Song of the Raven

by HELEN HARDT

  And her eyes. The color of the violets that grew in the foothills near his home. Violets at first bloom.

  He had found her.

  She had cared for him with her smooth white hands. His skin still burned from her touch.

  Ella.

  Her name was Ella.

  Had she said she would return? Yes, he was certain. He ached to see her, to hear her voice.

  Despite his pain, his cock stiffened under his soiled buckskins. He had never imagined being drawn to a white woman.

  But he had found her.

  He jerked when he heard a rustling at the door. When it opened and Ella appeared, his heart lurched. She carried a blanket and a basket made of straw.

  “Good evening,” she said, her voice chipper and pleasant as she set down the blanket and basket. “I’ll return in a moment. I need to draw a pail of water from the well. For your wound.” She walked briskly out the door, leaving him feeling empty inside.

  Though the sun still shone, Raven could tell dusk was imminent. The thought of Ella out alone after dark concerned him. But this was her home. The women of his band were safe on their land after dark. His face furrowed into a frown. He did not trust the white man. Not even Ella’s father, the preacher. He sat, tense, until she returned.

  She set down the bucket of water, splashing some onto the soft dirt floor of the dugout. “Oops,” she said. “Well, no harm done. It will dry.” She rummaged in her basket, pulled out a tin cup, and dipped it into the pail of water.

  “Now, first things first,” she said, approaching him and holding the cup to his lips. “Drink.”

  The cold liquid tasted like nectar in his parched mouth. He downed all the water within seconds.

  “More?”

  He nodded, and she brought him another cupful and held it to his lips again. He didn’t need her to hold the cup for him, yet he made no effort to discourage her. Her nearness soothed him.

  When he had finished his second cup, Ella reached into her basket again and pulled out a few slices of brown bread. “I’m sorry. This is all I could manage. We had stew for supper, and I could hardly bring some of that out without my mother wondering what I was up to. As it was, I sneaked the bread into my apron during dinner. Oh!” She reached into her apron pocket. “I did manage to save you some of the blackberries I picked this afternoon.” She giggled. “They stained my pocket horribly, I’m afraid. We couldn’t eat them with cream. I never did finish milking Sukie, and most of what I got I fed to you.” She pulled out a handful of crushed berries. “Here”—she held one to his mouth—“they’re nice and ripe. Very sweet.”

  He ate the berry from her hand. The warm juice burst onto his tongue and trickled down his throat. Yes, sweet. All the sweeter because she had fed him.

  “Another?” Her fingers, stained purple from the berries, touched his lips. They were warm and smooth, like the smoothest hide after tanning.

  “Good.” She grabbed his hand and dropped the remaining berries into it. “But you’ll have to feed yourself now. I can’t let your wound fester any longer. It needs cleaning.” She turned to his thigh. “The bleeding has stopped, which is good. It doesn’t appear to be too deep. But still we need to watch for infection.” She reached into her basket and withdrew a pocketknife. “I’ll need to cut the leg of your buckskins off. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s…fine.” The first words he had spoken since she entered the dugout.

  He winced, hoping she knew how to use the knife. He knew little about white women, but he did know that they did not usually work with knives such as this one. Ella proved agile with the blade, however, and soon the leather of his buckskin sat crumpled in the corner of the dugout, his bare leg exposed.

  Ella closed her eyes, clearly uncomfortable with his nakedness. Although his lower body was still mostly covered, his chest was bare. He silently thanked the Great Spirit the bear had not attacked him there.

  Ella opened her eyes and let out a shallow sigh. She took a cloth out of her basket, wet it in the water, and gently cleansed his wound. The ache in his thigh had dulled, but the soft cloth stirred the sharp pain again. He sucked in a breath and groaned.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ella said. “I know it hurts. But I must cleanse it.”

  “I am…fine.”

  She looked at him and then darted her gaze away. “Eat your blackberries. It will give you something to focus on while I do this.”

  His stomach rumbled, and he stuffed the remaining blackberries into his mouth. Ella looked up as juice trickled down his chin.

  “Goodness, there’s no need to make a hog of yourself. I’ll bring you more berries tomorrow.” She finished cleaning the wound and covered it in a sharp-smelling salve.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Beeswax. With a little oil of peppermint. It will help stave off infection and keep the air out of the wound while it heals. I’m sorry if the smell bothers you.”

  “Does not…bother me. Just different.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose it is. What do you use for healing in your…culture?”

  “Herbs and flowers. I do not know the white man names. My mother is…a medicine woman.”

  “Oh. Well, she likely knows more than I do. But this salve has healed many a wound in its day.” Her gaze rose to his lips. She grabbed a fresh cloth from the basket, wet it, and gently cleansed his face of the sweat and grime that had built up since the attack. She chuckled when she came to his chin. “My, you’re like a child with that purple chin. You do love your berries, don’t you?”

  “Just…hungry.”

  “Then eat your bread.”

  But he couldn’t, not while she was touching him. She picked up the salve and twirled her finger in the small tin.

  “Your lips are parched. This will help.” She touched her finger to his mouth and rubbed the salve into his lips.

  His skin heated and he hardened instantly. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist and pressed his lips to her fingers in a soft kiss.

  Chapter Two

  Ella’s heart thumped as blood rushed through her veins. This was inappropriate behavior. Highly improper. Even Andrew had never taken such a liberty. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to snatch her hand away. The feel of his lips, dry and cracked though they were, on her fingers calloused from homestead work enthralled her. Such a foreign, yet delicious, sensation.

  She gasped as he kissed her fingers once more and then pushed her hand away. “I am sorry.”

  “I-It’s—” She stopped to catch her breath. “It’s…my fault really. I just thought… Your lips are so chapped. Dry from lack of water, I imagine. I…”

  He reached toward her and touched his fingers to her cheek. “Hopa,” he said. “Lila Wiya Waste.”

  The harmonious words struck a chord in Ella’s memory. “You said that before. What does it mean?”

  “Hopa means beautiful.” His voice was hoarse, raspy. “Lila Wiya Waste means beautiful woman.” He caressed the apple of her cheek with his thumb.

  “Oh.” Ella breathed. His hand on her face felt hot. So hot. “That’s just…lovely, Silver Raven.”

  “Just…Raven. My friends call me Raven.”

  Even as dusk neared, his black eyes still sparkled with a smoldering intensity that disturbed yet pleased Ella. His hypnotic gaze blazed into hers, and she found herself leaning toward him. His mouth was so close to hers. Close enough to…

  She jerked away with an almost violent motion. Her skin felt clammy. Prickly. Hot. Her heart throbbed against her breast. A strange flutter settled between her legs. What on earth was happening?

  “I-I’m afraid I couldn’t bring you a lantern. If you light it in the darkness, my father, or worse, someone else, might find you. I’m very sorry.”

  “I do not mind the dark,” he said. “But I need…”

  “What? What do you need?”

  “Will you…cleanse my chest? Like you cleansed my face?”

  His chest? He had gone quite mad,
obviously. Yet his chest was covered with the same sweat and grime that had covered his face. He was no doubt uncomfortable. And she had made a commitment to care for him. She wanted to care for him, though she didn’t know why.

  She dipped the cloth she had used on his face back in the water and rinsed it, and then, hands shaking, brought it to his chest. For the first time since she’d found him in the barn, she allowed herself to gaze at his beautiful form. Bronze skin, hard planes and muscles. His warmth seeped through the moist cloth and onto her hand as she washed him.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “Mmm. Feels…nice.”

  Yes, Ella thought. It did feel nice. Too nice. Best to keep talking. “So tell me, Mr. Raven—”

  “Just Raven.”

  “All right. Raven. How did you learn to speak English so well?”

  “My father. And my brother.”

  “Oh?”

  “My father learned it from his grandmother. And my brother…he is a white eyes, like you.”

  “How can that be?” Ella washed his shoulders, unable to tear her gaze from their golden beauty.

  “He…came to us when he was small. My father… What is the word? Adopted him into our family.”

  “Really?” Ella dropped her hand. “You took in a white boy?”

  Raven opened his eyes, picked up Ella’s hand, and placed the cloth back on his shoulder. His hand covered hers. He moved her hand and the cloth in tiny circles over his skin. His fingers were warm on hers. Warm, and so disturbing. Again, the unfamiliar flutter unsettled her.

  “We would take in anyone who needed our help, no matter what their color,” Raven said, closing his eyes.

  “That was extremely”—her voice rasped and she cleared her throat—“hospitable of you.”

  “I don’t know that word. But…we are not the savages you think we are.”

  Ella removed her hand from his chest. His fingers still covered hers. “I never said you were savages.”

  “Not you. Not Ella. Kind, beautiful Ella. Ikta. I mean white men. In general.” He pulled her hand back onto his skin. “Many thanks, ikta. But it grows dark. You must go to your cabin.”

  “Yes, I will. Just let me get you tucked in.”

  “Go now. I fear for what might happen to you if it is dark.”

  “Don’t be silly. This is my father’s home. I’ve been out here many a night walking. No harm will come to me.”

  “I do not trust…”

  “The white eyes. Yes, I know.” Ella rinsed the cloth in the pail and wrung it out. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I need to get you a fresh pail of water first.”

  “No.”

  “But you must drink during the night. I’ll only be a moment.”

  “There is water left.”

  “But I rinsed the washcloth in it. New water will be much more refreshing.”

  “Then I will wait until morning.”

  “That is completely absurd.” Ella stood and shook the dust out of her skirts. She grabbed the pail. “I shan’t be long.”

  “Ella…”

  His voice trailed off as she left the soddy and headed for the well.

  Goodness! What a strange man. She knew every hill and valley on this homestead. She had taken moonlit walks along the edge of the woods on many a clear night. First dark was her favorite time of the day. Strolling along, veiled in the luminescence of the moon, she could immerse herself in her own thoughts and dreams and imagine, if only for a short time, that she could leave the stifling neediness of her mother and father and begin a life of her own.

  She drew a fresh bucket of water and headed back to the dugout.

  “See? Still in one piece.” She drew a cupful of water from the pail and handed it to Raven.

  He drank it quickly and held it out to her for more.

  “Thirsty, aren’t you? And you thought you’d go all night without fresh water.” She smoothed her skirts and reached for the cotton blanket she’d brought earlier. “Lord knows you won’t be chilly tonight.” She wiped a loose strand of hair out of her eye, confused by the surge of heat when she touched him. “But in case you are…” She set the blanket down next to him. “Or if you’d rather, I can put it under you. Might be a sight more comfortable than the dirt.”

  “Do not mind the dirt.” Raven opened his mouth in a gaping yawn.

  “What a day you’ve had. You must be absolutely exhausted.” Ella moved the pail closer to him. “Here you are, in case you get thirsty later. I…I’ll be going now, I suppose. Do sleep well.”

  Raven yawned again and closed his eyes. “Please. Be safe, itka.”

  “Don’t worry. I will. And I’ll come as soon as possible in the morning. After I finish my chores.” She let out a laugh. “Sukie will be good and cranky by then. Good night.”

  “Mmm. Night,” Raven murmured, his eyes still shut. “I wish you could send me a signal. That you reached your home safely.”

  Ella’s heart ached. He truly was worried about her. “Trust me, Raven.” She reached out and smoothed his hair. Tangled though it was, its silkiness caught on her calloused fingers. “I’ll be fine. Until tomorrow.” She rose and left the dugout.

  Heading toward her cabin, Ella whirled around and inhaled the fresh mountain air. She missed Minnesota, but she couldn’t deny the Black Hills held a certain magic and mystery. The way the flowers bloomed in what appeared to be fairy rings. The way deciduous and evergreen trees grew side by side in the woods and foothills, as though east were truly meeting west. The sun had set, and the full moon rose and cast its glow over her family’s small homestead. She strolled languidly and then reversed her path, deciding to take one of her favored walks. She inhaled again, and the fresh scent of pine tingled in her nose.

  Yes, Minnesota was still home, but the Black Hills… They fascinated her. They could be a place of peace and beauty, a wonderful area to make a home for her family, if only the greedy and lecherous gold diggers weren’t here.

  In the faint distance, the drumming of the Indians thumped. Medium paced, it was a happy sound. Not the terrifying war-like beat she’d heard while picking berries. She wondered if Raven heard it. No doubt he was fast asleep by now.

  Ella walked along the edge of the woods that framed her father’s land and imagined how her life would be if only circumstances were different. She’d be in Minnesota, perhaps married by now.

  But when she visualized her husband, it wasn’t Andrew’s coolly handsome visage she saw.

  No.

  It was a perfectly sculpted face, carved out of hauntingly beautiful bronze.

  * * *

  “Raven has not returned.” Wandering Bear faced his father, Standing Elk.

  “Indeed. How long has he been gone?”

  “He left at sun up, to trade with the white men and then to search out herbs for Summer Breeze.”

  “I see.” Standing Elk raised his pipe to his lips. “My older son is brave. And resourceful. Wherever he is, I am sure he is safe.”

  “I fear for him. The white men, they fear what they do not understand. I have begged you, honored Father, to send me to trade with them. They will not see me as a threat because I am one of them.”

  “Bah! You are Lakota now. No more white eyes.”

  “Yes. I am Lakota. Your ways are mine. But still, I look like them.”

  “With hair below your waist?” Standing Elk guffawed. “I do not think so.”

  “I will cut my hair.”

  “No.”

  “But I am willing. It is the best way to see to our needs and keep our people safe at the same time.”

  Bear gazed into his father’s stoic face, wrinkled by the passage of time. The young warrior remembered little of his time with the white men, but he did remember their fear. And their blood-thirsty ways. He worried every time Raven left camp to trade with them. But as he was the older son of Standing Elk, the duty fell to him.

  “Singing Dove cried herself to
sleep when he didn’t return. And Summer Breeze still frets inside the lodge.”

  Standing Elk’s gaze softened, slightly, at the mention of his daughter and his wife. “You are a good son to worry of your sister and mother. Had you come from my own loins, I would not be more proud.”

  “Dancing Doe came by earlier looking for Raven. She still hopes he will take her to wife.”

  “Your brother does not love Dancing Doe.”

  “I know.”

  “He will know when he finds the one for whom he was meant, as will you, my son. The spirit will guide you.”

  Bear nodded.

  “Go to your tipi, Bear. Sleep. Raven can take care of himself.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Bear walked with stealth to his lodge, his moccasins digging into the soft ground. He loved his brother, but did not understand why Raven would not take Dancing Doe. She was the prettiest maiden in the camp. If only she would look at Bear the way she looked at Raven.

  But Dancing Doe was the least of Bear’s concerns at the moment. Raven was in danger. He sensed it with every fiber of his being as he listened to the drums’ dancing beat.

  Tomorrow he would search for his brother.

  Chapter Three

  Ella rose early, swept the cabin, and then went to the barn to milk Sukie, who was crankier than usual, no doubt from being left half full the previous evening. After the cow landed a swift kick to Ella’s shin and toppled over the pail of milk, Ella swore under her breath and limped back to the cabin for some breakfast.

  “No milk this morning, Mama,” Ella said. “That darn cow tipped over the pail.”

  “Ella!” Naomi Morgan turned to face her daughter. “Do not use such language in this house.”

  Ella rolled her eyes once her pretty and willowy mother had bent back over the stove. “Sorry, Mama. But she’s such a belligerent animal.”

  “She’s old, but she’s our only cow,” Naomi said. “It’s a miracle she hasn’t dried up yet. She’ll most likely never calf again at her age. Now sit down, dear. I have your breakfast.”