Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  Katy rose with the dawn, glad that the night was behind her, refusing to think ahead to the night that would inevitably come.

  A berry bush provided a meager breakfast, and water from a shallow stream quenched her thirst and washed the berry juice from her hands and face.

  Drying her hands on her skirt, Katy started again walking westward. The plains stretched before her, seemingly endless and devoid of life. The grass, which had been bright green only a few weeks ago, was already turning yellow.

  Nothing moved on the face of the land. Katy had heard stories of pioneer women who had gone mad while crossing the plains, driven to insanity by the never-ending sea of gentle waving grass and the unchanging sky overhead.

  Katy put the dismal thought from her, humming to buoy her spirits as she walked toward the mountains barely visible in the distance. But no matter how fast she walked or how far, the mountains never seemed to get any closer. Their colors changed as the hours passed, now purple, now blue, now gray-green, now tinged with gilt and crimson as the sun gradually dipped behind the craggy peaks.

  And then it was dark again, so very dark. Katy’s stomach was rumbling loudly when she stumbled into a buffalo wallow. Utterly exhausted, she lay where she had fallen, too tired to move. She was hungry and thirsty, and, oh, so tired! And lost. Despair washed over her as she stared up at the myriad stars twinkling in a black velvet sky. Why had she run away? She could not survive in the wilderness alone, and now she would die alone on the plains, a victim of her own foolishness.

  The thought made her sad, but she was too bone weary to cry, and sleep claimed her the minute she closed her eyes.

  When she woke in the morning, it was to find a trio of bearded faces staring down at her.

  Chapter Eight

  The three white men peered at the young woman in Indian garb, crouched against the side of the buffalo wallow, their eyes expressing varying degrees of shock and surprise at finding a lone female so many miles from the nearest settlement.

  “Is she a squaw?” the youngest of the men asked his companions.

  “No,” declared the young man to his left. “Look at those eyes. They’re bluer than the Pacific!”

  Katy glared up at them as she gained her feet. Unconsciously, she threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin, gazing up at the buckskin-clad men with an air of confidence she was far from feeling.

  “I am Katy Marie Alvarez,” she announced haughtily. “And I have only recently escaped from the Cheyenne.”

  “When?”

  “How?”

  “You can ask questions later,” the eldest of the three men admonished as he offered Katy a calloused hand. “First, let us get this poor child a bath and a hot meal.”

  “Thank you,” Katy said, dazzling them all with her smile. “That sounds wonderful.” The older man, obviously the father of the other two, nodded in agreement. “Forgive my lack of manners,” he said, his voice tinged with a faint French accent. “I am Andre Bordeaux, and these are my sons, Claude and Jean-Paul. We are buffalo hunters.” He bowed from the waist. “We are at your service, mademoiselle,” he said gallantly, and lifted Katy onto the back of his horse.

  It was a short ride to the Frenchmen’s camp. The eldest boy, Claude, quickly fixed Katy a hot meal of boiled buffalo meat and potatoes while Jean-Paul filled a large cast-iron pot with water and placed it over the fire.

  Katy ate ravenously and readily accepted seconds, though she could not help blushing self-consciously when Claude remarked that he liked to see a woman with a healthy appetite.

  When she finished eating, Katy followed Jean-Paul into the big covered wagon and gave a little wordless cry of joy when she saw a tin tub filled with steaming water. There was even a towel and a bar of real soap.

  Jean-Paul backed out of the wagon, his face flushed with embarrassment. Katy was undeniably attractive, and Jean-Paul was at that age when women were entering his thoughts more and more. Just thinking of Mademoiselle Alvarez sitting naked in the tub made the blood pound in his head and his legs go weak, so that he all but fell out of the back of the wagon.

  Katy grinned with amusement as she laced the back cover closed. Disrobing, she stepped into the tub, sighing with pleasure as the hot water enveloped her. What luxury, to bathe in a real tub with real soap! How lucky she was that Andre Bordeaux and his sons had found her. But for their kindness, she would surely have perished in the wilderness.

  She had been lucky twice, Katy mused drowsily, first with Tall Buffalo, and now with the Bordeaux men. They would not harm her, she was certain of that. They were decent, honorable men, and she knew instinctively that she had nothing to fear.

  It was good to be safe at last, back with her own people. She closed her eyes as the warm water drained the last shreds of tension from her weary body.

  Katy lingered in the tub until the water grew cool. Then, dressing quickly, she stepped outside. Claude came forward to meet her, his brown eyes as warm and friendly as his boyish smile.

  “You look weary, mademoiselle,” Claude remarked. “Come, I have prepared a bed for you beside the fire. I think maybe you would like a little nap, no?”

  “I would like a little nap, yes,” Katy said with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

  Katy stretched out on the soft hides, intending to take only a short nap and then help the men with dinner, but when she opened her eyes again, it was morning. Andre arid his sons were sitting around the camp fire, eating breakfast.

  Andre smiled at Katy as she sat up, yawning. “So, you are finally awake. Twice, Claude checked on you to see if you were still alive.”

  Claude grinned good-naturedly as he handed Katy a bowl of soup, a thick slice of bread, and a cup of coffee. “Do not listen to Papa. I only checked once to make sure you were warm enough.”

  “Once every hour,” Jean-Paul said, chuckling. “I think my brother is enchanted by your beautiful blue eyes.”

  “Oui,” Claude admitted boldly. “Who would not be enchanted by such a one? She has the face of an angel.”

  “Enough of this foolishness,” Andre chided, grinning fondly at his sons. “It is time to make the hunt.”

  “Will you be all right here by yourself?” Claude asked Katy doubtfully.

  “I guess so. But I’d rather go with you, if it’s all right.”

  “Papa?”

  Andre nodded. “Perhaps we should not leave her here alone. Jean-Paul, saddle the horses. Claude, help me hitch the team.”

  While the men were busy with the animals, Katy quickly washed the dishes and packed the bedrolls inside the wagon. Shortly thereafter, they went out in search of buffalo. Andre drove the heavy flatbed wagon that served as hide carrier, while Katy and the two boys rode beside the wagon. Andre and his sons kept Katy laughing as they joked back and forth, teasing Jean-Paul about the way he blushed whenever Katy looked at him, joshing Claude because he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.

  Katy basked in the warm, friendly atmosphere. The men shared such a relaxed and loving relationship, she could not help feeling a little envious. Her own home had been so cold and unhappy after her father had died. Surely this was how families should be, close-knit and caring. How wonderful to know you were loved!

  It was mid-morning before they spotted a fairly large herd of bulls.

  “Sometimes I feel guilty about hunting them,” Claude confided to Katy. “They say that, long ago, the herds were so big you could not ride around them in a day. An old hunter in St. Louis told me about a time he and a group of professional skinners brought down one hundred and fifty buffalo in a single day.”

  Katy’s eyes lingered on the herd as she tried to imagine how it must have been before the white men came with their big buffalo guns, killing the immense animals for their shaggy hides and tongues. It was difficult, imagining buffalo as far as the eye could see. They were such intriguing beasts, with their massive humps, gleaming horns, and tiny black eyes, yet they looked so placid from a distance, grazing on the short t
ufts of hardy yellow grass.

  “I think this will be our last year,” Claude reflected gravely. “The buffalo are growing scarce and the Indians…” He shrugged. “They are getting more and more angry all the time, and who can blame them? Soon I think it will not be safe to cross the plains except in very large groups.”

  White buffalo hunters, Katy soon learned, did not hunt the buffalo from horseback as did the Cheyenne. Instead, they found a sheltered stand downwind from the grazing herd and calmly shot the nearest bulls. Strangely, the animals nearby paid little attention as their companions suddenly fell dead in their midst. Nor did they appear to be bothered by the sound of gunfire. It was not until one old bull suddenly pawed the ground and lumbered off in a shambling trot that the herd took flight. Abruptly, amid a cloud of thick yellow dust and a great thunder of churning cloven hooves, the buffalo stampeded across the prairie, their tufted tails flying in the wind.

  Andre wiped a sweaty hand through his close-cropped gray hair. “Not bad,” he remarked, laying his rifle aside. “Jean-Paul, pick up our brass. Claude, bring the team.”

  “Come with me,” Claude said, taking Katy by the hand.

  When they reached the flatbed, Claude lifted Katy onto the seat and nimbly vaulted up beside her. Flashing her a wide grin, he clucked to the horses, starting them toward the dead buffalo.

  “That was our last stand of the year,” Claude remarked. “After we skin the buffalo and stretch the hides, we will take them to St. Louis. You will like St. Louis,” he told her confidently. “After we sell our hides, I will buy you some pretty clothes and show you the sights.”

  “You’re very kind,” Katy replied. “But I can’t let you buy me clothes. It isn’t proper.”

  “Perhaps not, but you cannot walk around the streets of St. Louis dressed like an Indian squaw.”

  Katy glanced down at her deerskin dress. It was badly soiled and the hem was torn where she had snagged it on a bush the day before. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed, pleased at the thought of a new dress. “But I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, I must go home to Mesa Blanca. I have to let my mother know I’m alive and well.”

  “You can send her a wire from St. Louis,” Claude said. “Please do not be in such a hurry to leave me, Katy. Not when I have just found you.”

  Katy looked at the handsome young man sitting beside her, startled by the fervent intensity of his words. His eyes were a rich warm brown, and they returned her gaze with open adoration, rendering Katy momentarily speechless.

  “Please stay with us,” Claude implored softly. “You are everything I have ever dreamed of.”

  “But we’ve only just met!” Katy exclaimed. “You don’t even know me.”

  “But I want to know you. I think I am in love with you already.”

  “That’s impossible,” Katy laughed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you like to eat,” Claude said, grinning impishly. “And that your eyes are as blue as the skies of Paris in the summer.”

  “Oh, Claude, you’re hopeless!”

  “Hopelessly in love,” he said, and then grinned triumphantly. “By the time we reach St. Louis, it will be too late in the year to cross the plains. You will have to spend the winter with us, and I will take you home in the spring. By then, you will be mad for me, and I shall make you my wife.”

  Claude’s merry laughter was infectious, and Katy could not help laughing with him. His face was smooth and unlined, his body straight and tall. His skin was deeply tanned from long hours in the sun, his hair blond and curly. Usually she did not care for men with beards, but the Bordeaux men wore them well. Yes, Claude was a fine-looking man but, more importantly, he was good for her. He made her feel young and free and innocent again, as if all that had happened in the Cheyenne village had been nothing more than a bad dream. She could almost believe she was the same naïve young woman who had left Mesa Blanca so many months before. Perhaps she would marry him, she mused. It would be so nice to be a part of his family…

  The next few days were busy ones. Katy helped the men clean the hides, glad that she could do something to repay them for their unfailing kindness. She took over the cooking, laughing merrily when all three Frenchmen claimed they would marry her for her cooking alone. Andre and Jean-Paul were teasing, of course, the one being too old for her, and the other too young. But Claude was not joking. He continued to woo her, paying her outrageous compliments, bringing her bouquets of weeds when he could find no wildflowers, talking about their future as if he was certain they would always be together. He told her of his past, how his mother had died several years ago of pneumonia, and how his father’s business had failed the following year.

  “So we came to America to seek our fortune,” Claude said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Papa thought he would become the fur king of St. Louis, but we got here too late for that. Still, it is a wonderful country. It is even better, now that I have found you. Tell me, cheri, how did you happen to be captured by the Indians?”

  “I was on my way to Colorado to enter a convent there when the stagecoach was attacked.” She did not tell him of Iron Wing. The warrior was a part of her past now, and she wanted to forget him.

  “A convent!” Claude exclaimed in horror. “Merde! What a waste that would have been.”

  “A waste? Whatever do you mean?”

  “A woman as lovely and vital as you should not be locked away behind cold stone walls. No, chérie, you were born to be a wife. To mother many strong sons.” Claude took Katy’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I hope they will be my sons.”

  “Don’t you ever think of anything else?” Katy asked. She had meant to keep her tone light and teasing, but the words came out soft and shaky as she read the tender look in Claude’s eyes.

  “Not when I am with you,” he admitted. “I am grateful to the savages since they kept you from shutting yourself up in a convent.”

  “I would have been happy there,” Katy remarked wistfully.

  Claude studied her face intently. “Weren’t you happy at home? Surely you had many young men to court you. Ah,” he said with a knowing look, “that is the reason. A man! You were running away from someone who had hurt you.”

  Katy shook her head slowly. “No. I was running away from life.”

  “I am sorry, chérie. Sorry you have been unhappy.” Claude smiled optimistically as he squeezed her hand. “But all that is past now. Claude is here, and I will show you how much fun life can be. I will take you to France! Ah, I should like to show you Paris and Marseille. I think you would turn the head of every man in the country!”

  “Paris,” Katy breathed. “Oh, I would love to see Paris!”

  Claude laughed, pleased that he had drawn her thoughts away from unpleasant memories. “It would be a lovely place for a honeymoon,” he remarked, throwing her a teasing smile. “But first we must get these smelly hides to St. Louis!”

  Days later, the hides were packed on board the wagon and everything was in readiness for their journey across the plains. They would start early in the morning.

  That evening after dinner, Claude and Katy walked a short distance away from the others. Hand in hand, they stood in the gathering darkness. It was a vast place, the West, Katy thought. The land fell away for miles, awe-inspiring and a little frightening. It was a hard land, uncaring and unforgiving, making her feel small and insignificant.

  “It is a beautiful country, is it not?” Claude asked, squeezing Katy’s hand affectionately.

  “Yes, so beautiful. It’s no wonder the Indians want to keep it for themselves.”

  “I am afraid their days are numbered,” Claude remarked matter-of-factly. “There are too many people in the East who will be lured West by tales of gold and free land. I think that before long, civilization will crush the Indians beneath its feet.”

  “The Cheyenne will never stand by and watch their land be plundered,
” Katy said with conviction. “They’ll fight for their land, for their way of life.”

  “Oui, cherie. But they will lose.”

  Katy knew there was truth in Claude’s words. The Indians could not withstand the endless numbers or the awesome firepower of the white man. They would have to bend or break, and Katy felt a twinge of sorrow as she thought of Iron Wing and Tall Buffalo. They would not bend. They would fight.

  Katy’s face took on a faraway, melancholy expression, and Claude felt his heart pound with love and desire for the woman standing beside him. She was beautiful, so very beautiful. He longed to run his fingers through the silky black cloud of her hair, to draw her close and bury himself in her sweetness. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her, very gently.

  Katy gave a little gasp of surprise, but she did not pull away. Claude had been kind to her, offering her love and acceptance at a time when she needed both. His mouth was warm and firm, but his kiss evoked no ardor in Katy’s breast. No wild rush of wings filled her ears, no surge of desire coursed through her veins as it had when Iron Wing touched her.

  “Katy,” Claude groaned. “I love you so much, need you…”

  “No…”

  He released her immediately. “I’m sorry, chérie. Forgive me.”

  “Of course. Perhaps we’d better go back to the fire.”