Captivated (Cutter's Creek Book 18)

by Vivi Holt

  “No. Easier to make new ones when we get there.” Bodaway helped her tie everything in place, then stood up and surveyed the bare bones of the village. “I’ll go see if they need help with the ponies.” Bodaway’s eyes met hers for a moment before he walked off, and an unwelcome spark of desire flitted through her chest. Her pulse raced and her thoughts jumbled – she couldn’t have feelings for him, could she? He was kind and thoughtful and had always treated her well. But he was her captor, her guard, nothing more.

  Just then Waneta hobbled into view, a walking stick in her right hand. Her beady eyes glinted at Maria, standing beside the neatly-packed travois. She frowned and tapped her stick on the hard ground. “So you finally figured it out. Don’t let it go to your head – you’re still a fool. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut from time to time.” She rapped the stick on the ground again for emphasis and cackled to herself before shuffling away.

  Maria rolled her eyes, still happy over her victory. Small as it might be, it gave her satisfaction to win that particular battle, even with Bodaway’s help. Perhaps that made it all the sweeter – she hadn’t seen any other men helping to pack away the teepees. It appeared to be considered women’s work among the People, the men nowhere in sight until it was time to load up the horses. Bodaway may have bucked tradition by helping her, even brought shame down on his own head – especially being the chief’s son. Yet he’d done it without complaint.

  She smiled at the memory of the look on his face when he’d pulled her from that mess. His face was so smooth and tanned – so unlike Fred’s pale, freckled, bearded one – his arms strong, his hair full and black. What would it feel like to have those arms wrapped around her …

  No! she thought, and trembled. It was a betrayal to Fred’s memory to think that way, and would only make her escape all the more difficult if she cared for him. She had to keep her mind on the goal - freedom. She could think of nothing else if it was to ever happen.

  Chapter Twelve

  The entire camp was packed up and ready to move before the sun found its place overhead. Bodaway gathered his pony and the horse he’d captured from the strangers in the woods. Yarrow pulled the travois, while Mariya rode the horse the children called Star Dancer. The patchwork line of ponies and People began to weave their way across the prairie, leaving behind the trampled and now-empty riverbank where they’d spent so many months.

  Bodaway set Lonan on Yarrow’s sturdy back and handed him the reins with a smile. The boy grinned at him and he tousled his son’s hair with gleaming eyes. He was becoming a man right before his eyes – before many more seasons passed, he’d be part of the ceremony that Bodaway himself had completed as a boy, which would mark his transition to manhood even before he was fully grown.

  His heart ached as he imagined his son stepping out on his own, leaving his family behind. It was common for men to stay with the tribe, but with the coming of the English so much was changing around them. Anything was possible and he feared his children might not follow the path their ancestors had faithfully trod for so many generations.

  He motioned Mariya over, then helped her onto Star Dancer’s back, cupping his hands beneath her foot and pushing. She swung one leg over expertly, and he grunted with approval. When she’d first ridden with him that day out on the prairie when they’d hunted partridges – she’d been awkward, fearful, uncertain how to hold her seat. But now she looked natural and confident up there. He’d seen her out practicing every day when she thought no one was watching. She’d surprised him with her determination to succeed at whatever she tried.

  Mariya smiled, a warm and genuine smile as he handed Impeme up and helped settle the girl in front of her. His cheeks warmed under her gaze while he fussed with Impeme’s moccasins, making sure they’d stay on her small feet. Not long ago Mariya’s eyes were full of hatred for him. Had she softened, or was he only imagining things? She didn’t seem like one to put on a show. And yet he’d been comfortable with her hatred, understood it. It was her affection he feared.

  His hand brushed hers as she took the reins from him, and his heart stumbled before finding its rhythm again, his dark eyes glancing up to meet hers. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her head, tilted to one side, was encircled by a swirl of loose blonde strands as the wind whipped around them. He swallowed hard and slapped the horse on the rear, sending it trotting forward.

  He watched Mariya ride away, her arms wrapped tightly around Impeme, and rubbed a hand over his chin. No, her affection was definitely not what he wanted. It made feelings rise to the surface that he’d buried deep years ago. He had no intention of allowing them to take hold of him again. He shook his head and set off to follow them on foot, Chepi by his side.

  She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. “What is it, Papa?”

  He shrugged and patted her arm. “Nothing, sweet wildflower. Just thinking about your mama.”

  “I miss her, Papa.” She hung her head and slipped her small hand into his.

  “Me too. I miss her too.”

  ***

  Impeme was a fount of conversation and Maria found her presence a welcome respite from her own thoughts. She told Maria all about tatanka – bison or buffalo – and how the tribe followed the herd wherever it went. According to her papa, the herd was much smaller now – when he was a boy, you could see tatanka from one horizon to the other, like clouds in a stormy sky.

  She talked about the games she loved to play and her favorite doll, fashioned by her papa from a pine cone. She relayed information she’d likely heard during fireside conversations about how the tribe had to be careful not to cross into Cheyenne, Crow or Pawnee territory. According to her papa, their world was shrinking with each season as the tribes butted against each other, forced ever westward and northward by the “English,” the People’s term for any white man.

  Maria listened to it all with a nod here and an exclamation there. The tot needed no encouragement to continue, but she waited sometimes for Maria’s response before continuing in her lilting, high-pitched voice. It seemed every one of her stories centered on her papa Bodaway – “Papa did this” or “Papa said that.” Each time she spoke his name, her eyes lit up and her cherub lips formed a happy smile.

  “Where’s your family?” she asked suddenly, her wide brown eyes trained on Maria’s face.

  Maria froze, wondering just how much the little girl understood of her situation. “My mama and papa live far away, so many miles away. That is all the family I have. I had a husband once …”

  “Before you married Papa?” Impeme interrupted.

  Her cheeks reddened. Sometimes she forgot that the entire village considered her married to Bodaway. She hadn’t accepted it herself, though the more time passed, the more she realized how blessed she was not to have ended up in Anunkasan’s teepee. She’d seen how he stormed through the village, his eyes flashing, shouting at the boys who skipped beside him to take his orders, and sending the young woman scurrying for shelter.

  Impeme was still waiting for an answer. “Yes, before then.” Maria coughed and took a deep breath. “My husband was named Fred. We lived in England, on the other side of the …” She realized she didn’t know the People’s word for “ocean,” or even if they had one. None of them had likely been within a thousand miles of one, after all. “… far across the great water to the east. So far that no one can swim it – you have to travel for days on a very large boat.”

  “Like a canoe?”

  “Much larger than a canoe. The water is so big a canoe would not make it across.”

  “Ohhhh.”

  Maria didn’t want to talk about her past anymore. “How about we sing a song? I can teach you a new one.”

  Impeme’s eyes glinted and she clapped her pudgy hands together. “Yes, a song!”

  “Right. Let’s see … I sang this one in England when I was a child.” She began:

  London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,

  London bridge is falling
down, my fair lady.

  Impeme clapped her hands off-beat, her contagious giggle floating out behind them on the breeze.

  Build it up with wood and clay, wood and clay, wood and clay,

  Build it up with wood and clay, my fair lady.

  Maria tucked her flyaway hair behind her ears – and caught Bodaway watching her. He walked quietly just behind them and to one side. When their eyes met, he quickly shifted his gaze to the horizon.

  She half-listened as Impeme attempted to sing the rhyme herself, all the while thinking about what she’d seen. The look on his face was one she recognized – curiosity mixed with desire. She’d seen it when she’d been courted by men in London, though never with the hunger that lingered in Bodaway’s eyes, or the boldness. It made her whole body ache for his touch. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes a moment to calm her racing heart.

  “Mariya.”

  His voice broke through her reverie and set her heart pounding again as she broke into a cold sweat. Without thinking, she batted her eyes and flashed him a grin. “Yes, Bodaway?”

  Her unconscious flirtation seemed to take him by surprise and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Are you well?”

  The question had made her uncomfortable, even frustrated, in the past. But now she could hear the tenderness behind his words. “I am well, thank you. And you?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He looked away, as though their conversation was over. She didn’t want it to be. For some reason she wanted desperately to connect with him, to know more about him, to understand him. “I was wondering … that is, I have been thinking … where is your children’s mother?”

  Impeme’s head spun around and she stared at Maria, her lips pressed tightly together.

  Bodaway grabbed the little girl gently beneath her arms and swung her to the ground. “Hey, my little one, how about a run? See if you can catch your sister.” He pointed to where Chepi strolled with two friends up ahead, and the girl ran off, squealing her sister’s name. Chepi turned to watch her approach with a scowl and a roll of the eyes, and Bodaway laughed low and soft before sobering again.

  Maria looked down at her hands. “I am sorry. If you do not want to talk about her …”

  “It’s fine. Nata, my mate, died while giving birth to Impeme. She knows what happened, but I don’t talk about it much in front of her. I don’t want her to be burdened by it or think it’s her fault somehow. Children can take these things to heart.” He watched his daughters walking side by side ahead of them, then turned to Maria with a sigh. “It was a long time ago, though it doesn’t seem that way sometimes – at least to me.”

  Maria couldn’t respond. She’d assumed Bodaway’s wife had died – there was no other logical explanation for her absence – but hearing it from his lips; seeing the love in his eyes as he spoke her name and as his gaze lingered over his children, filled her with a deep sadness. All this time they’d spent together, she’d never considered that he might be mourning as well. She’d mourned Fred and hated Bodaway, never imagining he shared her grief.

  Chapter Thirteen

  September, 1869

  The People had traveled many weeks north through the territories of competing tribes, finally settling in the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains. The new village wasn’t strung out like it had been along the river’s edge, but spread out over two rolling grassy hills split by a bubbling brook. The brown, snaking river of Maria’s first months with them was now a distant memory.

  Maria knelt by the stream and plunged a gourd into its clear, cold waters, filling it to the top, then pulling it out with a grunt. Fall was coming, and the leaves of the trees flanking the clearing were brilliant gold, orange and yellow against black trunks. Evergreens were dotted amongst the aspen and sweetgum, adding green to the slopes as they rose skyward.

  She was still for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the changing landscape as the rising sun lit her in a rush of golden light. She laughed and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face and the frigid water gurgling around her bare feet. Finally she scrambled out of the creek bed and rested the gourd on her hip for the walk back to camp.

  When she reached the edge of the village, she saw Bodaway and a few men mounting their ponies and cantering toward her. He stopped beside her and ran a hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair from his face. “Mariya, there you are.”

  “Good morning, Bodaway. Where are you going?”

  He slipped from the pony’s back. “Hunting. There’s a herd of deer not far from here – Shiriki was out early and found tracks. We’ll see if we can bring some home for supper. Depending on how far they’ve traveled, we might be gone a while.” He lifted a hand to scratch Yarrow’s forelock, then let it fall again to his side.

  She shifted the gourd to her other hip. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “Maybe a day, or a few days. I can’t be sure. I have to go – the others are waiting for me.” He leaped onto the pony again in one graceful movement, his muscles rippling in the crisp morning light beneath his sleeveless buckskin coat.

  She sighed. “I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

  He nodded and rode off to join the others. They all wheeled their mounts around and disappeared into the woods beyond the edge of the clearing.

  She sighed again and trudged onward. Their teepee stood near the top of one of the hills, beside the chief’s. The exertion of the climb made sweat break out across her forehead and she stopped twice to lay the gourd at her feet and catch her breath.

  When she reached their tent, Impeme still lay on her sleeping mat, but Chepi and Lonan were outside fighting each other with long sticks, their shouts echoing off the hillsides and filling the valley. “Hush,” she admonished them, setting the gourd carefully on the ground. “Some in the village are still sleeping – you’ll wake the dead with all that noise!”

  Lonan continued to play-fight silently, now with an unseen opponent, as Chepi slumped before the fire and pouted. “Where’s Papa?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Gone hunting.”

  “Really? I wish I could go with him.” She leaned her elbows on her legs and cradled her chin in her hands.

  “I know what you mean,” said Maria, filling a pot with water to boil. “Me too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Wasicu – come with me,” barked Waneta, her beady eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

  Bodaway had been gone for two days, and Maria was surprised by how much she missed having him around. Especially when Waneta took the opportunity to annoy her. “What is it, Waneta?”

  “Just come! And don’t ask so many questions, impertinent girl!”

  She rolled her eyes – behind Waneta’s back. She’d done it once to the old woman’s face, and had to duck a swing of her walking stick. “I’m coming.” She stood and laid the bone knife on the plate where she’d been preparing lunch, then caught up to Waneta’s retreating figure as she hobbled slowly away. “Where are we going?” she asked, stepping over a prone dog.

  Waneta grunted in response and kept going.

  “Do you really need me? I was just in the middle of …”

  Waneta stopped still and glared at her. The black of her eyes were covered in a grayish tinge that gave her a sinister look. “Come!” She continued over to Honovi’s teepee, grinned and tapped the door flap with her stick.

  The chief emerged, with Anunkasan right behind him. Anunkasan had a long pipe in his hands and a trail of smoke wafting from his nostrils.

  “I brought her to you. Now she’s your problem.” Waneta cackled. She shot Maria a look that filled her with dread, then turned and shuffled away, pausing only to spit at Maria’s feet.

  This time, much to Maria’s surprise, Honovi rolled his eyes. “Waneta has stiffened with age like an old deerskin,” he muttered, sounding almost apologetic. Then the old chief straightened and looked her in the eyes. “We need salt from the salt spring. It is A
nun’s turn to get it, but he needs a woman to help him. He wants you to go on the journey with him.”

  Maria’s eyes widened, and she trembled. She’d always worried Anunkasan might take out his frustrations on her over Bodaway showing him up in front of the entire village. But at the same time, she didn’t want to go against the wishes of the chief, especially now that she was his daughter-in-law. “I don’t know if Boda would like that. He’ll be back anytime from his hunting trip and if I’m not here, he won’t be happy.”

  Anunkasan turned to Honovi. “She may be right.” Then he faced her again. “But I want to do this for Boda, to show that there will be peace between us. Besides, we should be back before he returns – it’s just a short trip.”

  Anunkasan sounded so gentle and humble that Maria was almost suspicious. What had happened to the cunning brave who sported a smirk more often than not on his sharply chiseled features.

  Honovi seemed not to notice. “This is what Anun told me as well – he wishes to end the division between him and your family, and I approve.”

  Well, if Anunkasan really was turning over a new leaf … “I will go, then. First, let me ask Tomowa to look after the children.”

  Anunkasan nodded. “I will load up the ponies and meet you by your tent.” He walked away.

  A few minutes later she had the children settled with Tomowa, who was finishing preparing lunch, and exited her teepee to find Anunkasan approaching, leading three painted ponies by three sets of reins. One was pulling a travois, loaded with supplies: large black kettles that looked as though they came from an English kitchen, long bone knives, wooden spoons and as many clay pots as he could fit, all tied down with leather straps under a thick buffalo hide. “Here,” he said, handing her the reins for one of them. “Are you ready?”

  She climbed onto her pony’s back and gathered up the reins. “Let’s go,” she said.