by Karen Kay
The young man who called himself Gray Hawk watched the white woman from over his shoulder. And despite himself, he continued to observe her until she disappeared through the door of the big medicine canoe. He jerked his head to the left, his only expression of emotion.
Ha’! He was disgusted with himself—with her. He hated her, this female enemy, which made the reactions of his body all the more unwelcome. Truth be, though he had taunted her with the image of his nudity, he was amazed that he reacted to her the way he did.
He thought back to that first night of his capture. From the moment she had stepped into his presence that night, he’d not been able to believe what he saw.
Shock. Yes, that was what he’d felt.
And with reason. He’d been prepared to hate the person responsible for his capture, for the manner and cruelty with which he had been taken. He’d been alone, of course. Alone, and close to the medicine canoe. Otherwise, he would have been able to overwhelm his enemy, no matter that they had struck him from behind. But never had he dreamed at the time that his enemy would be the white woman…at first.
Truthfully, he’d been attracted to her at the fort, admiring her persistence, her beauty, her courage in the face of his peers, who had laughed at her. Certainly, like the other members of his tribe, he knew what she asked, knew that she was seeking to take one from among them back to a place she called St. Louis. And though, like the others, he’d known that what she asked was outrageous, a thing no one from the Blackfoot tribe would do, her quiet persistence had gained his admiration.
If his tribe had not been at peace with the white traders at this fort, Gray Hawk might very well have stolen her, perhaps to make her one of his wives…perhaps not.
But his tribe was at peace with these particular white people, and Gray Hawk could think of no way to take her away and still keep that peace.
Yes, he had admired her, though after that first momentary shock of seeing her, Gray Hawk had realized his error in doing so. This person, this woman whom he had come to admire, did not deserve such respect.
Where he had endowed her with a quiet strength, now he had learned that she was weak, giving in to demands of the flesh. Where she had, at first, looked sweet, virginal, he’d now come to understand that she was experienced—a temptress.
He’d gazed at her then, as she’d stood there before him, and he’d understood that this was the woman the kidnappers had spoken of; this was the woman those men had been joking about, saying it was she who had demanded that the Indian be beaten and then stripped, telling him in lurid language what she would do to him after the capture, not only in physical body, but in soul.
Yes, it was she who had taken away his freedom, she who enslaved him now, she who intended for him the utmost in degradation.
Hatred had filled his mind even as he had stood there watching her.
Malicious thoughts, however, breed malicious words, and he had used many on her, knowing her to be an enemy and deserving of such treatment.
And then she had come close to him, and good sense had fled him.
His body had reacted to her, and it hadn’t mattered what he’d thought. He’d wanted her—not out of love, he’d realized, but with lust, and that lust had controlled him, if only for a short while.
The kiss had occurred spontaneously enough, although he congratulated himself on being clever enough to turn the embrace into a weapon, taunting her with the force of his own will.
What he hadn’t counted on was his body’s reaction to her, the stiffening in his groin needing no interpretation but the obvious.
He frowned. None of this mattered now. What he’d felt then, what he felt now, was unimportant. He would escape; it was only a matter of establishing when.
And he would get even. No one—particularly a woman—would treat him in such a manner without cost. And in a land where it remained up to the individual to hand out deserved justice, it had become more than the thirst for revenge that drove him: it was his duty.
In truth, there had been several times these past few days when he could have escaped—the man they called Robert did not guard him well—but Gray Hawk was determined that he would have his revenge upon this white woman.
If he left, he would take her with him, and then let her see who was captive and who was not.
And so Gray Hawk waited for a more enticing opportunity. He, a member of the prestigious Kit Fox Society, the most honorable of warrior societies within his tribe, would dignify that name by seeking the revenge that was rightfully his. He would delay his flight for a while; he would observe his environment, observe the white woman, her habits, her movements, until he could escape and bring her with him. Yes, he would emerge victorious.
“You shouldn’t speak to milady that way.”
Raising one eyebrow, Gray Hawk glanced over toward the manservant. He understood this man to be no more than a slave to this white woman. And in such a position, the man deserved no attention from Gray Hawk.
“She is a good person, and she has reason for doing what she does.”
Again he raised that eyebrow. It was his only response.
Robert snorted. “I know that you understand me, so if you have something to say, speak it; don’t just look at me.”
Gray Hawk shrugged and turned his face away from the man.
“It is true that she is doing what she is doing for her father.”
Gray Hawk didn’t move, didn’t react or indicate in any way that he had heard the man.
“She has risked much to come here. And I can promise you that you are in no danger from her. There is no reason for you to be afraid.”
Gray Hawk turned his face back toward the older man. Afraid? Who was this slave to insult him? No man, and particularly no slave, mocked him without cost. Gray Hawk tilted back his head. Again he studied the man, then said, “You are brave for a slave. But then I would be, too, if I were in your place and the man I insulted was tied and unable to wreak the justice that such words deserve. Afraid?” asked Gray Hawk. “Take away these ties, and I will show you how afraid I am.”
“Yes, I suppose you would at that,” said Robert, a half smile hovering around his lips. “However, I am not at liberty to take away the ties, and,” Robert pinched in a bit of material in the breeches he held up toward the Indian, “I am no slave.”
Gray Hawk turned his head away. “Words and labels mean nothing to me. You do the white woman’s bidding. You are a slave, no matter the title you put to it.”
The other man smiled. “Yes, I can see how it would appear that way to you. Feeling a little indignant that a mere woman has not only captured you, but continues to hold you?”
Gray Hawk shrugged; it was his only answer, though at length he asked, “What is this ‘indignant’?”
Robert held the breeches up to his charge. “A blow to your pride.”
Gray Hawk glanced casually toward the older man, smiling smugly. “Yes, slave,” he said, “you could say Gray Hawk is indignant. But know, slave, that there is no enemy alive who would treat me in such a way and would not fear the sting of my revenge. Do not doubt that I will have it.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.”
Gray Hawk looked down his nose at the man. “That is for me to decide, slave. To take to heart the words of an enemy is certain death to the one who would listen. Do I look such a fool?”
“She is not your enemy.”
“Ha’! There is no enemy that I have who would treat me worse.”
“What?” Robert shook his head at the young warrior. “How old are you that you would even know what worse treatment is?”
When Gray Hawk didn’t reply, Robert asked, “Twenty-four, maybe twenty-five years?”
“I am twenty-five winters old.”
“Too young to know, my good lad. Too young.” When Gray Hawk’s eyes narrowed, Robert continued, “Look around you. I ask you, look around. What has she done to you that is so bad? Yes, you are tied; yes, you have lost your freedom, but
only temporarily. As soon as she has accomplished her purpose, you will be freed, your passage on the steamboat paid so that you can return to your people. What is so bad in that?
“Can you tell me that you are denied food, sleep, shelter?” Robert went on. “No, you cannot. You are given all that you desire. Why, lad, look at what we are doing. Am I not even now fitting you with new clothes? Am I not treating you well? I can promise you that as soon as her father is finished with the studies that he is doing, you will be restored once more to the same sort of freedom that you have enjoyed in the past, and you will have much more to show for your time than any one person in your tribe.”
“I do not understand what this ‘studies’ is. But…” Gray Hawk held up his hand when the other man would have spoken, “…you say I have food, sleep and shelter here? Did I not already have that when I was free and with my people? You say that I will have my freedom back when she is finished. Did I not already have my freedom before she took it from me? You say that I will have much to show for the time I spend with her. Did I not have all that I desire before I came into contact with her? When I come to the fort, I see the white people keeping birds in a thing called a cage. The bird has all that he wants, and still the bird longs for freedom, will fly away as soon as the cage is opened. Do not mistake what you do for me. A cage is still a cage, no matter its comforts.
“I put a question to you now,” Gray Hawk continued. “You say that she treats me well? Now I ask you how you know this. Will you promise me here and now that she will feed and clothe my family while I am gone? Can you say that she will attend to their needs as well as to mine in my absence? Will she stay behind now and hunt many buffalo so that my family’s bellies will stay full through the winter? So that my women will have many skins to make more clothes, more shelters? Will she do these things while I am gone, so that my family will survive the harsh winters of the North? So that there is no death in my family?”
The older man paused in his work and did nothing more than stare at the young warrior. He said nothing.
At length, however, he swallowed and said, “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Well now, I don’t suppose she considered that. But come, my good man. There’s no use thinking about it. What will be is what will be. Meanwhile we have to get you fitted into these breeches. It would be the utmost of bad fortune if milady were to catch you again with your pants down.” The older man tried to effect a chuckle, though the action was lost on the younger man.
Said Gray Hawk, his gaze penetrating the other man, “You speak with the foresight of a child. And I am not uncertain that you also speak with crooked tongue.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Gray Hawk scowled. “What is this begging? I do not see you begging.”
Robert grimaced. “I do not mean that I am begging.”
“Then why do you say it?”
Robert exhaled noisily. “Merely an expression, lad. Merely an expression. What I am really saying is that I am not sure I heard you correctly. Could you please repeat it?”
“I would rather you beg.” Gray Hawk stuck out his chin and looked down at the other man.
“Yes,” the white man said, “I suppose that you would.”
The atmosphere in the cabin turned to silence. And though no more words were spoken, Gray Hawk allowed the man to fit him out in breeches.
No one, though, could stop the Indian when, the breeches fully in place and the young man gazing at himself in the mirror, he broke into a fit of laughter that continued on throughout the rest of the morning.
Chapter Five
Gray Hawk couldn’t believe his eyes.
He stood within the four walls of a room the white people called a “ballroom.” And he could barely credit what he saw.
He shook his head. Was the white woman so shameless that she would flaunt herself in public? Despite his own opinions of the woman, he had never thought to see her parade herself in such a manner as he was witnessing—and with all to see.
Gray Hawk frowned and looked away from the woman.
Almost a full moon had elapsed since his capture and containment aboard this boat. Out of necessity, Gray Hawk had come to a mild truce with these people. Having grown tired of his confinement, he had given his word that he would not try to escape so long as the white people allowed him to walk the decks outside, untied and unencumbered.
That he was bound back up when he reached his room suited him just fine. It meant the white people did not trust him in his own room; it meant he could escape from there when an opportunity presented itself. It meant there was still a chance.
But these walks had given him the freedom to observe the boat, the people on it, and he had gained insight into the society and customs of these people who invaded his country, although there was more here that puzzled him than enlightened him.
For instance, gently raised and bred as a Blackfoot scout and warrior, Gray Hawk could not understand why the white men insisted on carrying and displaying their weapons, while those same men divested the Indian of any guns, bows and arrows, even knives, while aboard the boat. Always, among his people, an enemy was given a fair chance in a fight.
The white man said he did this for the Indian’s own good, that this stripping of arms acted as a “protection” of the Indian, to prevent warring tribes from taking one another’s lives. Gray Hawk, however, keenly observed that this was not the case.
So far one Indian had lost his life because of it, that man being unable to defend himself against a drunken trapper who had taken it into his head to shoot bullets at the Indian’s feet.
To make him “dance,” the trapper had said.
The Indian lay dead.
Personally, Gray Hawk believed the white men were cowards, taking away the Indians’ weapons only so that the trappers and other white men could intimidate the Indians without fear of recourse. Hadn’t he already seen those white men shouting insults and degradations at them? Laughing at the Indians and calling them cowards because the Indians had no choice, under such unequal odds, but to stand and take the abuse?
Hadn’t he witnessed the taunting of the Indian wives and maidens at the trading posts? Hadn’t he wondered what happened at night when their men, weaponless, were unable to defend the home?
He snorted. Such measures were the actions of men who lacked confidence and courage.
Scowling, Gray Hawk swung his attention back toward the white woman.
She and several of the trappers and other white men circled the floor to the strains of several instruments.
Gray Hawk didn’t understand either the dancing or the music. For one thing, the white woman partnered the men, not dancing separately as was the Blackfoot custom. For another, she danced here completely unchaperoned.
To his own mind, when she did this, she flaunted her respectability. How could she hold on to her pride after she had touched and had been touched by so many men?
And though a part of him wanted to reason that perhaps the white man’s custom was different from his own, he still couldn’t quite credit it.
Women were, after all, women, weaker in strength and easy prey to men. Therefore, to his own way of thinking, a woman should consider her own vulnerability. If she truly took pride in herself, she should be looking to the men in her family for protection.
He thought back to his own tribe, the Pikuni. There, a similarly aged woman, faced with the same situation as he saw here, would have called upon her male relatives to protect her honor, her virginity.
But this white woman didn’t. Why? Was she beyond respectability?
The thought was oddly disturbing.
There was also something else that he had observed here that he didn’t understand: why did the white men cater to her? Waiting upon her as though she were distinguished, as though she were a warrior recently returned from a successful raid?
Never had he seen such a thing. And he wondered if this was a common practice among the whites, and if so, why the white men p
referred to treat their women so badly.
All his life Gray Hawk had been taught that women had a rightful place in society, along with the men, but as women. Women possessed skills and emotions a man was often at a loss to explain. A stupid man might negate such things; a wise man valued them.
Even as a young boy, Gray Hawk had observed that men did not exercise their will against women, nor did men cross the line and do the work of a woman. For to wait on a woman when she was well enough to care for herself would be as to declare to that woman that she was not worthy of the man’s attention or affection. And no man who valued his woman would stoop to such a thing.
There was more. There was a certain protocol that men observed around women. And so far Gray Hawk had yet to observe this in the white world.
That a man would cower to a woman, that a man would fear her wrath, that a man would risk anything—even that woman’s respectability—to gain her favor, made Gray Hawk seriously wonder if the white men in this country had any backbone.
He had actually asked Robert to turn around one time that the Indian might see the white man’s back. But Robert had laughed and walked away, leaving Gray Hawk to ponder in silence the strangeness of this white society.
Robert sewed; Robert cleaned the room; Robert brought in the meals; Robert saw to the Indian’s comfort, providing him with blankets and other articles of warm clothing. Robert even took orders from the white woman.
Gray Hawk didn’t understand it. Gray Hawk didn’t appreciate it.
How could a woman take any pride in herself if the man in her life did all of her work? Did the white men think so badly of their women that they would take away the dignity and respect that came from a project well done, that was rightfully a woman’s?
The more he watched and observed, the more confused he became.
He had again asked Robert about these strange customs, but Robert had only shaken his head and laughed again, leaving Gray Hawk to draw his own conclusions as to the oddities he saw.