Lakota Flower

by Janelle Taylor

  “I’m Caroline Sims,” she began. “I came here to meet my brother at Fort Pierre, but he was sent to Fort Kearny before I arrived. These soldiers were escorting me there. Why did you murder them, and why are you going to capture and harm me?”

  War Eagle found himself impressed by her wits and behavior; it was as if she were using three of the Four Virtues that he and his people honored and practiced: Courage, Wisdom, and Fortitude; perhaps she revealed the fourth—Generosity—on other occasions. “You should not come to our land; we at war here,” he told her. “Soon, we ride for my camp.”

  “No, I die here or you let me ride back to the fort.” She spoke with false bravado before she could stop the demand from leaving her lips. She watched his body stiffen and his gaze narrow and darken at her words. That was stupid and reckless; now you’ve provoked him to anger!

  War Eagle placed his hands on his hips, glared at her, and warned in a stern tone, “You come easy way or hard way; choice yours, woman.”

  Caroline studied him for a few minutes, then realized it was foolish to defy him. If she did so, he could become riled and violent, and he could turn her over to his men to be … “I will come with you, War Eagle, but if you try to harm me, I will fight you to the death.”

  War Eagle grasped her true meaning—forcing her to his mat—which was not something he would do. “Your choice wise, woman.”

  Forcing herself to use a polite and soft tone, she corrected him. “My name is Caroline, not ‘woman,’ War Eagle.”

  He touched her shoulder with one hand and said, “You woman.” He touched his chest and said, “I man. Why bad to call you woman?”

  With his men working quietly, and with her back pressed against the wagon, his body filling her view, and her mind on matching wits with his, she briefly forgot about the gruesome sight encompassing them. “It’s the bad way you said it, War Eagle.” She lowered her voice and said gruffly, “Woman, like an insult. My name is Caroline.”

  He knew the word insult, for he and his people had been ridiculed many times by whites and enemy tribes, and he hated being mocked and belittled even by a foe. For a reason he did not understand, and while being drawn unwillingly to her blue gaze and gentleness, he complied with her softly spoken request. “Ca-ro-line. It hard word to speak.”

  “Speak it faster, as one word, not three. Caroline,” she said again with a half smile. Perhaps she could trick him with southern charm!

  “Caroline,” he echoed, and watched a full smile capture her mouth and a sparkle like sunshine dancing on water fill her eyes.

  “That’s good. Thank you, War Eagle.”

  As she smiled again, he surmised she was impressed by him. He scolded himself for being even slightly tempted by her beauty and favorable manner, and for standing there talking with her as if they were friends. He must not allow her to touch his heart and mind in a forbidden way. He summoned a stoic expression and firm tone as he commanded, “No more talk. It wise to be silent; woman not speak orders to man. If you speak or do bad and shame me before others, I punish you; that our way.”

  Caroline grasped the sudden change in his mood and the warning tone of his voice. Perhaps, she reasoned in haste, he was embarrassed and alarmed—even vexed—by his brief softening toward her, the “enemy.” Perhaps Indian women were viewed and treated as lowly and servile beings, as in the Arab countries. For certain, something repellent had assailed him. Minutes ago, he was being genial and kind; he had almost grinned and shown a sense of humor during the amusing name incident. Now, he was acting distant, brusque, and intimidating. She cautioned herself to silence, feigned respect and obedience. For now, that behavior seemed wisest, unless he attempted to ravish her; then, she would fight him to the death with her bare hands! She had not lived to the age of nineteen and guarded her chastity so strongly to come there and be ravished and humiliated and permanently entrapped by what the soldiers had called “savages.” Until a moment ago, she had not believed that word described him; now, she wasn’t certain. She hoped that all he wanted was a slave to serve him and his family, just as unfortunate blacks did for their white masters. For now, she must bide her time until she could escape or be rescued…

  War Eagle stepped to the rear of the wagon and looked inside. Just as he had expected, the cloud-colored blanket covered a cannon whose fire—he recalled from past experience—roared like thunder during its use; it was a symbol of the white man’s encroachment, greed, and impending plans. The awesome weapon must be destroyed so it could not be used against his people or their allies. He knew the hard object could not be chopped to pieces with stone or even the white man’s iron hatchets, but he could place it where the soldiers could not find it. After today, a least there would be fewer weapons and men to battle them.

  He returned to where Caroline awaited him, her head lowered again. “War Eagle tie hands? Yes? No? You be good? Bad?”

  When she lifted her head, her gaze revealed sadness and reluctant compliance. He knew he was to blame for the losses of her joy and spirit, but he quelled his strange reaction.

  Caroline saw his momentary wince as if he felt guilty about hurting her feelings and intentionally frightening her, yet, she knew he could neither apologize nor explain the motive for his sudden sternness. Perhaps he only had corrected his prior slip toward her and was putting things back in the proper order for their captor/captive relationship before they joined the others for departure. Though she had seen his other side and could not forget it, she knew it was perilous to defy or to befriend him before his band. “I will be good, unless you try to harm me.”

  War Eagle was aware of her intense scrutiny. He reasoned that she was thinking over her situation and accepting it. “Get possessions from wagon. We ride for camp.”

  Caroline nodded her gratitude and obedience. She climbed aboard the wagon to gather what she could carry easily on a horse, which didn’t include her two travel trunks. She flung them open, grabbed a fabric bag, and stuffed simple clothing and a few of her favorite things inside it: the Sims family Bible, several photographs, and a rag doll her mother had made for her as a child. She didn’t gather frilly dresses and hats or satin slippers or thick petticoats, as they would be unsuitable in her new surroundings and role. She hated to leave her belongings behind, but she could take only so many items with her, and those must be practical ones. She rushed because she didn’t know how much time he would give her to make her choices.

  At one point, she glanced back at the cannon that was bolted to the wagon bed. She remembered that he had looked inside, so he knew it was there—a weapon of great power and destruction, and perhaps the reason for his attack. War, she mused, was a costly, cruel, and sacrificial event that men believed they must engage in from time to time, no matter how much suffering and loss their families had to endure. Could she blame him and his people for trying to protect themselves and their lands? She pushed those grave matters aside and returned to her selection task.

  When she uncovered the black dress she had worn at her parents’ burial, she clutched the wrinkled garment to her heart, closed her eyes, fought back tears of renewed grief, and took a deep breath. If only they were still alive, and if only that unscrupulous and greedy banker had not snatched away her own and David’s inherited property—home, furnishings, land, stock, even her mother’s best jewelry—to cover a large and alleged overdue loan she could not pay, or if only the grim news had reached her brother in time for him to take an emergency leave to thwart that man’s evil, or if she had accepted William Crawford’s proposal, she would still be in Georgia, safe and free.

  Despite her dire straits after her many losses, she could not bring herself to marry William. He was considered by most females to be a good catch, but she did not love or desire him, and she had not believed he would be a good husband or father for her children, regardless of his social status or exceptional looks or charming traits. So she had packed her remaining possessions and left the South to begin a new life in the West with her br
other. Now, that chance at a fresh start was also lost to her, unless she could find a way out of this predicament.

  Predicament, her mind scoffed, that’s a mild word for the trouble and danger encompassing you!

  Caroline realized she could not change the past, and must deal with a difficult present. In a way, she had that same wicked banker to blame for her current crisis; if he had not, due to “a generous heart and nature,” allowed her to keep enough money for her journey, she would not be here today. No doubt the grasping beast had done so to be rid of her as fast as possible before others could learn of his actions and view him in the same dark light in which she did!

  Caroline put aside the dark dress and those unsettling thoughts and went back to her task. After it was finished, she replaced the dislodged items and fastened the trunks; why, she did not know. Perhaps it was with the hope that they could be recovered later. She tossed the bulging satchel to the grass and climbed from the wagon, her heart pounding as her unknown fate loomed closer.

  War Eagle stood a short distance away, facing her and talking with several of his men whose backs were to her. She assumed he was their leader and was giving them their final orders. She could not prevent herself from staring at him. Strands of ebony hair were tossed about by the prairie wind, as if an enchanted Mother Nature’s fingers were playing with them; the top and side sections of his hair were secured at the back of his head with a leather strip. His features were bold and appealing, accurately proportioned for the size and shape of his face. Even the black slashes on his prominent cheekbones looked sensual on him. He had compelling dark eyes, full lips, and even white teeth. She would guess him to be a little over six feet tall and at the ideal weight for that height, and his age, near hers. His muscular body looked strong and well honed; his flesh, sleek and almost unmarred. She couldn’t guess how much of his skin coloring was due to his Indian heritage or how much was obtained from years spent outside, and now the slowly lowering sun seemed to enhance its dusky shade. When he had stood near her, he had smelled of fresh sweat and animal scents; an odor neither overpowering nor unpleasant. He was the perfect image of a man to be in charge of others and important decisions. He was indeed handsome and virile and no doubt stole the hearts of many females, even if he had a wife and children.

  A wife … If one existed, was she being captured to become her slave? If so, how would that woman view and treat her? What would a wife think and feel about her husband bringing another female, a stranger, an enemy, into their abode? From the tepee she had been shown outside Fort Pierre where “friendlies” and “beggars” camped, those hide dwellings had only one room, offering no privacy. At those dismaying thoughts, apprehension filled her. Please, dear Heavenly Father, don’t make this situation any more difficult than it already is.

  War Eagle saw Caroline slyly watching him and patiently waiting for him, though he concealed that knowledge from her and his friends. He finished speaking with the others, then rejoined her at the wagon, along with his best friend from camp, Swift Otter, who was also a Sacred Bow Carrier. That small group of men were among the highest-ranked warriors in charge of his people’s protection and the most prominent in battles. He glanced at the fat pouch on the ground, then looked at her. “You ride with War Eagle. Swift Otter carry possessions. Come, we go.”

  Caroline watched the warrior pass his weapons to his friend, no doubt to put them out of her reach for his safety; they could be tossed back to him if danger approached. Then, he leapt upon his horse with great agility and extended his left arm to her. She grasped it and found herself hauled up behind him. As she had ridden horses and even a mule since childhood and sometimes double-back with her brother, in one lithe action she had tossed a leg over the horse’s rump and taken her assigned place. She straightened the bottom of her dress, grateful it had a full skirt to aid her movements and to allow her to retain modesty. She slipped her arms around his waist, knowing that was expected and necessary to avoid being thrown off during their ride. She realized how close that made the contact of their bodies and how his bare flesh felt warm and smooth to her palms.

  Since much of his height was in his long legs, she could peer over his broad shoulder. She saw his friend mount his own horse with her bag and nod that he was ready to travel. As their journey began, she noticed that three Indians were driving the wagons away; others were leading army horses with soldiers’ bodies strapped across them; the rest of the large group waved to their companions and rode in a different direction.

  To keep her wayward thoughts off the man before her and her unknown fate that loomed ahead, Caroline viewed the vast landscape of grassland and rolling hills; in many spots, large buffalo grazed in massive herds that stretched out farther than she could see. It was an awesome sight and distracted her for a while.

  Soon, they reached a lovely river and followed its treeand bush-lined banks until it veered southwestward. She, her captor, and Swift Otter continued along the water’s course, but the wagons and bodies were taken onward in a westward direction. The largest number of warriors had not rejoined them, but she didn’t know why. She wondered how far away his camp was, as the hot August sun began to set.

  War Eagle glanced to his right and watched part of his band heading onward to Makosica. He knew why they were traveling to the area known by Indians and Whites as the Badlands; some of his party were going to shove the cannons, other weapons, and wagons over its steep bluffs in places where the army could not retrieve them. The soldiers would be buried ?? winding canyons there, their final resting places covered ??cks for concealment. Even if the slain bluecoats were ?? knew arrows with telltale Red Shield markings ?? removed, and would be used again during future ?? or battles. The mules and horses would be released to roam the grasslands, as far away as his men could lead them in the passing of one sun, as it would be perilous to keep those animals in or near their camp. The remainder of his party was running a large herd of buffalo over all wagon and horseshoe tracks so that no revealing trails could be sighted and followed; then, they would return to the big hunt, which had been halted earlier to carry out those tasks.

  As for him and Swift Otter, they were returning to the main encampment to relate those deeds to their chief and people, and to leave Caroline there while he and his friend rejoined the hunting party for a few more days. He could not surmise what his father and the council of Big Bellies would say and think about his attack, or what they might do to him for it. Yet, he was certain his oldest brother, Wind Dancer, who was to become their next chief, would have taken the same protective action. As to Caroline, once more he could not guess what the reactions to her would be. Surely they would agree he had no choice but to capture her after the lethal attack on her traveling companions, and he was sure his father and the council would not order her death.

  War Eagle felt her soft arms around his waist and the way her body pressed close to his bare back. He could not help wondering what she was thinking and feeling. She must be afraid and worried, maybe plotting an escape or praying for a rescue, though neither would happen, as he would not allow it. He was impressed by her continued display of courage and obedience and was relieved that she did not provoke him to use force on her for defiance.

  War Eagle did not have to look back at Caroline to see her face. His mind’s eye could envision it with ease and detail, her coloring so different from his and his people’s. She was beautiful and tempting, just as Cloud Chaser’s white mother must have been to their father long ago during one night of weakness on Rising Bear’s part when the chief was consumed by grief and loneliness over the loss of his beloved mate to the Pawnee. But Winona had been returned to them by the Great Spirit, and Omaste—Margaret Phillips—had been taken by death. If his mother had not escaped her cruel captors many seasons after she was taken by them and was believed to be dead, he and his younger sister would not exist; and perhaps Omaste would still be with their father, tending his two brothers. Would Rising Bear, chief of the Red Shield Oglalas, have ma
de Omaste his wife if Winona had never returned? Somehow War Eagle knew that would never have happened. It had been difficult enough for his father to accept having a half-white son. That had taken place last summer, and only because Cloud Chaser had proven his worth and loyalty to them, proven his Lakota blood was stronger.

  Those thoughts compelled War Eagle to ask himself why he hated the whites so fiercely when his father had mated with one, although only once. His second brother was half white, one of his best friends, Red Wolf of the Cheyenne, was half white, and Red Wolf’s mother was all white, as was the girl behind him. It was obvious to him that he did not detest all whites, just most of them, and in particular, the soldiers, their leaders, and greedy hunters and settlers. Perhaps it was easy to accept Cloud Chaser because he almost looked pure-blooded, and Red Wolf did not hint strongly at possessing enemy blood. If more of their race were like those three women, peace would be possible with them. But they were not. They craved all that the Indians possessed, craved their destruction so they might feel safe in stolen lands. War was inevitable.

  What about Caroline? What will happen to her in our camp when—not if—war with her people comes?

  Rising Bear’s third son did not want his mind to dwell on that oddly troubling thought, so he dismissed it. He glanced at Swift Otter and said in their language, “It grows dark soon, my friend, and we still have a long way to ride. We halt here and finish our journey on the next sun. There is no need to reach our camp while it sleeps. There is much for us to reveal, so we should be rested.”

  “That is true and wise,” Swift Otter said.

  War Eagle reined in his horse and slid to the ground. “We camp here,” he said as he extended his arms upward to Caroline.

  Caroline became tense at the thought of what might loom ahead during the night with the two warriors. Even so, her cold and quivering hands clutched at his hard forearms as she was assisted down by his grip on both sides of her waist. He released her instantly and turned to tend his horse.