Little Flower

by Jeanie P Johnson

  “Well, now you look like a proper lady,” Blake praised when she finished buttoning up the boots.

  The night had been fitful, having to sleep on the unfamiliar cot with her dreams tangled between Talking Dog taking her and Gray Wolf shunning her. The satisfied smirk on Merry Morning’s face still haunted her. What was there to look forward to now, she wondered?

  “Your mother will be overjoyed to see you again,” her father told her as he busied himself cooking griddle cakes in a cast-iron skillet over the fire. “She has prepared your room. It has been waiting for you all these years. There are still warped gifts we bought for you at Christmastime and your birthday. Now it is also filled with everything a young woman’s heart could desire. When we heard you were still alive, we couldn’t believe it. Once you arrive, we plan on throwing a celebration, and inviting all our friends to come meet you. We are so happy to have you back, Daisy.”

  Blake looked lovingly up at his daughter. He noted the sad, almost frightened expression on her face. He wondered if she even remembered them at all. He shrugged and flipped a griddle cake onto a tin plate and offered it to her. “There is a container of honey over there,” he motioned to the spot.

  Then he poured more batter into the skillet, eyeing Daisy as she dribbled honey over the griddle cakes on her plate. Daisy could hear the dough sizzle when it hit the hot lard, the smell of it wafting up her nostrils.

  “Davy is looking forward to meeting you,” her father continued. “You may find him rather spoiled. He has been the only child all his life, and your mother has been overprotective of him, after what happened to you. Therefore, he is a little rebellious wanting to free himself form her ever watchful eye. I don’t think he knows how to react to all of this, but I am sure he will adjust. He needs a big sister to share with. It may distract your mother from hovering over him all the time.”

  Daisy gave a half-smile then licked the honey that was on her lip. Gray Wolf had been a big brother to her. Now it was her turn to be a big sister. She wasn’t sure she wanted that responsibility, though. What could she teach him beyond the Sioux customs she was used to? The thought continued to frighten her.

  Gray wolf had probably returned from the hunt by now, she thought, not able to tear her mind away from the Sioux village. She wondered what he thought when he discovered she was no longer there. Maybe he was relieved, now that he wouldn’t have to tell her he had changed his mind about her. Even if he hadn’t changed his mind, Talking Dog’s actions now stood between them. Her life would never be the same, even if she had remained in the Sioux village, she realized.

  As they traveled closer to San Francisco in the small covered wagon, pulled by the two mules, Blake took time to introduce Daisy to the new life she would soon be living. He told her about the hotel he owned, and the people who worked for him. He told her of his dream to have his son take over for him, when the time was right. Now that she was back, she, and whoever she ended up marrying would also inherit the family business and all the money that came with it. She would not be expected to do much, as far as the business went, but her husband would be expected to take the reins, along with Davy, once Blake retired, or died, whichever came first.

  Hearing about his plans frightened Daisy even more. She didn’t even know how to read or write. She hadn’t had the luxury of attending school, growing up. How did her father expect her to be able to help some future husband take over the family business? It would have to be left to Davy, she decided. She had no plans of ever marrying. She had been raised by Indians, no one would want her as a wife; not to mention the fact that once it was discovered she had been violated by an Indian…she squeezed her eyes shut just thinking about it. Even if someone asked her to marry him, she would have to tell him the truth. She didn’t want him discovering on their wedding night that she was no longer a virgin and then demanding an annulment. She knew what the whites thought about Indians taking white women for their wives. They also turned their noses up at the trappers who married Indian women.

  Daisy’s hand went involuntarily to her stomach, remembering Talking Dog, and praying that his seed did not take. It was bad enough that her virtue had been robbed from her, but to be humiliated further by having a half-breed child would be her undoing. It would forever remind her of that horrible moment when Talking Dog got his way.

  After a few days of traveling in the wagon, Daisy requested to ride her horse. Now she could just pretend that none of this was happening. She could make believe she was just out for a long, enjoyable ride on Starfire and would be returning to the village soon, letting Gray Wolf gather her into his arms. She would let Lucky trot behind her until he became tired, and then allow him up in the sling, though he was growing rather fast and soon would be too big to carry in the sling. Every time she looked at him, it reminded her of the day Gray Wolf had presented him to her, the day she had told Merry Morning about the woman medicine, and had been abruptly put in her place.

  If she had not been worthy of becoming Gray Wolf’s wife back then, she was doubly unworthy now, she admitted, trying to hold back tears that stung her lids every time she thought of Gray Wolf.

  The fields of grass reminded her of the day she had gotten left behind. It had started out so exciting to her, being able to get down and play in the flowers, finding Rags, and then having Gray Wolf discover her. Now, that was a lifetime ago, but the swaying grass would not let her block the memories out of her mind. She suddenly had to face the fact that she didn’t even know how to be a white person. Talking Dog had accused her of still having white ways, but they were nothing compared to actually having to live like a white person, wearing layers of clothes and shoes that pinched her feet.

  All the things her father related to her about San Francisco sounded so foreign to her. She had almost forgotten what it was even like living in a house instead of a teepee. She was sure to disgrace both of her parents by acting too much like a Sioux and then they would repent of having ever brought her there.

  What if, after she got there, they were embarrassed by her? Would they lock her away, so she could not be viewed by their friends? If they did, she resolved to just climb up on Starfire’s back and ride away, returning to her Sioux family again. Only by then, Gray Wolf may have taken Merry Morning as his wife and she knew she could not be in the same village if that was the case. Also, the thought of having to see Talking Dog again was unpleasant to her. She had to face the fact that there was no escape for her, not in a white man’s world or the world of the Sioux.

  The closer they got to San Francisco, the more anxious she became. They were starting to pass farms, and houses along the way. The sprawling town could be seen in the distance, bridges spanning over bodies of water, and buildings perched on hillsides. People, dressed in fancy clothes, passed in buggies while gentlemen riding horses looked smart and tidy in their suits. Shops sprang up along the streets that were narrow; the town having grown up so fast there was no time to change the planning of the roads as people began to pour into the city and take root there.

  They passed an impressive brick building that was several stories high, and Blake informed Daisy it was his hotel, which he would give her a tour of later. They continued on up the rise of the road, leading away from town, where a remarkable collection of large, expansive houses were built. Finally, the wagon turned into one of the drives, behind an iron gate, which servants opened for them. Both the men looked curiously at Daisy, sitting on Starfire’s back, with Lucky draped in front of her.

  “Good day, Gordon, Boe,” Blake nodded at the servants. “Take the wagon around back, Boe, and Gordon, please help my daughter down from her horse and tend to it as well.”

  As the wagon clattered up to the front of the house, Daisy saw a woman coming out onto the porch. “You have arrived!” she called out.

  A young boy stood beside her. He was dressed as immaculately as his father, a brooding look upon his young face. He also had black hair and his eyes were the sky blue of Daisy’s eyes. He eye
d Daisy as Gordon helped her dismount her horse, lifting Lucky down and letting him onto the ground beside her. Then Rebeca was rushing forward, throwing her arms around Daisy.

  “Daisy, Daisy, you have finally come home!” she cried as she clutched her daughter to her, tears streaming down her face.

  The boy stood his ground, watching with curious eyes, but not attempting to greet her. The look Davy was giving Daisy told her all too well, he resented the fact that she was there. Then he glanced down at her feet where Lucky was romping.

  “What is that?” he asked suddenly, pointing to the pup. “It looks like a wolf!”

  “It is a wolf,” Daisy informed him. “A Hota Sumanitu… Gray Wolf.”

  “You brought a wild wolf with you?” he exclaimed, but he looked more curious than frightened. Then he smiled. “I heard you lived with the Indians. Are you wild like them and that wolf?”

  “Perhaps,” Daisy murmured, giving him a sly look as though to warn him to keep his place around her.

  “No more talk of being wild,” Rebeca cooed. “Daisy is home again, and she is no wilder than you are, Davy.” She began leading Daisy into the house, as Blake came up on the other side of Daisy, walking beside them.

  Daisy suspected that Davy was wilder than his mother probably knew. He had a mischievous glint in his eye. Daisy had noticed that same kind of glint in Talking Dog’s eye when he was young. She wasn’t sure she would be able to trust her younger brother.

  The two huge doors were opened by another servant and as they stepped into the entrance, Daisy gasped, not only at the opulence of the house before her, but at the row of servants ready to greet her. The walls of the entranceway shot up to a tall ceiling with carved crown-molding edging the top. Copper tiles with an impressive design pressed into them, marched together, covering the ceiling, incasing the round, flowery molding in the center, from which a chandelier hung from a black chain.

  Black, iron arms of the chandelier supported a myriad of candles, none of them lit since it was still light. She could not tear her eyes away from the elaborate affair, suspended above her head. Blake cleared his throat with a hint of a smile, which drew her attention back to the group of servants gathered before them ready to greet her.

  Rebeca started rambling off names as Daisy slowly walked before the line of servants, each nodding as she passed. She was having a hard time taking it all in and she could see Davy trying to suppress a laugh behind his hand as his eyes twinkled in amusement at the unmistakable awkwardness she was feeling. He was enjoying her discomfort, and the realization irritated Daisy even more.

  “We have lunch waiting,” Rebeca informed Daisy, “but that mutt must be taken to the barn. I won’t have the brute in my house chewing on things and smelling the place up.”

  One of the servants bent down to swoop Lucky up, but Lucky yelped and snapped at his hand, causing the man to cry out, letting go of the pup, which immediately scurried up to Daisy’s leg and huddled there.

  “I believe that dog is dangerous!” Rebeca exclaimed.

  “It’s not a dog,” Davy laughed. “You heard her say that it is a Wolf, a real, wild, wolf!”

  “Mercy!” Rebeca covered her mouth with a gloved hand. She hadn’t been paying attention. That was why Davy was talking about Daisy being wild, she muttered under her breath.

  “He won’t hurt anyone,” Daisy insisted. “You just scared him! He has not left my side since he was given to me,” she tried to explain, reaching down and picking Lucky up. “Wolves are very loyal. Once they have bonded to someone, they don’t wish to be separated.”

  “Nonetheless, I do not think it is proper to have a wild animal as a part of the household,” Rebeca shivered, looking distastefully at both Daisy and Lucky, wondering if Daisy had turned wild as Davy insisted she had. “We will get you a proper Dog.”

  “No!” Daisy squealed, backing away, hugging Lucky tighter. “This is a Gray wolf! My Sioux brother, Gray Wolf, gave him to me. You cannot take him from me. If you do, I will go back to my people!”

  “Your people?” Rebeca gasped. “We are your people, not those heathens who took you from us!”

  “They are not heathens, and they did not take me from you. I got lost. Gray Wolf saved me! I never would have been able to catch up with the wagons. He didn’t know where you were so he took me to his village. They were kind to me and raised me as one of their own!”

  “And we had to pay to get you back!” Rebeca grumbled. “If they were so kind, why didn’t they just hand you over?”

  “You don’t understand the way of the Indians. Even when a man asks for a woman to marry him, he has to pay the father with horses. The father must have something to replace the family member that is lost. I was considered a family member. It was right you pay Chief Beaver for his time and patience raising me and then losing me once you took me away. Each member of the tribe is important and adds to the ability of the tribe to survive as a whole. I was adopted as a member of the tribe. They considered me as one of them!”

  As she spoke, though, she could not shrug aside what Talking Dog had said to her. Maybe she hadn’t been as important to the tribe as she thought she was. Maybe they would never think of her as completely Sioux. Maybe she had just been fooling herself to believe she was completely accepted, in spite of her white skin and white ways, as Talking Dog had put it.

  “Nonetheless, I won’t have it in the house,” her mother frowned. “Give the…wolf…back to Thomas and he will have Gordon find a nice place for him in the stables, with your horse.”

  “I suppose he will feel safe if he is with Starfire,” Daisy mumbled, almost afraid to let go of Lucky for fear Rebeca would have him ‘disposed of’ the same way her father disposed of her Indian dress.

  “I won’t let them get rid of him,” Davy piped up, surprising Daisy. “We’ve never had a wolf before!”

  Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she supposed. He seemed to like the idea of having a wild wolf there. Perhaps it was his rebellious ways, and he just wanted to irritate his mother, Daisy though, giving Davy an appraising glance.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  Rebeca looked at Davy as though she wanted to scold him for stepping out of place, but thought better of it.

  “I will have Mazy show you to your room, where you can change and get cleaned up a bit, and then she will bring you to the dining room for lunch,” Rebeca smiled, trying to take control again. Daisy noticed that her father had not entered into the conversation. Apparently, her mother had complete say over the household, or her father just wasn’t interested in anything but his business dealings, Daisy assumed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Daisy’s father had been right. When Mazy opened the door to Daisy’s room, the first thing that greeted her was an assortment of wrapped gifts, piled on the window seat. Daisy blinked. She had never seen anything as pretty and astounding as the gaily wrapped gifts, climbing halfway up the window, blocking the view. The paper and ribbons were more colorful than the costumes the tribe used for the crow dance. She had never seen anything like it before, and could not help herself. She had to touch them, to feel the shiny paper and soft ribbons under her fingers.

  Mazy smiled, watching her. “They all belong to you,” Mazy told her what she already knew; only she felt they really didn’t belong to her. They belonged to some girl who had become lost to parents she barely knew, not the person she had become now. “I am sure your parents will let you open them soon, now that you are home.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Daisy mumbled. “They are too pretty to spoil by opening them.”

  “But they can’t stay wrapped forever. They have been waiting here for you to open them someday. Your parents never gave up hope that you were still alive. They just didn’t know where you were. Mistress Rebeca did not want you to think she had forgotten you.”

  “I thought they had forgotten me,” Daisy admitted. “I had almost forgotten them.”

  “Well, they didn’t. They missed you very much
. Not a day went by when the mistress didn’t mention your name. She would always say things like… ‘…if Daisy was here, she would do such and such. Or… we would go to this place or that…together,’ She loves you very much.”

  Daisy shrugged. Perhaps her mother did love her, yet she seemed a little perturbed with her concerning Lucky, and acted like she didn’t approve of her or her dog. She felt like her mother didn’t love her for, who she was, but for who she remembered Daisy being; that same little girl, who got lost on the trail to California. Daisy was sure her mother would try to make her into the daughter she wished she had become, rather than the one she was ending up with now.

  “Come, I’ll help you change. That dress you are wearing is just something your father barrowed from Becky. Now you have all new dresses. You can pick whatever you wish to wear.”

  Mazy led Daisy to the clothes press, and opened the door. A row of dresses made from material Daisy never imagined existed hung, ready to be chosen.

  “They are all so beautiful,” Daisy whispered, as she ran her hand over the various dresses hanging there.

  “And they all belong to you,” Mazy giggled. “Which one do you wish to wear?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll let you choose.”

  “Then wear this blue taffeta,” Mazy smiled, pulling the dress away from the rest. “It matches your eyes. I’ll get your underthings ready. I am sure you wish to be rid of your soiled clothes. There is a picture of water you can use to wash the dust from your body before you put on your new clothes.”

  Daisy turned and self-consciously removed her dusty clothes, using the wash cloth to freshen herself with. Then Mazy was bringing her frilly under clothes, much different from the cotton ones she had been wearing. They felt soft and smooth against her skin. She discovered how the corset was supposed to be worn, but didn’t like it. Like the shoes she had been wearing, it felt too restrictive and tight. She could barely breathe, after Mazy had laced it. Why would anyone want to wear such a thing, she wondered, but was afraid to ask?