His Dakota Captive

by Jenna Kernan

  Perhaps Eagle Dancer was right and Lucie did belong with the Lakota. He was sure of only one thing. She did not belong here.

  His opinion had been confirmed later as he’d watched her at her writing desk composing something. She’d paused often, pressing the end of the pen to her lips as she stared up to the ceiling. He’d considered climbing through the dormitory’s low window to tell her what he must, but something held him back. He’d realized then that Lucie entranced him and made him entertain ridiculous possibilities. He of all men should know better. He did not want to enter her world and he could not return to his own.

  Now, once she left to join her charges for the evening meal, he retrieved the page she had tossed aside. The letters were slanted and joined together in a long looping scrawl. He could not recognize them. His disappointment was deep as he sat on the floor to study her writing. Gradually, he recognized the letters, joined by the ink, one to the next. Dear Parents, it began. So, the two who had stolen their daughter back from a Sioux warrior still lived.

  He read on, and with each word his heart broke a little more. Here on this crinkled page were the very things he kept locked in his heart: longing, hope, despair and loneliness. Sky stood and folded the page, then slipped it inside his shirt, pressing it against his chest.

  He wanted more. He scanned the room, taking in the tidy washstand holding a tortoise comb and wooden brush. A small glass jar held several hair pins. Several black ribbons draped the rack beside the wash towel. She certainly wasn’t a fancy woman.

  He turned next to the chest of drawers, surprised to find each one empty. Where did she keep her clothing? He checked the wardrobe. She had only one dress and a bulky wool overcoat hanging on the pegs. He stood in puzzlement. A check under the bed revealed no other belongings. What about her underthings and woolens?

  Sky returned to the wardrobe and drew the dress aside. Below, half-hidden at the bottom, lay a trunk. He smiled and drew it out into the light. The container was locked. What was she hiding? He used his knife to pry open the lid.

  Inside, he found a gray wool shawl with matching hat and mittens, several pairs of long socks and some underthings. Each item was not folded but neatly rolled. It struck him that she stored her possessions in a box like a Sioux woman, instead of hanging them on pegs or placing them in the drawers like a white woman. She was packed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, just like the People.

  He lifted the shawl and inhaled, smelling lanolin instead of Lucie. Beneath the shawl lay a red blanket. He noticed the cardboard next and drew out a small rectangle she had tucked against the back of the case. It opened like a book. Inside he found two matching photographs, portraits of a man and woman. The couple smiled out at him and he recognized them at once.

  Lucie’s parents. Her mother had dark hair, but Sky recalled it was a deep red. She smiled stiffly for the camera. His gaze flicked to the man. Lucie had inherited much from Thomas West: his eyes, the shape of his chin and the pale color of his hair. They were handsome people, but neither was as beautiful as the sum of their parts. Lucie shone with the best of both.

  He replaced the photo and lifted the blanket, but paused as he noted something secreted within. He searched and could not have been more astonished at his discovery. There, carefully protected in the wool, lay a worn pair of beautifully embroidered moccasins. Had Eagle Dancer given her these?

  He drew them out and found another surprise. Inside, near the toe of one, hid the sheath for a woman’s skinning knife. Sky stared down at the symbol of a woman’s coming of age. The cord had been carefully wound around the cover. It was common for a woman to wear her knife about her neck. Sky uncoiled the necklace to reveal that Lucie’s sheath was adorned with a red-and-white sun pattern.

  Where was the blade?

  Sky sat back on his heels as a notion took him. Could she be still carrying her knife? When she’d faced him in the yard, one of her hands had vanished into her skirts. Had she reached for the weapon? He felt ill as he realized Lucie was frightened of him. What must it be like for her, having this stranger appearing, following, watching?

  He must speak to her. It was cruel to delay any longer.

  He stood and looked about at the picture that did not fit. She dressed as a white woman. She kept a tortoise comb and boar’s hair brush. She wore leather shoes with stiff soles and her hair in a tight, constraining little knot. In all visible ways, she appeared to be a white woman. But here, hidden in her personal effects where her precious belongings were kept, beside her parents’ photograph, were these things.

  He wound the cord back about the sheath. A moment later came the tap of heels upon wood planking. He had time to leave, but did not. Sky would deliver his message now.

  The latch clicked. He faced the door as it swung open and Lucie stepped into the room.

  Chapter Four

  The boys had been away from the reservation for four days, trotting along on sturdy legs, when they reached the spot where the officer had been shot.

  No Moccasins shouted and the others stopped. “This is the place.”

  A quick scout of the area showed the torn grass and gouged earth, where he had struggled with the officer. Blood, now dry and brown, spattered the brush behind them.

  “You see?” No Moccasins pointed. “I told you, Sky Fox shot him.”

  “Why would a white man shoot a white man over a scrawny Indian boy?”

  “Because he is Ten Horses’s son.”

  Running Horse snorted. “He lost that right before we even walked the earth.”

  Red Lightning studied the ground. “He went this way.”

  They did not find the man until the next day. He was within ten miles of the school, walking slowly and favoring his injured shoulder. The boys gave a war whoop and set off at a run. No Moccasins felt his stomach flip, but he would not turn back. This man had tried to violate him. He wanted him dead, didn’t he?

  Norm Carr turned at the war cry and drew his pistol. He broke into a run, firing wildly at them as he bolted in the opposite direction. He was heavy and slow. Running Horse already had his bow notched and let the first arrow fly. It struck its target, piercing the man’s thigh and protruding out the other side.

  The truant officer howled and toppled, trying an ungainly crawl using his one good leg and his uninjured arm. Water Snake reached him first, being the fastest. Running Horse had tried to avoid telling his little brother about their raid, but he had followed them off the reservation. Water Snake was a year younger but taller and faster than his elder. But Running Horse was the better shot and he let a second arrow fly, hitting the man’s good leg. Carr went down, lifting his gun and pulling the trigger. The hammer clicked uselessly against the empty chamber.

  Red Lightning now caught up with Water Snake and together the two boys fell on the Wasicu. The officer had time only to roll to his back and scream before Water Snake had the man’s scalp. No Moccasins’s stomach heaved at the popping sound of the skin releasing from the bone beneath. Water Snake lifted his trophy, calling his triumph to the sky.

  Carr was begging for his life now. No Moccasins had to recall the rough hand upon his neck as the man forced him to his knees. He could still feel the erection rubbing against his face. Shame burned deep as the first war cry erupted from No Moccasins. He lifted the club he had taken from his uncle’s home, the one made of cottonwood and the filed elk bone that made a fine point. He swung the club above with all his power and came down hard upon the man’s forehead. Bone struck bone and the fanglike elk point broke off in the man’s skull.

  Norm went slack. His eyes stared fixedly up at No Moccasins. The boy lowered the broken club and stared down at his attacker. No Moccasins’s shoulders heaved with the force of his breathing as he waited for the sense of justice to fill him. Instead, he felt more afraid than before. New worries gripped him. He looked at the club. His uncle would know he had broken it.

  “Take a trophy,” said Water Snake.

  No Moccasins did not wa
nt any reminders of this day.

  “Step aside,” said Running Horse. He leaned down and sliced off the man’s ear. “Here. Take this.”

  Running Horse had to clasp No Moccasins’s hand and force the bloody lump into it. No Moccasins gripped the ear, still warm and sticky. He turned his back and vomited in the tall yellow grass.

  Something was amiss. Lucie sensed it without knowing what was wrong. Her skin prickled and her ears grew hot as her eyes swept the interior of her room.

  Everything was still and quiet. The curtains didn’t even stir. She cocked her head to listen.

  She took one cautious step into the room and then realized what was wrong. It was difficult to see at first because it was not something moved, but rather, something removed. Her letter!

  Lucie walked to the place beside the window where she had tossed the wadded page. Her step faltered. Missing! She crouched to peek under the desk and then to peer under the bed. Nothing.

  Someone had been in her room.

  She immediately suspected Mrs. Fetterer. The woman had an unnatural interest in her business. Lucie turned a full circle and then spied the wardrobe. Her hands lifted to her cheeks. She wouldn’t, would she?

  Lucie rushed to the door and slid the hook into the eye, locking herself in, and then she hurried to the wardrobe, threw open the doors and dragged her trunk out onto the floor. She fingered the latch. Someone had pried open her trunk.

  She cast back the lid and gazed down at the contents. They looked untouched. What if they had found…Lucie threw her belongings onto the floor. The red blanket still covered her secrets. She set it aside and lifted the beaded moccasins, pressing them over her heart. She bowed her head and breathed again. They had not found this, at least.

  She burrowed a hand into the soft, supple deer hide and retrieved the beaded sheath, looping the cord about her neck. She then retrieved the knife from her pocket and slipped it into its holder. Eagle Dancer had given her these things, a gift to his wife. Lucie squeezed her eyes closed and lowered her head as the mixed emotions ripped through her again.

  She hated him for keeping her, for forcing her to choose between the wretched life of a slave and that of a child-bride. But beneath all that she recognized that he did love her in his way. Why should she feel guilty for leaving him?

  It made no sense. Why couldn’t she put her captivity behind her? Why was it so hard to be a white woman again? If not for the outward marks she might have slipped away, gone where no one knew her and started again. But that path was closed to her the day Yellow Bird used her awl to mark Lucie as Sweetwater. Now she could never leave this time behind. One needed only to glance at her to know who she was and where she had been.

  She was forever changed, both inside and out.

  The hairs on Lucie’s neck prickled. She dropped her moccasins and drew her knife. She came about, spotting him standing just outside her window. How long had he been watching her?

  And then it made sense. It was not Mrs. Fetterer who had invaded her room, but this man. She stepped back, nearly tumbling over her open trunk. When she righted herself, he had already vaulted through the window. He landed, catlike, in a crouch, one hand brushing the floor. There was no sound, as he did not wear the thick-soled boots of the whites, preferring the soft, supple footgear of the Sioux.

  “Lucie,” he said.

  She held her knife out before her.

  His next words came in the soft rolling cadence of the Sioux. She understood every word, despite the shaking of her head.

  “Your husband has sent me to you. He has a message he would have you hear.”

  She answered in English. “Leave my room this instant.”

  He held his hands wide, not in surrender, but rather in a fighting stance she recognized well from her days watching the boys train to become warriors. He meant to disarm her. She glanced at the door, judging its distance and finding it too far. She would have to fight.

  When she glanced back he was three steps closer and just beyond the reach of her blade. She aimed for his midsection, struggling to keep him back as she inched toward the door. He did not need to dodge, but as her arm passed him, he captured her wrist. With a twist, the knife fell from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

  “Will you listen?” he asked.

  Lucie used her last weapon. She opened her mouth to fill her lungs with air and scream. But he spun her against him and she struck his chest with a force that jarred the breath from her. Before she could inhale again he had his large palm clamped against her mouth. Two of his fingers locked beneath her jaw, preventing her from opening her mouth to bite him.

  The next second she was facedown on the bed. He used his body weight to hold her as he stuffed a wad of fabric in her mouth and then secured a gag, pulling the bandanna so it sliced across her mouth, holding her jaw locked open. He wrenched her arms behind her back and tied them with a speed that terrified her.

  It was happening again. Lucie’s brain ceased to function. She kicked and writhed as he trussed her like a turkey.

  No, no. Not again. How could she be captured again?

  When he had finished, he sat her on the bed and returned her skinning knife to its sheath about her neck. He stood before her, his arms folded as he glared. “Now you will listen.”

  His head turned. An instant later Lucie heard it, as well. The murmur of voices grew louder as the girls returned to the dorm. Then came the distinctive heel tap of Mrs. Fetterer’s shoes in the hallway. The knock made Lucie jump.

  “Miss West? Are you in there?”

  Lucie glanced at the tiny latch she had thrown when she entered the room and prayed Mrs. Fetterer would sound the alarm. The matron tried the door. Lucie’s heart stopped.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Her footfalls retreated.

  Lucie’s shoulders sagged. Skylar Fox might have returned to his natural race, but Lucie knew by his stance and his drawn knife that he was still every inch a Sioux warrior. And, although she wanted Mrs. Fetterer to bring help, she did not want the woman to be taken. Lucie had known other captives. Few had lived to see rescue. Lucie knew with cold certainty Mrs. Fetterer would not survive such an ordeal. She turned her attention back to the warrior. If she could just speak to him, she’d tell him that she would listen now. He did not need to take her from this room.

  His voice was low and gruff as he spoke to her in Lakota. “We cannot talk here.”

  Lucie shook her head, but to no avail. Skylar Fox removed her shoes and replaced them with the moccasins. Then he wrapped her in the red blanket and tossed her over his shoulder. She heard the window squeak as he raised it to its full height and climbed to the sill. He hesitated long enough to transfer her from his shoulders and into his arms. Then he jumped, carrying her from the safety of her room and out into the moonless night.

  Sky carried her into the darkness, as she writhed and squirmed in his arms. Lucie felt like an earthworm trapped in the beak of a robin. Eventually exhausted, sweating beneath the wool blanket, she stilled. A moment later he slung her over his shoulder and mounted his horse.

  The school was not a fort. Although most visitors arrived through the gate, there was no barricade that prevented a rider from going in any direction.

  He nestled her in his arms and drew the blanket off her face. Cool evening air rushed about her as she twisted but she could not slip free. His arm clamped about her waist, drawing her tight to his body, trapping her in place. She saw the lights from the girls’ dormitory retreating until they had ridden down the hill and into the valley. Was he taking her to Eagle Dancer?

  But the warrior could no longer keep her—could he? A terrible thought sprung upon her. What if he was not one of those on the reservation, but a hostile, raiding, or one of the many who had bolted for Canada with Sitting Bull?

  The words of her mother came to her. Sarah West had been horrified that her daughter would even consider returning to the Dakotas. She had forbidden Lucie from taking the teaching position, claiming
Minnesota was too close to the Sioux lands. Lucie rarely argued, but she did this time, reminding them that they had let her little brother, just nineteen, join the cavalry. David was stationed less than a hundred miles away at Fort Sully. But her mother was unyielding in her edict. Lucie’s lip trembled as she realized her mother had been right.

  The pommel dug into Lucie’s hip and she squirmed. The steely grip tightened further, cutting the air from her lungs. She willed herself to relax, listening for some sign that she had been missed. But all she heard was the unceasing wind blowing through the grass and the dull thud of the unshod hooves of his horse. The horse’s white patches gleamed gray in the darkness. Everything about her was bathed in shadows. Above, the sky glistened with a shimmering glaze of stars. Lucie breathed deeply. The arm about her waist relaxed by infinitesimal degrees. She did not try to escape because, with her legs and arms bound, all she would accomplish was falling off the horse. Once again, she must be patient and wait.

  As the horse continued on, her arms went numb. Gradually the ropes of muscle that constrained her relaxed, until he held her in a gentle embrace. She refused to look at him, instead focusing on the horse’s neck, which bobbed with the gentle rhythm of its steps. Half the mane was white and the other dark. He rode a spotted mustang. Exactly the type of horse an Indian would favor and precisely the sort of creature the whites abhorred. Hadn’t General Crook shot as many as he could catch after the Big Horn? The general had rightly surmised that without their horses, the Sioux could not make raids and without their buffalo, they could not feed their families.

  Lucie’s head began a steady pounding that seemed to echo the horse’s steps. Dark shapes appeared before them, blocking the stars on the horizon. Trees, she realized. The cottonwood and willow grew near water. They must be near the wide muddy creek that ran northwest of the school. They entered the thicket. Sky paused to let his horse drink. When the mustang raised his head, Sky slid Lucie from the saddle and deposited her on the ground, sidestepping with the horse as her legs gave out. Had he expected her to be able to stand after this ordeal?