Teach Me Your Love

by Rita Hestand

  "Marrying him? I didn't think she even liked him."

  "Yes, well, not particularly, but she wants relations. And she wants someone to claim her too, as she really doesn't belong to this tribe. You see, to be fully welcomed into this tribe, you must marry one of its people. She is not married to anyone here. If she married into it, then she could stay forever." Red Elk shrugged nonchalantly. "She is pushing things to the limit and she will not be able to stay much longer, and she know this. She must find a husband to stay."

  "But with him?" she gasped. "I mean, he's so much older…"

  Red Elk could not stop the smile that spread over his face. "Naomi, you don't see her for what she is."

  Naomi's mouth flew open in shock.

  After a moment to reflect she asked. "Why ask you for permission?"

  "I was her master for three years. She felt compelled to ask me. I gave her my blessings."

  "With a kiss!" she blasted.

  "That wasn't a kiss," his smile disappeared, and he grabbed her to him and laid her head in the crook of his arm his eyes going over her with serious intent and whispered, as his breath caught. "This is… "

  And then he kissed her. And what a kiss it was. His lips were warm, inviting and moved so sweetly over hers that she swooned. John never kissed her like this. Never held her like this. Her head swam. And before she realized it, her lips moved too. It was heady, heartbreakingly sweet, and just what she needed to settle her nerves. Her heart drummed in her chest, her lips quivered from the sweet massage of his.

  Before he broke away, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her chin, and back once more to delve at her lips.

  She was breathless and blushing as his head raised.

  He stared into her eyes once more, his sparkling. "My God, your lips melt." When he lifted her up, he stared a long moment, then smiled, quite pleased with himself. "That was a kiss."

  She was spellbound. Unable to say a word.

  It certainly was!

  She swallowed hard, finally finding here voice once more. "Well I…. guess it was." Perhaps he didn't need any lessons in love. Perhaps he knew too much about it already. He certainly knew more than John ever did.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day he brought Big Hand and Chosen One over to meet her.

  "I am so pleased to meet you. I didn't know anyone but Big Hand that knew English." She told them.

  Big Hand smiled, "We are glad to finally meet you too." He shot Red Elk a mock frown.

  She fixed some venison stew and cornbread and they loved it. Chosen One asked for the recipe and she gladly gave it.

  "Could I come visit you one day. I'd like to learn some things, that I'm sure you can teach me." Naomi asked Chosen One. "I've seen the beautiful baskets that your tribe has done, and I'd like to learn how, also, since I'm wearing the deerskin dresses now, I'd like to know more about how to make them and embellish them with designs."

  "Of course, I will. We are glad you want to learn these things. And I'm sure you can teach me some things too. Like sewing, I'm not the greatest at that, and cooking some of your foods, too."

  Naomi enjoyed their visit. They left early but Naomi was happy to make some friends at least.

  "They liked you." Red Elk said when they left.

  "How can you tell?" she asked him.

  "Big Hand ate three plates of your stew and Chosen One wants you to visit. Those are good signs."

  "How long have they been married?" she asked him.

  "Five years."

  "Five years, she looks so young."

  "It is because she is so short. She is twenty-five I think."

  "Really."

  "How old are you Naomi?"

  "I'm twenty-three. And you?"

  "I'm twenty-seven." He smiled at her.

  "And Big Hand?"

  "He's thirty."

  "You want to learn to make your own clothes?"

  "Yes, I used to sew a lot, but the deerskin is a different material, I want to know how to decorate it and make it pretty. I didn't have many dresses before, they were all so plain. Blue and black in fact. They never had any frills on them, just plain blue and black. John didn't waste money on pretty clothes. I knew how to embroidery, but John said it was not seemly to decorate clothes."

  "John didn't believe in much of anything, did he?" Red Elk smiled. "I am glad you want to learn. You may have as many as you want. And you can do this… em…"

  "Embroidery."

  "I would like to see it for myself." When she said nothing, he studied her a moment. He could see the joy in her face, from his words. It pleased him greatly. "I've got to go to the fort tomorrow. I'll be gone most of the day."

  "Is something going on, there?" she asked.

  "Just more talk of the big war. Even though the war does wage on, it is hard to imagine as we are so far from it. But the anger that I feel when I'm in the room with them at the camp when they speak of it, I think it will come, and it will sweep down upon them and kill more than they can imagine. It is not a good war to be in. But there is no talking to the people, they are so divided. They cannot reach a compromise. It will mean many deaths."

  "Isn't there some way to stop it from escalating?" she asked as she turned to see his serious face now. "I thought they would talk it over and see how ugly it might get. But you've said they've had battles already. Surely, all those lives lost will make them stop and think about it a bit more seriously."

  "They've thought about it too much already. Fathers argue with sons, it will mean a war against their own families. I'm afraid talking is what has made it escalate. No, you see some at the soldiers are southerners and they feel they are right about the black slaves. They claim they need the slaves to bring in the big crops of cotton and the grains they grow. And they are right, they do need them, but if they would simply pay them a small wage and furnish them a place to live on the plantations it would not be a problem at all. Some are from the north and don't believe in slavery. Mainly because the black man is not trained to do the work they have up north in the factories and such. They can't use the black man, so after they sell them to the plantation owners, then they gripe that they have made slaves of them. The sad thing is a lot of people mistreat the blacks, like they aren't human. The two sides butt heads all the time. They have no sense of reasoning." Red Elk insisted. "And there is no respect for the black man."

  "Indians have slaves…" she reminded him.

  "Yes, but our slaves have the chance to do better, to improve and to be happy. We do not beat them or mistreat them unless they do something very wrong."

  "Why have slaves at all?" She asked waiting for his answer.

  He seemed to consider her question. "It is a good question. When you were taken by the Comanche, you were a slave for them. When Bear Foot took you from them, you were still a slave, and then I took you, traded you. But I have not mistreated you." He insisted. "You are not a slave. You are my wife. You have honor now and the tribe will respect you as part of the tribe."

  "They will?"

  "Yes, it is part of the reason for the marriage. But only part."

  "You insisted I marry you… " she reminded him. "If I don't give you a son, you will make me a slave again, will you not?"

  He smiled and looked into her concerned eyes. "I only said that to persuade you to have my son." He sent her a crooked smile.

  She turned her head at his honesty.

  "You do not like being married to me?" he asked.

  "I never said that. You've treated me well, except when I first ran away, and you made me walk back. My feet were killing me then."

  He glanced at her feet. "I was concerned you could have hurt yourself much worse by continuing on like that. You could not walk thirty miles your feet hurting like they were. You don't know this land, or how to survive in it. Your feet could not have made the journey. It was something I was making a point with. You had only gone a few miles. Had you made the entire trip, your feet would need sewing."

  "
I guess I am a bit stubborn."

  He grinned. "A bit. But I like stubborn women."

  She chuckled.

  "I don't mind being married to you so much. It's just that I didn't have much choice, didn't know you very well. I don't know if you know this or not but when white women are courted before marriage the courtship usually lasts a long time, sometimes years."

  "Years, why so long?"

  She smiled, he didn't understand that. "I don't know it has to do with the parents approving in some cases. In others, the people are strangers when they meet and must get to know each other before marriage."

  "Had you a choice, what would you have done?" He asked.

  She glanced at him, "I don't know… In all fairness I only knew John a week before he asked for my hand. That isn't the way a real courtship is supposed to be done either. But you see, John was a mistake. My parents were in a hurry for me to marry, and after they gave their approval it was expected that I accept his proposal, although I did have some doubts about it. I don’t want to make any more mistakes. I hadn't planned on marrying again."

  "Marriage is a good thing, Naomi. It gives us structure and strength as there are two of us. Bear Foot brought you here. You had no choice then. He put you over the coals. He was mistreating you. So, I traded for you, so you would not be hurt. All I wanted from you was a son… " he left that open for discussion. "It would seem that asking a woman to bear a child for you is a lot to ask."

  She couldn't help but stare as his words were obviously said with an emotion she couldn't define.

  "Tell me, why is a son so important to you? I'd like to know." she asked her voice softening. "Would you tell me? There must be a reason you want children so badly."

  He leaned back on his elbows and stared at her, all of her. "No woman has asked me that. I am proud you did. I am proud you are interested enough to know. I am a breed. Therefore, I walk the line between the white world and the Indian. It is true that I am not accepted as well as a full-blooded Indian or a full-blooded white. I walk alone. Always alone. Neither approve of me. But… having a family, would bring me much happiness. It would mean someone of my own kind, another breed. A part of me. Knowing when I leave this world that there will be someone to carry on for me. I may not make a large track in this world, but I intend to make one, nonetheless. I am a peaceful man, a Christian man. My mother died trying to make a family for my father. All she could give, was me. It was enough for my father. He was very pleased. I want that kind of relationship with my son. And my wife. I want a family, someone to come home to. Someone who shares with me. Someone who does not look down on me, but up. I do not seek many children although I'm not opposed to many. But at least one. I may not be anything to anyone here, but my son will know I love him. And my wife if she will let me."

  She blushed, she hadn't expected such a heartfelt answer. "I-I never had a child with John…"

  "A child should be conceived from love." He told her.

  So, he did understand the concept of love. "I agree with that." She nodded. Then something occurred to her. "You and Painted Dove had relations, did you turn her away because she gave you no child?"

  He turned away now, "No," he whirled back around to stare at her. He came closer, pushed her hair back from her face. "You have a lot of misconceptions about Painted Dove and I."

  "I'm trying to understand it." She told him boldly.

  "There is nothing to understand."

  "I think there is a great deal." She insisted.

  He touched her cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against the softness. Her cheeks pinked, and he smiled. "Painted Dove wanted relations, with me, or any man she could. I simply wanted a son from her. So… we had relations. I was not special to her, she was not special to me."

  "That's like taking a bar room saloon girl…" she quipped.

  "Exactly." He smiled. "Now you understand." His smile spread over his face with contentment.

  "But even a saloon girl that sees the same man for years people begin to think they are a couple. Back home Bernard Jones kept seeing Miss Alma for five years, and everyone said they were a couple."

  "A couple? That is a strange word. Painted Dove and I are not a couple. We had sex, that is all."

  "Perhaps but it is with the same woman always, right?"

  "Yes, it was. I did not want to sleep with my village. I only take one woman at a time."

  "This relationship has lasted a long time. Does she still want relations with you, though?" she asked.

  "Yes, she does." He admitted.

  "Oh…" Naomi felt something inside her heart, like a slow evolving ache that wouldn't go away. "And Bear Foot?"

  "Yes," he admitted.

  "And others…"

  "Yes…. Now do you understand?"

  "Then why was she crying when she left here the other day?" Naomi asked. "She's in love with you."

  He smiled now. "No, Painted Dove does not know what love is. She is not in love with me, nor I her. Because I told her there would be no more with me." He said simply. "She does not love me, I can assure you. I suppose in a way you and I share more in common than you think. I like only one woman at a time as you do a man."

  Naomi stared. "Why, why did you tell her that you would no longer have her…?"

  "It is simple, Naomi," he stared into her eyes. "I am married now. And I am a Christian, I believe in only one wife too. Just as the white man takes his vows seriously, so does the red man."

  Naomi had to admit, him saying that sent a warm fuzzy kind of feeling through her, as he believed as she did about marriage. Still, she wasn't sure of his affections for Painted Dove yet.

  "But nothings passed between us, I can still be your companion and you can have her, if you want—I guess." Her voice trailed off, as though she hadn't thought that statement through enough.

  "Enough of this talk. No! That cannot be. You are a Christian, I am a Christian, you know that is not so. We are married. It was a lawful and religious ceremony by my people. You are my wife. I will not take another… "

  "But you said, in a year… "

  "Naomi," he came closer, his arms holding her now. "Understand this. As long as we are married, I will not take another. It would be wrong, and I do not desire another. But, if after a year, we have not come together, then I will consider letting you go, if that is what you want. I suppose after all, I am giving you a choice."

  "After two years with Indians do you think any white man would want me?"

  He studied that question. "Then perhaps we will find a way to be man and wife."

  "Do Indians get divorced?" she asked puzzled by his statement.

  "Not exactly, we just agree to go our separate ways, that's all."

  She thought about it. All of it. He was agreeing to setting her free after a year. But where would she go, Nearly, two years with Indians, what white man would have her? And if she had no man, how could she live? She realized there was no freedom for her. She thought about what he had told her about the washwomen and the whores that lived at these Camps and Forts all over the place. She didn't want that life either.

  What did she want?

  "What would happen if I did have a son for you?"

  His glance sparkled from his eyes. "I would rejoice and love you until the ends of the earth."

  She flushed. Could that be possible?

  He would love her!

  "But what if we had relations and I didn't produce a son. Would we go our separate ways then?" she asked. "Like you and Painted Dove?"

  "If we have relations, you will go nowhere. You will be my willing wife, and I will care for you always."

  She looked startled. It was much more than John offered, and she could tell by the look on his face, he meant it too.

  "But you'd only love me if I gave you a son, right?"

  He came up close to her now, "As you say, I do not know the future, myself. You see Naomi, I too seek this thing called love."

  He had come to the same conclusion as she
. They did not know their own fate.

  Oddly enough, she was free of John now, as long as she stayed here. And she didn't want to go back to him. Her folks were in Missouri, she doubted she'd ever see them again. Her only recourse would be to go to work or remarry. And marrying another white man would make it unlawful since she never divorced John. Sadly, she didn't even know if John was dead or not. She might never know. It seemed useless now to think about herself. She had no future, except what she made for herself.

  Could she make a future here, in this village?

  After supper, she was quiet, and Red Elk played his flute for her. He played beautiful songs and she found herself patting her foot to some and swooning at others. She had never had the opportunity to enjoy music like this and it was liberating.

  Out of the blue she looked at him, "What would happen if I stayed with you?"

  He stopped playing, staring into her eyes that were bright and sparkling. "Then perhaps we would start our life together as a real married couple."

  She blushed. "Tell me, why does Painted Dove want relations with men. I mean I understand what a whore is, but I have never understood why?"

  "She finds it pleasurable, I suppose. Although, she knows nothing about real pleasure. That I know for a fact. She is beautiful, but she lacks something on the inside. Have you not met any whores before, for that is what she is?"

  Naomi frowned. "Is it right for you to judge her since it's your bed she slept in?"

  "Perhaps you are right. But she is a whore, Naomi, and she makes no secret of it. I do not go off and seek many women. She seeks other men."

  "I don't know much about whores, myself. John would talk of them when he came back from town sometimes. Calling them unholy cows. I thought that kind of mean for him to call them that. I know little about pleasure. All I really know is that it is not always such a pleasure… "

  The word pleasure sent all kinds of thoughts through Naomi's mind. Could a woman enjoy a man getting on and off?

  "Do you find it pleasurable?" she blushed again for asking.

  "For a man, it is different. Some men simply get on and off. But there is a difference in having sex and making love. Making love is very pleasurable. Even a good whore knows that. Sex is like getting on and getting off."