White Apache

by tiffy

  After she departed, Elise whispered in English, ʺIf you think Iʹm going to remove thisʺ

  ʺYou kept on your chemise, didnʹt you?ʺ he interjected.

  ʺYes, butʺ

  ʺThen you wonʹt be naked. Hereʹs a blanket. You cannot sleep in that tunic and ruin the quillwork on it. It would be an insult to Talks With Fists.ʺ He paused in pulling off his moccasins and asked innocently, ʺDid I mention to you that Indians often earn their names by their actions?ʺ

  She cast him a scathing look and knelt down, her eyes darting furtively around her. No one seemed to be watching. She was relieved that No Ears had not yet entered the lodge. Quickly, she slipped the heavy tunic over her head and then slid beneath the blanket with her leggings still on. She heard his chuckle in the gathering darkness.

  Soon the last faint light from the fire pits would be gone. She lay down and stared at the high, arched roof, listening to the sounds of Santiago pulling off those form‐fitting breeches, imaging the slide of soft leather over sinewy long legs. Stop it! What is wrong with me?

  When he slid beneath the blanket, Santiago felt her tense like a hare ready to bolt from its warren. He made no effort to touch her. ʺBest you lie still and hope No Ears has drunk enough of Chouteauʹs whiskey to fall asleep quickly,ʹʹ he whispered.

  Elise bit her tongue to keep from asking the logical question what if he does not?

  Acutely aware of his hard male body lying so close beside her, naked beneath the thin blanket they shared, Elise could not sleep. In spite of her earlier exhaustion, she lay wide‐eyed and trembling in the darkness. Faint rustling sounds of people turning and shifting positions on their pallets emanated from across the lodge.

  Then, grunting and panting, accompanied by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, filled the room. She fought the urge to cover her ears with her hands, remembering those ugly, degrading nights with Edouard.

  Santiago was at first amused by the lusty sounds around them, knowing how they must be affecting her aristocratic sensibilities. Then he grew restive as visions of stripping her naked and burying himself in her pale, sweet flesh played across his mind like caresses.

  He felt himself growing hard and tried to relax, let his mind go blank, but it was useless. He turned his head and looked at her. A narrow shaft of moonlight shining through a smoke hole in the ceiling bathed her face, revealing the trickle of tears from beneath her lashes. Elise Louvois, who had survived two assassination attempts and coolly shot a man to save his life, was silently crying.

  Wordlessly, he rolled up on his side and touched his fingertips to her wet cheek.

  He felt her flinch, but she did not move. ʺI wonʹt harm you, Elise. Iʹm many things, but Iʹve never forced a woman in my life, nor will I ever.ʺ

  She felt the gentleness in his touch but was not comforted by it. Humiliation engulfed her. He must never know my secret! Aloud she said, ʺI donʹt fear you, Quinn.ʺ ʺThen what is wrong? Youʹre crying, a luxury I suspect you seldom indulge.ʺ

  ʺThe . . . the night and the sounds bring back unpleasant memories, ones I would put behind me forever. Please, let us speak no more.ʺ She rolled onto her side, turning her back to him.

  Santiago lay back and pondered the enigmatic and infuriating woman. The sounds of lusty sex brought painful memories to her. What did that say of her marriage? Perhaps it explained why a beautiful widow in her mid‐twenties had never remarried. Yet she had responded to his touch on several occasions. There was passion in her. Had Louvois not been the man to unleash it? Would a Spanish renegade do better? Or did she cry because she still pined for her dead Frenchman? Alternatively tantalized and troubled by the questions, he drifted into sleep.

  Toward dawn the rain came softly soughing through the forests, cooling the steamy earth and the air inside the big lodge. After spending so much of the night awake, Elise had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Still asleep, her chilled body sought warmth. She turned against the side of Santiagoʹs long body and burrowed beneath the covers. When he rolled to meet her and threw his arm across her shoulder, neither of them awakened.

  A sudden hiss of lightning roused the sleepers inside the lodge. One of the swift and violent summer thunderstorms that scoured the prairies had struck with full force. Most rolled over and returned to sleep, knowing it would soon pass and no fires could be lit until then. A few children wailed plaintively, and some of the women arose to comfort them.

  Elise awakened, disoriented at first as she stared at the high, arched roof which amazingly held the rain at bay. She was in the Osage village en route to Santa Fe. Then, as her mind cleared further, she felt a weight across her body. With dawning horror, she looked down and saw Santiagoʹs arm draped possessively across her breasts and his leg insinuated between her thighs. She stiffened and tried to slide away, but his low chuckle stopped her.

  ʺYou snuggled against me in the night like a lost lamb climbing into the shepherdʹs arms.ʺ

  ʺLet me go.ʺ She was proud of how steady her voice sounded.

  ʺBut no one else is stirring except for mothers and infants. Where will you go?ʺ

  he whispered, not drawing her near but not releasing her either.

  Elise could feel the hardness of his muscles, the fine hair on his sinewy thighs as they entwined with hers. The heady pungency of his male scent was not at all unpleasant to her heightened senses. She felt drugged, drawn to the persuasive warmth of his body in the chill morning air, Then she felt the probe of his rigid erection brushing the top of her thigh.

  Santiago knew he was losing control, and this was not the time or place to pursue his physical urges. When she tried to slide free again, he rolled carelessly away from her and said, ʺSleep some more, else it will be remarked upon by the Osage.ʺ

  As he threw off the blanket and reached for his buckskins, Elise found herself imagining his naked body, and the rustle of his clothes robbed her of breath.

  Furtively, she turned her head and looked. In the gray, dawning light she could see him standing, totally unashamed of his nakedness, pulling on an old pair of tight breeches that he had taken from his saddlepack. The muscles of his arms and legs moved smoothly. All of him was touched by the sun except for a small portion between his waist and thighs where he had worn an Indian breechclout.

  She stared at his narrow hips and small, hard buttocks. Every inch of his body was lean and graceful, pleasing to look upon.

  When he began to turn toward her, she quickly snapped her head away and squeezed her eyes closed, remembering that hard, engorged staff. The male member on any man could never be pleasing to look upon!

  He made a small scolding noise, smiling down at her while he reached for his shirt. ʺPeeking, Elise? I trust you liked what you saw. Iʹd hate to think I suffer in comparison to other men youʹve known.ʺ He slipped from the lodge quietly, leaving her to fume in silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  The rainstorm quickly blew itself out, and the village began to steam under a merciless late August sun. Elise waited for more of the women to arise before following suit. When she saw Talks With Fists leave the lodge, she quickly dressed and followed the older woman.

  Forcing herself to put the humiliating encounter with the renegade from her mind, Elise decided it was past time she began to attend to the vital business which had brought her on this dangerous journey. No Earsʹ chief wife had spoken quite serviceable Spanish to a Pawnee slave last night. She might be able to communicate with the squaw and learn if Lieutenant Pikeʹs expedition had visited this village and if Samuel was with them.

  After seeing the American flag flying on the lodgepole when they arrived, Elise suspected that Pike had been here. She had debated asking Santiago what he knew about the American expedition but decided that the less he suspected about her political activities, the better. Of course, he did not know she spoke Spanish either, an advantage she wished to keep. On several occasions, he and his men had used his native tongue around her. She might gain valuable information simply by lis
tening to them. To date, other than a few lewd comments exchanged between the trappers regarding her sexual desirability, she had learned nothing.

  Elise waited until Shining Crow had fastened her babyʹs cradle board to her back and departed before approaching the formidable Talks With Fists. Having no desire to learn how the Osage woman had earned that name, she smiled and bowed very respectfully, then accepted the silent offering of a corn cake. So far she could not fault the hospitality of the Indians, even if their taste in meat left something to be desired.

  After taking a few bites, she spoke in Spanish. ʺI am most grateful for your kindness. Last night I learned you speak Spanish, so now I wish to express my thanks.ʺ

  Talks With Fists studied her with shrewd, obsidian eyes. ʺDoes the White Apache know you speak his language?ʺ

  Elise noticed she did not say ʺyour husband.ʺ Here was a woman around whom she must tread warily. ʺNo, he does not. Often it is better if a man does not know everything about his woman.ʺ

  A hint of a smile touched the older womanʹs austere lips as she nodded. ʺI am on my way to bathe in the river. Although I know most white people do not wash over much, you are welcome to join me.ʺ

  ʺNothing could sound better to me!ʺ

  Elise and the Osage woman gathered fresh clothing from the lodge and made their way to a section of riverbank secluded by thick rushes and willow trees.

  Shining Crow and several other young women were already in the river. She had removed her baby from its cradle board, and to Eliseʹs amazement, the child was propelling itself through the water with its motherʹs help.

  As soon as she saw Elise behind Talks With Fists, Shining Crowʹs pretty face distorted with anger. Handing the baby to a companion, she walked from the waist‐deep water toward the bank, boldly preening her large, milk‐filled breasts with every step. She exchanged several terse sentences with her sister in the Osage language, then gestured contemptuously to Elise.

  ʺIf you speak Spanish, you may direct your words to me, Shining Crow.ʺ Elise waited, noting the way Talks With Fistsʹ keen eyes measured her. This is a test of some sort.

  ʺWhy does a dirty white woman come to pollute our water? Your people never bathe,ʺ Shining Crow said in Spanish.

  ʺSome whites bathe. I do,ʺ she dared the voluptuous Indian woman, who moved closer, trying to back her away from the river. Elise stood her ground.

  ʺWhite skin is as ugly as the underbelly of a fish.ʺ Shining Crow gave her a swift, hard push with the flat of her palm, causing Elise to lose her balance and slip on the muddy bank. She fell hard into the ooze, landing on her buttocks with a loud plop. Several of the women tittered nervously. Shining Crow stood over her, smirking victoriously.

  ʺSo itʹs to be a fight, is it, you vicious heathen?ʺ she spat in English as she rose to face her nemesis.

  Shining Crow reached out and seized a fistful of her hair, giving it a painful yank. Elise reciprocated by grabbing one of the Osageʹs braids and twisting on it like a coil of rope. They fell into the water, rolling and thrashing in the shallows while the onlookers watched, some impassively, others cheering Shining Crow.

  The Osage was heavier‐boned and more muscular than Elise, but the white woman was several inches taller and possessed a wiry strength that her fragile looks belied. They kicked and punched, neither willing to relinquish her hold on the otherʹs hair as they rolled toward a rocky stretch of the bank. When Shining Crow tried to slam Eliseʹs head against a smooth stone, the white woman realized that the contest might well prove deadly. The Osage could crush her skull! Using her long legs for leverage, she arched up and threw Shining Crow off her, then quickly pinned her between two submerged rocks.

  Using every bit of strength she possessed, Elise tried to hold her foe down, but the Indian sank strong white teeth into her wrist and broke free. Before Shining Crow could sit up, Elise again seized her braid in one hand and used her other fist to punch the young woman soundly in her mouth. The blow landed so squarely, it felt as if she had broken her own knuckles, but still the Osage kicked and punched. Elise used her longer arms to hold her foeʹs head beneath the shallow water. Fearing to drown her, she opted for what she hoped would be a swift end to the contest and slammed the Osageʹs head against one of the rocks.

  Shining Crow went limp almost instantly, and Elise released her. Please God, donʹt let her be dead, she prayed as she pulled the girlʹs body up out of the water.

  What would No Ears do to her if she killed the mother of his son?

  Talks With Fists waded through the shallows to them and yanked her youngest sister up by one arm as easily as a child might lift a rag doll. ʺShe is only stunned,ʺ the chief wife said to Elise. She turned to their third sister and spoke rapidly in their tongue.

  Shining Crow was beginning to regain consciousness by this time. Several of the women helped her from the water while another carried her baby. They gathered their clothing at the bank and dressed quickly, throwing a tunic hastily over Shining Crow, then headed back toward the village,

  ʺMy sister disobeyed me. She should be working, not leading those younger women to laze about with her.ʺ A crafty smile wreathed Talks With Fistsʹ seamed face, ʺYou, too, talk with your fists. Sometimes it is the only way to reason with a grown woman who would act as foolishly as a child.ʺ

  So it had been a test. Apparently she had passed it, Elise thought with relief. ʺI did not wish her harm. Does she dislike all whites?ʺ

  The Osage shrugged as she began to strip off her clothes. ʺYou are the first white woman ever to come to our village. No Ears asked to buy you from the White Apache. My sister is jealous, even though there is no reason. I knew Quinn would not let my husband have you.ʺ

  Elise pondered that. The Osage seemed to know she was not Santiagoʹs wife.

  ʺWhy are you so certain he would refuse to give me up?ʺ

  ʺI am not so old that I have forgotten the way a man looks on a woman he desires, or she on him.ʺ

  Unwilling to pursue that topic further, Elise, too, began to disrobe and waded into the cold, clear water. After a few general comments, she felt bold enough to ask about the American flag. ʺWhy do the Osage fly our emblem over their village?ʺ

  ʺWe owe a debt to the American father, General Wilkinson.ʺ

  Elise felt her pulse speed up. ʺHow so?ʺ ʺHis horse soldier, Pike, brought many of us from exile. We were captured by the Potawatomis. At the order of Wilkinson, we were freed.ʺ

  ʺThen you were among those ransomed and returned here by Lieutenant Pikeʹs expedition?ʺ

  ʺMe and my husband and my sisters. The journey was long. We walked for the waxing and waning of a moon before we reached our home. Rich Man flew the flag of the Spanish, but when Pike saw it, he said it was bad medicine. We must fly the Americansʹ flag.ʺ She shrugged pragmatically. ʺWe keep the Spanish flag for when their soldiers return. Until such time, we honor the American who freed US.ʺ

  ʺAnd Lieutenant Pike said it was General Wilkinson who ordered your freedom?ʺ

  ʺHe is Pikeʹs leader. Yes.ʺ Talks With Fists was unashamed of her thin, wiry body with its sagging breasts and stringy muscles. She scrubbed her skin vigorously with sand.

  Elise put aside modesty and followed suit, finding to her amazement that the fine sand did indeed feel cleansing. ʺGeneral Wilkinson is Lieutenant Pikeʹs military commander, but it was not he who ransomed you. Our president, Thomas Jefferson, gave the orders to General Wilkinson.ʺ

  Talks With Fists appeared to digest this. ʺHow does it come to pass that an American woman lives with a Spaniard? Your tribes talk of war and are ancient enemies, I think.ʺ

  This was not the easy repartee of the ballroom in which Elise was practiced at maneuvering and evading. The Indian woman was direct and intelligent. Elise decided on the truth, or at least part of it, remembering what Santiago had told her about Osage society. ʺI have chosen Santiago Quinn to take me to my brother, Samuel Shelby, who rides with Lieutenant Pike.ʹʹ She described Samuel, praying the Os
age would remember him. She did.

  ʺHe was with them. Like you, he could speak Spanish, and acted as interpretor.

  Pike warned us not to trade with Manuel Lisa but to sell our furs only to Chouteau.ʺ

  Elise learned a great deal about Wilkinsonʹs strategy in sending the gullible young Pike west to treat with the plains tribes. Not only was he to incite a war between the American and Spanish governments, but at the same time to drum up business for Wilkinsonʹs partners in the fur trade, the French Creole Chouteaus in St. Louis. She laughed inwardly at the practical approach of the Osage, who refused to become embroiled in Spanish‐American politics and kept both flags to placate each delegation in turn. She had a great deal of information to record in her diary at the earliest opportunity.

  Samuel was alive and safe. For now, that was the most important thing of all. If only he remained so until they both reached Santa Feor better yet, until Quinnʹs faster‐moving party caught up with them along the trail. But that was unlikely since there were so many routes across the trackless prairie between Missouri and New Mexico.

  Her brother was already acting as an interpreter for the expedition. The plains tribes more often spoke Spanish than French, and French was Pikeʹs only foreign language. She prayed her brotherʹs clumsy masquerade would not be discovered by the lieutenant or any of his men during the long journey to Santa Fe. Stay well Samuel, please.

  When they returned from the river, word of her victory over Shining Crow had spread through the village. Women and children murmured in awe and whispered as she walked by. Even a few of the men seemed to view her with acceptance, perhaps even grudging approval. Talks With Fists was pleased by the way the encounter with her sister had turned out and acted quite friendly, but Elise did not want her new friend to reveal to Santiago that she could communicate in Spanish. Since the older woman also spoke a few halting words of French, they agreed that it would be their only medium of communication when the renegade was around.

  He appeared at noon after spending the morning with several of the Osage men who captured and sold horses. They had come to terms on the purchase of extra mounts, since two of the caravanʹs horses had already come up lame, including one of Eliseʹs pack horses.