Sweet Savage Heart

by Janelle Taylor

  Wild Wind was stunned momentarily by his vehemence and incisive words. He had become annoyed with her of late, but never had he spoken in such a manner or behaved so coldly toward her. Something was terribly wrong today. Though she was one who normally could control her expressions and reactions, she helplessly paled beneath the golden glow of her silky flesh. Eyeing him intently, she asked, “Why do you speak such cruel words to your sister, Lone Wolf? I have lived by your side for many winters, and I wish to be like you. Can you deny that I am as trained and skilled as your best warrior? Why must I waste such skills and prowess when my people are in danger of being no more? When I see wrongs, where is there honor and bravery in remaining silent? What excitement and courage is involved in gathering herbs and wild vegetables, or putting up a tepee and taking it down, or rubbing foul brains into a hide to cure it, or cooking meals and serving men like a slave? Such acts require no skill or wits. They can be done by old women or young girls, or by our captives. They can be done asleep!” she shouted at him in an unusual display of anger. “I do not want to be enslaved by a tepee, by a woman’s boring life. I want to feel the sun and wind upon my body. I want to feast on danger and freedom as you do. I want to put my skills against fate’s powers. I wish to be a warrior, not a helpless woman! Let me help our people.”

  Lone Wolf shook his head in mounting frustration. “You are a female, Wild Wind. You are the most beautiful creature alive. Why do you make yourself ugly with shame and defiance? If you love me and honor me, find a worthy warrior and join him. Be as you are, my sister, a woman of great value and pride and courage,” he urged.

  “You wish me to marry and leave our tepee? You wish me to be miserable? You wish me to let our people suffer and die because the pride of warriors will not allow women to join them in battle? I must not! I cannot!” she blatantly refused, her eyes sparkling with fury.

  “You are eighteen winters old, a woman. It is time to accept your place as Grandfather willed it. Do not force me to—” At her wounded expression, he halted briefly. He was softening, and he could not permit that to happen if he wanted to win this battle.

  “Force you to do what, my brother?” she quickly demanded, her heart pounding in trepidation.

  Lone Wolf breathed deeply, wearily. “I am your brother and chief, and I must be obeyed. If you do not cease your childish and rash behavior, I will be forced to punish you before the entire tribe. Then you will feel the shame that you bring to me and my camp. If you do not find a mate before the Sun Dance, I will choose one for you and have you joined after the ceremony. I have spoken.”

  Wild Wind could not believe what she was hearing. “You would not do such brutal things to your sister!” she debated fearfully, for she perceived the danger and seriousness in this threat from him.

  “You are my sister only as long as you behave as my sister. For many moons you have behaved as white. If you are my sister and you are Indian at heart, you will obey the laws and ways of our people,” he shockingly informed her, his voice clear and crisp and intimidating.

  “Father would not wish you to hurt me and punish me this way. It is wrong, my brother,” she argued frantically, though she knew Lone Wolf saw the situation from a completely different viewpoint. She had been raised by the Oglalas and she knew their customs and ways; yet something strange and powerful was pushing her away from them and was preventing her from sealing her life with them. If only she could understand and explain what was influencing her thoughts and actions, she reflected miserably.

  “Father is with the Great Spirit, Wild Wind. He was too weak to battle you. If love and respect lived in your heart and head, you would not shame and hurt your brother and people. Do you wish to make us regret your rescue from the Kiowas? Do you wish to make us regret you are Soaring Hawk’s daughter? Is there hatred and bitterness hiding within you toward all Indians? Do you seek to punish all with red skin for the cruelty of our enemies? In the past three winters, you have become more white than Indian. I fear such changes will bring much trouble to our camp and to those of our Lakota brothers. There is a powerful force that is driving you from us.”

  “You words are not true, Lone Wolf!” she shrieked in dismay. She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to slow her racing heart. “I love you and loved our father. I would do nothing to hurt you or our people.”

  “Your words do not match your actions, my sister,” he replied, refuting her frantic claims. “There is no deeper wound than dishonor. You know the way of my people: it is better to die in honor than to live in shame. If you are truly Oglala, become one with us in all ways.”

  “Do you say that the only way to prove my love and loyalty is to marry a man I do not love or want? Must I deny all I am and feel just to prove I am your sister and the daughter of Soaring Hawk? If you loved me as I love you, brother, you would not wish such an empty and cruel life upon me. Perhaps I have acted too boldly and recklessly, but it was to seize your attention and to earn the right to defend our lands and people. If I cannot live in peace and love in our tepee, then I will leave our camp and your life,” she warned him.

  She expected him to relent slightly. Instead, he responded, “Perhaps that would be best for all, Wild Wind. Your will was too strong for Father to master, and it pained him to watch your arrogance and rebellion grow as swiftly as the spring grasses. I cannot reach you. Soon, I will be forced to put my people first. I cannot allow you to darken my honor and rank. I cannot waste time and strength correcting or punishing you each sun. Think on Rides-Like-Thunder of the Cheyenne as a mate. He is a great warrior with many coups. By all females he is called handsome, and he has many skills upon the sleeping mat.”

  Her cheeks grew as fiery as her hair at his last remark and her gray-blue eyes widened with astonishment. He continued slowly and confidently, “It is time for my Cheyenne brother to have his own tepee. He has many horses and skins to trade for a wife. He is strong and brave; he can protect his family from all evil. In his camp, you will forget your foolish ways and words. He has spoken with me about you. He wishes to join soon. I say we accept his offer. Do you agree?”

  Anguish and panic ruled her senses. “You despise my white blood so much that you would send me to another camp, to a stranger, to become his slave by the joining law?” she inquired anxiously. Tremors assailed her body as she observed his resolve. Normally she would have battled him with obstinate words and actions, but she knew he was gravely serious. She dared not push him today.

  “Many warriors have asked for you as their mate; each day the offers for you grow larger. Black Hawk and Prairie Dog have asked to approach you. No maiden has received such great offers of trading. The other women grow jealous and angry. You must not reject so many noble warriors. The warriors challenge each other and joke over who will tame the wild wind. For peace, you must choose one, or I will do so. Is there a warrior who stands taller and braver than than Rides-Like-Thunder?”

  “You would sell your own sister for the biggest price? I do not wish to marry your Cheyenne brother or any other warrior. I am young, Lone Wolf. I am not ready to become a wife and mother. There is much to learn and see. I do not love or desire any of them,” she protested. She had allowed several handsome braves to steal kisses, but they had had no effect on her. What was so special about the joining of bodies on sleeping mats? she wondered. Once she was wed, her freedom and joy would be lost forever, and her restless spirit would be corralled. If only Soaring Hawk were still alive…Her Indian father had understood her hunger for life, her many differences from the others of the tribe. Sometimes they had talked for hours of the mysteries of life and the variations in people. He had never pressed her to be anything more than she was. Why had he been taken from her during this confusing period in her life? Why could she not consent to her brother’s commands? She knew why: somewhere there was a special existence and a man awaiting her. She would have to resist Lone Wolf’s orders until her destiny was revealed to them. If only the Great Spirit would open her brother’
s eyes to the truth, he would understand why she was refusing to comply with his wishes, and perhaps he would find a way to help her locate her path to happiness.

  “I will invite Rides-Like-Thunder to visit our tepee. You will see that he is the best choice for the daughter of Soaring Hawk and sister of Lone Wolf. Do not rashly close your heart and mind to him. He is a good man and my friend. You are my sister and I love you. That is why I choose the best man for you. Accept him and my words,” he coaxed. He did love her, and this matter was difficult for him. He was distressed by her rebellion and selfishness. How could he reach her?

  “Would Rides-Like-Thunder be the best choice if he were of our tribe? Or is he the best because he will take me away from your camp and tepee? Am I so repulsive that my own brother wishes to be rid of me?” she challenged him, her emotions in turmoil. “Why are you blind to the truth, Lone Wolf? Grandfather must guide my steps.”

  Lone Wolf reasoned, “Good changes will be made in Wild Wind in another camp. If you remain here, you will not try to become a good wife. Your defiance will vanish in the Cheyenne camp, for you will learn that such ways and words are wrong. You will learn to be Indian again. You will find love and desire. If you wish to choose another warrior, do so before the buffalo hunt ends. If you do not, I will accept my friend’s offer after our tribes hunt together. I will allow him to take you as his mate after the joint Sun Dance. If Rides-Like-Thunder were of this camp, my choice would be the same,” he added honestly. “If you desire Black Hawk or Prairie Dog and promise to become a good Oglala wife, I will accept your choice of either warrior. I do not wish to hurt you, my sister. Do not make it so.”

  Unaccustomed tears glimmered in her eyes, for she could not alter or resist the Indian ways. She had lived with the Oglala Sioux long enough to know she must obey Lone Wolf’s words or be banned from her tribe. Where could she go? How would she survive? Did she want freedom that badly? Even if Rides-Like-Thunder was the best choice for a mate from any tribe, she did not love him or want to marry him. She wanted happiness and freedom; she wanted to comprehend this fierce and intangible hunger that chewed at her mind and body. She wanted and needed… what the Great Spirit had not yet revealed.

  How could she yield to defeat when such a powerful urge to seek her real destiny pulled at her? As surely as the sun rose, it was wrong to marry Rides-Like-Thunder, or any man, just now. But how could she prevent it until she understood who and what she was? Why must she sacrifice her joy, her freedom, and her body to another person? What about her desires and her honor? Was she of such little importance?

  “Niksapa hantans ecanu kte,” Lone Wolf encouraged her tenderly.

  Wild Wind bravely fused her blue gaze to Lone Wolf’s ebony one and mentally questioned his last words: “If you are wise, you will do it.” Suddenly she lost the will to resist him. This battle between them was too vicious and demanding and destructive. If the Great Spirit had other plans for her, He would see them exposed and fulfilled before it was too late. For now, peace with her brother and people was the important thing. She replied, “As you command, I will choose a mate by the Sun Dance, or I will leave our camp forever. If you open your senses to the words and desires of the Great Spirit, you will know your order is wrong. I beg you, Lone Wolf, seek His will for our lives before you stubbornly go against it. Your words and anger have pierced my heart as fiery arrows. I was a child when I came to the tepee of Soaring Hawk and Lone Wolf; you have made me as I am. Now you punish me for the skills I have learned and the hungers I feel. I know I am a female, for I experience the sting of that sex each day. Why must being a woman destroy my chances for happiness? A captive could perform the same duties you ask of me. Why can there not be more to my life, Lone Wolf? Why is it wrong to ride with the sun and wind? Why is it wrong to learn and practice warrior skills? Is it not best for a woman to be able to protect her tepee and family when her warrior is gone? Have you forgotten how many camps have been raided and destroyed while warriors were hunting or fighting?”

  Her voice became strained with heavy emotion as she continued, “Why are women not taught to defend their camps and lives? Why must they flee into the forests or be abused by their captors? Without homes and families, the warriors will have nothing and will cease to exist, as the white man cunningly plans. You know their clever strategy: leave nothing and no one behind and the Dakota Nation will perish. Why is it wrong to know how to track and hunt when the warriors are away and food is needed? Must women, old ones, and children suffer and die because of male pride? Why can we not listen to the words of the council, which also affect our lives? Did not Grandfather also create females? Did He not also give us cunning and courage? Why must we hide these traits? Women have feelings and wishes; why can we not speak them? We are allowed to do no more for our families and people than animals do for their own kind or slaves are commanded to do for their owners; yet we are above animals and slaves in all ways. Women are Oglalas too, Lone Wolf, the children of the Great Spirit. Where and when has Grandfather said we are beneath males? The taste of cowardice is bitter, my brother. Explain these things that trouble me, and I will obey all orders,” she vowed.

  Lone Wolf declared impatiently, “We have spoken of such matters many times, my sister. It is our way. Grandfather chose the paths for males and females long ago, and He has not changed them. Oglalas must be Oglala. I will waste no more words and strength on such useless talk,” he told her, for he could not think of words to refute her arguments, and this dismayed him. “You refuse to see right and to do it. I wish it were not so. Think on your honor and deeds, my sister, and we will speak when I return.” He secretly hoped his wits would not fail him at such a trying time. If only her words did not sound so logical, or go against all he had been taught…

  “It is useless to speak further, my brother and chief. You see only your feelings and thoughts; you care nothing for mine. All people are not the same, Lone Wolf. One day you must face this truth and you must learn the value of women. If you could become a female for only one sun and moon, you would learn much. I agree that many of my deeds are rash and my words are often too quick and sharp, but my honor exists only as long as I remain true to myself and all that I believe. We will not speak on this matter again. I will obey your wishes or I will leave before the buffalo hunt,” she announced, a new confidence filling her at that irrevocable decision. If her brother felt she would leave before complying with his commands, he might back down…

  Lone Wolf watched his adopted sister mount and ride for camp. Wild Wind was smart and brave. She would think on his words and her behavior, then yield to his orders. After the passing of one full moon, she would become the mate of his Cheyenne friend or another of her own choosing, and all would be as it should be…

  Wild Wind returned to camp and closed the flap to her tepee to signal privacy. She had much thinking to do but did not know where to begin. For as long as she could remember, or would permit herself to remember, she had lived as an Oglala. Yet she was not Indian, and the trader’s looking glass impressed this reality upon her more and more each day. She had tried to be like all of the other Indian maidens but had failed. She was making Lone Wolf and others angry and sad, yet she could not help herself. She wanted and needed something more than this confining life offered her. She was not Soaring Hawk’s daughter, but she could not recall her dark past. Who was she? Where did she belong? How could she become all she wanted to be? “Help me, Great Spirit, for I am lost in mist and cannot find my rightful path. I do not wish to dishonor or sadden my brother, Lone Wolf, but I cannot yield to his commands. Please show him I am not like the females of his kind. Please reveal my purpose in life to him. My time is short, Grandfather, and I need your help and answer. Do not fail me because my skin is white, for my heart is Indian.”

  Suddenly she began to weep, for the truth pounded inside her head: No, Wild Wind, you are not Indian and your place is not here…

  A similar confusion was taking place far away in Texas, near Fort W
orth. Rancher Nathan Crandall was wondering if he was experiencing a cruel joke or a miracle as he digested the news he had just received. He swallowed to remove the lump in his throat that temporarily prevented him from questioning the astounding mystery that had been presented to him. The hands that gripped two breathtaking canvases by renowned artist Thomas Mallory were wrinkled by advancing age and scarred by countless hours of hard manual labor often done in harsh weather. His grayish blue eyes glanced from the two small portraits of an Indian princess to a large portrait of his deceased daughter, Marissa Crandall Michaels, which was hanging over his fireplace. The deteriorating portrait, which Thomas Mallory was now studying intently, had been painted in 1847, when Marissa had been eighteen. Nathan found himself wondering in confusion how the two portraits he held could look like Marissa when they had been painted so recently and his daughter had been dead since ‘56?

  This talented and adventurous artist had arrived in Fort Worth three days ago. Nathan’s foreman, Travis Kincade, had met Thomas in the Silver Shadow Saloon and had become intrigued by his work and tales. Travis had learned that Thomas had been traveling the West for the past three years, painting portraits of trappers, soldiers, Indians, and settlers. When he was not doing portraits, he was painting landscapes, portrayals of customs and adventures, and wildlife. Nearing the end of his often perilous trek and before returning east, Thomas had traveled to Texas to capture rugged lawmen and infamous outlaws in evocative oils.