In the Shadow of the Hills

by Madeline Baker

  “Oh, John, I’ve been so afraid!” she wailed. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you really?” She took my hands in hers and studied them intently. The skin was newly pink in some places, scarred in others.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured brokenly. “Truly sorry.”

  “Forget it, honey. Come on, take a walk with me. I’ve been cooped up too long.”

  “Where have you been?” she asked, glancing nervously from side to side as we made our way through the village and into the woods beyond. “Why wouldn’t they let me see you?”

  “I don’t know. I was pretty sick for a while. Maybe Wahcawin thought I shouldn’t have company.”

  “Who’s Wahcawin?”

  “A medicine woman. She saved my life.”

  “I’m glad. Now that you’re better, can we go? I’ve been so afraid!”

  “Lone Bull hasn’t harmed you, has he?”

  “No, nothing like that. They’ve all been very nice. I just want to go home, back to my own people. Please, John.”

  “Sure, Laurie,” I promised. “We’ll go as soon as I can travel.”

  * * *

  The next few days passed slowly and quietly. I spent my days regaining my strength. Sometimes I took long walks, sometimes I just sat in the sun watching the Indians go about their business, content to be in their midst. Often Laurie sat beside me, her eyes round with wonder as she watched several women quickly erect a new lodge, or narrowed in revulsion as she watched an old woman work a mixture of deer brains and fat into a hide to soften the skin and make it pliable.

  Another week passed before I felt strong enough to fork a horse and make the long trek to Beaver City.

  The village lay quiet beneath a crescent moon as I walked through the village streets that last night. I was reluctant to leave. The Lakota and the Cheyenne shared many customs and traditions, and I felt at home here. The scents of smoke and sage and sweet grass were smells I remembered from my childhood. The taste of buffalo meat and fry bread and chokecherry pudding, the touch of a furry robe on my naked shoulders, the songs of the people, all were achingly familiar.

  It was good to be among warriors who were still proud, still free and living in the old ways when so many had surrendered to the pressure of the vehoe and gone to the reservation. It was good to hear women laughing as they cared for their children, good to hear the young mothers sing lullabies to their babies.

  There was a spirit of unity in the village, a feeling of being at peace with the land that I had never felt in the cities of the vehoe. It was a good feeling.

  In the distance, I heard the soft trilling notes of a flute as a warrior serenaded the maiden of his choice, and I was carried back in time to the days when I had been a young warrior. In my mind’s eye, I saw Snow Flower, and I remembered how I had once dreamed of making her my wife. Her image danced clearly before me, undimmed by time. How lovely she had been, and how I had loved her!

  Slowly, my thoughts turned to Laurie, and I knew that, as much as I longed to remain with the Lakota, I would have to leave. I had to take Laurie back to her own people. She would never be happy here, in an alien land among people she would never understand, just as I had never truly been happy living with the whites.

  I had reached the outskirts of the village now. For a moment, I stared across the darkened prairie, listening to the song of the nigh wind. Then, feeling somewhat heavy-hearted, I retraced my steps through the sleeping village.

  Returning to Wahcawin’s lodge, I squatted before the dwindling fire and threw a few sticks on the glowing coals.

  In minutes, a warm blaze rose from the ashes. The flames danced before me, throwing ghostly shadows on the lodgeskins. The sounds of the night were all around me, and I drew them close, holding them like a long lost friend as I stared into the fire.

  I don’t know how long she stood there, watching me, but I wasn’t aware of her presence until she spoke.

  “Your thoughts are far away.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you prefer to be alone?”

  “No.”

  Wahcawin sat down beside me, her movements as graceful as those of a young doe. Her ebony-colored hair glistened blue-black in the moonlight, tempting my touch, but Indian men did not make casual advances toward unmarried women, so I smiled at her instead, thinking she was the most desirable woman I had ever seen.

  “The white girl?” Wahcawin asked softly. “Is she your woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “She is very beautiful.”

  “Yes.” But not as beautiful as you.

  “She is not happy here.”

  “Your ways are strange to her. She is afraid of what she does not understand.”

  “You will be leaving soon,” Wahcawin remarked, and I wondered if the note of sadness in her voice was real, or if I had imagined it.

  “Tomorrow. Tell me, Wahcawin, why haven’t you married? Are all the young men blind?”

  Her laugher was warm and earthy. “I have had many offers,” she admitted candidly. “Crazy Horse, himself, offered my father fifteen ponies.”

  “And you refused?”

  Wahcawin shrugged. “Crazy Horse is a great warrior. My family was deeply honored by his proposal. But his heart is set on war, and I fear there is no room in his heart for love.” Her head went up proudly. “Besides, Crazy Horse already has Black Shawl for a wife, and I will not be second in any man’s heart.”

  “Many women would jump at the chance to marry such a great chief,” I mused aloud. “He is very brave. And handsome.”

  “They may have him,” Wahcawin said generously. “I will be first in my husband’s heart, and in his lodge, or I shall never marry.”

  “Surely there are other young men who desire to court you?”

  “Yes, many,” she admitted without conceit. “But none that I desire.”

  I desire you. The words rang in my head, but I could not speak them aloud. Our eyes met and held for stretched seconds before she looked away, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks.

  “It is late,” she said, rising smoothly to her feet.

  “Wahcawin.”

  She turned to face me, her head high and proud, her eyes wary as I stood up and moved toward her. She did not resist when I took her in my arms, and we stayed pressed close together for a long time. She felt good in my arms, as though she had been made just for me.

  I felt bereft when she slipped from my embrace and disappeared into the shadows. I stared after her, my heart yearning in her direction. I was engaged to Laurie and had no business longing for a dusky-skinned Lakota maiden. I was responsible for Laurie, and, more than that, I cared for her as I had cared for no one since Clarissa. And yet I could not ignore the hot blood pounding in my veins, nor could I put Wahcawin out of my mind.

  Wahcawin didn’t return to the lodge that night, and I couldn’t sleep for wondering where she was.

  I rose as the first faint streaks of light brightened the eastern sky. I walked down to the river, lost in thought. It was quiet there, with only the gentle rush of the water and the whisper of the wind in the cottonwoods to mar the virgin stillness of a new day.

  I had been there only a few minutes when a flash of movement caught my eye. Looking downstream, I spied Wahcawin swimming for shore.

  Unaware of my presence on the riverbank, she stepped gracefully out of the water to stand naked in the early morning sunlight. She looked like a Greek goddess standing there, her slim golden form shimmering like liquid gold, her heavy black hair falling to her waist like an ebony mantle.

  The sight of her standing there in that pristine setting took my breath away, and I could only stare at her in awed silence, listening to the sound of my heart hammering in my chest. Lord, she was beautiful.

  She must have sensed my presence then, for she turned slowly in my direction, her dark eyes sweeping the sun-dappled riverbank until she saw me standing beneath a tree at the water’s edge.

/>   Time ceased to have meaning as our gazes met and held. And then I was walking toward her. Wordlessly, I took her in my arms, felt her willing response as I kissed her lightly. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her naked flesh cool and moist beneath my eagerly questing fingertips.

  I kissed her again, and again. Her lips parted beneath mine and I explored the sweet dark recesses of her mouth. She moaned softly and pressed herself against me as I cupped her breast. It felt warm and full in my hand.

  Abruptly, I released her and took a step backward. I knew without asking that Wahcawin had never known a man, and as much as I desired her, I did not want to violate her chastity.

  “Forgive me,” I said in a choked whisper.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Wahcawin replied softly. “I have wanted you as a woman wants a man since you first looked at me.”

  “Wahcawin...”

  “I know what you are thinking, that I should save myself for my husband.”

  “Yes.”

  “For this day, you will be my husband,” she murmured huskily.

  I knew it was wrong. I knew I was committing a serious offense according to Lakota tribal law, an offense for which I could be killed. But I could not ignore the sweet taste of her lips on mine, or stem the rising heat that coursed through my loins, fired by her nearness and my own desire.

  Wahcawin helped me undress, and then we were lying on the soft grass, our bodies pressed close together, straining to be closer.

  Her skin was like smooth satin, her hair like soft silk. I kissed her deeply, prolonging the sweet agony of desire. She gave herself to me without hesitation, inviting me to discover the secrets of her femininity. She had already seen me naked when she treated my wounds, but she had been a medicine woman then, intent only on healing. Now, her hands wandered over me with bold abandon, her fingertips igniting little fires of desire everywhere they touched, until I groaned with need.

  Wahcawin laughed softly as she rolled onto her back, her arms reaching for me, whispering my name as I rose over her.

  And as my body meshed with hers, I knew that, right or wrong, I would belong to her, heart and soul, for as long as I lived.

  * * *

  Laurie and I were ready to leave by noon the following day. I took my time getting ready, hoping Wahcawin would come to say goodbye, but she stayed out of sight, and I couldn’t bring myself to go looking for her.

  I said goodbye to Lone Bull and his family, thanking them for their hospitality, and for the food, clothing, and horses they had provided for our journey.

  And then Laurie and I rode out of the village bound for Beaver City, Idaho. Winter was in the air, and our breath came out in great clouds of white vapor. I knew we would have to travel hard and fast to reach Beaver City before the first snowfall.

  We rode in silence, Laurie and I. I could see by her expression that she was glad to be leaving the Lakota village far behind. Lone Bull and his family had treated Laurie with kindness and respect, but their ways were not her ways, and I could not blame her for being anxious to return to her own people.

  I wondered if I ever would.

  For me, leaving the Lakota village was like having the heart ripped from my body. The thought that I might never see Wahcawin again filled me with a dark, bitter pain. I knew that making love to her had been wrong, and yet I could no more have refused her than I could have kept the sun from rising.

  I turned and took a last look at the village and then, resolutely, urged my mount into a trot.

  We traveled without incident, seeing no one, red or white, on the trail, and arrived in Beaver City only hours ahead of the season’s first snowstorm.

  Chapter 21

  Laurie’s Aunt Ida was a buxom, gray-haired woman with mischievous brown eyes and an engaging smile. She ran a boarding house off the main road, and she quickly made us feel right at home.

  Over coffee and cake, Laurie related the details of the attack on the wagon train, and the weeks we’d spent with Lone Bull while I recovered from my wounds, making light of her fears and the hardships we had endured on the trail. She explained in glowing terms how I had saved her life by beating out the fire in her skirts, badly burning my hands in the process.

  Ida Mapes listened attentively, her eyes alternately mirroring her affection and concern for Laurie, her sorrow at the death of her brother and nephews, and her admiration for me.

  Clucking softly, she looked at my hands, murmuring, “My, my, that was a brave thing you did, putting out the flames with your bare hands.”

  When Laurie finished her story, Ida Mapes heaved a deep sigh. Then, taking Laurie’s hands in hers, she smiled and said,

  “You’ve had a bad time, darlin’, but grieving won’t change the past, nor bring back our loved ones. Time will heal the hurt, as it has healed Mr. McKenna’s hands, and soon you’ll be able to smile when you remember you dear father and the boys. Come along, now, and I’ll show you to your rooms. I’ve a couple of nice ones upstairs.”

  My room was spacious and spotlessly clean, furnished with a double bed, commode, highboy, and a comfortable chair. Stretching out on the bed, I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the room close in on me, wondering why I felt so smothered in a large room like this, and yet felt so free in the close quarters of Wahcawin’s lodge.

  The next day, first chance I got, I went into town for some new clothes. Beaver City was a small town, but it had several stores and these were generously stocked with just about everything you could ask for. I didn’t really relish the thought of changing out of my buckskins into city clothes, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lot of curious stares, either, and I knew I was sure to draw plenty dressed as I was.

  In the end, I picked out a couple pairs of trousers, a dark brown coat, a half-dozen shirts in assorted colors, a pair of good-looking black boots, and a black Stetson with a low crown and a flat brim. I also bought a gun.

  I’d been carrying my bankroll in my hip pocket when the Pawnees attacked the wagon train, so I was well-heeled and I paid cash for my purchases and headed for the door.

  I was about halfway across the room when I saw a hat. It was a little bit of a thing, all blue ribbons and white lace. I bought it for Laurie. I bought her a dress, too, even though I knew it wasn’t considered proper for a woman to accept such things from a man, not even when that man was about to become her husband.

  But, hell, she needed clothes just as much as I did. Maybe more, considering how important such things were to a woman. And with that in mind, I bought her two more dresses for everyday, and a soft blue gown for Sunday. I also bought her a shawl, a nightgown, a fancy petticoat, and another hat.

  An hour later, clad in my new duds, and with my arms filled with packages, I headed for Ida’s place. Laurie met me at the door, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “John, you look splendid!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. “I had no idea you were such a handsome man.”

  A slight frown dimmed her pleasure when I divested myself of the parcels and she saw the gunbelt strapped around my waist, and the new Colt .44 jutting from the holster.

  “Really, John,” she chided gently. “I don’t think you’ll need that here in town.”

  “Maybe not, but I feel plump naked without it.”

  “Please, John...”

  “Listen, Laurie,” I interrupted. “Every man worthy of the name packs a gun, even here, in Beaver City.”

  Before she could argue further, I handed her four packages from the pile at my feet. “These are for you,” I said casually.

  She had beautiful eyes, Laurie did, and they lit up like a Fourth of July skyrocket when she opened the bundles.

  “Oh, John, they’re lovely. Everything’s lovely. And this hat! Why, it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. But I can’t accept them. What would my aunt say?”

  “She seems like a sensible sort,” I replied matter-of-factly. “I would imagine she’d be glad to see you wearing something other than that doeskin dress. Why don’t you t
ry one of these on?”

  The dresses fit Laurie like they’d been made for her, and the blue hat, foolish as it was, looked perfect atop her golden curls.

  Ida Mapes never said a word, except to compliment Laurie on how nice she looked. Like I said, she was a sensible sort.

  I left the house later that same afternoon. There was the smell of more snow in the air and even as I stepped out into the street, the first snowflakes began to fall, white-washing everything in sight in a matter of minutes.

  I took shelter in the Beaver City Ale House, and after buying a bottle of bourbon, I took a seat at a rear table and poured myself a healthy slug of whiskey. I sat there for an hour, drinking steadily, but I might as well have been drinking water for all the effect it had.

  I got back to Ida’s boarding house just in time for dinner.

  Besides Ida, Laurie and myself, there were five boarders at the table: a salesman in a natty gray suit, an old maid schoolteacher clad in a severe black dress that draped every inch of her wrinkled flesh from neck to ankles, a seamstress attired in a smart yellow frock, and two middle-aged men in dark suits who worked at the Beaver City Bank.

  They all looked at me curiously as I took a seat between Laurie and her aunt, and I could see them wondering if they were mistaken, or if I was really an Indian.

  Ida Mapes introduced Laurie and I to her boarders, and then served dinner. Ida was a good cook, and she served up a hearty meal and plenty of small talk along with it, giving her boarders no opportunity to question me about my background or anything else.

  I left the table as soon as the meal was over, escaping to the front porch for a cigarette.

  Inside, I could hear the drummer grilling Ida, demanding to know who I was and where I hailed from. And, just as clearly, I could hear that good woman explain that I had saved her niece’s life and that I was welcome in her home for that reason if for no other.

  I was rolling a second smoke when a man pushed his way through the front gate. The silver star pinned to his coat gleamed in the moonlight.

  “McKenna?” he asked brusquely.

  “News travels fast in this town,” I remarked