He approached her, his face etched in worry lines. “It is a worrisome time for Crying Wind, I’m afraid.”
She turned. “What has happened?”
“It’s what has not happened that concerns him,” returned her father. “There has been no sign of buffalo.”
“Buffalo? Is that all?”
Her father’s brows narrowed and his tone became derisive. “Daughter, without buffalo, these people cannot survive. Buffalo is their life. It provides shelter, clothing, food, everything.”
Liza paled at the seriousness of her father’s words. “I had no idea—” she blurted.
“Of course not. How could you? But it is a matter of grave importance. Right now they need to be killing buffalo so they can prepare for the long, dark winter.”
She shuddered. “Father, you can’t stay here through winter. Your health. You’re not strong enough. Please, reconsider.”
“Elizabeth,” he sighed. “Whatever time I have left on earth will be spent with the Pikuni. There is a great battle to be won here, not just for me, but for them. Do you have any idea of the fear and sorrow these people live with? Miners are taking their land and settlers and the buffalo are being slaughtered. Crying Wind fears his people will soon go the way of the buffalo. I pray he is wrong. There must be some compromise that can be reached. Unfortunately, the army does little to stop settlement, in spite of the treaties signed.”
“Why should it? The soldiers are here to protect Americans.”
Her father frowned. “The soldiers are here to keep the peace. There is a difference.”
Again, Liza bit her lip. There was so much she did not understand. “Think of the settlers murdered by Indians. Surely you don’t condone that, Father.”
“Of course not. But men like Mountain Chief are no worse than the Americans who think nothing of killing Indian women or children. Mountain Chief is an outlaw, to be sure, but Crying Wind and other Pikuni leaders do not approve of him, any more than we would. Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I can’t leave.”
She drew her robe up. The wind had picked up and seemed to whip around her, slapping her face and hands with icy fingers.
“Liza, Crying Wind has told me you must decide what you plan to do. He cannot afford to lose a single brave if more time passes and the buffalo aren’t spotted.”
“Without you—” said Liza, but only half aloud. For though she knew the answer, she could hardly blame him now, especially after seeing him with Crying Wind, watching him struggle to repeat Crow Woman’s instructions, and listening to his plea for the Pikuni.
She pressed her hand against her father’s arm. “I understand, Father, more than you might think, and I’ll give you my decision soon,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Please don’t stay out in this wind long. The rain is coming soon.”
Liza nodded, then snuggled under her robe as she wandered into the grove of cottonwoods. The wind spiraled down through the limbs and amber-colored leaves spun like whirligigs before falling to the ground.
The trees arched together, and many upper branches overlapped, almost shading the soft earth below. Enchanted, Liza walked to the center of the grove. She felt as if she’d entered a church and sat down on a small stump.
For some reason, she wasn’t surprised when she saw Red Eagle standing in front of her, his own cape hanging over his shoulders and down to his knees. His expression was cool. “The rain will come soon,” he said flatly.
“Not soon enough,” returned Liza.
Red Eagle frowned, his dark eyebrows knitted together. Liza studied the small scar that creased his bottom lip. It was the single flaw in his otherwise perfect face. “I do not understand,” he said.
“It means nothing, except that it doesn’t matter to me if it rains, or snows, or blows.” She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked up at him. The dull ache, which had begun deep in her heart, spread quickly to every part of her body.
“I do not understand.”
She shrugged. “Why should you? You are what you are, and I am what I am. What does it matter?”
There was a stilted silence then, and Liza watched the change in Red Eagle’s face. The hurt and longing was reflected in his eyes as he dropped to one knee. “Because,” he began. Liza felt him shudder as he drew in a sharp breath. “It matters. Everything matters.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
A small smile crept across his face. “No, I don’t understand many things.”
She frowned.
He said nothing more but sat, one arm against his knee, his dark eyes travelling over her. She tried to keep her thoughts still and wondered if she were more afraid of herself than of him.
As always, his expression communicated little, except that it alternately thrilled and frightened her. What was it he was waiting for? What was it he had started to say?
“Did the dog-faced soldier hurt you?” he asked at last.
Liza jumped. “What?”
“Did he hurt you?”
She inhaled slowly. “No, he didn’t hurt me. He took everything though, all our food, our clothes, even Bibles my father had brought with him. Why do you ask?”
He faltered in the silence that engulfed them. “He will never bother you again.”
Liza’s nerves tensed immediately. “I don’t understand.”
“The soldier is dead.”
“Dead? You mean—” A cold knot formed in her stomach.
“I put my knife through him because I imagined him—hurting you.”
“Dear God, why?”
“He would have killed me.”
“But when?” Liza’s heart skipped another beat as she tried to digest it all. “When did you see Private Scott?”
“Two days after I left you. On the trail. He said—he said he—”
Liza stared, wordlessly.
“He said he hurt you—badly,” finished Red Eagle.
His words lodged in her brain. Hurt her, badly?
Red Eagle’s dark eyes were like shadows in the graying light and the wind twisted his black hair into long spirals. “I would kill again.” His gaze was steady.
She stared at him, amazed and shaken.
He seemed to await a response, but she was too stunned to speak. Leaning forward, his breath was a whisper against her cheek. His sweet, leathery smell was intoxicating. Why couldn’t she talk? Why couldn’t she move?
“But, you never came back,” she whispered at last. Had she somehow thought he would?
“A trapper found me. I was bleeding. When I was able to go on, you were gone. But I followed your tracks.”
“You were hurt?”
“The wounds healed quickly. It was not my wounds that worried me,” he added.
Liza’s heart hammered in her chest, even as her fingers ached to reach out and touch him. She pulled back, then watched as the corners of his mouth tipped up. Was he smiling at her, laughing at her? She blushed.
Red Eagle’s smile disappeared. “Your father, Many Words, says you are to leave.” There was no question in his voice.
Liza stammered, “I—I don’t belong here.”
“Where do you belong?”
She waited until her pulse quieted. “I don’t know. I—I seem to be—lost.” She sighed, eyes wet with the tears she had fought all day. “I think of going back, and then—” She shrugged. “But my father is happy here. He will not leave.”
“Many Words is a good man. Crying Wind thinks much of him.”
“My father thinks much of Crying Wind.”
“Crying Wind says your father is a man of much medicine, a holy man. He says the people should listen to him. But I fear they will not.”
“Why must they listen to my father?” Liza’s eyes returned to the scar that moved with Red Eagle’s words. She wondered what it would be like to touch the scar. To touch his lips.
“There is much that is coming to the Pikuni people, much that they don’t understand. Th
ere are many warning signs.”
“But what can my father say that will make a difference?”
“He understands the ways of those who write the treaties.”
“You can understand that, too. After all, you’re white.”
Red Eagle nodded. “Yes, I am my father’s son. But I have never lived much among the whites. I have not lived much among the Pikuni. I have lived most of my life in the mountains.”
“But my father is not strong.”
“He has a strong mind and heart.”
Liza sighed. “Yes, he’s stubborn.”
Red Eagle chuckled then, and Liza felt a current race through her. The sound of his laughter was like a cool drink on a hot day.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Finally, uncomfortable and fearing her racing heart would give her away, Liza jumped to her feet. “I wish there were other things I understood,” she said spontaneously.
Red Eagle had moved to her side and his nearness was like a draught. “Ask me,” he said.
She struggled to find a question she dared to ask, for her deepest questions only she could answer. “Well,” she said, turning to face him, “why do we keep moving? Is it to find the buffalo?”
He raised his eyebrows as he considered her question, then smiled. “Yes. But after we do, we will join with other tribes until we reach our winter camp.”
“Why haven’t we found the buffalo?”
“Only He That Knows All can say. Red Quiver says this is to be a good year.”
“You don’t believe it?”
His broad shoulders heaved as he breathed his answer, “No.”
She studied his dark, brooding eyes. “Why?”
“It is hard to explain. In my dreams an old woman comes to me. She tries to warn me. But I cannot understand. I cannot see what she is hiding.”
“Hiding?” Liza shivered. “It sounds more like a nightmare than a dream.” She clasped her arms about her chest. “I have troubling dreams, too, but when I wake up the dream is gone.”
Red Eagle shook his head. “I only know what I see. What I see is not good.”
The first raindrops fell then—fat drops that bounced as they hit the dry ground. Liza flinched as one landed on her nose.
Red Eagle smiled. “The rain comes soon enough?”
She giggled, dropping her eyes to the ground. “Perhaps too soon.”
Red Eagle reached out carefully, wiping the raindrop from the tip of her nose. The mere touch of his hand sent a shiver through her. “I should go now. Father—”
Red Eagle shook his head and Liza felt weak all over. Putting a large hand to her waist, he drew her to him, his breath hot against her neck. “The rain is a sign of blessing in the Pikuni world. Perhaps it blesses us.”
She trembled. Another raindrop touched her face. Gently pressing his lips to her ear, his words were like a caress. “I would never hurt you. I am not a savage.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she dropped her head. Then, she reached out to wrap her arms around him. But he was already gone.
CHAPTER 15
That night, and for many nights, Liza awoke to the eerie songs and chanting of the men. Her father said it was the men calling the buffalo, asking them to pass this way.
Each day, small hunting parties were sent off in several directions; though they brought back deer, antelope, and other, smaller game, no buffalo were seen.
The women busied themselves treating the hides of the deer and antelope. At first, Liza was repulsed by the job, but as the days wore on, she found herself helping Crow Woman without complaining.
The work seemed to settle her troubled mind and busy her restless hands. She had not told anyone of her encounter with Red Eagle, but the memory thrilled her even as she labored. It also alarmed her more than she could admit.
Her decision to leave or not, however, was postponed because of the urgent need to find buffalo. Liza didn’t admit how relieved she felt. At the same time, she worried: would she stay all winter?
By the end of the second week on the trail, Liza’s father was well enough to ride horseback. He also walked, using a cane Red Eagle fashioned for him, visiting the older braves who could no longer ride fast or hard.
“Well, perhaps I’ll be able to join the hunters soon,” he announced to Liza.
She looked up from her work at the thin man who stood there. He hardly resembled her once robust, almost hulking father. His face was clean-shaven and his long hair groomed, but his cheeks lacked color and his shoulders seemed shrunken. Still he had enthusiasm and energy.
“Father, you’re getting stronger every day.”
“I feel better. Crow Woman keeps feeding me every time I open my mouth.”
Liza smiled. Crow Woman doted on her father just as she doted on Red Eagle. Just as she would dote on Liza.
Liza turned back to the deer hide she was tanning. With the blade Crow Woman had given her, she feverishly cut and scraped away the strips of flesh and chunks of fat. The hide had already been stretched and staked, hair side down, as Crow Woman had shown her.
Her father hobbled out past the lodge area and found a granite stone where he could sit. He leaned forward, smiling. “It feels good to be moving about so easily,” he said.
“I’m glad, too.” Still, she wished he were not so thin and pale.
“Liza,” he said, tilting his head. “All things take time. And things do work out—”
She glanced up from her work, one hand still wrapped around her tool. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Yes, time, she mused. Everything takes time—but does it work itself out? Really?
She bit her lip.
Crow Woman, who was working on a second hide just inches away, leaned over to where she was working. Clucking her tongue, she pointed to a spot where Liza had cut the hide too deeply.
Liza apologized.
The old woman smiled as she studied the rest of Liza’s handiwork. She said something Liza couldn’t understand, then stood and lifted up Liza’s hide.
“Come,” she said.
Obediently Liza followed Crow Woman to a long log Red Eagle had brought earlier that day. She motioned to her, repeating her favorite English word, “Come.”
Liza couldn’t help but smile at Crow Woman; she was a patient teacher and Liza grew fonder of her every day.
Spreading the hide, hair side up, over the log, Crow Woman showed her how to remove the hair with a scraper. “Come,” she said, for the third time.
Liza nodded. Though Crow Woman knew few words, they were enough.
Taking the primitive tool from the old woman, Liza tried to imitate her movements, but this job was even harder than the first. Fine hairs grew up under the longer ones; who would have thought there were so many? Several times she stopped to take a breath, dissatisfied with the poor quality of her work.
The afternoon passed slowly. Finally, a cool breeze began to blow—a welcome relief as perspiration rolled down between her shoulder blades. Her back ached and she complained to Crow Woman. But the older woman would not let her rest; each time she sat back, Crow Woman nodded and said, “Come.”
Come Running was also busy tanning a hide, but she did not join Crow Woman or Liza. The younger woman had continued to remain aloof, causing Liza to wonder if she disliked her. Her father had said that Come Running was shy and, as second wife and younger sister to Crow Woman, she had fewer privileges.
By evening, Liza was ready to quit. She plopped down on the ground. “That’s it,” she declared.
Her father ambled over to inspect her work. “I’ll be. Look at that. It’s not half-bad. You may make a good Indian wife after all. I could call Running Antelope back—”
Infuriated, Liza threw her stone tool down. “That is not funny. And I’ll not be staying here any longer than I have to, thank you.”
Her father reached out his hand. “Elizabeth, I was only joshing. I’m proud as punch. Don’t get fired up about a little teasing. You used to ha
ve a better sense of humor.”
She stood. “I guess I don’t find such taunts funny.”
“In the future, I’ll remember that.”
“The future. Hmmm,” she said only half-aloud, “what’s that?”
Her father frowned. “The future is not ours to know. But I suspect that even if we could glean a little of it, we would not know what to do with the knowledge.”
Liza shrugged. Perhaps knowing what her future held would give her a better outlook on life. But then, what was it Red Eagle had said? He had beheld a piece of the future in a dream, and it terrified him.
Hopefully, her future would not prove so grim.
The last of the hunting parties returned just as the women in the camp were preparing the evening meal. Many of the children had gone off to gather roots and wild greens, which were added to the evening soup. Come Running was busy roasting a chunk of venison and there were fried cakes, as well.
When Crying Wind arrived, he slipped into the lodge without speaking to his wives, and Liza’s father followed him. Crow Woman took their meal in to them, but her face was dark with worry when she emerged. Liza watched, hoping for some clue as to what was happening, but Crow Woman said nothing. Eventually, Crying Wind left again, his medicine bundle in one hand.
Liza, sensing the tension, stayed out of the way. Perhaps her father would explain later. She filled her own bark plate and settled down next to the fire.
“Crying Wind is worried,” her father said, coming up behind her. “The buffalo still haven’t come.”
“Will we move tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. That will be decided by Crying Wind, Red Quiver, and the others.”
“It must be terrible to think that winter could come without finding the buffalo.”
Nodding, her father walked away and disappeared around a corner.
“I see your father has gone to join the others.”
Liza jumped when she heard Red Eagle’s deep voice. “Uh, yes,” she returned quietly. “He didn’t say why. Will Crying Wind object?”
Red Eagle shook his head. “He invited your father earlier to sit with him.”
She nodded. This friendship between Crying Wind and her father was an amazing thing. How could two people with such different ways come to share such harmony?
Across the Sweet Grass Hills Page 12
