by T. S. Joyce
“It does have a better ring to it than Grub Worm.”
“Exactly. Kicking Bull,” he nodded respectfully to a man in a huge headdress who approached.
He said a string of musical words in his language and I rode the notes with interest, though I couldn’t understand a letter of it. His words were like a song—rhythmic, rich, and inviting.
Jeremiah responded in the same language and shocked, I watched his mouth move in the tongue of the tribe. The man’s mysteries only seemed to grow the better I thought I knew him.
“Kicking Bull, this is my woman, Lorelei. Lorelei, Kicking Bull, chief of this band of Ute.”
The white of his teeth contrasted against the olive tones of his sun leathered skin and his dark eyes danced with easy humor. “Bride of the Wolf, welcome.”
“My new wife here took a fancy to that pretty Nez Perce pony you traded with Luke for. She’s wanting to trade her new horse in for something with a little more flair.”
Kicking Bull twitched his head toward the horse behind me and one of the men ran a hand down its back and studied it with a seemingly experienced eye. He pulled open her mouth to reveal straight, white teeth and nodded to Kicking Bull.
“We also need one of your knives if you have any to spare. Something that’ll fit her hand well.” Jeremiah patted the hide that was tied to the back of his saddle. “I’ll throw in the bear fur for the knife and as a thanks for the warning of the crows.”
“It’s a good trade. Who killed the bear?”
Jeremiah snorted. “Kristina.”
The old Indian’s booming laugh was deep and easy on the ears. Kristina killing a bear was news to me, and I’m sure my face showed as much.
A woman gestured for me to follow her. She wore an ankle length dress made of animal hide that was so light in color it competed with the white of the occasional snow drifts that still clung stubbornly to the landscape. The hem was heavily fringed and around her waist was tied a wide strip of leather. The shawl she wore to ward off the chill was intricately beaded in blues and whites.
“I’m going to talk with Kicking Bull for a bit,” Jeremiah said. “You’ll be safe with his woman, Tauri. I’ll come get you soon.”
Oh, I heard what he was really saying all right. No girls allowed and all that. Fine, I could entertain myself. I followed the striking woman without a goodbye. Take what he would from that.
“The men,” Tauri explained, “they have much to talk about.”
Her English was a pleasant surprise. “Like what?”
“Your man defied his fate and survived something most wouldn’t. He has strong magic and Kicking Bull respects his friendship. They have known each other for many years, and now that our future is uncertain off the reservation, he will ask Mahtuhgurch Sahdteech for council.” She stopped in front of a trio of deer hides stretched across the ground and staked into place. “Do you paint?”
“I’m dreadful at painting. My mother tried to tutor me in fine arts, but I never had the eye for it.”
“You can help me tan these hides then. Here, like this.” She handed me a blade with a handle across the side for a two handed grip. “Work one section until it is soft and smooth, then move to the next.”
On my hands and knees, the work was tedious and my shoulders ached with the strain, but the rhythm of work eased any tension we had as strangers. She talked freely of her children, two grown sons and a daughter, and her grandchildren, two grandsons with another on the way. She thought she’d have a granddaughter by the end of the moon’s cycle.
One of her grandsons came and sat quietly propped against a pole that held an unfinished painting of a wolf and a giant tree with flames licking its branches. The young boy looked different than the others running to and fro between the teepees. His skin was lighter and though his hair was dark, his eyes weren’t. Instead, they were the gray color of a dove.
Somewhere in this boy’s family tree, one of the branches had been white.
He waved shyly when I greeted him and his grandmother looked at him with such a pride, I ached for my own family. His looks didn’t make any difference to the woman beside me and I liked her more for it. When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Tauri wiped her forehead and pulled me off my aching knees.
“Did you paint that?” I asked of the colorful hide.
“I did. We paint things that happen to and around our people. Pictures and beadwork are a way to preserve stories from our history.”
I angled my head and squinted at the picture. Something about the tree seemed so familiar, like I’d seen it in a dream or something. When I turned to ask her more about it, Tauri had disappeared like she’d never existed in the first place. I spun around but all the faces around me were unfamiliar. A flap to the nearest teepee opened and she reappeared with a necklace of white beads. It was adorned with a small pendant of beads the color of Mother’s brightest red summer roses from home. She held it up and arched her eyebrows in silent question.
“For me? It’s beautiful.” I ran a light finger over the medallion.
She tied it in the back and patted my shoulders gently. “You’ll be a good woman for Mahtuhgurch Sahdteech. You’ll soothe the fire in his animal.”
Tauri’s way with words didn’t make much sense sometimes but I thought I got where she was coming from. If every man had inner demons, the right woman should be able to calm them.
She nodded slightly. “I liked talking to you. Maybe I’ll come with Kicking Bull next time he seeks out Mahtuhgurch Sahdteech.”
“I’d love that. Please do.”
She gestured to a string of four Indian ponies tied to a rope stretched between two teepees. Jeremiah stood to the side and talked softly to two fearsome looking braves.
“That’s sure a pretty necklace you got there,” he called.
“Thank you. Tauri gave it to me.”
He smiled affectionately at the woman beside me, then arched his gaze back to me. “These are your options. These fillies are young and sound, good teeth and any one of these will make you a fine horse.”
One was mostly white with a black face and a couple of tar black patches across its body. Her eyes were blue and she blinked slowly behind dark eyelashes. The horse beside her was pure white with a soft pink nose and cream colored hooves. The next was another paint, but she was covered in chestnut spots with very little white. The last one was a color I’d never seen before. It was white as the snow except its legs from the knees down were black as pitch to match her dark tail and mane. All were equally beautiful and most certainly not boring.
I approached the white with black socks first. She tossed her head as I came closer and snorted as I reached for her. The next, the chestnut paint, didn’t seem to even notice me there and only moved to shift her weight on relaxed legs. The next wiggled her lips at me and made me giggle but it was the last, the mostly white with the black face and blue eyes that captured my heart. As soon as I was close enough, the mare pulled me to her chest with her chin across my shoulder and gently nibbled at my shirt. When I placed my hands on her neck she pressed her face against mine and waited. Her breath was steady and strong, blowing little tufts of steam across my shoulder. Feathers tied into her black mane fluttered in the wind.
“This one,” I said, pulling back to get a look at her delicate face again.
“I had a feeling as much but here’s the catch.” Jeremiah drew up beside my choice and ran a hand down her back. “You can’t be riding this filly sidesaddle, you hear? She’s quick and young, and sooner or later you’re going to need her to run. It ain’t safe to ride a horse like this one sidesaddle.”
I pursed my lips. “I’ve never ridden like man before.”
“That’s the deal. You take this one, you’ll ride split-legged from here on.”
Her blue eyes watched me steadily. She was already mine. “Fine.” I was trying to contain my excitement but a tiny squeal still managed to escape me. “She’s perfect,” I gushed.
Hi
s smile melted any resolve I had, and I flung my arms around his neck. His surprised tension melted as he chuckled deeply against my hair. “She suits you. Here.” He pressed an antler bone handle of a large knife into the palm of my hand.
I pulled it slowly out of its sheath and the blade glistened in the sun.
“There’s the second part of your wedding present. Keep it on you at all times and I’ll feel a little better about draggin’ you all the way out here.”
When my pocket was heavy with the weight of it, Jeremiah took the saddle from the brown horse and hefted it over the back of my paint. We said our goodbyes and headed back to the long trail that would lead us home. Sitting split-legged was about the most scandalous thing I’d felt since my fall from society. Holding a saddle in between my thighs and telling my horse where to go with the pressure of my split knees was a new experience, but I had to admit, it was more comfortable not twisting in the saddle to hold the reins.
Jeremiah shot me glance after glance, like he didn’t quite know what to make of me on the new horse, but the ease in his speech made me think he didn’t mind it.
“What’re you going to name her?”
“I have to name her?”
“I don’t have a name for mine and I’m pretty sure Luke doesn’t either, but Kristina named her spotted pony Rosy.”
“A horse this pretty should have a name,” I crooned. “When I was a child I rode a stick about between lessons. The horses I learned on were horribly stuck up, you see, but my imaginary horse was wild and did anything I wanted her to. My stick horse’s name was Beigha.”
“Beigha,” he murmured. “I like it. Beigha, the least boring horse I’ve ever set eyes on.”
He bobbed easily in the saddle as his horse trotted slowly beside Beigha’s quick pace. He held the reins in one hand and the other rested on his thigh. His back was straight and strong and never before had I seen a man so capable and beautiful in the saddle. “Jeremiah?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for understanding about the horse. You paid for another man’s mistake, and you did it without complaint. It means a great deal to me.”
“I’m glad.” A mischievous grin stole his face. “Now, I’ve been waiting for the chance to get you at more than a slow walk since yesterday. You ready to see what your new horse can do?”
“You mean run her?”
“Hold onto the saddle horn and give her a kick. If she’s too fast, slow her down.”
“Are you wanting to race, Mr. Dawson?”
“That’s what I want.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea—hyah!” I yelled, kicking my horse while disappointment still swam in my husband’s eyes.
His booming laughter mixed with my own as we dodged trees and brush. My heart raced faster and faster to the beating of Beigha’s hooves. Jeremiah was right behind, and it made the race that much more exciting to think he would catch me any moment. The race stretched on forever and as I adjusted to the gait of my horse, my new riding style only became more comfortable.
My instructors had never let me go faster than a trot, and here my husband was, telling me to let my horse loose, trusting me too compete with him as an equal.
When I lost track of the way home, his horse danced with mine in a subtle cadence that told me the way. The race stretched to the stars and back and when we were finally, finally at the edge of our clearing I pulled my tiring horse to a trot and then to a walk. She’d given everything I asked and more. Much like my husband had done today.
His eyes flashed with fever bright excitement as he pulled next to me and here, in the deep afternoon shadows, in the shelter of the Dawson woods, he leaned over and kissed me. His hands cupped my face, and his fingers intertwined in my tresses that had bounced free of their pins. Gently, he urged my mouth open with his own. My breath froze as his tongue brushed softly against mine, and I gripped his forearms to keep him near.
Beigha moved to the side, separating us, and I stared at his cocky smile like I was too drunk on champagne to find my mental facilities again.
“Hup,” he said, kicking his horse into a trot. He looked behind him once, and humor danced in his eyes. I don’t know what he saw on my face, but a short laugh burst from his lips.
My horse moved to follow, and thank goodness for that. The man had kissed me too thoroughly and now my hands didn’t seem to want to work right with the reins.
Kissing while riding—yet another lesson my hoity-toity instructors forgot to teach.
Chapter Seventeen
Lorelei
“Look there,” Jeremiah said, leaning his horse into mine and so close, I could almost feel his warmth through my own layers of fabric.
Squinting through the trees, I could just make it out.
“That right there is the start of your house, Mrs. Dawson.”
I inhaled sharply as my body tingled with excitement at the sound of our name upon his lips. I gripped the reins and squeezed Beigha with my knees. Luke worked feverishly and, to my open astonishment, had three quarters of the stone hearth already completed. How could a man accomplish so much in a day? His energy seemed endless as he waved and smiled before going straight back to work slathering some kind of sealant between two stones. Kristina hauled the rocks to him one by one, and while they looked to completely weigh her down, he snatched them from her like they were pebbles.
“I want to help.”
Jeremiah offered me a slow smile. “The house will mean more if you do.”
I liked that he didn’t tell me to sit there and look pretty as the gentlemen I was accustomed to had done my entire life.
Kristina propped her fists onto her hips and blew a strand of sandy blond hair out of her face as she spied us. “Hey!” she yelled. Beigha tossed her head as the woman ran for us. “Oh, she’s just beautiful!” She held the reins and looked into my horse’s dark face. “Such pretty eyes, and she takes a bit and saddle? What’s her name?”
Excitement bubbled out of me as I said, “Beigha.”
Kristina beamed. “How dandy, and now we both have flashy Indian ponies.”
Another layered sense of belonging drifted over me. My situation wasn’t ideal by any standards, but I’d been accepted into this little family. I had a husband, and a horse of my own, a brother-in-law who’d spent the entire day constructing a hearth for a home to house me, and a friend to share this challenging experience with. So I had to camp in the woods, and didn’t have modern day comforts. There were still bright spots in my life, and they somehow weighed more than the dark.
Kristina walked beside Beigha with her hand resting on her twitching withers. Jeremiah rode on my other side, strong, constant and with an easy smile at the ready just for me.
“I’m going to go put her up and then help you haul the rocks,” I said.
“It’s rough work,” Kristina warned. “My hands are already torn up.” Indeed they looked a little battered. One of her fingers was even bleeding.
Determined, I said, “I’m up for it.”
Jeremiah showed me Beigha’s stall and where to put her tack. The brushes sat on a rail against the wall and after a quick rub down and a bucket of water, Jeremiah led me outside with a gentle hand resting on my lower back. My, but that man made my insides warm right up.
“I want you wearing these.” He handed me an oversized pair of roughed up work gloves.
“Are these yours?”
“Yes, but I’ll be fine. If we work quickly, we could get the hearth done and start on the foundation.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and on it was a drawing of a bunch of squares and numbers I couldn’t make heads or tails of. “I thought we could have the kitchen and den as soon as you walk in, our bedroom over here, and two small bedrooms on the other side, right here.”
“Three bedrooms?”
“They’ll be small but necessary if we’re planning on having a family someday.” So casual was his tone, I glanced up to make sur
e he wasn’t teasing. His eyes were steady and serious under his cowboy hat. “I mean to have a family with you, Lorelei.”
I had to swallow my emotions down before I answered, or he’d see just how much his desire to have children with me affected my feelings for him. Jeremiah didn’t need an oversensitive woman. Not out here in this rough land. He needed a level-headed one. “I’d like that, too.”
Daniel had wanted an heir, but he’d never talked about wanting to start a family with me. It was just the necessity for a son to pass his wealth and name to that was important. Not whom he put his child in. While I’d accepted this as normal for the society I lived in, now I wasn’t so sure it had ever been all right by me—not deep down in the tender bits of me that had feelings and wants. Not the pieces of me that hungered for affection and love.
Kristina had been right that hauling rocks was hard work, but on top of that, we couldn’t carry them fast enough to keep up with those tenacious men. Like beavers on some northern dam, they never stopped or even slowed. While Kristina and I struggled to work faster, they never pushed or gave us impatient looks. On the contrary, they joked around, or went over Jeremiah’s rough floor plan, or mixed mortar. My excitement grew as the hearth angled in and with the men balanced on tall, crude wooden ladders as they created the final lip.
Awestruck, I stared at the looming fireplace that had been built in a day.
Jeremiah scrambled down the ladder and stood by me while he admired their work. “You build the hearth first so it doesn’t pull on your foundation,” he explained.
“Have you built many of these?” I asked.
He shrugged. “A few. We moved around a lot when we were little. Built many a home with Pa and my brothers.” His nostrils flared delicately. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” I searched my arms and low and behold a long, shallow cut graced my forearm. “Oh, it must have been from resting the rocks against my arms when I carried them. Some of them were jagged.”
“Hmm,” he grunted. “Kristina, we got any clean cloth?”
