Stone Heart's Woman

by Velda Brotherton

  Aiden rode the winds of his world, joined the howls of his gods, where their flesh came together felt the heat of the summer sun and the ice of an endless winter’s night; offered herself to him with trust and desire and a love she could never have imagined. It had lain deep within her, waiting for this moment, and its release awed her. Frightened and delighted her.

  He held her close, wrapped in a soothing pleasure that felt no discomfort, either from the hard floor or the chilly air. She clung to what she knew could not last. What she knew she would never find again. Not on this earth, perhaps not on the next. Being cherished in this way, by a man with whom she had shared such intimacy was like nothing she’d ever imagined. She felt sheltered, serene, and at the same time expectant. Lying there within the security of his embrace, overcome by the vague possibility that anything was possible. If only he would stay with her.

  Somehow she had to make him see how wonderful that would be.

  “Are you cold?” he finally asked.

  “No.” Sensing his withdrawal, she snuggled closer. Don’t go, please don’t go.

  “But we should move to the bed. It will be cold before morning.”

  Nodding against him, she held on tighter, unwilling to be the first to break contact. Stay with me, oh, stay with me.

  “Are you all right?” Concerned, perhaps impatient.

  “Yes, oh, yes. So all right, you could never imagine.”

  His laughter enclosed her, soft as warm wool. “Oh, no? I could, I can. I went with you.”

  “Was it the same for you as for me?”

  “How will we ever know?”

  Both chuckled. Then she shivered from the cold creeping along the bare wood floor, and he unwound himself, dragged her to her feet. “In the bed with you, and under the covers.”

  She let him tuck her in. “Now you,” she said, reaching for his hand but finding only emptiness. He would leave now, and she couldn’t stop him. “Where are you?”

  “Here, over here. I must dress.”

  “If you go they’ll catch you, kill you.”

  “Maybe not. Even so, I have no choice.”

  Heart in her throat, she whispered, “You of all people have a choice. Please stay. You are more white than Cheyenne.”

  “You know I can’t desert them.”

  “Stone Heart, this will happen whether you go or stay. Can’t you see that? These soldiers, they won’t let your people go free. They’ll either starve them, take them back, or kill them outright. And you as well, if you are with them. Can’t you see that? It’s too late for them, but not for you...for us. I don’t want to lose you.”

  He came to the bed, sat on its edge, found her hand in the dark. “A’den, you can’t lose something you never had.”

  She cried out, but he silenced her. “No, listen. This is all there is for us. We stole a moment. There is no more, there can’t be. You are to go home. I must as well. We will never forget.”

  She felt as if her heart had shattered into thousands of tiny pieces.

  “Wait, wait,” she urged, holding onto his hand with both hers. “I have an idea. A better way for you to help your people than stealing food and breaking out. They’ll kill you all, every one of you.”

  “Probably, but it will be better than this white man’s prison.”

  “You’ve lived white long enough to fool them. You are only part Cheyenne.”

  Holding out his arm, he took her fingers and rubbed them there. “What part of me is Cheyenne, show me the part. Is it here?” He slapped his cheeks, “Or maybe this part only?” He doubled his fist and pounded his hard stomach. “Huh? You don’t know? Well, tell me the part that is white and I will cut it off.” Furiously, he dragged the knife from its scabbard and raked it across his chest, leaving a fine line of blood.

  “No, don’t. Stop.” But she didn’t touch him, couldn’t.

  In the flickering firelight his eyes glowed like coals, and she was sorry she had made him so angry. For even with the way she felt about him, deep down inside the pit of her secret self, she was afraid of what he might do. He was still, despite his white blood, a savage.

  He reached out, touched her as if to calm her, but made no excuse for his actions. “I was doing pretty good as a Cheyenne till I met you. It rubs off, this white world, and I want no further part of it.”

  She was losing this battle, so took another tack, for she could not, would not let him go to his death.

  “No, listen. Suppose they...the soldiers, thought you were a white man, an officer from some other fort. Perhaps here to inspect conditions. They do things like that, I’m sure. I mean, if you were white you could come and go as you pleased. You could set them free. Right under their noses.”

  “But I am not white.” He rose, tried to pull away, but she held fast.

  “But you could be, you don’t understand. Please, give me a chance to explain.” The idea so excited her that her tongue tangled so she feared she couldn’t say the words.

  Though he didn’t speak, he also didn’t move away. She could hear him breathing, standing there beside the bed, waiting. Hope crept into her heart. This would work and they could be together. And he might fit back into that white world so well that he wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t leave her.

  “I can get you a uniform. We’ll cut your hair, you can sneak out and ride in as an officer. Then you can have the time you need to save your people. You can move about freely. What do you think?”

  “I think it is foolish. I swore never to live white again.”

  “But if you could save your people?” She waited, letting him think about what she’d suggested without interruption.

  “I’m not sure. Where would you get a uniform that would fit?”

  “Retha Woods. Her husband is gone, searching for...for your people. I could manage somehow to get one of his uniforms. I’ve seen him, he was with the soldiers who captured Meeker and I. He’s as big as you. He’s a lieutenant.”

  “I could never pull it off. Besides, how would you manage to get it?”

  Exasperated at his reluctance, she sat up and stared at his shadowy form, wishing she could see the expression on his face. “You agree, and I’ll get the uniform, one way or another. Now, come to bed and hold me. There’s no need for you to go anywhere.”

  She didn’t take a breath until she felt the bed jiggle when he crawled under the covers on the other side.

  He snuggled against her, ran his hand across her bare belly and cupped a breast in a cold palm. There they slept off the exhaustion of the past few days, curled together in the warm darkness as they once had to survive the cold.

  A knock on the door jerked Aiden awake. Her first thought was that Stone Heart would be discovered. But she needn’t have worried, the space beside her was empty. He was gone. A great sadness crept into her heart. The knock repeated itself, but all she could do was stare at the indentation next to her where he had slept. She had lost him, despite everything.

  “Aiden, it’s Retha. Are you awake? They’re serving breakfast and I thought you’d like to accompany me.”

  Shaking off the cobwebs of sleep and disappointment, she padded to the door, spoke against its panels. “I’m not dressed. You go on, I’ll join you shortly.” All she wanted was to throw herself down and weep. He had deserted her for a bunch of scraggly, hopeless people who were destined to die. After all they’d been to each other. She could only pray he would return.

  “Yes, that will be fine,” the woman said from the other side of the door.

  “Retha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Has your husband, the other men, have they returned yet?”

  After a slight hesitation, Retha answered. “No, why?”

  “No reason, I just wondered. See you in a while.”

  “See you.”

  Without waiting a moment longer, Aiden rushed to the pile of clothes she’d discarded in the throes of passion the night before. Skin tingling with the memory of all that had happened between
her and Stone Heart, she dressed as fast as she could. Crossing her fingers that everyone would be at breakfast, she opened the door and stepped out boldly. Striding with purpose, she surveyed the surrounding area. No one was about. Alert to any change, she stopped at Retha’s door and stood there a moment with her back to it, fingering the latch. When she sensed it was free, she shoved the door open with the backs of her heels and stepped inside. Closed it. Let out a shaky breath. Standing very still, she waited for her heart to stop thudding. All remained quiet. It surely couldn’t be this easy, could it? Any moment someone would burst in, drag her away.

  The quarters were larger than hers. On her right an alcove with table and chairs, the parlor with overstuffed furniture and a pot bellied stove, another room inside of which was a bed, a chest and wardrobe. No time to waste. She hurried to the wardrobe in the corner, opened it and flipped through several dresses before finding two uniforms. Slipping one out, she quickly checked to see that it was complete. Pale blue pants with a wide yellow stripe down the outside of each leg, a boiled shirt, a jacket. She had no idea what to do about a hat, decided to worry about it later.

  Heart beating so hard she could scarcely breathe, she ran to the front door, opened it a crack and peered out.

  A soldier hurried along the boardwalk, almost on top of her. He must have seen the slight movement, for he paused in stride, as if expecting someone to step out. Covering her mouth, she backed away, slipped into the shadows and waited.

  “Hello, anyone there?” he asked.

  The door jiggled slightly, then swung open a ways. “Mrs. Woods? You there?”

  “Must’ve forgot to close it,” he muttered, pulled the door shut and moved off along the boardwalk, boot heels thunking solidly.

  Hand still clutching her mouth, she breathed a litany. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  She’d almost passed out when he opened the door. Thought he was going to step in and see her standing there holding Lieutenant Woods’ uniform. And with no explanation whatsoever.

  On quaking legs she went to peer out again, saw no one and ran as fast as she could back to her room. Plunging inside she leaned against the wall panting, the uniform hugged to her chest. Now all she had to do was find Stone Heart, let him know what she had done and convince him that her plan would work. Whether it would or not didn’t matter. Getting him back into the white world did.

  First she had to hurry to breakfast before Retha grew suspicious. Somehow she would manage to look absolutely innocent. Quickly winding her hair in a loose bun, she stuck in a few combs and headed for the mess hall.

  Sitting beside Retha, Aiden had scarcely lifted her spoon over a plate of steaming cornmeal mush, when a commotion arose outside. A great volley of shouts followed by gunfire and the anguished cries of women and children. Everyone leaped to their feet and ran out to view the parade of a forlorn column of Cheyenne.

  Past the mess hall they trailed, the pathetic wounded, starving men, women, and children. Soldiers of the cavalry rode on all sides, herding them like animals. A small girl stumbled along, her tiny face frozen in a mask of silent terror. Of all those she looked upon, this child’s plight captured Aiden’s heart. No one seemed to be caring for her. Leaves clung to her matted hair and torn dress. Her moccasins were worn through until her skin showed. The poor baby. Aiden could hardly bear it.

  Arms held out to the child, she moved forward, but Retha caught her arm, pulled her back. Shook her head and frowned when Aiden beseeched her in a silent plea.

  “You can’t help them. No one can. You can only cause yourself trouble,” Retha whispered.

  “But the babies, the poor little babies. How can this be happening? There must be something we can do.”

  A young woman marched past, even as Retha and Aiden struggled there on the sidelines. She clutched a baby to her bosom, its little head hanging over her arm limply, arms and legs blue with the cold. It did not move.

  “My God, it’s dead. Retha, that baby is dead.” She couldn’t stop the tears that came, nor swallow past the knot in her throat. “She’s carrying a dead baby.”

  “Then you cannot help it.” Harsh words from the genteel woman who continued to hold her back.

  “But...oh, please, someone?” She glanced about at the stern faces of the onlookers. How could they all stand by while this happened? These were Stone Heart’s people, the ones the white man once called the Beautiful People.

  Tearing her arm from Retha’s grasp, she shoved her way between two cavalry horses. Leather and animal sweat filling her nostrils, she caught up with the young mother and her dead child.

  “Let me help you,” she said softly, reached for the woman’s burden.

  The young mother shouted and jerked away, eyes filled with a cold hatred that cut through to Aiden’s soul. From behind, a soldier grabbed Aiden. Strong fingers cut cruelly into her arm. He dragged her through the line of men. Deposited her on the boardwalk.

  “Stay back, ma’am. Don’t touch them.”

  Whirling, Aiden faced the crowd of onlookers. “How can you stand here and do nothing? Animals, you’re all animals. Stop this, please.” They only stared at her with flat, dispassionate eyes, and she felt as if her heart were cracking in two.

  Captain Wessells appeared next to her and curled an iron-hard arm around her shoulders. “Calm down. I’ll see you to your quarters.”

  “What will they do with them? The poor little babies...that one is dead.”

  “It’s not your problem, ma’am. Come along.”

  She could not resist the force of his grip, and stumbled along beside him until he shoved her inside the door of her quarters.

  “I will send someone to see you remain in your quarters. I’m taking fresh troops out to put down this uprising, once and for all.” His anger spilled out to include her, as if she were somehow responsible. Without another word, he pulled the door closed between them.

  She could only stand there and weep while the thud of his footfalls faded away.

  Chapter Eleven

  After he left Aiden’s bed, Stone Heart spent the remainder of the night looking for his people. They were no longer imprisoned in the building from which they’d made their escape. Often, in his search, he would have to scurry into hiding when a guard approached. Several patrolled the grounds all night long. But they were awkward white men, not accustomed to going about silently, so he had little trouble avoiding them.

  He slept not at all that night, but wandered throughout the fort, slipping in silence from shadow to shadow in what seemed an endless and hopeless quest. Hunkering in a protected corner when he grew too cold to move about. In the flickering light from the watch fires, tended by rotating guards who stood over the flames to warm themselves, he continued his search. If he didn’t find the Cheyenne before dawn then it would mean another day and into the night they would have to endure the hardships of starvation. Some would die of it. He had to do something.

  He did, however, find the dead, brought in and stacked behind the sawmill, looking like cords of wood. Frozen stiff by the bitter cold, the corpses lay one on top of the other. He saw some he knew, others whose features were no longer recognizable because of their wounds. He could not find Dull Knife or Roman Nose or Little Finger Nail, nor the warrior woman Buffalo Calf Road. But some bodies were frozen together, making it difficult to identify them in the pale, silvery dawn.

  For long dreary moments he studied the grisly sight, hugging himself while his insides quivered. A brisk wind caught at his elk coat and beat relentlessly against the blanket he’d tied over his head. For fear his feet would freeze, he stomped back and forth alongside the stack of bodies. He spied an occasional army boot or uniform coat sleeve that told him some of the dead were soldiers. Thought it amazing that such poorly armed, nearly starved people could still manage to slay some of the enemy.

  From the parade grounds came the morning cry of the trumpet summoning the soldiers to formation.

  He had to move on or be discovered, but he
knelt for a brief moment, back to the brutal wind, placed his hand on one of the departed ones and spoke to the spirits asking that they guide these poor souls to the afterlife.

  Silently he slipped into the shadows of the mill to wait and watch his chance to move on without being seen. As the rising sun cast a glow through the low hanging clouds, he found himself within sight of the door to Aiden’s quarters. There he remained hidden until she came out. In dismay, he watched her peculiar actions when she entered another door, shook his head grimly when she came out carrying a uniform. He had hoped that his absence this morning would put a stop to her crazy plan. He vowed not to return, therefore ending it for good and all. She could scarcely wear the uniform herself.

  A while later, while he sneaked close to yet another building, he heard the uproar of approaching troops. Taking up a vantage point where he would not be seen, he watched with a great despair the straggling group of Cheyenne prisoners. Saw A’den try to help one of the women. Almost burst from hiding when the butcher Wessells literally dragged her back to her quarters. It was all he could do to stay put while that bastard put his hands on her. He must not give in and show himself, or all would be lost. Not only for him but for his people. Wessells wouldn’t let this end here and would see that A’den was dealt with severely for her outburst in front of everyone. He might even lock her up. The man was relentless and pitiless, and would not brook any sympathy for the Cheyenne, who had disgraced him and the government by their latest escape. He would deal harshly with them and any who might stand in his way.

  Torn between her safety and that of his people, he crept away. Following the parade of Cheyenne prisoners would at last lead him to the place they were being kept. Time enough to warn her of the consequences of her actions later.