by Sharon Ihle
Gall broke into a grin and slowly shook his head. "I fear I am growing old when I cannot deal firmly with a silly white woman. I fear also that I did not wish my son nearly enough luck for his future with you. He has chosen your name well, crazy one."
Dominique let his last remark slide, knowing she would have to figure out what to do about this "marriage" before Jacob returned. Instead, she addressed the business at hand. "Then you agree? Spotted Feather is mine to punish?"
"Against all the Lakota stand for, yes. I give her to you to do with as you please. But understand this—I will not hear any of your complaints regarding her again."
"It's a deal." Dominique stuck out her hand, but the big Indian merely cocked his eyebrow. She withdrew the offer, then leaned over and kissed his cheek instead. "May I go talk to her now and bring her back to camp?"
The naturally reddish hue of Gall's skin deepened to a rosy burgundy as he gruffly said, "Yes. Begone now, and do not speak to me of this again."
"Thanks, Chief," she said as she whirled around, feeling curiously lighthearted and happy.
Dominique hurried to the edge of camp, but as she approached the trees, she slowed her pace and quietly approached the dejected woman. Spotted Feather's legs were drawn up close to her chest, and her face was pressed between her knees.
Slowly sinking to the earth beside her, Dominique quietly said, "I think the clouds have finally rained themselves out, don't you?"
The Indian turned her head slightly. One large black eye stared at her visitor, widening with surprise, then she buried her face again.
"Ahhh." Dominique breathed a sigh. "Would you look at that sunset filtering through the storm clouds? Funny," she went on, talking as if she spoke to a rapt audience. "When I lived in Monroe, I hardly ever noticed the sunsets. Watching the sun come up over the water is the thing to do where I come from. Now it seems the farther west I get, the more dramatic and beautiful sunsets seem to be. I wonder what it must be like to watch the setting sun from the California coast. Why, it must be absolutely spectacular to see a fireball of sunlight dipping below the ocean waves, crashing and—"
"What do you want?" Spotted Feather cut in, her voice a dull, flat monotone.
Acknowledged at last, Dominique came right out with it. "Do you love Jacob? Is that why you tried to kill me?"
Her dark eyes suspicious and mistrustful, the Indian raised her head and stared at her enemy. Then, with a tiny shrug, she shot a wad of spittle near her foot and stared back down at the ground.
Dominique bristled. "You mean to tell me you shoved me in that river and damn near drowned me on the chance, the meager chance, that you might be in love with Jacob?"
Spotted Feather raised her head again, but kept her suddenly fearful gaze on the cottonwood trees. "No, no. I did it because I do love him."
"Well, I love him, too," Dominique said softly, surprising herself with the admission.
Anger and hurt flared in the Indian's black eyes. She raised her proud chin and said, "How you feel does not matter to me."
Dominique shrugged. "I can understand that. I'm not too crazy about you either. But what about Jacob? Doesn't the way he feels count for anything?"
Spotted Feather shot her a sideways glance, then bit her lip. "I do not know how he feels," she finally said in a low whisper. "We have never spoken of such things."
Her voice as low, but misted with tenderness, Dominique admitted, "I know how he feels. Jacob has told me he loves me."
The Indian's head whipped around, and tears sprang into her midnight eyes. She stared at Dominique for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her mouth, then looked away. "Redfoot is Lakota," she choked out. "He needs a Lakota wife. You cannot make him happy the way I could."
"Jacob is also a white man. I admit that I don't know much about making any man happy, but maybe neither of us can meet all of the needs of a man like Jacob."
More dejected than ever, Spotted Feather stared down at her thumbs. Then her eyes brightened as a new solution occurred to her. "Perhaps the only way for him to be happy is to take two brides. One red and one white."
"Ah—no, dear. I don't think so." Dominique reached out to the Indian and rested her hand on her knee. "As long as there is still some craziness left in me, and since I seem to be married to Jacob, I'm the only wife he's going to have. I wouldn't wager your moccasins on things being any other way."
Spotted Feather frowned, then looked away and sighed. "It does not matter anyway. I am banished and cannot live with my people any longer."
Dominique swallowed hard, knowing the next thing she said might open the doors to more danger for herself, knowing also that if she didn't do so, she could never live with the guilt of Spotted Feather's death. "Your banishment is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I have spoken to Chief Gall, and he has given me permission to bring you back into the camp."
Spotted Feather jerked her knee from under Dominique's hand, and moved away. "You lie, white dog. Father will never let me return to our people. Why do you lie so?"
"Listen, lady," Dominique said, the embers of her own temper sparking, "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling me all those dog names—in fact, I must insist that you stop. The chief pretty much said that I could do with you as I pleased. Your punishment is up to me."
"This is true?" the surprised woman said through a rush of breath. At Dominique's affirmative nod, the squaw's voice took on a note of disbelief. "And my punishment? What is my punishment to be?"
"I really haven't thought about that." She leveled a thoughtful gaze on the Indian and said, "I think I'll just sentence you to being nice to me for as long as I'm part of this camp. No more names, no more laughing and saying nasty things about me, and most definitely, no more making me tan hides and fetch water. Sound fair?"
Spotted Feather's mouth dropped open and again her incredulous eyes became moist with tears. She turned away from the white woman, at a loss for words, unwilling to let Dominique see the weakness controlling her.
Dominique reached over and squeezed her trembling hand. "I'll take that as a yes." When the Indian's trembling increased, and the beads decorating her buckskins began to clatter, Dominique inched closer and put her arm around the other woman's shoulders. "You must be cold. Come on, let's go back to camp and stand near the fire with the others." When she tried to coax Spotted Feather to her feet, the Indian balked.
"No, wait," she said in a voice strangled with unshed tears. "Please tell me why. Why do you do this for me? I am your enemy."
"Enemy? I see no enemy here. We are two women who love the same man, and I think we both want him to be happy. How can we possibly be enemies?"
"I do not know," Spotted Feather said with a nervous chuckle.
"Nether do I. Come on, now," she said, pushing up to her feet, then pulling the Indian up along with her. "Let's go eat. I'm starved."
When they reached the campfire, Dominique stood back and allowed Spotted Feather to inform her friends of her restored status and of the curious circumstances that had led her back to them. After much laughing and hugging, the women turned to Dominique and encouraged her to sit in a place of honor. Then Spotted Feather went to the cooking pouch and filled a bowl with the evening's meal.
"You shall have your food before the others," she said as she handed the bowl to her newfound ally. "Please fill your belly."
Wishing she could have watched the other women eat first to make certain none died from the new offering, Dominique graciously accepted. She peered into the bowl, noticing the greasy slick covering the broth, then popped a chunk of meat into her mouth. Although it was terribly fatty, a deliciously familiar flavor tantalized her taste buds. "Ummmm, it's been ages since I've had pork. Where on earth did you find a pig? Do they run wild out here?"
"A pig? We have no pigs. You eat beaver tail."
"Beaver tail?" Dominique peered into the bowl and muttered, "Beaver tail, huh? Pass the bearnaise sauce, if you please." Still staring down at her dinne
r, she went on. "Maybe you'd better pass the wine sauce, too. Actually, if you can find some, I'd appreciate it if you'd just pass the wine."
The following morning Spotted Feather appeared at the entrance of Jacob's tipi. "Have you risen, Redfoot's woman? I bring some food."
Dominique crawled to the flap and pulled it aside. Cracking a bleary eye, she peered up at the Indian. "Oh, ah, thanks, but if you don't mind, I thought I'd sleep in today. I had a tough time of it yesterday. I could use the rest."
Although she still had to force a smile for the white women, the Indian managed a pleasant expression and a halfhearted apology. "Oh, I am sorry."
Spotted Feather stood on one foot, then the other, looking as if she couldn't quite decide what to do. Dominique pushed out a sigh, wondering exactly what she had created, then pulled into a crouch, and stepped outside. Yawning as she stretched, she said, "What a beautiful day. I suppose now's as good a time as any to get up." She peered into the bowl the Indian offered, wondering if the meal had been ladled from the community pot, or if the squaw had prepared something special just for her.
Dominique wrinkled her nose. "What do we have for breakfast this morning? Badger toenails?"
The Indian grimaced. "We do not eat badger. They are evil. I have brought you soup."
Her stomach still slick with a lining of grease from last evening's meal, Dominique didn't have to lie when she said, "Well, whatever it is, thanks, but I'm not hungry this morning. I think—"
Her words were cut short by the crack of rifle fire.
To a person, every man, woman, and child in the Hunkpapa village froze.
When three more shots were fired, the village exploded in pandemonium.
Chapter Sixteen
Watching with disbelieving eyes, Jacob watched Custer and his brother Tom fire another shot above the head of their younger sibling, Boston. Hooting and hollering, the Custer boys fired off another round, then collapsed in hysterics behind the hill with the other men in their group.
Jacob inched forward and peered through the tall grass. Boston Custer was riding his horse full out across the plains. He was obviously terrified, unable to find the rest of the scouting party, and most probably sure the entire Sioux nation was right on his heels.
Jacob looked back at the general and said, "Your brother runs like the wind. Perhaps someone should stop him and tell him about the joke you've played."
"Don't worry about it, Private. Teasing Bos is our favorite amusement.'' But he looked over to his other brother and said, "Better ride on out and get him before one of those imaginary Indians does."
"Now?" Tom complained. "I was kinda looking forward to forming a search party when he couldn't find his way back."
"Now," Custer reiterated. "We've a lot more country to explore today." He glanced at Jacob again, and said, "Don't look so worried, Private. Sometimes we all need a little lesson. Believe me, Boston will think twice before turning his back on us in terrain like this again. Besides, he's used to our little jokes. Why don't you relax? You'll need your strength later on. The ride we're facing from here on out will put us in land never stepped upon by white men. It could prove to be quite rough." Then he spun on his heel and strode down the hill among the rest of his men.
Jacob spit at the ground, then looked back through the grass at the profusion of small buttes—little mountains among which a man could easily be lost for the rest of his life. For that reason, the Hunkpapa had chosen this area for their temporary home. The scouting party was very close to that site. Had the Custer brothers' foolishness actually alerted the Lakota to their presence, or would this small group of soldiers stumble over them by surprise? In Jacob's lowly position among the whites, he could only hope his people had heard the shots and taken the necessary precautions.
Jacob cursed the general and the orders that kept him close by his side. It was increasingly difficult to break away, to report to Gall and inform him of the soldiers' plans. Custer liked to join the scouting expeditions himself, and he led his men with an arrogance suggesting there wasn't another who could do the job as well.
Again Jacob spit into the grass. He would have to get away soon. News had reached him of yet another column of soldiers coming in from the north. If what Jacob heard was correct, these troops would soon come across the main Lakota and Cheyenne camps hidden in the Tongue River valley.
Jacob took a deep breath and decided to follow his commander's orders. He lay back against the sweet spring grass and closed his eyes. Then he thought of Dominique and the way she'd looked the last time he saw her. Her beautiful brown eyes were flowing with tears as she cried and begged him to take her away with him. She was utterly helpless, vulnerable, and terrified. All that and more. His heart lurched, then left a terrible ache in his chest when he thought of the misery and terror she must be enduring.
All because of him. Someday, he vowed, if there was any way possible, he would make it all up to her.
For now, Jacob thought with a heavy sigh, he could only pray that she would somehow be able to endure her ordeal.
Several hours later, and many miles farther to the west, Jacob's woman hummed as the final rawhide thongs secured her lodge for the night.
"Put it over there," Dominique said, pointing to a spot near Jacob's tipi.
The young girl dropped a fresh supply of buffalo chips into the parfleche, then turned expectantly and waited for her next order.
"Thanks, Yellow Flower. Now would you please bring Spotted Feather to me?"
Bowing, practically kissing the white woman's feet, the youngster scrambled off on her new errand. Dominique stood back and surveyed the new camping spot. After the shots were fired in the morning, the village had been dismantled immediately. Before Dominique could even ask where they were going or who had been shooting at them, Spotted Feather appeared with Peaches and urged her to mount up. She was not asked to carry anything or even to pack up her meager belongings.
Now that they were settling in for the night, the first tipis erected had been the warriors' lodge followed by the one she shared with Jacob. Dominique had nothing to do now but wait for the remaining tipis to be raised and supper to be cooked. She took a deep breath and exhaled, thinking how different her life had become in just one day. Then she saw Spotted Feather sprinting toward her.
Out of breath, the Indian gasped, "Yes? What is it you wish now, crazy one— Oh. I am sorry."
"That's all right. Crazy one is a name I'm used to, thanks to Jacob. I didn't mean to interrupt your chores, but I wonder if you could help me out. I'm bored."
"Bored?" Spotted Feather cocked her head. "Sick?"
"Only in the head." She laughed. "I just want something to do that won't scare the hell out of me or turn me into an old woman. What can I do to help out?"
"Work? But you should rest. The chief tells us you are recovering from the attack of a great bear. He has ordered that you rest and become well."
"I am well," Dominique insisted. "The wound doesn't bother me near as much as the boredom does. Now, please, there must be something I can do beside tan hides. I can't stand sitting around doing nothing."
Spotted Feather wrinkled her brow, but glanced around the village. Then she looked back at Jacob's tipi, to the very lodge she'd hoped to decorate herself one day, and sighed. "If you like to paint, you might as well work on your husband's lodge."
Dominique glanced at Jacob's tipi, then around at the others. Of those that were completely erected, most were covered with hunting and war scenes, painted either as stick figures or in crude, childlike terms. Jacob's tipi was unadorned. "What do the pictures mean?" she asked, suddenly intrigued.
"Some tell of a warrior's coups, others, of his great hunts or years of prosperity. All reflect the warrior's life."
Dominique pressed her fingertip to her mouth and swayed as she considered the possibilities. "Are these paintings a means of identification?"
"I do not know what is identification."
"The paintings—do the
y tell us the name of the warrior who lives in the tipi?"
Spotted Feather shrugged. "I suppose it is so."
Dominique's grin was huge as she studied the large buffalo-skin canvas before her. Although she was none too proud of her scholastic records during her years at boarding school, she'd always enjoyed and excelled in art classes. Maybe there was a way to use this talent to please her man after all.
She turned back to Spotted Feather, the natural light in her eyes bright with excitement. "Tell me about the paints and the brushes. Where do I get them?"
Grumbling to herself, Spotted Feather disappeared for a moment, then returned with the equipment. "This brush is made from a piece of buffalo shoulderblade," she explained as she passed the tool to Dominique. "For smaller things, you can make many little brushes from this porcupine tail."
