Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1

by Karen Kay

  Was it possible that these people could be of Algonquian origin?

  What a discovery!

  She would have to test it and see. She could speak a little Algonquian.

  And if it were true, it would be a major breakthrough—something she would have to tell her father…if she ever saw him again…

  As the days passed, Genevieve’s life developed into a pattern of work, play and humorous nights spent around a fire. She hadn’t become a better seamstress or a cook, but then no one seemed to care, nor even to notice, the people going out of their way to compliment what she did well, even if they had to stretch things a little to find something.

  “I don’t cook very well,” she said in the Blackfoot dialect to Shoots, who sat beside her in Genevieve’s lodge, the both of them sewing moccasins.

  “No, but you have much medicine.”

  “I do?”

  “Aa, yes, you do.”

  Genevieve gave Shoots a scrutinizing glance. “What does that mean, that I have much medicine? What is this medicine?”

  “You do not know?”

  “Saa, no. I have heard many people speak of this, but I have not understood it well.”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman sat forward. She said, “The people try to live always in harmony with all that surrounds them. This includes the land, all the animals, the sky, the clouds…everything, including the spiritual world.”

  “Yes, I have seen this.”

  “To say that you have great medicine is to say that you have been given power over something—spiritual power—power to heal, or to know the future, to do great things. Do you not have something like this in your world?”

  Genevieve thought for a moment. At length, she said, “Not really. Not as you know it. We believe there is only one Creator and that only He has power. But, Shoots, what is it that I have done that makes you think I have great medicine?”

  “You do not know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman grinned. “It is talked about all over the camp. I am surprised you have not heard this.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Our men have even been singing songs of your praise, for it is well known that you are a great warrior woman.”

  Genevieve choked. “What?”

  “Aa, yes. You are thought of highly. It was you, was it not, who captured my brother?”

  “Well, yes, but I had the advantage of all my civilization to…” How did she explain this?

  But Shoots seemed to have become suddenly hard of hearing. “You see,” Shoots said. “This is a great coup, to have captured a brave warrior, a deed that some of our best men would not even attempt, and yet you did it.”

  “But I—” What did she say to that? “Shoots,” Genevieve said. “I am afraid I am not the great warrior that you portray me to be.”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman just smiled. “You do not have to be modest. You are already well thought of.”

  Genevieve scowled. She said, “Do you know when my husband will return? Perhaps he can explain this better to you. I keep looking for him, but he has been gone already many days.”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman looked woefully at Genevieve. “I am so sorry that he is gone. You have not been married long, and already he is gone for a long time hunting, and all for what? For my sisters, my mother and myself. We feel badly that we have taken away your husband so soon after your marriage, but if the two of you are to start on your journey, he must do all these things quickly. There are signs already of an early winter, and so you must be on your way soon to avoid getting caught in a blizzard.”

  Genevieve glanced up from the pair of moccasins she’d been trying to mend. “Journey?”

  “Aa, yes.”

  Genevieve waited a moment. “What journey?”

  “The one you and my brother will be taking as soon as he returns.”

  “Shoots, I know nothing about a journey. What are you saying?”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman smiled and glanced down. “My brother has kept this from you. He must wish to surprise you.”

  Genevieve sat there, hardly patient. “Shoots, what is it you know?”

  “I would not wish to spoil my brother’s surprise.”

  “Shoots? Please, what is it?”

  Putting her hand over her mouth, the Indian girl giggled. She said, “He is taking you back to see your father when he returns. It is why he has been in such a hurry to hunt, so that we will have food all winter. It is also why he is with his more-than-friend much of the day. He is making sure that his more-than-friend can provide for us while you two are gone.”

  “He is?”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman nodded.

  “Oh, Shoots, this is wonderful. I hadn’t known that he was—”

  “You must not tell him that I told you. I would not wish to spoil your surprise.”

  Genevieve smiled. “I won’t say a word.”

  Shoots the Enemy Woman beamed and, taking the moccasins from Genevieve, said, “I must go now. I will finish these for you. You will take your evening meal with us, will you not?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Genevieve said and smiled.

  Gray Hawk trod into camp with White Eagle the very next day.

  Genevieve could barely contain her joy, and she would have run up to him right then, but a stern look from Gray Hawk, as he caught her eye from across the camp, kept her where she was.

  She beamed at him, but he didn’t return the look, going instead first to his mother’s lodge and then on to White Eagle’s without even another nod in her direction.

  Was he ignoring her? Why?

  She bridled.

  They hadn’t seen one another for a few weeks. Shouldn’t he be as anxious to see her as she was him?

  She waited near White Eagle’s lodge for a few more moments. Perhaps Gray Hawk would only be a short while there with his friend.

  She waited. She watched.

  Nothing.

  She paced casually toward White Eagle’s lodge, looking around as she went. No one seemed to be paying her any mind.

  Good. She had the same sensation she used to have as a child, intent upon some mischief. As casually as she could, she strolled right up to White Eagle’s tepee and glanced once more around her.

  Did she dare to scratch on the entrance flap to let them know she was here?

  She wanted to, and yet… What was the Pikuni etiquette of being in the company of one’s husband’s best friend? Was it allowed?

  She tossed a section of her hair over her shoulder; her hair, as was the custom of the Blackfoot women, was now braided.

  Perhaps she should go ask Shoots the Enemy Woman about the proper protocol. Genevieve was just about to turn and seek out her sister-in-law when—

  “What do you intend to do about your wife when you get there?” It was White Eagle who spoke.

  Silence. No response from inside…and Genevieve strained forward. What did he mean, “do about your wife?” She glanced around her again, to ensure she wasn’t being watched, and then, kneeling, she huddled in closer toward the tepee.

  “I do not understand your concern, nitakkaawa, my friend.” It was Gray Hawk who spoke. “There is no cause for alarm that I can see.”

  A pause, then, said White Eagle, “It is always a wise man who prepares for a crisis. If there is no need, one has lost little, but if trouble arises and one is not prepared, one can lose much.”

  A moment passed; then Gray Hawk responded, “There is little that I can lose, as I see it.”

  Little that he could lose? If he took her home? He had nothing at all to lose. What could the two friends be referring to? Gray Hawk’s freedom, perhaps?

  “You trust her, then?”

  There was a pause before Gray Hawk answered, “Yes, I believe she will keep her word to me. I know the whites have many unusual ways, but in this I think she speaks true.”

  What promise had she made to him? She tried to think back quickly. She could remember none
. At least none that…oh, yes, she had once told him, when they were still aboard the steamship, that if he would accompany her to St. Louis, she would ensure his eventual freedom.

  Was that it?

  It seemed there was something else she had told him, but she couldn’t think of it just now.

  “How long do you imagine it will take you to make the journey?” It was White Eagle who was speaking, and Genevieve leaned in closer.

  “A month, maybe more. I do not know with a certainty where this village is.”

  “I have heard that it is in the country of our enemies, the Pawnee.”

  “Yes,” said Gray Hawk. “I have heard those rumors too. I must be careful to guard my wife well, so that the Pawnee do not steal her to try to make the Morning Star ceremony with her.”

  “Aa, yes, my friend,” came White Eagle’s reply. “I do not believe that you would want your wife sacrificed so soon after your marriage.”

  She heard Gray Hawk chuckle. “Saa, no, my friend, I do not.”

  “What will you do when you get there, nitakkaawa?”

  “I will take her to her father, I will help him, and then I will leave and return home.”

  It was a simple enough statement to make, yet for all its simplicity, it had Genevieve straining to hear more. He’d said “I”, not “we”.

  Perhaps she had it wrong. In the Blackfoot language, as in Algonquian, one had to be very careful of their pronouns. Words like “we” and “you” were not used as they are in the English language. Each pronoun was pronounced differently in Blackfoot to distinguish if the speaker was including other people in the “we” or “you,” or if the speaker was being exclusive: singular or plural.

  Genevieve was sure Gray Hawk had said “Nitaakahkayi” or “I’m going home.”

  “Are you certain, my friend?” It was White Eagle speaking. “Once you take her there, you will help her father and then you, kiistowa, alone, will leave. And you do not anticipate any trouble from her over this?”

  “Saa, no,” Gray Hawk said. “I think she will be so happy to see her father that she will not think too much about what will happen with us. I will leave when the time is right. She has promised me this.”

  Genevieve sank lower onto the ground as she finished the translation. It is said of those who eavesdrop that they never hear well of themselves. Perhaps that was all that was happening here. Maybe she should just leave it now and ask Gray Hawk about this conversation later. Then she might possibly laugh about it. Perhaps she had the translation wrong.

  “I still think that you risk much, nitakkaawa, my friend.”

  “Perhaps you are right, and there is something here for me to consider.” It was Gray Hawk speaking. “But whether I decide against going there or not does not matter. Until this thing is done, I will have no freedom. And I crave the carefree life I used to have before she came here. I grow tired of this constant worry.”

  Freedom? Carefree life? He didn’t mean freedom from her, or did he?

  It was then that something struck her. Gray Hawk had once told her that he enjoyed his freedom—but he’d been speaking of his independence as a bachelor at the time. He’d been explaining to her why he had never married.

  And now that she was remembering it, other memories came back to mind. He’d plainly told her that he wasn’t happy about marrying her, saying that he was sacrificing much to take her as his sits-beside-him-wife. He’d said it quite plainly to her: he did not want her. She just hadn’t really listened.

  As though momentarily haunted, Genevieve stared off into space.

  “Once you take her back to her father, nitakkaawa,” White Eagle was saying, “you will have your carefree life back. Therefore, I would agree that it is well worth your time to take her to her home.”

  “Aa,” said Gray Hawk. “And it will be better if I do it right away. I have already delayed too long.”

  That was it, then. Gray Hawk really meant to leave her.

  She didn’t know why the thought of it should make her feel so desolate. But it did.

  Genevieve got to her feet as quietly as possible and turned away, not waiting to hear more.

  Well, at least she knew. He means to abandon me…after he’s helped my father, of course.

  She wasn’t certain why she should feel so sarcastic, or so despondent about the whole thing. That was what she had intended from the beginning, wasn’t it? To find and take an Indian back with her for her father, and then to let the individual go?

  Her stomach began to twist almost painfully, and she felt as though she might, at any moment, cry.

  Well, it wasn’t that way anymore; she didn’t want to let the Indian go. She didn’t care what she had planned at the start; she didn’t feel that way now. She’d come to know Gray Hawk.

  She scoffed at herself. Know him? Who was she fooling? She loved him. She’d do most anything for him.

  Even live here in this camp with him.

  She caught her breath. That was a truth she hadn’t quite realized.

  Never, in all the time she had been in the Indian village, had she ever consciously decided she might want to stay. Always had been in the back of her mind the idea that she must go home.

  But look at what she was doing, at what she had been trying to accomplish in these last few weeks. Wasn’t she learning to live here? Making friends, discovering, trying to please? Why?

  For Gray Hawk. Why?

  She reached her own tepee at last and, pulling back the buckskin flap, she stepped quickly inside.

  She glanced around her, at all the items she’d been given here, at those things she’d made herself. And for what?

  She’d never come back here.

  She shut her eyes and fell to her knees.

  How was it possible? When had she started to regard the Indian camp as her home? She, who had always had the riches of the world to surround her? How had this happened to her?

  When she had tried to make that pact with Gray Hawk almost a month ago, she’d promised him that she would return here with him if he would only take her to St. Louis. And though she’d meant it, she had felt as if she were sacrificing her very life to do so.

  But now, here she was, knowing she would be going home to her father, never to return, and not only did the thought of it bring her pain; she felt as though her life might suddenly stop because of it.

  How was this possible?

  Love. She moaned.

  Of course it was love. She wanted to be near Gray Hawk always. Coming to live here, beginning to know the people, their ways…and seeing that it wasn’t all so bad…

  In truth, there was a freedom here that she would be hard put to find back home. Factually, she couldn’t remember ever being so happy, or so at peace with herself, with the forces of nature all around her.

  Maybe she should have known that it would come to this…maybe.

  But how could she have realized that love would make her want to give up everything: wealth, her country, even her work with her father?

  Her father. She groaned.

  What was she to do about her father?

  She didn’t want to return, and yet…

  She suddenly looked up. She had a crazy idea…or maybe not so crazy. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

  There was a solution right here. How had it escaped her for so long?

  She knew enough about the Blackfeet to write her father’s thesis for him. She had lived with the Blackfeet; she even knew their language and its roots; she was familiar with the Blackfoot customs, their beliefs.

  She could write it down and then send it to her father. With the steamship traveling up and down the Missouri, there were regular mail passes between Fort Union and St. Louis.

  She could write to her father. She didn’t have to go and see him.

  Of course, there was always the problem of how to get to Fort Union, but that was a minor problem. The main thing was that she didn’t have to return to her father, to England.

&nb
sp; Could she convince Gray Hawk to take her to Fort Union?

  She dismissed the idea immediately. If he meant to leave her in St. Louis, he might not relish the idea of her finding a way to stay here…with him.

  She thrust out her chin. How dare he think that way!

  One thing was certain: he had to get used to the idea that when a man takes a sits-beside-him-wife, he had better be ready to keep her with him for the rest of his life.

  She was going to see that he did.

  But first she needed to get to Fort Union.

  Perhaps she could do it on her own. Could she?

  How difficult could it be? After all, the Blackfoot trading party had managed it once before.

  Could she?

  She wasn’t exactly a novice anymore. She had some knowledge of how to survive on the prairie.

  Hadn’t she watched Gray Hawk when he’d brought her here? Hadn’t he taught her well? And hadn’t she been learning from his sisters? Couldn’t she trap her own food now, skin it and cook it?

  By goodness, yes. That was it. She could and she would do it on her own. She would go to the trading post alone; she only needed to know what direction to take—well, maybe a few more precise directions—and a little help from her friends or, rather, her new “sisters.”

  And then wouldn’t Gray Hawk be proud of her? He’d better be.

  She raised her head and squinted her eyes. She’d make that man see that he was making a mistake by wanting to dump her in St. Louis…somehow…some way, she would do it.

  But there was more. It wasn’t fair that she loved him, and that he only…well, did he love her? Exactly what were his feelings toward her?

  Yes, she knew she had his passion. But, she decided all at once, it wasn’t enough. She was going to make this man come to love her.

  By goodness, this was what she’d do.

  And it all depended upon her ability to get to Fort Union.

  Well, she’d do it. Just watch her. It was a crazy scheme, a white woman going off alone to do such a thing, but didn’t a person have to pay attention to dreams sometimes just to get anything done?

  She lifted her head. She felt better already.