by Sadie Conall
“I’m honoured to meet you,” he said, bowing slightly, first to Madeleine as Ryder’s wife, then Deinde'-paggwe. “Please make yourselves at home while you’re here. Ska’zica will take care of you, you need only ask. What is ours is yours. But come, let’s get you all settled, for I want very much to sit and talk.”
He turned to his sons and the men around him and switched to speak in Sioux, ordering great logs to be brought to the firepit and set alight and the deer carcasses which had been brought in by the hunters that morning to be prepared for a feast to welcome their guests.
Madeleine and Deinde'-paggwe retrieved their belongings from their horses then followed Ska’zica inside the main cabin, leaving the men to take the horses across to those lush fields to graze.
The cabin was just one big room with an alcove off it in which Allard and Ska’zica slept. A great wooden table, able to sit up to fifteen people, sat on the far side of the room close to a huge fireplace. On the other side of the room, taking up the whole wall, were bunk beds. Wooden ladders led up to each bench which were wide enough to sleep two adults which allowed up to twelve people to sleep in this room during the bitterly cold winter months.
Madeleine offered Ska’zica what was left of the bags of coffee and tobacco which Ryder had traded at the Rendezvous and as the Hŭŋkpapĥa woman heated water to make her a cup, Harry moved to sit on her lap, unwilling to let her move away from him. Ska’zica and several other Hŭŋkpapĥa women busied themselves making fried bread, cutting up slices of smoked venison and melon as the Bannock girls chatted around them. Madeleine closed her eyes in gratitude that they were here, allowing herself to lean into Harry, smelling him, taking pleasure in him, as the noise of women laughing and talking filled the room around her.
The door stood open to allow the summer breeze to enter the room and for the first time since they rode out of the Omaha village some four months earlier, Madeleine felt herself begin to relax. When Ryder and his brothers entered the room along with Aishi-waahni’ and the Lemoine men more than an hour later, a feast lay ready for them. Madeleine turned to him, startled by his size. She hadn’t seen him within the confines of four walls for over three years and had forgotten how much he filled a room. Although he was in good company, for the Lemoine men were all big, solid males.
She met his gaze and smiled at him, feeling a sudden desire to be alone with him, feeling the passion for him sweep through her like a burst of need that surprised her by its urgency because it came unbidden, unwelcome in this gathering. It was almost painful the love she felt for him. And it was that moment she decided she would stop taking the stoneseed herbs as soon as they reached the Bannock, for she had an unexpected, desperate yearning to bear him another child. For that babe must be born before they returned to England, to the life of duty and privilege that waited for them there, because she wanted the child to know this life as Harry knew it now. She wanted the babe to run free in the long summer grass in bare feet, to drink from a river that was as clear and pure as it was when it burst free from its source, to eat food so fresh it had just been taken from the very earth.
As though he knew her thoughts, Ryder came to her and put a hand on her shoulder, as though claiming her as his own before all these men. She felt the energy of him like a vibrant tremor that reached into her very soul and could sense his own desire. But like her, he knew their time alone would come soon enough. Tonight was all about being back with family.
They would rest here for a few weeks, within the safety of the Hŭŋkpapĥa people before their final push west. And while here, they would grab hold of what little time they had left with Ryder’s brothers and the Comanche before they bid their farewells, which were likely to be forever.
*
The firepit blazed with heat, the hot coals the only reminder of the great logs which had been placed there hours ago. It was late, almost midnight, yet everyone still sat around the fire unwilling to go to their beds, having eaten their fill of roasted venison, corn, beans, freshly baked bread and squash.
Madeleine was leaning into Ryder, feeling the heat of him, although it wasn’t cold. They sat on one of the deer hides spread out around the fire, with Harry curled within her lap, although the little boy had fallen asleep hours ago. She glanced over at Poongatse. The girl was sitting close to Deinde'-paggwe who was cuddling Kimana, the little girl also fast asleep. Beside them sat Wannge’e and Te’tukhe. Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’ were sitting on the other side of them, next to Allard and his family, with the Hŭŋkpapĥa scouts and Hŭŋkpapĥa families sitting on buffalo and deer hides all around us.
It was impossible to remember everyone because there were so many people living here. There were the families of Allard’s three sons. There were extended family from the Hŭŋkpapĥa village who came and went as they chose. And Madeleine wondered as she watched this gregarious, generous family if this was how Sébastien and Hubert Lemoine had been. If so, she could understand why Ryder had fallen in love with Hubert as a child, why he had wanted that great bear of a man to be his father. For if Hubert had owned just a little of the passion and love which Allard showed towards his family and friends, then she could understand how a small boy might idolize such a man.
Yet Te’tukhe and Wesa'shangke also owned some of that spirit. Why else would Te’tukhe leave a fortune in furs behind he had spent two years trapping, to return to the north to track her and Harry when he learned they were alone in the wild and heading for the Omaha.
Why else would Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’ agree to take Harry and the Bannock girls north, when their plans had been to return to the south, to the Comanche.
And even Ryder, despite owning not one drop of Lemoine blood, owned some of their traits. For although the Benedict family were a powerful dynasty within English society and had been for centuries, they didn’t own the Lemoine’s strong sense of family, or their loyalty and love. But Ryder did.
*
They lay curled together in a small clearing near the river, the sounds of the compound muted from here, for it lay a mile or more away. She had come here with him after everyone retired for the night, after finding they had no privacy after Deinde'-paggwe, Kimana and Poongatse moved in with them and Harry, leaving Wannge’e and Te’tukhe in the smaller of the teepees.
But she had gone with Ryder willing. He had simply rolled over, looking at her with a quiet desperation then reached for her hand under their furs. The girls and children had been deep in sleep, their breathing soft and rhythmic when they crept from the teepee, running through the dark towards the river, laughing softly as they made their way through the trees until they came to this place. Madeleine had spread one of her furs on the ground and their lovemaking had been fast and desperate, taking pleasure selfishly but later after bathing in the cool waters of the river, escaping from the heat of the summer’s night, they had taken it more slowly, eager to please the other, enjoying being alone. When he fell asleep, his breathing slow and deep with fatigue, she looked out into the shadows. But there was no danger here and it was hours yet to dawn. They could stay here all night, for there was no-one around. She could hear movements of small night creatures in the dark, the water passing on by and the sweet cool breeze as it came through the night, bringing with it the scent of wild flowers and herbs.
She thought suddenly of Wannge’e. The girl thought the child due in late autumn. Madeleine hoped they would be back living on the Snake River Plain by then, for she had no care to tend the girl in the wild, nor have their journey delayed further so Wannge’e could recover from the birth. And at least Deinde'-paggwe could help attend the birth if need be, for she knew as much as Madeleine did of childbirth.
Madeleine frowned as she thought of Deinde'-paggwe. The girl had been quiet and a little weepy since arriving at the Lemoine compound, but she insisted she was just overwhelmed at being there with everyone. And later, while sitting around the firepit, when Deinde'-paggwe turned and smiled at her, her beautiful almond eyes luminous i
n the light of the flames, there had been such gratitude within them that Madeleine thought her heart might break. And she thought that if asked, yes, she would make that desperate journey all over again.
*
The following morning Ryder and Te’tukhe were invited down to the Hŭŋkpapĥa village to be formally welcomed by the Chiefs. The Hŭŋkpapĥa scouts escorted them alongside all the men in the compound, leaving the women behind. Although Madeleine didn’t mind, for in all truth she felt exhausted and wanted only to be with Harry.
She spent most of the day down by the river with the Bannock girls and the children, washing travel stained clothes, filling waterskins and bathing in the cool water. And it was here that Madeleine finally had a chance to talk privately with Wannge’e. The girl looked radiant, yet before Madeleine had a chance to say one word, Wannge’e spoke first.
“I know what you’re thinking Esa-mogo'ne’. But I can’t be sorry for this babe. And perhaps you think I am too young, for Te’tukhe is so much older than me, but I can’t help how I feel. And I know he will leave soon to return to Comanche lands, but I’d rather face the future alone with his child, than face the future alone with nothing to remember him by. So I beg you, please don’t be disappointed or angry with me.”
Madeleine took her hand and held it to her heart. “Oh, sweet girl, I could never be disappointed in you. You’re one of the strongest, most fearsome young women I know. And I can see why Te’tukhe has feelings for you. But I ask this of you. Will you go with him when he leaves?”
Wannge’e nodded, without hesitation. “I know full well he has familial ties to the Comanche and that his destiny lies with them in the south, but yes, if he were to ask me to accompany him, then I shall go with him. But please don’t think me ungrateful, not after all you’ve done for me Esa-mogo'ne’. Not after all we’ve been through and all these long months of travelling together, because I’ll be grateful to you until the day I die. You saved my life. But I’ve changed since I met Te’tukhe. I want only him. I need only him. And if my mother or family still lives, I would forego my chance to see them to be with Te’tukhe, such are my feelings for him. And if that sounds callous, forgive me, but it’s been five long years since I saw my family last and I don’t even know if any of them still live. But know this Esa-mogo'ne’, I will grieve for them.”
Madeleine said nothing for a long moment, remembering only too well how she felt about Ryder in those early days of knowing him. For she had also walked away from everything she had known and loved to be with him. She looked back at Wannge’e and saw the conflict of emotions on the young girl’s face.
“I understand,” she said at last. “And I admire your honesty. But know this Wannge’e, I love you both. And although I want every happiness for you and Te’tukhe, I’ll miss you dreadfully if you decide to leave with him. But I do understand, so there is no need for us to speak on this again. This matter rests between you and Te’tukhe. But if you have need of me for anything, know that I am here. You have only to ask.”
Wannge’e nodded. “I know this Esa-mogo'ne’ and I thank you for it,” she paused and looked down at Kimana and Harry as they splashed in the shallows. “Indeed, I may well need a shoulder to cry on for I think they’ll leave before month’s end. I know Aishi-waahni’ grows impatient to be with his own people, for its been more than a year since he saw them last and he makes his dislike of these cooler temperatures known to all who will listen.”
Madeleine knew of the Comanche’s loathing of the bitter northern winters from the time he and his brother Ainqa-izhape’ had lived with the Shoshone more than five years ago. She knew he would want to be gone by summer’s end. He would not stay to see the first leaves of autumn fall. The time for goodbyes loomed closer.
Two
The Hŭŋkpapĥa people were buffalo hunters as were the Comanche, Shoshone and Bannock and because they followed the hunt, they lived in teepees, so I was familiar with their way of life for I had known it with the Bannock. And as our days drifted away leaving happy memories for another time, I had the chance to get to know Allard’s three sons.
Didier-Édouard and Armand-Baptiste had been born to Allard’s first wife, a French-Canadian woman long dead. Like Allard, they spoke their minds, were hardworking and honest and I liked them very much. Compared to the Hŭŋkpapĥa men they dressed plainly, with little jewellery, no tattoos, their hair worn to their shoulders.
Chahn-yah’-hoo, Allard’s son by Ska’zica, was more flamboyant than his brothers. He dressed in buckskin as did all the men, but he wore necklaces of beautifully carved bone and plaited rawhide bracelets around his wrists. He wore his hair long to his waist, except for the single braid on the left side of his face. He had pierced ears like most Hŭŋkpapĥa men, with a thin piece of silver wire threaded through each lobe which dangled almost to his shoulders with several bird feathers sewn to it with sinew. I thought Chahn-yah’-hoo a handsome, charismatic man and I noticed the Bannock girls often watching him, even Wannge’e.
But I couldn’t warm to Wakanta. He was no blood relation to Ryder, but he was Wesa'shangke and Te’tukhe’s stepbrother so I tried to like him, but he was a hard man to warm to. He was argumentative and a bit of a bully. Because of it he wasn’t popular. A quiet, moody man, he had little to do with me and the Bannock girls, or any women for that matter, for we held no value to him. And although he had lived most of his twenty-eight years on this compound with Allard’s family, he had in fact been born in the Wazhazhe village.
But I didn’t let him worry me for I rarely saw him, spending most of my time with the women and children for our workload was demanding. When the men rode off to hunt or visit the Chiefs down in the Hŭŋkpapĥa village, I spent my days gathering herbs and fuel for our fires, sewing garments ready for the approaching winter, washed clothes and bedding, set snares to catch small game and cured hides. So at the end of our second week at Allard’s, when the Hŭŋkpapĥa invited everyone to the village to witness the Sun Ceremony, I was glad of the opportunity to get away for a little while.
We were to stay overnight to enjoy the feast which would follow the end of the Ceremony. Allard warned us of its brutality. Practised in various ways by other northern Sioux tribes, young men volunteered to take part, choosing mentors to help them through the gruelling test of physical, mental and emotional strength. The Ceremony took five days. On the first day, the men went into the wild to fast alone for four days. On the fifth day, the day we arrived, they were escorted back into the village by their mentors and paraded before everyone before entering the Ceremonial teepee. And there, in front of shamans and Chiefs and their mentors, they would have two sharp bone daggers forced through the wall of their chest with thin rawhide ropes secured to the dagger before the man was lifted to hang from a frame above him, the entire weight of his body hanging from those daggers. He would remain there until the daggers could no longer take his weight, pulling free from his chest and allowing him to fall, leaving two ghastly wounds. If a man didn’t fall, if the muscles of his chest continued to support his weight, then weights were attached to his feet until the daggers finally broke free.
Allard said that some tribes held this Ceremony in full view of the village, with the men walking around a central pole yet all the time falling back with the aim to tear the daggers from their chests.
I glanced across at Ryder, thinking of his beautiful body, grateful he’d never had to undergo a ceremony such at this. And as I thought on it, Ryder turned to meet my eyes and I saw desire sweep across his face, and I wondered if we could chance another escape from the teepee tonight and find some time alone. When I looked away, I saw Ska’zica watching us.
In her middle years, she was as generous as Allard yet worn from hard work and the constant demands of her large family. Her hair, worn in a single long plait down her back, was almost fully grey. I smiled at her and she returned it, but later when I was talking with the Bannock girls up by the main cabin, leaving the men to talk alone in more detail of the
Sun Ceremony, she approached me.
She asked if Ryder and I would like to make use of one of the cabins, which now sat empty. We could have it for as long as we wanted. I thought on it for only a moment and accepted the use of it with gratitude, but only for tonight. I knew Ryder preferred sleeping in the teepee with Harry and me, along with the girls and Kimana. Although sometimes if Te’tukhe chose to sleep outdoors on these hot summer nights with Aishi-waahni’ and Wesa'shangke, Poongatse and Deinde'-paggwe often moved in to the smaller teepee to stay with Wannge’e, taking the two children with them and giving Ryder and I precious time alone.
And I always felt confident leaving our son in the care of Poongatse, for she had been like a second mother to him since we left the Corrigan ranch almost a year ago. Once he was asleep and settled in his furs, I gathered our own along with some blankets and returned to the empty cabin, leaving two amused girls behind me. And after I made the bed, I went looking for Ryder.
*
We slept with one of the shutters open for after sleeping in a teepee for months I found the heavy, wooden structure of the cabin almost claustrophobic and stuffy in the heat of the night. The bed was on a raised wooden platform yet comfortable enough with our furs beneath us. And for the first time in months we both slept deeply, until the early hours of the morning when I woke feeling agitated and restless from the oppressive heat in the cabin. I got up off the bed as silently as I could so as not to wake Ryder and opened the other wooden shutter to the rear of the cabin in the hope of getting a through breeze. Then I leaned against the wooden frame, a blanket wrapped around my naked body as I looked out into the night.