by Karen Kay
She nodded. “Have you had anything to drink? May I get you something? I have plenty of water and cold coffee—even tea and milk. Please, do sit.”
Throwing down his pony’s reins, he found a spot beside their fire and sat. “Water would be good.”
Again she nodded then hurried toward the back of their wagon, where she took up a cup and ladled out water from a large, wooden barrel.
Coming back toward him, she held the cup out to him. Carefully he took it from her. So slowly did he execute the maneuver she was reminded that he might be avoiding her touch.
She voiced, “When you left without a word, I was afraid you might not come back.”
He didn’t react, didn’t say a thing.
“And…and I am almost ashamed to admit it, but…” she sighed, “…I am afraid that I actually do need you.”
Snapping his head upward, he met her stare with one of his own, and even over the distance of the campfire, she understood the question in his midnight gaze.
“I…I mean…it’s that you know my fears…and you…well, I have nothing to hide from you, and I find that I can talk to you about things that are…that are important.” There, she’d said it. She paused momentarily, and then under her breath, she added, “I can’t talk to anyone else.”
Chin up, Swift Hawk jerked his head to the left. “It is good. This is good.”
“And I will help you too, now that you are back.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“We could start tonight. I could give you your first lesson here, right now. I mean…I’m not prepared, but I could—”
He held up his hand. “Do not busy yourself because of me.”
“It is no trouble. Please just remain where you are. I was already going over in my mind what lessons I might teach you, and I’ve made a few notes. I beg you to give me a moment to collect my thoughts.” She rushed to the back of their wagon, where she searched frantically for her books.
Finally she found them and returned to her spot next to the fire. Smiling at him, she said, “We could start with the English language, although you speak well already.” She glanced up at him. “Did Mr. Bent teach this to you privately?”
“William Bent? Did he teach me English?” he asked. “No, Bent did not give me lessons. I learned to speak the language from listening to the people at the fort. I was young at the time and am told that I picked up the language easily. But it is only recently that I have mastered it.”
“What do you mean that you have only recently mastered the English language?”
He nodded. “I knew the language from my youth, but it is only recently that I have spoken it so often.”
“I see. Still, you must be a fast learner.”
He shrugged. “So would you be, if the need was great.”
“So there was a need to learn English?” she asked.
Even though she gazed at him quizzically, after several moments of silence, it became apparent that he would not answer. Resignedly, she said, “Yes, well, perhaps we will not tackle English then, but maybe we could begin with…with…”
He held up a hand. “If you would like, I could tell you of the deer hunt. Would you like to hear of it?”
“The hunt? You were hunting deer?”
“It is one of the duties of the scout.”
“Is it?”
“Haa’he.”
“I would like to hear of it,” said Julian, who had come awake suddenly and sat up rubbing his eyes. “Angel, would you make us a fresh pot of coffee?”
“Get it your—” She paused, smiling. “Of course I will.”
She rose meekly and stepped lightly toward the back of the wagon, where she took out fresh coffee beans. Returning to her previous place next to the fire, she began the tedious process of roasting the beans over the fire, listening to the conversation flowing between her brother and Swift Hawk.
“How close do you come to the deer, then, when you make the kill?” It was Julian asking the question.
“If one is to get an arrow quickly to the heart of the animal in order to bring about a fast kill,” said Swift Hawk, “one must come in very close to the prey.” With his hands, Swift Hawk measured the distance.
“That close? How do you do that?”
“There are many ways to sneak up on your prey so that it does not detect you. One must cleanse oneself and disguise oneself; one must hunt with bow and arrow only, so that others are not alerted to one’s presence.”
“How many deer did you get this trip, then?”
“Only enough to carry back the meat and hides without burdening our ponies too greatly. I believe we killed five.”
“Wow. Five. May I go with you next time?”
“Haa’he. I fear that you must. It is expected that the scout will keep the wagon train supplied with fresh meat.”
“Yes, yes, of course that’s right. I knew that.”
With a smile, Swift Hawk glanced directly at Julian, but said nothing, until Julian, as though he could not stand Swift Hawk’s intense gaze, looked away.
At some length, Swift Hawk observed, “If we are to hunt tomorrow, you should get a good night’s sleep. We should be on our way by first light. I will meet you at the corner of the woods.”
“Yes,” said Julian. “Yes, that will be fine.”
Swift Hawk nodded and moved, starting to rise. However, he hesitated when Angelia spoke. “You’re not leaving, are you? I…I am making more coffee—perhaps you would like some, or if you desire, we could do a lesson yet tonight.”
Swift Hawk came fully to his feet. When he glanced down at her, there was a softness in his gaze. “Tomorrow I will have this coffee with you. For tonight, I will leave my pony here, that you may unload this meat. Tomorrow you may begin your lessons with me, if that is suitable for you.”
Angelia nodded. “All right. Tomorrow will be fine. And, Mr. Hawk?”
He had presented his back to her in preparation of leaving, but at her question, he stopped and looked back at her.
“Thank you for the meat…” she smiled, “…and for your help.”
He nodded and, spinning around, disappeared into the night.
Chapter Nine
I had heard and I had thought that they were the savages. What a shock it was to discover that it was I, after all, who was the uncouth one, the unlearned…
Anonymous
Fort Leavenworth, Several Days Later
Crickets serenaded the countryside, locusts adding a constant accompaniment to the chant, while an occasional nighthawk contributed a squawk to its audience below. In the distance, a wolf howled and a band of coyotes added their high-pitched yips to the music of the West. Scents of campfires, as well as the aroma of supper and coffee, filtered through the air in an atmosphere that was already fragrant with the smells of grass and pure oxygen. The temperature was still warm, even though night had fallen several hours ago.
The grassy earth felt solid and firm beneath Swift Hawk’s moccasined feet, the hard feel of that dirt a sharp contrast to the softness of the woman who sat across the campfire from him. Her voice, high and sweet, spoke to him while he took note of the rhythm of her speech, the sway of her body, the scent of her skin.
In truth it was difficult for him to focus his attention on the matter at hand, when one so lovely delivered that message. However, Swift Hawk did all he could to contribute to these lessons, giving her as much heedfulness as he could.
“Well, Mr. Hawk, I think we’ve covered enough American history, and tonight we’ll progress onto something else. But before we leave history completely, let me ask you again, who was the greatest American leader during our country’s early years?”
“I believe that would be Little Calf of the Blood Tribe in the North.” He smiled slyly.
“No, no, I mean an American leader.”
“Is not Little Calf American? Was he not born here? Does he not call this land his home?”
Angelia sighed. “Well, yes, but—”
“Ah…” She stared at him, as though she weren’t entirely certain how she should answer that. After a slight hesitation, she voiced a single word. “Yes.”
Swift Hawk’s grin became more noticeable. “That would be He Goes Before, who was always so friendly with the whites, that he took their side in their fights.”
The angel didn’t say a word at first. She simply glared at him. At some length, however, she picked up a book at her feet and opened it to the beginning pages. “Yes, well, that’s fine then. Perhaps we should move along to mathematics, shall we?”
His eyes lit with delight.
“Very well. We’ll start at the beginning.” Bending down, she scooped up two plums and held both out toward him.
He ignored her outstretched hands. “In the short time I have known you, I have heard you talk of your father and your brother.”
“That’s right. Now…” she jiggled her hands, “…can you tell me how many plums I have if I have one plum, another, and then add two more?”
Swift Hawk was barely listening. Instead he was attempting to unravel the puzzle that was this woman. She seemed soft and delicate, yet for all her daintiness, she bossed her brother around mercilessly. Even in these lessons, she tended to try to take command over him, a thing he would never allow. He squinted his eyes at her and studied the angel’s features carefully. In a hushed voice, he asked, “But what of your mother?”
“My mother?”
“Haa’he. Yes, your mother.”
The angel sighed and drew her hands back toward her, laying the plums in her lap. She didn’t utter a sound at first. At length she collected herself. “I really didn’t know my mother. She died giving birth to my brother.”
Swift Hawk gave a slight nod of understanding. “And what of sisters or aunts or a grandmother? Was there no other female in your life? One to give you guidance?”
The angel’s expression stilled, and a cloud seemed to pass over her features, causing Swift Hawk to wonder if he ought not to have asked the question. At last, she took a deep breath, and stated, “My father’s parents live in Ireland, a land very far away from here—across an ocean, and my mother was an orphan.”
“There was no one to attend to you? No female relative?”
“No. When my mother died, I became the mother of our little family and did my best to take care of my brother and my father. And that’s quite an undertaking for a child who can barely talk, let alone cook for a family. To be quite truthful, it has been a duty that has not allowed much else in my life. There were a few girlfriends when I was younger, but again, we moved so often as a family, that even those became rare.”
“Ah.” Swift Hawk nodded. “Now I understand why you were scolding your brother when first I met you.” He smiled. “It is probably something you have done often, if you have been attempting to be a mother as well as a sister to him.”
“Yes. It is a frequent pastime. Now, if you please, perhaps we should get back to the lesson at hand, and—”
“And what of love?”
Her gaze flew to his so quickly that he wondered if he had hit upon another sore spot. But when she spoke, all she said was, “Love?”
“Haa’he. Love. Have you ever been in love?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Never?”
“No. Never. My family has always come first in my life, and it has been quite an adventure to care for my father and my brother.”
“But surely there has been someone. Every young girl of my acquaintance wishes to marry.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t wish to marry…someone…sometime. But that time is not now, and there has been no love in my life, save that of my family.” She sat up rather primly. “Now, why all these questions?”
“I am trying to understand you.”
She shrugged and sat forward, jiggling her shoulders at him. “I am not so different from other girls.” The tone of her voice was plain, but her movements at him screamed seduction.
Swift Hawk couldn’t help but give her a quick grin. In truth, he laughed. “You are very different from any girl I have ever met.”
“I don’t believe it.”
It was his turn to shrug. “I do not lie.”
She gazed at him for several moments, and then, as though he had hit too deeply below the surface, she cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I believe it is time that we get back to what we were doing in our lessons.”
“If you say so.”
“Yes.” Nervously she clasped her hands together. “Now, we were talking of addition, weren’t we?”
“Were we?”
“Yes, and I think first we should define ‘addition’…”
Her voice droned on and on, but Swift Hawk barely paid attention to the meaning of her words, until she leaned forward and said, “So if that were the case, how many plums would I have given you?”
He smiled. “Are you going to tell me the rest?”
She leaned backward. “The rest?”
He nodded. “Haa’he. Over how many moons have you given me these plums?”
“What?”
“If I remember correctly, you gave me two plums last night to eat, therefore, if you give me one of these plums now, then another, and another even yet, that would be enough plums, I think, to make a good soup.”
A long silence followed this ridiculous statement. After a time, though, the angel said, “Perhaps that is true. But…” she closed her book, “…I don’t think you understand the concept of what I’m trying to teach you. What I mean is right now, if I give you these plums in my hand…” she held two plums out toward him, “…and only these plums, how many would you have?”
Again, he grinned at her. “Not enough to make a good soup, that is certain. Of course, plum soup is not as good as berry soup. Have you ever had good Indian berry soup?”
“No, I haven’t.” She coughed, set her shoulders back, glared at him and, clearly agitated, she continued. “Now, Mr. Hawk, you are trying to change the subject once again, but this time it shan’t work. I am here to teach you, not to discuss my life with you.” Taking hold of the plums once more, she outstretched them. “Now, how many plums do I have in my hands, right now? Not last night, not the day before—just this very moment.”
“And why should you not discuss your life with me? If you are to teach me, we should know as much about each other as would…a married couple.”
She gasped, but he ignored it, and leaning farther toward her, he plucked one of the plums from her hands and took a bite out of it. “I believe you have one plum in your hand, Miss Angelia.”
She sighed, and Swift Hawk was at once enchanted, so much so he could barely take his eyes from her. And why would he want to? When she spoke, her entire body shivered. Her chest rose and fell with her every word while her hands and arms gestured.
At first Swift Hawk had tried to speculate as to whether this display of femininity was natural to her, or practiced. But seeing her as she was now, with no pretensions of any kind, and with him still being treated to the same rousing gestures, he was inclined to believe that these tiny nuances in her speech, as seductive as they were, were natural.
“Well,” she said after a time, “perhaps we should try to take up the symbols of mathematics so that you could learn to add columns of figures. This might come in handy for you in the future. Here, let me see where we should start…” She turned her attention to the book in her lap.
It presented Swift Hawk with more time to study her, a pastime at which he was becoming a master. When the lessons had first started, Swift Hawk had been quiet, watching her, observing her. Gradually, over the past few nights, he had begun to enjoy their verbal exchanges. In truth, he had found her so deadly serious in these little instructionals, that she often had no idea that he did tease her.
It had become a game with him, and, fact was, he had taken quite a liking to it. Sometimes he baited her simply to
witness the fiery color that flew to her cheeks when she became irritated.
Glancing at her now, with the moon directly overhead and the firelight casting light and shadows over her face, he sometimes forgot that this woman was somehow involved with himself and with his people, and that it was his task to discover her exact part in his drama.
Instead, he found himself imagining how her skin would feel beneath his touch. Would it be pliant, soft, warm? Or would it be moist due to the heat of the land?
What would she do if he were to tell her how bewitching she appeared to him? How much he enjoyed these evenings spent with her?
Would she laugh and turn away? Or would she lecture him on the proper manner in which to address a woman?
“Mr. Hawk?”
“Hmm? Yes?” He glanced up at her, only to catch her frowning at him.
“You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”
“I always listen to you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Then tell me what I said.”
“You said that the symbol foremost is ‘one’, the symbol under it is ‘two’, and the one under that line that you have drawn is ‘three’.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She gave him a warm, though speculative glance. “You already know how to add, don’t you?”
Swift Hawk placed his hand over his mouth, the common Indian expression of surprise. Pulling his hand away, he pretended innocence. “How would I know how to add? Do not the whites refer to me as a savage? And is a savage not a stupid animal?”
“Never mind what people say. You do know how to add. I know it.”
He paused for a moment, smiled at her, and without answering her question, said, “Perhaps I should answer you in this way. Is it not true that you tell me that one and one is two?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“But is it always two?”
“Of course it is. I can prove to you that it is.”
His grin became wider. “Can you? But, consider this, I can prove to you that it is not always true. Sometimes one and one equals three.”
