by Sharon Ihle
"It is more than difficult," he whispered, his throat tight. Jacob slid his big hand behind her neck and crushed her to his chest. Again kissing the top of her head, he said against her hair, "It is impossible."
Jacob's heartbeat accelerated, thundered against her ear. A sudden rush of tears swamped Dominique's eyes, but she squeezed them back, choked on them, and swallowed. After a deep breath, she managed to say, "Tell me about the Black Hills, Jacob. Are they as beautiful as I've heard, and are they really blue?"
Jacob waited a long moment, grateful for the change of subject, then said, "Often, on hazy mornings in particular, they appear to be one with the sky." The ache in Jacob's chest gradually eased as he thought of the land in which he'd spent so many summers. "And they are truly the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen. Running all through the thick forest are creeks so thick with fish a man need only reach into the water to catch them. There is so much game that even the poorest hunter need never go hungry."
Again Dominique lifted her head and stared up at Jacob. The pain was gone from his eyes, and a lazy contentment seemed to glaze them, a look quite close to what she'd often seen after they made love. Dominique smiled up at her husband. "It sounds as if you love those mountains as much as you love me."
The statement pulled a short laugh from him. Jacob rumpled her hair, murmuring, "I could never love anyone or anything as much as I love you, but yes, wi witko, I do love the Black Hills. All Lakota do. That love for the land is one of the things that has brought us here to this place."
"Are you talking about the treaty?"
"That, and the lies. Red Cloud and those who joined him were guaranteed control of their land and promised that no one, not even the government, would pass through the boundaries of what they called the Great Sioux Reservation without permission of the Lakota."
"And someone did?"
"Oh, wi witko," he sighed, cupping her face. "Come up here to me."
Still lying next to her husband's body, Dominique rolled onto his chest, then lowered her lips to his for a brief tender kiss. "What is it, Jacob? Don't you know you can tell me anything?"
"I don't want to see you hurt any more than you have to be."
"I need to understand what is going on here. I think I've earned the right to hear it all."
After a slow resigned nod, Jacob fit his mouth to hers again, then said, "Against all that is fair, all that is right, your uncle violated the promise of the United States government and brought his troops into the Black Hills two winters ago."
"Uncle Armstrong?" she said. "Oh, Jacob, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't have." But Dominique cut off her own words as she thought back to evenings around the fireplace in the Custer home. She really didn't know what the general was capable of, didn't have much more than a passing acquaintance with the uncle who'd rarely been part of her life. Fourteen years her senior, he was off to West Point, then engaged in the service of the United States Army by the time she was old enough to recognize him. What she knew of George Armstrong Custer she had learned from adoring family members and hero-worshiping neighbors. Hardly an unbiased panel.
Jacob gave her time to digest his words, to consider them, then said, "The fact is that he did violate the treaty, wi witko. He and his army boldly marched into our land, slaughtered our game, and even shot at those of us who dared protest his presence. When he left, after he'd had his fill of wild cherries and strawberries, he returned to his government carrying tales of gold. It didn't take long for the whites, soldier and civilian alike, to come to the Black Hills and begin taking from the Lakota what was rightfully theirs."
"Oh, Jacob," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for. Even an apology from your uncle would serve no purpose now. We have lost the Black Hills to seekers of gold and greedy government agents. We will not lose our dignity as well."
She didn't have to ask Jacob what he meant by that. Dominique already knew that, to a man, the Lakota would hold their ground, fight to the death if necessary to prevent their families from being dragged off to some new land the whites would designate as their reservation. But she had to make an attempt to change his mind. "Why don't your people give surrender a try? Maybe the new reservation wouldn't be so bad."
"You forget," he said, grumbling. "Red Cloud and his people did give it a try before the Black Hills were taken from us. The government expects our warriors to become farmers. What do we know about farming? What do we care about farming? The Lakota are hunters and wanderers. We do not stay in one place too long."
Dominique nestled her head against his shoulder and neck, and sighed. "There has to be a solution to suit everyone somewhere."
"I have spent many days and nights looking for this solution, but it doesn't seem to be there. You have lived with my people long enough to know them, to understand many of their ways. How well do you think they would do on a reservation?"
Again she sighed, then shrugged.
"On a reservation our warriors would turn into old men, grow weak and fat. They are not farmers, will never be farmers."
"I don't know what to say."
But Jacob did. "What about the children?" he went on.
"My father tells me you have spent much time with the children. How will they ever learn our ways if they are trapped on government land?"
"I guess they probably won't," she said as the full impact hit her. "I suppose after a generation or two, their heritage and way of life will be lost forever."
"Then you finally understand."
Angry tears stung her eyes, and again Dominique had to fight to keep them in. She understood only too well. But did he? Did Jacob understand that more than the Lakota way of life was at stake? Did he realize that both her husband and a large chunk of her family might very well be taken from her before this senseless hostility between the Indians and the soldiers ended?
Unaware of her turmoil, Jacob stroked her hair as he thought back to some of the things Chief Gall had told him. "My father says you spend many hours drawing in the dirt with the children. What do you show them?"
Pushing her dark thoughts to the back of her mind, she said, "How to draw more precise pictures, like the eagle I painted on your tipi. They are very bright and eager to learn." Lifting her head and looking into Jacob's eyes, she added, "I've also begun teaching them the alphabet. I could do the same for you, if you're interested."
Lost in her expressive brown eyes, touched by her offer, he raised his brows and whispered, "So you know."
"I figured it out after I found my note in your pocket. Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't read?"
Jacob shrugged. "I thought about it, but then I would have been forced to explain, to think of more lies. I have no stomach for lies."
"Hah," she exclaimed. "Then you must have an ulcer the size of Lake Erie."
He grinned and amended his statement. "I have no stomach for unnecessary lies. Tell me about this lake you speak of. Where is it?"
"Lake Erie? My home in Michigan is very near its shores."
Jacob's features softened, and his eyes grew narrow as he listened to her. "This home on the lake—do you miss it terribly?"
"Not as much as I used to," she admitted. Lowering her lashes, trying to hide a sudden surge of guilt, she added, "Since becoming your woman, not near as much as I should."
Jacob slid her chin into the V between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look into his eyes. "Have you grown unhappy as my woman? Do you wish for me to set you free?"
"Oh, no, Jacob." Her large eyes grew even bigger as she tried to explain. "If I have any wish at all, it is for your safety and the safety of my family. I do understand how you feel about your people, really I do, but I'm afraid you've forgotten about mine. What about my family and their way of life? Would you have your people shoot them without a thought for me?"
"I have not forgotten about you or your family." Jacob stroked her cheek as he slowly shook his head. "I do not wish to see you o
r even your fierce uncle the general hurt in any way, but it is not my people who chase him. He chases us."
"Oh, damn it all," she complained with a heavy sigh. "I know that. I just wish we could all be safe and happy, that we could all find a way to live together in peace."
"That is a very big wish, my crazy wife."
"I know," she whispered softly. "But I am asking that you do everything you can to make it come true."
Not one to make idle promises, Jacob gazed into her eyes for a very long moment before he finally said, "I will do all that I can, wi witko. If I have to go to your uncle on my knees, I will. I give you my word that I will do whatever is in my power to keep us all safe."
This time, when the tears erupted, Dominique's efforts to stop them were fruitless. She tried to turn away from him, but Jacob's grip on her chin tightened and he kept her face within inches of his.
“Why do you find it necessary to do this to me, crazy one? You know how it upsets me."
"I'm sorry," Dominique whispered. "But this time I can't help it. You've just made me the happiest woman in the world."
Jacob released her chin and began brushing the tears from her cheeks. "First you tell me I make you so happy you hurt inside, then I make you happy enough to cry. I fear that one day I might do something that will make you so happy you will drop over dead."
Dominique's sobs dissolved into laughter. She threw her arms around Jacob's neck and pressed her cheek to his. "I love you so much," she breathed into his ear. "No matter what happens, always remember that I love you."
"And I you, wi witko," he whispered back. "You will be with me in spirit wherever I go, whatever becomes of me.”
The urge to cry stronger than ever, Dominique abruptly sat up, straddling her husband's hips, and looked around. She blinked, pushing back the tears, wishing a simple blink of her eyes would make her problems disappear as easily, then continued to glance around the beautiful countryside.
The midday sun burned bright, kissing the lush greens of the long grass and low bushes. The scent of late spring and rebirth was all around them even as they spoke of death and the end of life as they both knew it. Dominique trained her vision to the west, staring out at the low grassy hills and benches, and thought of the valley two hundred feet below.
If she ignored that valley, the overwhelming size of the Indian villages, and their ominous threat, Dominique could almost believe that she and Jacob were the only two people on earth. She could forget their troubled future and concentrate only on the present. She had Jacob's promise, knew if there was any way to end this terrible conflict, he would find it. She could ask no more of him.
Her attention caught by the sounds of low, soft nickering, Dominique looked over at the horses. Sampi stood almost protectively at Peaches's side and nipped playfully at her withers. The mare's response was a high-pitched squeal—and a swaying movement that brought her flanks in contact with the stallion's.
Thinking back to the night Jacob had made her his— spoiled her, as he put it—Dominique realized her time for asking was at an end. It was her turn to give. "It seems, my wonderful husband," she said with a mischievous smile, "that our horses have a much better idea of what to do on this beautiful sunny day than we do."
His grin equally mischievous, Jacob said, "I have not run out of ideas where you are concerned, crazy one." Then he pushed up on his elbows, preparing to lift her off his hips, but Dominique pressed her hands against his chest and forced him back down in the grass.
"No," she ordered. "Save your energy for your long ride back to the cavalry in the morning." At his cocked eyebrow, she seductively said, "Since I'm already here, I'd like to practice a few of the things I've learned from riding Peaches. How would you like it if I spoiled you for a change?"
"Oh?" Jacob's eyebrow inched up another notch, but he turned his palms up in submission.
Using exaggerated movements, taking her time, Dominique stretched her arms high overhead and pulled off her buckskin dress. Slowly, almost imperceptibly grinding her hips against Jacob's as he lay expectantly on a bed of grass, she tugged at the satin ribbon on her camisole. Delighted to see her husband's deep blue eyes darken with desire, she ran her tongue across her upper lip as she removed the undergarment.
And then she sat there, acting for all the world as if she had no audience, and allowed her fingers to slide down her breasts and off the tips on a journey to the drawstring of her drawers. Squirming against him, she played with the bow, loosening it the barest inch at a time.
Jacob reached for her. "That's enough," he said gruffly.
Dominique slapped his hands away. "No, it's not. I'll let you know when it's enough."
"Maybe you will," he warned, pressing his hips against her bottom, "and then again, maybe you won't."
"Jacob," she countered as she rose and stepped across his body. "Get a hold of yourself. Let me have some fun."
"You can have all the fun you want, crazy one," he said as he watched her remove her drawers. "I do not know how long you'll have to enjoy it."
Stripped now, Dominique stepped back over Jacob's body. But instead of lying down with him, she stood above him, bracketing his hips with her long legs. She looked down at him, shocked by her own boldness, tremendously pleased by his reaction, and said, "Aren't you a little overdressed, husband dear?"
With a hoarse gasp and a low moan, Jacob fumbled around with suddenly inept fingers as he tore at the rawhide thong securing his breechclout. Unable to turn away from her even for an instant, he let his glassy-eyed gaze follow the curves of her cream-colored legs to her auburn forest, where it lingered, first seeking, then adoring her secrets. His breath coming in short puffs now, the words thick with passion, he managed to say, "If it is your wish to make me as crazy as you are, I think you should know it is working."
Increasingly self-conscious about her indecent posture, Dominique impatiently said, "Have you gone and tied the strings in a knot?"
When he didn't answer, but continued to stare up at her as he struggled with the garment, she slowly sank to her knees, hovering just above his upper thighs. "Here, let me do that."
"No," he muttered. "Stay back—this will keep us apart no longer." Then he reached for his hunting knife, slipping it from the sheath, and cut through the rawhide laces securing not only the breechclout but the holster as well.
"Oh, Jacob," She laughed as he tossed the ruined garment into the furrow. "How are you ever going to get back to the village?"
"I don't know, and I don't care," he said with a tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. "All I care about right now is you. Get down here and teach me this lesson you speak of."
Dominique grinned, inching her knees along the sweet grass, but stopped just short of touching him. "You're sure you're ready for lesson one?"
"You can see that I am, woman."
"All right," she said, her own breathing erratic. "First we'll start with the letter A. A is for Apache. An A is nothing more than a tipi with a lance drawn through the middle. Now, B is for buffalo—"
"Buffalo hides,” he threatened. "And if you don't tend to your husband and now woman, you'll be tanning them for the rest of your life."
Her laughter deep and throaty, Dominique slowly lowered herself on the man she loved, the only man she would ever love.
Later that evening after a supper of barbecued antelope, Jacob and Dominique strolled hand in hand through the Hunkpapa village and headed down to the river.
The sound of the pretty stream, its cold waters trickling a little song as it made its way to the Big Horn River, the gentle rustling of the cottonwood trees in the light summer breeze, all provided stark contrast to the unrest all around them. But still intent on enjoying his wife, of committing to memory what might be their last night together, Jacob sat down on the grassy banks and pulled Dominique onto his lap.
"The Greasy Grass River reminds me of the Black Hills," he commented, struck by nature's bounty.
"Ummmm," she sighed. "It's so
peaceful and lazy. If all the streams in the Black Hills are like this, I can't wait for you to take me there. You will someday, won't you?"
"If I can."
Dominique raised her head up from Jacob's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
"We must make some plans now, wi witko." He took her trusting face in his hands and explained. "After tomorrow, when I return to the cavalry, it may be a long time before I can return to you."
Trying to keep the fear from her voice, the tears from her eyes, she said, "How long?"
Jacob shrugged. "I do not know. I only know it is time for us to make some arrangements for your safety if I cannot be here to take care of you."
