Chance stood nearby, watching. Listening to the high-pitched keening that rose in the air as the women voiced their grief at the loss of their friend.
He watched Winter Rain climb down from the scaffold, listened as she added her voice to the others. There were dark shadows under her eyes, fresh cuts on her forearms where she had expressed her grief.
While he watched, she cut off a lock of her hair and tied it to the burial scaffold, thereby leaving a part of herself behind. That one small act touched his heart as nothing else had.
Gradually, the others returned to the camp, until only Chance and Winter Rain remained.
Chance frowned thoughtfully as he looked at the blanket-wrapped body. Some believed that somewhere on the journey to the After Life the spirit of the deceased had to pass by a woman whose name was Hihankara, the Owl Maker. It was Hihankara’s job to examine each spirit for the proper tattoo marks that were to be found on the chin or the wrist or the forehead. If these marks were not found, the spirit would not be allowed into the After World. Instead, they were pushed off the Hanging Road and returned to earth where their spirits would wander for eternity. If a spirit made it past Hihankara, it was then judged by Tate, the Wind before being judged by Skan, who ruled the sky.
Moving up beside Winter Rain, Chance took her hand in his. She looked at him through red-rimmed eyes and then she rested her head against his shoulder. With a sigh, he took her in his arms and held her close.
“You won’t leave me, too, will you?” she asked in a small voice.
He hesitated only a moment before he answered, “No, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next few days passed quietly. Winter Rain continued to mourn for her mother. Chance knew she also grieved for her friends, especially Dawn Song and Strong Elk, even though she continued to hope they might be alive. There was, of course, always a chance, however slight, that they had survived the attack, that they might come riding into camp the way Pony Boy had. When Chance questioned him, Pony Boy said he had seen Strong Elk wounded in the battle and then had lost track of him. Chance figured Strong Elk was probably dead, but he kept his thoughts to himself. There was always a chance Strong Elk and Dawn Song and some of the others had survived but were unable to make it to the Hills.
Chance left Rain alone when he thought she wanted solitude and tried to be there when she seemed to need comforting. Corn Woman had taken Winter Rain into her hut so that she had another woman for company; Chance had moved in with Kills-Like-a-Hawk.
Chance spent his days hunting or sitting at Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s side, encouraging his cousin to eat, telling Hawk that, as shaman, the people needed him now more than ever.
There were eleven men in the camp, fifteen women, and twenty-two children, all looking to Kills-Like-a-Hawk for guidance now that their chief was dead.
Four days after Chance had arrived in the Hills, he helped Kills-Like-a-Hawk outside for the first time. Hawk looked gaunt and pale, his eyes sunken and filled with grief, but Chance knew his cousin had turned his back on death.
And life went on. One of the women whose husband had been killed by the Crow delivered a healthy baby boy and Kills-Like-a-Hawk decreed that they hold a feast in honor of a new life, a new warrior.
Hunting was good in the Hills. Chance killed a deer and asked Winter Rain to make him a new clout and a pair of leggings from the skin, not only because he needed them but because he thought it might take her mind off her loss.
Pony Boy and Running Hawk killed a buffalo and the camp feasted on fresh tongue and hump and ribs.
Two days later, three Lakota warriors arrived in the camp, along with their wives and children. The next day, another warrior arrived, and Chance began to hope that their losses were not as severe as he had first thought and that more of the People had survived, that they were holed up somewhere waiting for their injuries to heal.
Now it was after midnight. The campfires were out, the People had gone to bed. Unable to sleep, Chance wandered down to the river. Standing at the river’s edge, be stared across the slow-moving ribbon of black water. A faint wind stirred the leaves of the pines. The horses were a dark shifting shadow where they grazed a short distance away.
The faint rustle of a leaf drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see Kills-Like-a-Hawk slowly making his way toward him. His cousin leaned heavily on a rough-hewn crutch Chance had fashioned for him earlier that day.
“Hetayetu waste, tahunsa,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk said. Good evening, cousin.
“Hetayetu,” Chance replied, then gestured at the crutch. “That working all right for you?”
Kills-Like-a-Hawk nodded. “Pilamaya.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of the evening, before his cousin spoke again.
“Something troubles you,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact.
Chance grunted softly.
Kills-Like-a-Hawk hobbled over to a fallen log and eased himself onto it. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
Chance sat down beside his cousin. “Is it too late for me to seek a vision?” He grinned at the look of astonishment that spread over Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s face. It wasn’t often that he took his cousin by surprise.
“It is never too late, if it is what one truly desires. I will arrange it, if that is your wish.”
“It is.”
Kills-Like-a-Hawk nodded. “That is not all that troubles you.”
“No,” Chance admitted, “it’s not.”
“It is Winter Rain who keeps you from your bed.”
Now it was Chance’s turn to look astonished.
Kills-Like-a-Hawk laughed softly. “One does not have to be a shaman to see the way you look at her, or the way she looks at you. The air between you is hot with need. So, what is it about her that troubles you?”
“Many things,” Chance said. “You know that her wasichu parents sent me here to find her and bring her home.”
Kills-Like-a-Hawk nodded. “You remember what I told you before?”
“Yeah. You said I couldn’t take her unless she wanted to go.”
“That has not changed. She is one of us. If you take her against her will, you will be as our enemy.”
“I understand.”
“Has she refused to go with you?”
“I have not asked her since we came here.”
Kills-Like-a-Hawk used his crutch to gain his feet. “Give her time,” he advised.
“Time,” Chance repeated as he watched his cousin make his way up the path to the camp. It was the one thing he couldn’t spare. He stood up and began to pace as an idea popped into his mind. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded.
Whistling softly, he hurried after Kills-Like-a-Hawk.
* * * * *
“Leaving?” Winter Rain stared up at Wolf Shadow. “Where are you going?”
“I have some business to take care of.” He tightened the cinch, picked up the reins.
Her thoughts in turmoil, Winter Rain glanced around the camp. How could Corn Woman and the other women be going about their duties as if this was just another day? Kills-Like-a-Hawk was sitting in the shade, smoking his pipe as if nothing had changed.
She looked back at Wolf Shadow. “Are you…” She bit down on her lower lip, stifling the sudden urge to cry. “Are you coming back?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Wolf Shadow’s lips as he swung into the saddle. “I’ve got ten thousand good reasons to come back,” he said enigmatically, his smile widening.
She stared after him as he rode out of sight. Only the night before, he had promised never to leave her, and now he was gone. She had known him only a short time. In spite of the kisses they had shared, she wasn’t even sure how she felt about him.
Business, he had said. What kind of business? It suddenly occurred to her that she knew very little about Wolf Shadow. All she really knew was that he had come here to ta
ke her back to her wasichu parents.
Questions floated through her mind. Where did he live when he wasn’t living with the People? Did he have a wasichu wife waiting for him at home? Children? How had he met her wasichu parents?
Turning away from the activity in the camp, she walked down to the river, surprised at how empty she felt inside now that Wolf Shadow was gone. How had be become so important to her so fast? From the first day she had seen him, he had never been far from her thoughts. His kisses had made her feel things she had never felt before, made her want things she didn’t fully understand. He had rescued her from the Crow, comforted her when her mother died…sadness tugged at her heart.
Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance were dead. Wolf Shadow was gone, and she was alone, truly alone, for the first time in her life. She had no husband or father to hunt for her, no one to protect her. It was a sobering, frightening thought. What if Wolf Shadow never returned? Had she made a mistake in refusing to go with him? Would it have been so bad to meet her wasichu parents?
Sitting down on the bank, she tried again to remember her childhood in the wasichu world. Had it been so awful she had blocked it from her mind? Or had she blocked it because it made it easier to adjust to her new life with the Lakota? If her wasichu parents had been looking for her all these years, they must have loved her, cared for her.
She had a sudden memory of her wasichu mother holding her, singing to her. “Mama…”
The word, so long unsaid, whispered past her lips and brought tears to her eyes. Had she made a mistake? But no, Wolf Shadow said he was coming back. He would take her home. Home. The image of a canopied bed jumped to the forefront of her mind. There was a pretty pink and white quilt on the bed, fluffy pillows, a doll with long, golden curls.
She remembered then, remembered all of it, the big house on the hill, the wrought iron fence, her dog, Heidi, and her pretty little pony, Snowflake. She remembered thinking her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and wanting to marry her handsome daddy when she grew up. She remembered Mrs. Squires, the housekeeper, and Mrs. Rochefort, the plump French cook who had baked her cookies shaped like trees and stars at Christmastime. Mrs. Rochefort had taught her to make gingerbread men and had, on more than one occasion, snuck her treats before dinner. And there was Hart, the butler. And Marie Vachon, the pretty little French maid. She remembered catching Marie kissing Hans, the stable boy, in the barn one morning.
And her name was Teressa. Teressa Bryant. She murmured the name aloud as she recalled her excitement when Daddy said he was taking a business trip and that she and Mama could go with him. They had ridden on a stagecoach, and then a train. They had spent a month in a hotel in New York City. Her mother had taken her sight-seeing while her father took care of his business, whatever that might have been. At night, they had gone out to dinner in fancy restaurants. People had fussed over her wherever they went, complimenting her mother and father on having such a well-mannered little girl. She had basked in the attention. She had loved New York City, loved shopping in all the stores, loved the presents her father had bought her: a beautiful porcelain doll imported from France, complete with a crib and several changes of clothing, a doll house filled with cunningly made furniture, a hoop-stick.
She remembered taking the train again, and then the stage, remembered her excitement at seeing the Indians riding toward them, excitement that had soon turned to fear and then horror as the coach turned over.
Iron Arrow had grabbed her from her mother’s arms and given her to Eagle Lance. And Eagle Lance had taken her home to Mountain Sage. She remembered it all now. She had been afraid at first, but not for very long. Mountain Sage had looked ill when Teressa first saw her. She had been scarecrow thin, her cheeks hollow, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. Young as she was, Teressa had known somehow that it was her presence that had given Mountain Sage a reason to live and taken the sorrow from her eyes. The Indian couple had treated her kindly, giving her time to get used to living with them and with the Lakota.
Believing her natural parents dead, feeling guilty because of the love she felt for Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, Teressa had blocked the memory of her parents and her other life from her mind.
A touch on her shoulder jerked her from the past. “You!” she exclaimed with a smile. “You startled me.”
The filly tossed her head, then nuzzled Winter Rain’s shoulder again.
Rising, Winter Rain stroked the filly’s neck, then glanced at the trail leading away from the hollow.
“Do you think he’ll really come back?” she wondered aloud. “And what will I do if he doesn’t?”
Chance knew a moment of regret as he left the Lakota camp behind, but time was running out. His debt at the bank had to be paid before the end of the month or he would lose the ranch. In the meantime, the Lakota would spend the rest of the year in the Black Hills. Kills-Like-a-Hawk and Corn Woman would look after Winter Rain until he returned.
With an effort, he thrust everything from his mind but the peaceful beauty of the Hills. People lived and died, times changed, but the Paha Sapa, heart and soul of the Lakota Nation, remained forever the same. The Hills and the grasslands below housed a wealth of wildlife. Buffalo, deer, elk, wolves and coyotes, porcupines and beavers, ducks and magpies, hawks and badgers and skunks, all contributed something to the People, whether it was meat or hides or feathers. Fish and turtles were plentiful in the rivers.
Hunting was a serious and sacred business. The Lakota revered all living things; the animals were their brothers. They took no joy in killing. For them, hunting was a necessity, not a sport. Religious rites, including the smoking of a pipe, were held before going hunting. When an animal was killed, the hunter said a prayer, thanking the animal for sacrificing its life. Later, when the meat was eaten, small pieces were set aside, to be offered to the spirit, often accompanied by the words, “Acknowledge this so that I may become the owner of something good.”
Hunters sometimes sought a vision before undertaking a hunt, or asked for help from the tribal shaman.
Glancing up, Chance watched a spotted eagle soar high overhead, its powerful wings spread wide as it drifted effortlessly on the air currents. The sight filled Chance’s soul with a sense of peace, even though there could be no true peace for him so long as Jack Finch drew breath.
He shook the thought from his mind.
He would take care of his business with the bank and then he would return to his people, and to Winter Rain. He would seek a vision and hope that the Great Spirit would help him find that which he had sought for so long.
* * * * *
In the next few days, Winter Rain came to realize just how much she had come to care about and rely on Wolf Shadow. She thought of him constantly, reliving every moment they had spent together. She had been happy living with the Lakota, had never realized what was missing from her life, from her relationship with Strong Elk, until Wolf Shadow’s arrival. His presence had added a sense of anticipation to her life, a joy, an excitement, that had been absent before. Strong Elk had been a good man and she had been fond of him, but she had never cared for him the way she cared for Wolf Shadow. Was it possible she loved him? How was she to know? She had never been in love before, but surely it was love that made her yearn for Wolf Shadow’s return, that made her long for the sound of his voice, ache for the touch of his hand.
She missed him desperately. As she went about her chores each day, she frequently found herself looking toward the trail, hoping for some sign of his return. Often, at night, huddled in her bed, she wept bitter tears—tears of grief for the loss of Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, tears of loneliness and regret. Sometimes she went out to the horse herd to see the filly. Being with the horse made her feel closer to Wolf Shadow.
Corn Woman did her best to cheer her up, even though Corn Woman was grieving for her husband, who had been killed in the attack by the Crow. Yellow Fawn and Leaf, both mourning for members of their own families, also tried to distract Winte
r Rain. The three women, far older and wiser than Winter Rain, were accustomed to hardship and grief. As bitter as it was to bear, death was a part of life. They assured her that the pain would grow less each day. Winter Rain was grateful for their company and their advice but, deep inside, she didn’t think the hurt would ever go away. Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance were dead, and a part of her had died with them.
Chapter Sixteen
Chance rode into Buffalo Springs just after noon. People stopped to stare at him as he made his way down Main Street. He guessed he couldn’t blame them. Dressed as he was in a buckskin shirt, clout, and moccasins, even people who knew him stopped to look twice.
He nodded at Maisy Holbrook, who was sweeping the boardwalk in front of the bakery she ran with the help of her daughter, Alison. Old man Rumsfield was sitting in his usual place outside the barber shop, his head bent over a piece of whittling. He looked up, his eyebrows rising in surprise, when he saw Chance ride by. The Wilsons’ ten-year-old twins, Hester and Lester grinned as they waved at him, then put their heads together, undoubtedly plotting mischief of some kind.
Chance reined his horse to a stop in front of the Buffalo Springs Hotel, which was where he normally stayed when he was in town. Dismounting, he dropped the reins over the hitch rack, pulled his rifle from the saddle boot, and climbed the stairs to the boardwalk.
Lyle Hunsacker, the hotel clerk, lifted a questioning brow as Chance approached the desk.
“I need a room,” Chance said, “and a bath, right away.”
“Yes,” Hunsacker drawled, “I can see that.”
“I’d be obliged if you’d send Billy over to Womack’s and get me a change of clothes.”
Hunsacker nodded. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a mop of curly red hair and a pencil thin moustache. Chance played poker with him from time to time.
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