritty dust in her mouth. Poor Connell! What had she done? She clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut tight. So much shouting was going on all around them it would have been impossible to tell who was saying what even if everyone had been speaking English. At this point, all Faith was certain of was her own precarious position—in more ways than one.

  A lance tip had cut through Connell’s shirt to pierce his back near his left shoulder blade. He knew the quick thrust had been meant to warn, not to kill. Yet.

  Every muscle in his body readied for defense while his mind insisted that such resistance was futile. What could one man do against hundreds of armed braves? More importantly, how could he hope to save Faith Beal when so many were now calling for her execution?

  Reality hit him squarely. The truth was, he couldn’t save anyone. Especially not now. He’d shown his true allegiance when he’d thrown himself between Faith and the warriors’ weapons, thereby sealing his own fate. It was going to take a lot bigger influence than Irene’s watch could provide to get any of them out of this predicament alive. It was going to take genuine Divine intervention. The kind that came from only one source.

  Connell hadn’t consciously, purposely, talked to his God since Little Rabbit Woman’s death. To pray now, when he was about to join her, seemed sacrilegious.

  A surprising calm descended upon the plainsman. If he must die, he would face that fate with honor. With courage. With few regrets except his inability to deliver on all his well-intentioned promises.

  Hunched over beneath Connell, Faith sensed a change in him that gave her hope. As soon as she figured out what he planned to do, she’d gladly cooperate and they’d all get out of this mess in one piece. Together. Just as originally planned. In the meantime, she wished somebody would say something in English so she’d have a little idea of what was going on.

  As if in direct answer, Connell again warned, “Don’t move,” and began to slowly lift his upper body off her while remaining on his knees before Black Kettle.

  Faith almost disobeyed his command when she heard his muffled groan of pain. It was only with the utmost effort that she kept her eyes covered, her posture submissive.

  Head already bowed, eyes closed, she turned to silent prayer. Dear Lord, please help Connell. Help us all. I k
now You sent him to help me and I disobeyed You when I didn’t listen to his advice. I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me. And tell me what to do now, Father.

  Above her, she heard courage in the plainsman’s voice as he said, “Black Kettle is a wise chief. A brave warrior. Will he make war on a crazy woman who knows nothing of the ways of the Cheyenne? Will his ancestors honor him for her death? If he must have another scalp, let him take one from a brave fighter who has proved himself in battle. Let him take mine.”

  Faith’s heart leaped to her throat and choked off her breath. Was she doomed simply because she’d spoken out of turn? It seemed impossible. Yet Connell obviously thought so or he wouldn’t have offered himself in her place.

  No, God! No! her soul screamed. There must be another way. There must be. Please!

  A hush fell over the crowd. Tempted almost beyond her strength to resist, Faith yearned to rise and somehow defend her champion.

  Reason prevailed. That was exactly the kind of rash behavior that had thrust them into this fiery furnace of wrath in the first place, she reminded herself, contrasting her current dilemma with the biblical deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

  I trust God like they did. I do, she insisted. So where is God now? Where’s the answer to my prayer for deliverance?

  Had God forsaken her because she’d been unable to overcome her jealousy even after she’d recognized it as a sin? Or was He expecting her to bravely declare her Christian faith and become a martyr? It wasn’t hard to admit that that particular prospect didn’t appeal to her one bit. It had been a lot easier to think of God as master of her destiny when she hadn’t been facing the final precious moments of life. Yet what better time for total commitment?

  Faith took a deep breath as she raised her head and looked straight at Black Kettle. Their gazes locked. A barely perceptible tilt of the chief’s head was all the warriors needed to tell them to move Connell off her and keep him out of the way.