Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  ****

  Not until after supper that night did Liza see Red Eagle. Accompanied by another young warrior, he approached Crying Wind’s lodge smiling.

  Before she could greet him, however, Running Antelope arrived on horseback, dressed in his finest array of jewelry and beads, his hair wound up in a topknot. Behind him trotted a dappled mare. A cloud of dust enveloped them as he slid off his horse.

  Liza was outside the lodge helping Come Running shake out the sleeping mats. She froze when she saw Running Antelope. Crying Wind, who was sitting with her father on the far side of the tipi, stood up slowly and spoke quietly to Running Antelope, but it was the warrior’s look that startled Liza. Pointing to her, his voice was stern, demanding.

  Sensing the conversation was about her, Liza ran to her father. “This is all because of you!” she screamed.

  Without waiting for his reply, she picked up her skirts and ran down to the creek. Splashing through the water, her dress caught on the rocks. She yanked at the fabric until it tore free, her mind all the while reeling with anger.

  She clambered up onto the far bank, dragging her sod­den skirts. Water poured from her shoes, but she didn’t care. She dropped to the ground and let the wellspring of fury erupt. How humiliating. How wretched. How—

  She hadn’t heard anyone approach. “Liza?”

  Recognizing the voice, she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and sat upright. “What do you want?” She tried to swal­low the tightness in her throat.

  “To speak to you. I was so glad to see you here, with Crying Wind.”

  She turned away and took a deep breath. She had begun to shiver. From the water or her own emotions? She drew her knees to her chest and dropped her head.

  It was the familiar scent of him that triggered her tears. He was on one knee, his face inches from her shoulder. “Liza?” He spoke in an odd but gentle tone.

  She felt the blood rush to her face and stifled a cry. “Obviously, I’m fine,” she whispered into the damp fabric of her skirt. “Willy-nilly fine. But no thanks to my father. No thanks to anyone.” She sniffed as she turned her head to stare out at the stream. “I almost wish I had died back there. Then it would be over.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve, keeping her eyes averted.

  Red Eagle said nothing, but she heard him stand up. “I am very glad you did not die, Liza. And I am glad you are here with my mother’s people. I only wish—” But Red Eagle did not finish. “I will leave you alone.”

  “Yes, please. I need a little time.”

  Without a word, Red Eagle walked away. Liza raised her eyes and watched him move with long, purposeful strides back across the stream, back to camp.

  CHAPTER 14

  The next day Liza did not see Red Eagle, and all day she fretted. She had been undeniably rude—not her inten­tion at all. Perhaps she should explain.

  “Explain what?” asked her father, hobbling over to where she sat on a reed mat, grinding more nuts for Crow Woman.

  “What?” She raised her head.

  “You said, ‘perhaps I should explain.’ Elizabeth, I know you’re angry.” He dropped to the ground and relaxed against his willow rest. His voice was strained; talking was still an effort.

  She bit her lip. Her father knew so little about her and he couldn’t seem to understand anything of the way she felt. As if he was blind. Wanting to avoid any confrontation, she turned and studied him closely. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Only tired.”

  “Shall I get you something?”

  “No. Let me finish. You didn’t give me a chance last night. After you ran off, I explained to Running Antelope and Crying Wind that you didn’t mean to insult anyone, that we do things differently. Rudeness is unthinkable behavior to the Pikuni. And for some reason, Running Antelope has decided he wants to marry you. I suppose by virtue of having rescued us.”

  “He didn’t rescue us,” she snapped. “He took us. I didn’t need rescuing.”

  “No, but I daresay, I did.”

  Liza dropped her eyes. “I know,” she whispered, ashamed at her outburst. “But how could anyone think that just because he rescued a body, it gives him license to marry?”

  “Apparently, for the Pikuni, it’s not unusual. At any rate, Running Antelope wants to marry you. Actually, you should con­sider it flattering. He could have just taken you if he’d wanted.”

  Her temper flared. “How could you suggest—”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Elizabeth. Just relating facts.”

  Liza picked up a handful of nuts and rolled them around in the palm of her hand.

  “But I understand. So does Crying Wind. That’s why he has offered to send you back to Fort Benton. If we can get you back there before the snow falls, you can return to St. Louis within the fortnight. Perhaps be there by Christmas. You’d like that, I’m sure.”

  Liza dropped the nuts, letting them fall on the flat stone at her feet. “What about you, Father? Shall I wait for you at Fort Benton?”

  She dreaded his response, knowing full well what he would say.

  “Elizabeth, I have no intention of returning to St. Louis. I’ve told you why I came here. I should have told you a long time ago. I realize that now, though it’s nothing I can change. But Crying Wind has given you a chance to go back, to return to your own life. I’m sure your grandfather would be delighted to have you, and then you can begin life all over again.”

  Liza blinked back the grief that had been with her for so long. It was impossible to speak.

  “Don’t worry, Daughter. Crying Wind has said that when you are ready, that will be soon enough. He senses how miser­able you are, as well. I suppose I never wanted to see it before. If only I could have been a different kind of father.”

  Mixed feelings surged through her. For so long, St. Louis was all she had dreamed of, returning home to her grandpar­ents, her friends, and her life. Yet now that the offer stood, she wasn’t sure she could leave.

  For the rest of the day, Liza moved without thinking. She helped Crow Woman gather as much wood as she could. Crying Wind had decided the people would camp here another night, there to feast and dance in celebration of Red Eagle’s return.

  The women worked feverishly, preparing every sort of dish they could. There were fried cakes, berry soups, tender roots, haunches of meat roasted over open fires. The younger women helped, but when everything was ready, they rushed to the creek to wash. Liza listened to their effervescent laughter, wondering how many had already cast their eyes on Red Eagle.

  She refused to attend the celebration.

  She also ignored her father’s request to change for the evening. Crow Woman had offered one of her own deerskin dresses, but Liza mumbled something about her head hurting. Frowning, Crow Woman smacked her lips as she left Liza rest­ing on her pallet.

  In fact, she did have a headache.

  As dusk settled over the village, an enormous fire was built in an open area and it snapped and crackled as the sticks and bits of driftwood children had dragged back from the shoreline were piled higher. Liza could hear the children laugh­ing and running while the men’s and women’s voices rose and fell in waves.

  Crow Woman came back to the tipi several times, motioning to her, but each time, Liza shook her head. Finally Crow Woman left her and didn’t return. Only after she was gone did Liza slip out of the tipi to steal a glance.

  It was not long before stars, like glitter, coated the black night and the singers and drummers took their places around the village fire. Liza knew the dancers would join in, too, for the Pikuni loved to sing and dance. She sat down to watch.

  She listened, reminded of how the men’s music had called to her, but this time, the sound drifted away. Her heart did not beat in synchrony with the drums. It seemed to skip and stop instead, and the ache that had started earlier in the day seemed to swell.

  She rolled onto her back, one arm across her face, trying to imagine herself back in St. Louis. She tr
ied to envision the dances and celebrations where she had once laughed, sung, even danced. But it was a blur and quickly vanished. Finally, dozing, she dreamed of a handsome stranger dressed in a new suit. He approached her slowly, his head bent. But when he paused to stretch out his hand her heart skidded to a halt.

  It was Red Eagle.

  Liza stirred.

  Sitting up, she felt chilled and so slipped back into the lodge where a small fire kept the inside warm. Picking up one of Crow Woman’s robes, she realized that the animal-smell was no longer offensive to her, but she still found the odd assortment of things hanging from the lodge poles strange and intimidating.

  After a while, Liza’s curiosity bested her, so she raised one edge of the tipi wall to watch the dancers and singers. Her father, sitting beside Crying Wind, was smiling and talking, his face more animated than it had been in ages. The amber fire­light danced across his lean face and Liza noticed he had changed clothes. Wearing a fringed tunic much like Crying Wind’s, with his dark hair combed back, he almost seemed to have changed character, as well.

  Red Eagle sat to her father’s left. Leaning over, he, too, laughed and chatted. Liza felt her stomach roll as her father nodded enthusiastically in response to something he said.

  Her eyes returned to Red Eagle’s face. Though his brows were drawn over his dark eyes, a smile tipped the corners of his mouth and the mystery behind it beckoned to her irresistibly. His expression was altogether too compelling.

  As she turned away, Red Eagle glanced over his shoulder. But his mouth was tight and grim now, the line of his lips drawn down as he searched her face.

  She took a steadying breath. What was he thinking? Did he despise her after her outburst?

  Just then, she saw him get to his feet. A young woman, Little Snake, approached him. She stood, waiting, a shy smile illuminating her almond eyes. In her white buckskin dress and beaded, feathered necklaces and earrings she looked beautiful.

  She led Red Eagle to the ring where other dancers were moving in time to the slow beat of the drums. Angry, Liza dropped the tipi wall.

  “Let her have him,” she stammered. “He means nothing to me. Nothing.”

  But as she lay in the somber darkness, the fire ebbing, her mind flashed images of Red Eagle tending her father, his eyes dark and worried; cutting meat, intent on teaching her; standing in the shadows, his enigmatic smile hiding deeper feelings.

  Once more, she reached for the tipi wall, lifting it slowly. Searching the ring of dancers, she didn’t see him. As she looked over to where her father and Crying Wind sat, talking and eat­ing, she realized he was not there, either.

  Her heart sank.

  ****

  It was late when her father and Crying Wind returned to their tipi. As Crow Woman and Come Running removed their dresses, her father wrapped himself in his buffalo robe and turned toward the tipi wall. Liza stirred from her agonized sleep.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Almost,” she said.

  “It was a wonderful feast. I’m sorry you chose to miss it.”

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want to admit that she was sorry she’d missed it, too.

  “I’m worried about you,” her father added.

  “Oh, Father, there’s nothing to worry about. I guess it’s time to leave.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping you might change your mind.”

  “I was hoping you might change your mind,” she returned. “St. Louis won’t be the same—”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “I wasn’t asking,” she snapped, raising herself up on one elbow. “I was only hoping. But can’t you see this has been a ter­rible mistake? Mother is dead, buried in a strange land, away from her family. Lawrence and Evan are gone, perhaps forever. And you—” She lifted her chin and met his dark eyes. “You just expect me to go on. Leave and go on. Without you. Without a family.”

  A glazed look of despair crossed her father’s face. “I know,” he said. “I know what I’ve left you with is very little. I had hoped for so much more. I thought you would come to love this land like I do. Because you’re as stubborn and as passionate as I. But I was wrong.”

  Suddenly, Liza felt a wretchedness she’d never known before. Guilt pierced her stubborn pride, but she shook her head and whispered, “I guess I’m not strong enough.”

  “You are stronger than I,” her father interrupted.

  Tears spilled over her cheeks as Liza slipped back under the heavy robes that smelled of sage and herbs. She didn’t dare think about anything more.

  ****

  Morning came early. Camp was alive as Lone Person once more called for the people to gather their belongings. Once more Liza followed the Pikuni as they moved farther north, farther from her past. She had decided to postpone her decision about leaving, if only because she could not bear to leave her father. She had almost lost him once; how could she choose to lose him forever?

  She walked in a daze, placing one foot in front of the other. It was difficult to speak, so she merely kept her eyes on the trail. Her father, riding his travois, tried to converse, but she could not.

  The day was crisp and dark clouds crossed the horizon. Autumn had come to the northern territory, and soon winter would follow. Would she still be here, she wondered?

  A stiff wind slowed the progress of the tribe. Even the children slowed their step, keeping their heavy capes drawn over their shoulders.

  Crying Wind called for a rest halfway through the day. It was clear a storm was moving in quickly. The women unpacked their lodge poles and set up camp. This time the children were instructed to gather wood and buffalo chips-anything that would burn. The fires were built inside the lodges, the smoky air stifling as Liza helped organize the family’s possessions.

  Her father’s willow rest was placed inside the lodge. Crow Woman clucked over him, covering him with an extra robe. Liza mused how mothers everywhere were very much the same.

  Come Running had already begun to boil a small amount of pemmican. The soup would be flavored with onions and small round roots which Liza had come to like. She offered to help the young woman. Picking up an onion, she peeled it and dropped it into the kettle. Come Running smiled her thanks, then excused herself and followed Crow Woman outside.

  Liza stirred the soup, her mind wandering. She had not seen Red Eagle all day and had to slip away to avoid Running Antelope several times. Obviously angry that she had refused and humiliated him in front of the tribe, his insolent stares had provoked her to silence. She only hoped he would not seek her out again.

  Even now, two lodges away, she could hear the stern warrior’s thundering voice, ordering Black Quail to hurry with his food. Frowning, Liza turned to her father. “Running Antelope is vile and arrogant.”

  Her father spoke softly. “Liza, is this still troubling you? Running Antelope? I have already told you that no one, least of all Crying Wind, is considering his proposal. Just last night dur­ing the feast he told Running Antelope not to approach you again.”

  “Too bad Black Quail didn’t have someone to protect her.”

  “Yes, the poor girl is frail. Crying Wind said that her father had promised Black Quail to Running Antelope when she was but a child. Then again, she has someone to care for and feed her. Her own mother and father are dead. And Running Antelope is a good provider. That’s an important trait in the Pikuni world.”

  “Umph,” grunted Liza. “So Indian women are just sold or purchased, like slabs of bacon or a pound of beans?”

  “Life is hard. That’s why many Pikuni men have several wives. But I would never want you to marry for anything except love.”

  “Well, I am pleased we agree on one thing,” quipped Liza, “for I wouldn’t marry unless I was deeply, madly, irrevocably in love. Otherwise, life would be unbearable.”

  Her father smiled. “Yes, men are savages—”

  “They are.” she snapped. “All men.”

  “Not just heathens?”
/>   “All men,” she repeated, slapping her hands against her dress.

  “But especially heathens?”

  Liza only half-listened to her father. A sudden movement caught her attention and she turned just in time to see that Red Eagle, not Crying Wind, stood outside the lodge opening.

  She colored instantly. How much had he heard?

  His voice held a note of impatience. “Crying Wind sent me to find you, Many Words. A council is to be held and he has asked that you come.”

  Her father stood up, pushing the robes off his lap. He nodded. “Of course.”

  Liza’s eyes widened in surprise. “Many Words?”

  Red Eagle turned to her, a distinct hardening in his tone. “Your father is considered to be a man of many words. Good words,” he added.

  She detected a hint of censure in his voice. “I didn’t real­ize—” she said.

  His steely glance seemed to accuse her of more than not understanding.

  She clenched her fists and turned away. “Don’t forget a cape, Father, the air is brisk.”

  As the two men left, Liza frowned. Why was it that every time Red Eagle approached her, she was in a befuddled state of mind?

  She picked up another onion. Perhaps she should leave before winter came. Go back and begin her life again. What life, she thought miserably. What life?

  ****

  Dinner was eaten in silence. Crow Woman, distracted because Crying Wind and Many Words had not returned, played with her food. Come Running, always timid, ate spar­ingly. Liza, forlorn over her own troubled spirits, finished her soup and quickly found her way outdoors.

  The wind continued to whip through the village but no rain had yet fallen. The camp, set not far from a copse of young cottonwoods, was protected only on one side. Liza moved toward the trees, an icy fear twisting around her heart.

  As she left the gathering of tipis, she heard her father.

  “Liza,” he called. “It’s too cold to be out. Why aren’t you inside with Come Running and Crow Woman?”

  “It’s stifling. I need air.”