Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days

by Madeline Baker

  When they finished eating, he added wood to the fire and insisted she lie down. She was asleep within minutes.

  He watched her for a long while. Her hair gleamed like bright mahogany in the light of the flames. There were dark shadows under her eyes.

  They were different in so many ways; he knew in his heart she was meant to be his and yet…what if the People would not accept her? She was wasichu and therefore the enemy. But she had saved his life, and he was counting on that to make the difference. The People would honor and respect her for her courage if for no other reason.

  After checking on the horses, he crawled under the blankets, content to lie beside her, to feel the warmth of her body, inhale the scent of her hair, her skin, listen to the soft sound of her breathing.

  He closed his eyes. Soon, he thought, soon she would be his.

  They traveled for several days across the prairie, seeing no one. Each day, upon rising, Rebecca told herself that she would find a way to escape before nightfall, but somehow she could never summon the energy. Lethargic and depressed, she ate and slept when she was told, too lost in her own grief to give heed to anything else.

  It was only when they reached the foot of the mountain that Wolf Dreamer called home that fear took hold of her. His people lived here. People that believed in an alien god and prayed to animals.

  She thought of her dream, of the huge black wolf that pursued her. She had always considered it to be nothing more than a nightmare that came to her time and again, but Wolf Dreamer believed dreams were more than just dreams. He believed in spirits and visions. If such things indeed foretold the future, and he was the wolf in her nightmare, didn’t that mean her life was in danger?

  She shook off the apathy that had held her in its grasp since her baby died. If she was ever going to get away from Wolf Dreamer, it would have to be now, before it was too late. Before they arrived at his village.

  Tonight. It would have to be tonight.

  She went to bed right after dinner. Huddled beneath the blanket, she closed her eyes. Heart pounding, she pretended to sleep. She listened to his footsteps as he moved around the fire, heard him speak softly to the horses as he checked on them. A tingle of awareness washed over her as he slid under the covers beside her. She could feel the heat of him, smell the acrid scent of smoke in his hair.

  How long would it take him to fall asleep? How would she know when it was safe to leave? How would she travel all the way back east alone? She had no money, no clothes except what she was wearing now…

  Suddenly, striking out on her own didn’t seem like such a good idea after all and yet, what other choice did she have if she wanted to get back east, where she belonged?

  Wolf Dreamer would not take her, so she had no choice but to go alone.

  She could do it. She had lived alone in the middle of nowhere for six months and survived. She would find her way to a town, then telegraph her parents. They would send her the money she needed to get back home.

  She smiled into the darkness. All she had to do was find a town.

  It seemed like hours passed before Wolf Dreamer’s breathing grew slow and steady. Moving carefully, she slid out from under the blankets and gained her feet. As quietly as she could, she saddled her horse, hooked one of the canteens over the pommel. Inch by slow inch, she eased one of the blankets off Wolf Dreamer, rolled it into a cylinder and lashed it behind the saddle. Feeling guilty, she picked up the bag of foodstuffs and tied it to the saddle horn, then gathered her horse’s reins and walked away from the camp.

  Her heart was pounding with excitement and the thrill of success as she pulled herself onto her horse’s back and turned it toward the east.

  “Home.” She whispered the word over and over again as a talisman to fight off her fear of the dark. “Home.” Back to Mama and Papa, where she belonged.

  Wolf Dreamer sat up and stared into the darkness, listening to the sound of hoofbeats fade into the distance.

  Foolish woman, to strike out on her own in the middle of the night.

  Foolish man, to chase a woman who did not want him.

  Rising, he saddled his horse and went after her.

  He was coming. She didn’t know how she knew it with such certainty. She heard nothing. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw nothing. But she knew he was there.

  Panic bubbled up inside her. If he caught her now, she would never get away. Leaning low over her horse’s neck, she drummed her heels into its flanks.

  “Hurry!” she whispered. “Hurry! Hurry!”

  The mare lined out in a dead run, her hooves skimming over the ground as she fairly flew over the dark prairie.

  Rebecca held fast to the reins in one hand and the mare’s mane in the other. She knew it was dangerous to race through the darkness. A rock, a slight rise, a prairie dog hole, all could spell disaster and yet she raced onward, away from the strange man pursuing her, away from feelings she did not want to acknowledge, away from a future that was more frightening than the thought of being lost in the dark.

  The moon slid out from beneath the clouds that had gathered at sundown. She felt a surge of relief as silver moonlight lit her way across the vast grassland.

  It was a good sign, she thought, and then, to her horror, she saw a large gray wolf silhouetted in the moonlight.

  Moments later, she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming up rapidly behind her and knew that her illusion of freedom was just that, an illusion.

  She urged her horse to go faster, looked for a place to hide, but to no avail.

  Resigned, she put up no resistance when he rode up alongside her and grabbed hold of her horse’s bridle.

  When they came to a stop, he looked at her. “Why, Rebecca?”

  “Because I want to go home.”

  “Your home will be with me from now on,” he said.

  “I will live with you, because I have no other choice,” she said dully. “But it will never be home.”

  Chapter 8

  Rebecca stared at the Indian lodges that were spread in a wide circle in a high mountain meadow. A winding river made a dark ribbon of blue against the green grass. Stands of tall timber provided wood for their fires. She saw men and women engaged in a number of activities. Children ran between the lodges or swam in the river. Dogs slept in the shade. A little boy was throwing a stick for a puppy. Thin columns of blue-gray smoke rose from several conical tipis. Horses grazed on the thick grass, or stood head to tail, heads drooping in the sun.

  It was a peaceful scene and yet it filled her with trepidation. She would be a stranger here, an outsider. The enemy.

  She glanced at Wolf Dreamer, surprised to see that he, too, seemed filled with trepidation. While she was wondering at its cause, he urged his horse forward.

  Taking a deep breath, she followed him toward the village. She looked down at her dress. The hem was torn and dirty, the bodice was stained with milk. She lifted a hand to her hair. It was dirty and hung in a tangled mess down her back and over her shoulders. She wished suddenly that she had a clean dress, that she could wash and comb her hair, and then wondered why she cared. She didn’t want to be here with them, and she was certain they would not want her here.

  Men, women and children looked up as they rode into the camp. Most of the people looked surprised, a few merely curious. As though drawn by the same string, they fell into step behind Wolf Dreamer’s horse and followed him through the camp.

  He pulled up in front of a large tipi that was decorated with stars and moons and a brilliant yellow sun. A faint whisper of gray smoke rose from the smoke hole.

  Wolf Dreamer had no sooner dismounted than a man stepped out of the lodge. He was a very old man. His face was lined and wrinkled, his hair completely gray.

  He stared at Wolf Dreamer through watery black eyes.

  Rebecca’s gaze moved over the people who had gathered around. No one spoke. Even the children were quiet.

  A long sigh escaped the old Indian’s lips. “Wolf Dreamer has
returned to us. Truly, Wakan Tanka has answered my prayers this day.” Taking a step forward, the old man embraced Wolf Dreamer. “Hohahe, le mita kola.” Welcome, my friend.

  “Pilamaya, leksi.”

  “Your lodge awaits you.”

  “How did you know…?”

  “The spirits told me you were coming.” The old man looked up at Rebecca. His gaze moved over her for a long time and then he nodded. “So, you have found her.”

  Wolf Dreamer nodded. “It is as the gray wolf foretold. She is the other half of my soul. She will be the mother of my son.”

  “She does not want to be here.”

  “No.”

  Rebecca frowned. It was obvious they were discussing her; she only wished she knew what they were saying.

  The old man lifted his arms. “My people, Wolf Dreamer has returned to us. Make him welcome. He has brought a stranger into our midst. She is the woman of his vision and must be accorded respect and honor.”

  At his words, all the people looked at her, their expressions guarded but not unkind save for one woman who stood on the edge of the crowd. She was tall and slender, with finely shaped features and thick waist-length black hair tied with a bit of red cloth into a single braid that fell over her left shoulder. When the Indian woman looked at Rebecca, her eyes were filled with hatred.

  The old man placed his arm across Wolf Dreamer’s shoulder. “Wolf Dreamer has returned to take his rightful place among us as shaman to the People of the High Mountain.”

  A ripple of noise ran through the crowd as the people came forward to grasp Wolf Dreamer’s hand. Some embraced him. The woman with the braid did not come forward to greet him. Hands clenched at her sides, the woman stared at Wolf Dreamer, her black eyes filled with such longing it made Rebecca’s heart ache.

  Wolf Dreamer introduced her to his cousin, Red Otter, and his wife, White Deer Woman. Neither of them spoke English. Rebecca nodded at them and smiled. How would she ever feel at home here? The Lakota didn’t speak her language, and she doubted she would ever learn to speak theirs.

  When the people dispersed, Wolf Dreamer lifted Rebecca from the back of her horse.

  “What did that old man say about me?” she asked.

  “Roan Horse told the people to make you welcome. Come, let us go down to the river and bathe. My cousin’s wife will bring us soap and a change of clothes.”

  “Who was that woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “The one standing by herself. She was the only one who didn’t come forward to welcome you home. Why?”

  An expression she could not read flitted across his face and was gone.

  “Her name is Summer Moon Rising.”

  “She’s in love with you, isn’t she?” Rebecca asked, surprised that the notion caused her a sharp pang of jealousy.

  “I thought so, once.”

  “What happened?”

  “She married my best friend.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish to bathe,” he said, taking her hand. “Come.”

  The thought of bathing with him chased everything else from her mind, though why she should feel embarrassed at the idea, she could not say. She had seen him naked before. He had watched her give birth. But bathing together…it implied an intimacy she did not wish to pursue.

  He led her away from the village to a bend in the river that was screened from view by tall shrubs and cottonwoods.

  With no concern for his nudity or the fact that it was broad daylight, he began to strip off his moccasins and trousers.

  Rebecca turned her back.

  She heard a splash as he waded into the river.

  A few minutes later, White Deer Woman appeared carrying a pile of clothing. The plump woman smiled at Rebecca as she placed the clean clothes on top of a rock, waved at Wolf Dreamer, and went back the way she had come.

  “The water is warm,” Wolf Dreamer called.

  “I’ll wash later, after you get out.”

  “It is common for my people to bathe together.”

  “Well, I’m not one of ‘your’ people, and it isn’t common for me.”

  “Come, Rebecca, I have already seen all of you there is to see.”

  The thought brought a hot rush of blood to her cheeks, but she stood her ground, trying not to remember that she had seen him naked before, trying not to remember the breadth of his shoulders, the long clean lines of his arms and legs, the smooth copper color of his skin.

  “Rebecca,” he called softly. “Will you bring me the soap?”

  “Soap?” She glanced around, then saw a small yellow lump on top of the clothes the woman had brought.

  Picking it up, she walked backwards toward the river. “Here,” she said, and tossed it behind her.

  The sound of his laughter filled the air.

  She stared into the distance, trying not to imagine what was going on behind her. She heard splashing as he walked out of the water and fought down the urge to turn and look at him, to see if he was as beautiful as she remembered.

  She didn’t hear him move, but she sensed he was standing behind her. His arm reached around her waist and she saw the soap in his hand. Careful not to touch him, she picked it up.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “As you wish.” His breath was warm against her cheek. “For now.”

  She waited until he was out of sight, then undressed quickly and waded into the river. The bottom was smooth and sandy and squished between her toes. The water was indeed warm and she lingered there, enjoying the feel of it against her bare skin as it swirled around her.

  It was a pretty place. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees and glinted on the surface of the water. Birds flitted from branch to branch. A small gray squirrel starred down at her, chattering loudly. She gave a little shriek, then laughed self-consciously as a small silver fish darted past her leg.

  Time and again, she glanced at the shore to make sure she was alone. She was wading out of the river when she saw someone making off with her dress and petticoats.

  She shouted, “Hey! Come back here!” then stamped her foot when she realized the thief probably didn’t understand English and probably wouldn’t have stopped if she did.

  Rebecca stared after the woman. It had been Summer Moon Rising, she was sure of it.

  The whisper of the wind across her bare breasts reminded her that she was naked and she backed up until the water again covered her up to her shoulders. Now what? She wasn’t about to go traipsing back to the village stark-naked.

  She lost track of the time as she huddled there, felt a surge of relief when she heard Wolf Dreamer call her name.

  “I’m here!” she shouted.

  He strolled into view, a pile of clothing over his arm. “I am sorry,” he said. “She will not bother you again.”

  Wolf Dreamer dropped a doeskin dress and a length of cotton cloth on a rock, then turned his back so she could get out of the water. He was sorely tempted to glance over his shoulder, but he restrained himself, knowing she would not approve. He puzzled over her modesty. He had watched her in childbirth. What could be more intimate than that?

  He heard the whisper of cloth against her skin, wished he had the right to take her in his arms and caress her. For years, she had filled his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Knowing she belonged to another had cooled neither his ardor nor his desire. Many times he had been tempted to swoop down and steal her away from her wasichu husband, but always he had restrained himself, knowing the time was not yet right for them to be together.

  But there was nothing to keep them apart now.

  Slowly, he turned to face her. He had never seen anything more beautiful, he thought, than Rebecca as she looked now, clad in a simple, ankle-length dress of sun-bleached doeskin. There were moccasins on her feet. Her hair, still damp, fell over her shoulders in dark red waves. The setting sun tinged her skin with a faint golden glow.

  She flushed under his steady regard.

  “Come,�
� he said. “The wife of Roan Horse has prepared food for us.”

  She smoothed a hand over her skirt, then followed him back to the village. The doeskin felt strange against her bare skin. She felt naked without her chemise, petticoats, stockings and shoes.

  She followed him back to the village, aware that she was being scrutinized by everyone she passed.

  Wolf Dreamer stopped in front of a large tipi. Rebecca perused the drawings on the lodgeskins. There were several scenes, all depicting wolves—a wolf howling at a bright yellow moon, a wolf sitting on a pinnacle, staring out over a broad valley, a wolf standing over a kill, teeth bared.

  Lifting the flap, he gestured for her to enter, then followed her inside.

  A fire burned in a small round pit in the center of the lodge. Buffalo robes were spread on the ground around the firepit. Several hide containers were stacked in the back of the tipi. A shield hung from a pole in the back of the lodge, together with several rawhide bags and pouches. Wood was stacked beside the door.

  “My shield is sacred,” Wolf Dreamer said, pointing to it. “You must not touch it.”

  Two bowls and two cups rested near the edge of the firepit.

  “Sit,” Wolf Dreamer said, indicating a willow backrest on one side of the fire. “Your place is always there, to the left of the fire.”

  “Why can’t I sit on that side?”

  “It is customary for women to sit on the south side of the lodge. When entering a lodge, men go to the right and women to the left. If possible, you must not pass between a seated person and the fire.”

  “Whose tipi is this?”

  “It is mine. Sit. Eat.”

  “Yours?” She sat down where he had indicated, noting, as she did so, that there was a quiver of arrows hanging from one of the lodgepoles in the back of the tipi. “I thought you said you’d been away for a long time. Has your tipi been waiting for you all the while you were gone?”

  “No. Roan Horse’s spirit guide told him we were coming today.”

  “Of course,” she said skeptically, yet she couldn’t deny the tipi had been here, waiting for them. She picked up one of the bowls and stirred it with the spoon. “What is this?”