White Owl

by Veronica Blake

Rose chuckled and shook her head as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The short rest had done wonders for her aches and pains, and she was feeling so much better.

  “I’m cooking tonight,” White Owl announced. “You rest.”

  Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. Ute men did not cook, or at least she had never seen one cook in the time she had been with White Owl. But it was an idea she rather liked. Leaning back on the blankets and pillow again, she watched as her husband started a very small fire in one of the abandoned fire pits. He had already cleaned and gutted his catch at the river, so now he took his knife out of its sheath and sharpened several more willows that he had brought from the trees along the riverbank to use as spits to cook the fish on—the willows would not burn immediately when they were placed over the flames, and the fish would be cooked long before the branches got hot enough to catch on fire.

  The smell of the fish roasting over the flames made Rose’s stomach growl without shame. She pushed herself up from the ground and ambled over to the fire pit to wait for the first fish to be finished cooking.

  “I’m starving,” she announced as she approached her husband.

  He chuckled as he watched her shuffling toward him. “Well, you are eating for yourself and for my daughter, so I am not surprised.” He patted the spot next to him on the ground, and helped Rose as she lowered herself down.

  She shook her head at his determination that they were having a girl. There was still no doubt in her mind that she was carrying his son.

  “You look much better now. Tomorrow we won’t ride as far.”

  Since they were traveling a different route than she had ever been, she had no idea how long they still had to travel, but she hoped it wouldn’t be too much farther. The memory of the sharp pain she had felt earlier made her rub nervously at her stomach.

  “Is my daughter kicking again?” White Owl placed his palm against the spot she had been rubbing. His face scrunched up. “I don’t feel anything.”

  Rose pushed his hand away. “That’s because your son is getting angry at being called a girl by his father.”

  White Owl chuckled and returned his attention to the fish as Rose watched the sun setting on a nearby mountain to the west. The misty blue sky was painted with shades of pink and orange streaks above and behind the mountain. The longer she stared at the peak, the more she realized that it had a familiar shape.

  “Are you staring at the giant mountain?” White Owl asked when he noticed what she was looking at.

  “The what?” she chuckled.

  White Owl pointed at the mountain. “See, there is the giant’s head, and his belly.” His finger moved to the south of the mountain as he added, “And there are his legs. He is a sleeping giant.”

  Rose looked at the mountain from a new perspective and realized that the profile of the mountaintop was an exact replica of a man lying on his back. It truly was a sleeping-giant mountain.

  She smiled as she looked back at her husband. “I love it here.”

  “The Yampah loved it, too,” he said sadly. He held a branch toward her with a sizzling trout on the end of it.

  Rose took the branch. “Thank you,” she murmured. She wanted to tell him how much she hated her own people right now for what they had done to the Utes, but she couldn’t find the right words. His sorrow seemed so deeply rooted that nothing she could say would ease his torment.

  As soon as the trout were done cooking, White Owl tossed dirt on the few flames that still sparked in the pit. It was growing dark, and he did not want the fire to be seen by the family that lived down in the valley. As darkness settled over the land, however, Rose noticed the faded lights of the distant house. She crossed her arms over her large belly and wondered about the family who lived there. Had they been sad to see the Yampah go? She guessed her father must be feeling mighty happy right now. He had finally gotten his wish . . . the whites had run the Indians off their own land.

  The sharp barking and howling of a pack of coyotes sliced through the silent night. Their yelping was almost like mournful screaming. The chilling sound echoed across the desolate hilltop, making Rose feel that even the coyotes were filled with sorrow to discover that the Utes were gone from here forever.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rose was sad to leave the valley of the chugging Medicine Springs, the mountain of the sleeping giant and the clear shimmering waters of the Yampah River. She hoped they could return to this beautiful lush valley someday with their first-born son and the other children she was certain they would have in the future.

  White Owl lifted her into the saddle and the ache in her back immediately came back. She gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long day. Luckily, White Owl stuck to his plan to stop frequently. Each time she climbed down from the saddle and lay down for a while to rest, hoping the pain would disappear. By the time they stopped for the night, she was becoming optimistic about reaching Milk Creek before their son decided to make an early appearance. White Owl said they should reach the site of his tribe’s deserted village by nightfall the next day. Then he would start looking for anyone who might be left in the area. They had no plan beyond that, and Rose couldn’t help wondering where they would be when the baby arrived.

  After a restless night, Rose woke up to the pain in her back before she even got in the saddle. She moaned softly as she sat up, and the sound drew White Owl’s attention at once. He was at her side before she had a chance to move again.

  “What’s wrong?” He crouched at her side. “Is it the baby?” His voice was filled with concern and his expression looked to be on the edge of panic.

  Rose shook her head. “No, no . . . I’m fine. My body is just getting a bit stiff and sore from all the riding. And your son is becoming a heavy load.”

  White Owl gave her belly a loving rub. “Once we reach Milk Creek, you can rest while I search for the others. You and I both know of hiding places were the grass is deep and soft.” He winked at her.

  Rose giggled as she remembered the summer afternoon last year when they had made passionate love in one of the hidden alcoves along Milk Creek. She had no doubt that once she was out of the saddle for a couple of days, she would be just fine. She held her hand up for White Owl to pull her to her feet, since she knew there was no way she would make it up on her own this morning.

  With a determination not to give in to her misery, Rose let her husband help her into the saddle again. Since her back was already hurting, the movement of the horse did not seem to be making it any worse as they began the last leg of the trip—for now, anyway. But as the morning wore on, the pain in her back began to radiate around to the front of her abdomen.

  “White Owl,” she called as he rode in front of her through a secluded gully where there was no trail to follow. “I think I need to rest for a while.”

  White Owl pulled up on his reins and jumped down from Niwaa’s back before the horse had even come to a complete stop. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. They had just stopped barely a mile or so back for her to rest.

  Rose shook her head and shrugged. “It’s just this stupid pain in my back. It must be from so much riding. I’m sure if I rest for a few more minutes, I’ll be fine.”

  White Owl’s worried expression did not fade. He stared up at her for a moment before he reached up and lifted her from the horse’s back. He carried her to the shade of a cluster of aspen trees. Rose wrapped her arms around his neck, grateful for his kindness.

  “Just give me a minute,” she said with a forced smile. “That darn saddle is just so hard and—” She gasped as new type of pain cut through her lower abdomen.

  “Wild Rose, the baby is coming now?” His tone was filled with panic.

  “No, it’s too early, I think.”

  “You think?” he yelled. “You said early summer.”

  Rose rolled her eyes upward and shook her head. “That’s what I think,” she repeated. Last summer and fall, she had been so engrossed in their love affair and then in he
r new role as his wife that she had not worried about those things. Now, she was not sure when it might have happened.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked in a nervous voice. “Should we prepare for the birth?”

  “No,” she said as she shook her head again. “It’s not time. I want to get to Milk Creek. Like you said earlier, I can rest then, and I’ll be fine.”

  He stared at her for a moment with a disconcerting glare. “I don’t want to deliver this baby out here, but I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.” He drew in a heavy breath. “You must promise to tell me if it gets any worse.”

  Rose forced a smile, “I promise.” She wished she felt as confident inwardly as she was attempting to convey to him.

  White Owl made Wild Rose ride in front of him so that he could keep a closer eye on her. Every time she even moved slightly in the saddle, his throat felt like it was closing shut and he couldn’t breathe. He knew Ute women had babies along the trails to and from their winter and summer homes all the time. But this was his baby . . . and his Wild Rose. The thought of having to deliver their child without the help of his mother or another woman was making him physically sick.

  As the day wore on and they stopped constantly for her to rest, White Owl realized they were not going to reach Milk Creek by nightfall. He hated to tell Wild Rose, because the thought of making it back there seemed to be all that kept her going. Since they obviously would not be there until tomorrow he decided that they should just call it a day now, even though it was only late afternoon. After a good long rest they would reach their destination. One night wouldn’t make a difference.

  He wondered if Rose realized that they were close to her parents’ homestead and that they were probably on Adair land right now. The realization might upset her, since she hated her father and twin brother so much. The one time they had talked about the events that had conspired last fall when her father had forced her to go to Denver, White Owl had also gotten the impression that she was deeply hurt by the fact that her mother hadn’t done more to help her. It seemed that she only held Donavan in her heart now, and White Owl felt the same way about the boy. He hoped someday he would have a chance to tell Donavan how grateful he was that he had told him where to find his Wild Rose.

  As he rode up beside her to tell her that they were making camp for the night, he realized that she was starting to slump in the saddle. “Wild Rose,” he called out in a teasing voice, “are you falling asleep?” But when Niwaa fell in step with her horse, White Owl saw her chin was resting on her chest and her eyes were closed.

  “Wild Rose,” he shouted, but she didn’t respond. His panic stole away his senses for a moment. He yelled her name again and then jumped from Niwaa’s back and grabbed the reins of her horse. He grabbed Rose before she could fall and carefully lowered her to the ground. Her head lolled to the side as he shook her and gently tapped the side of her face with his open palm. Her skin felt burning hot. A weak groan escaped from her parted lips. Her lashes fluttered and then her lids parted slightly.

  “W-what happened?” she mumbled. She glanced around as if she was disoriented. Her lashes fluttered several more times before she was able to keep her eyes open.

  “You fainted, and you have a fever,” White Owl said in alarm. She continued to stare up at him as if she didn’t understand. White Owl’s terror increased. She winced and swallowed hard.

  “I think I could have been wrong—the baby might be coming now,” she whispered in a weak, frightened voice.

  White Owl didn’t stop to second-guess himself as he scooped her back up into his arms. He couldn’t take any chances with his beloved wife or their child.

  Carefully, he lifted her onto Niwaa’s back and climbed up behind her. She was as limp as a rag doll. With one hand he grabbed the reins, and then he wrapped his other arm around Wild Rose. She whimpered softly as Niwaa began moving.

  The rest of the trip was agonizingly slow. Wild Rose’s labor pains were not frequent, and for that, White Owl was more than grateful. But the way she kept drifting in and out of consciousness had him terrified. He didn’t think that was normal. On a couple of occasions, he had been nearby when a Ute woman had given birth, and he couldn’t remember it being anything like this. He began to berate himself for not listening to her Aunt Maggie—they should have stayed in Denver until after the birth.

  The sun was low on the horizon by the time they reached the ridge above the Adair homestead. The entire area was bathed in a golden glow and did not appear as foreboding as White Owl had remembered. But did Rose’s family still love her enough to put aside their hatred for him and help her?

  Wild Rose moaned again and gasped as she clutched at her stomach. The pains were getting closer. This terrified White Owl far worse than a bullet from her father’s gun. He tightened his hold on her and started down the slope. They had not reached the bottom when the stupid black dog came running toward them, barking ferociously.

  “Pepper, good dog,” White Owl called, and the dog ceased to bark. But his ruckus had alerted the people in the house. The front door swung open and Paddy Adair came out, rifle in hand. Tate Adair was on his heels with his gun, too. Donavan followed but carried no weapon.

  White Owl stopped Niwaa and waited for the men to approach as he called out, “I have Wi—I have Rose, and she needs help.”

  Paddy Adair continued to walk forward until he was only a couple of yards away, his gaze focused on Rose. After a moment, he looked directly at White Owl. “I don’t know how you two ended up together again, but you and your squaw need to get off my property.” His voiced dripped with venom as he leveled his rifle at White Owl.

  White Owl raised his free hand into the air. “I will leave, but please, take care of Rose.” She was unconscious again in his arms.

  Paddy did not back down, and now Tate had moved up to stand beside him with his rifle also aimed at White Owl’s head. “You heard my pa,” he spat. “You and that-that filthy squaw need to go.”

  White Owl clenched his teeth in an effort to control his fury. “She might die if she does not get help,” he said in a controlled voice. Inwardly, violent tremors shook through his body.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Donavan called.

  “Shut up, boy,” Paddy replied without looking back at his youngest son.

  White Owl did not answer Donavan’s question. If they hated her this much because she was with him, how much more would they despise her once they knew she was having his child? As this tortured thought consumed him, he noticed Rose’s mother approaching. She also carried a gun, and he braced himself for another onslaught of hatred.

  Colleen Adair marched past her sons and her husband and did not stop until she was directly in front of Niwaa. For one brief instant, as she glanced at her daughter’s slumping form, White Owl thought he saw a look of pity. But when she began to raise the shotgun into the air he was consumed with the horror that she was going to shoot him, or worse, her own daughter.

  In the next instant, Colleen swung around to face her men. “Paddy, Tate, you drop them guns—now!” Her voice was strong and loud as she pointed the gun at them.

  “What in the hell, woman? Have you lost your mind?” Paddy growled. He did not follow her orders to lower his gun. Tate, however, was now holding his gun with the barrel pointed at the ground and his mouth gaping in disbelief.

  Colleen tightened her grip on the gun and kept it pointed at her husband. “That’s our girl, Paddy. I have hated myself—and you—for the way we treated her. I won’t turn my back on her again. I might have lost my mind, Paddy Adair, but I will shoot you if you try to stop me from helping my daughter.” She paused and then added, “Or if you try to hurt her husband.”

  “Colleen, you-you can’t be serious?” Paddy blustered. His reddened face was contorted with disbelief. As he stared at his wife, his attention was diverted by his youngest son. Donavan walked past him and took a place at his mother’s side.

  “If you want to shoot M
a or Rosie and her husband, then you’ll have to shoot me, too,” he stated in a strong deep voice.

  Rose’s painful groan intruded on the permeating silence that had settled over the group after Donavan’s declaration.

  White Owl tightened his grip on her as she writhed in his arms. “Please,” he pleaded as he looked at her father.

  Colleen’s arms grew rigid as she stared down the barrel and wrapped her forefinger around the trigger. “I won’t tell you again, drop them guns now!” Her voice was calm and deadly.

  Paddy glowered at his wife for a minute longer before he slowly began to lower the barrel of his gun downward. He glanced back at his oldest son and nodded, but Tate’s gun was still dangling toward the ground.

  With continued focus on the gun barrel, Colleen said, “Donavan, you go grab them guns.”

  The boy walked cautiously to his father and brother. He reached out tentatively and clasped on to the butt of his father’s rifle. Paddy released his hold on the weapon without resistance. Tate, however, puffed out his chest in an intimidating manner as Donavan reached out to take his gun. He pulled the gun out of Donavan’s reach.

  “Tate,” Colleen warned. “I bet you didn’t know I’ve been practicin’ with this gun when you and your pa is out on the range. I think I’m good enough to shoot that gun outta your hand, but I would hate to take that chance. Please, don’t make me try.”

  Tate stared at his mother boldly as if he didn’t believe her. He kept the gun held out to his side and refused to give it to his brother.

  “Tate!” Paddy Adair growled through gritted teeth. “Do as your ma says.”

  The older Adair son turned to glare at his father. He growled with defeat and shoved the gun at his younger brother.

  “Bring Rose to the house,” Colleen ordered without looking away from the barrel of the gun.

  White Owl exhaled the breath he had been holding and kicked Niwaa in the sides. As he rode past the Adair men, he kept his eyes focused on the house until he stopped at the front stoop. He slid out of the saddle and then pulled Wild Rose down into his arms. He didn’t wait for Colleen or anyone else to catch up with them as he burst through the front door and headed for the curtained doorway that he knew concealed the bedroom that had once belonged to his wife.