by Karen Kay
“Who here at the fort does not know it? Is it not on the tip of every man’s tongue?” he countered. “I may be Indian, but I do understand and speak English. Tell me,” he continued, “does giving yourself to me include marriage?”
She shook her head.
And he said, “It is as I had thought.” He looked, if anything, briefly disappointed before he continued, “Then you are prepared to act the part of a woman of little virtue?”
“I have just said that I am, haven’t I?” She still could not look at him.
“Then I suggest you do it now.”
“What?” That had her casting a quick glance at him.
But he looked calm, as if he were in the habit of being propositioned in this manner every day of his life. He said, “If this is the thing you intend to do, then I should know if your heart speaks true. You should give me a sample of that which I can expect from you…at least a look at what I might have.”
“But—but…I—I—. Now? Here?”
He nodded.
“I—I…No, not now. Besides you have already seen me naked once tonight.”
Oddly, he seemed to be appeased, although he said, “If you will not do it, then how do I know you are sincere?”
“Because I tell you that I am, that’s how.”
He grinned. “And am I to take the word of a thief?”
“How dare you!” she uttered.
He simply shrugged and looked away from her, saying, “I would know that which I am getting, I think.”
She frowned at him. She even placed her hands on the belt holding her night coat together. But she found she could not do it; she could not budge; could not even untie a simple coat. In defeat, she gazed down at the floor.
And he came up onto his feet, moving away from her so swiftly and so silently, she had no choice but to call out, “Wait!”
He hesitated, his figure at her window.
“Wait, Lone Arrow. Please, I—I…can do this, if you insist. Please, give me a little more time.”
He made a negative hand motion. “No, do not do it,” he said, “for it would do you no good. I am afraid that I am guilty of teasing you, when perhaps I should not. Know that I cannot be enticed into doing this for you, for I cannot take you to the cave. Go home, Carolyn.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait!” she clamored. “Give me another chance. Please, I can do this.”
Where before her fingers had been like knots, they became now fluid with motion, and without further thought, she drew off the coat, the warm material of it falling to her feet. Next her grip came to the buttons of her nightdress; first one undone, and then another.
Carolyn felt mortified at what she was doing, but with a quick glance up at him, she knew she could not stop. At least she had his attention.
Too soon, she had no more buttons to undo, and with a shrug of her shoulders, she let the nightdress fall to the floor, her nakedness clearly illuminated before him.
She did not flinch beneath his gaze, and it was at some length before Lone Arrow at last spoke. In truth, so quiet did he become, he might have turned to stone.
Suddenly, and without beckoning them to do so, incidents from their past came back to swamp her, a similar happening between them coming clearly to mind. Surely he would not push her away…not again.
She was older now; she had more to offer him. Couldn’t he see that?
Still, he said nothing, and into that silence, Carolyn offered, “Please, Lone Arrow, I would marry you, too.”
She did not hear him tread toward her. She did not even know he was right upon her until she felt his fingers graze over the smoothness of her cheek.
She groaned and in truth, she barely heard his words, “So beautiful. So very, very beautiful,” before he silently strode away from her side.
Carolyn opened her eyes, and saw that he was beside the window again, ready to climb through it. Desperate, she said, “Why, Lone Arrow? Why don’t you like me?” She took an unsteady step forward.
She did not hear his moan, or maybe she did. Had it been him, or the wind making a sound?
He did not answer her question, either. Alas, she hardly registered his words as he said, “I cannot stay here any longer. There will be trouble if we are discovered together.”
She felt like crying. She had come all this way for what? She had humiliated herself for what? Absolutely nothing?
Taking another small pace toward him, she said, “Then you’re going to leave just like that? You’re not even going to try to help me?”
He did not answer. He simply turned around to stare at her.
One moment passed. Another. And Carolyn, under his intense scrutiny, dared not move.
He trod a few steps forward. “Know that my reasons for not helping you are not because I do not wish to do it. Know that it is that I must not do it.”
“Why?”
“Because I am sworn to protect that land and that cave, even from someone as pretty as you.”
She gulped, her eyes glued to his, as she closed the distance between them. She said, “But I must go there. Please, you took me there once before.”
“There was no other way to save you.”
“There is no other way to save me now, either. I would give you all that I have…”
He made some low sound, deep in his throat, before he added, “And had I the means, know that I would take it. But I cannot.” His glance seemed to sear into her body and with some effort, he added, “I must go.”
Still, he made not a single move to do so.
“Very well,” she said and, turning her back on him, stepped as quickly as possible to her clothes, which lay on the floor, as though they had been put there to attest to her shame. Quickly she donned the nightdress.
And he said, sounding as if it had taken the strength of ten horses to whip it from him, “Know that I have always liked you, The-girl-who-runs-with-bears. Perhaps,” he continued, more to himself than to her, “I have liked you a little too much.”
And with nothing more said, Lone Arrow made his escape through the window, leaving Carolyn alone to determine what to make of that statement, and what to do next.
Chapter Eight
Having knelt down in the dirt and grasses, there beneath his old friend’s window, Lone Arrow paused to admonish himself. Ho, what had he done? He had hurt her, he knew, and it was not something he had meant to do.
But what else could he have done? No honorable man would have taken what she offered, regardless of his desire to do so. She was not that kind of woman; he was not that kind of man.
What was it about The-girl-who-runs-with-bears that made him want to act in inappropriate ways? For, he acknowledged to himself, he had more than desired to take her in his arms. He had wanted to kiss her, had wanted to lie with her. He had physically ached with the need…
Glancing up toward her window, he knew he owed her yet another apology. He should have explained things to her; told her about his life, impressed upon her the importance of that cave, of keeping it sacred. Maybe if he had mentioned his duty in regard to those mountains, she might have understood.
Yet seeing her in all her natural beauty here tonight had given him pause. In truth, he had barely been able to think.
Beautiful. There was no other word to describe her, he thought. She was beautiful. And given any other circumstance, he would not have walked away from her.
But he’d had little choice. He could not do the thing that she asked. His honor, his very standing within his clan and his tribe, depended upon him acting in a responsible manner. He had made a mistake once in leading her into that place; he would not repeat it.
Originally, when he had come to her this night, he had intended to render her an apology, an explanation, perhaps, for his past acts. Yet the words had not formed upon his lips.
Instead he had come away from his meeting with her with doubts…about her. What was she doing here? Why had she returned?
She was l
ying. He must not lose sight of this.
As the wise ones have often said, it is in the eyes of a living being that one can know the truth, or not, of his words. And so it was that Lone Arrow knew that The-girl-who-runs-with-bears had spoken to him with a tongue that is forked.
But what did she hide from him? And why was she really here? To replace something of little worth, as she said?
It was unlikely. More feasible was the notion that she was here to take something else.
He wondered, what was this thing she had taken? He did not believe for a moment that this thing that had brought her back here was “nothing.” It had caused her to return, hadn’t it?
Even as Lone Arrow struggled with his thoughts, he crouched, stealing silently through the shadows of the fort with care, knowing that if he were caught in this place after dark, there would be trouble. Questions would be asked that he was not prepared to answer.
Stooping, he rolled into a nearby thicket of bushes, trying to keep as little sound as possible from the night wind. Nonetheless, the breezes whisked at his back, seeming to whisper at him, “She is beautiful.”
And though he made no argument, it was also upon his tongue to mention that she was also a nuisance. But then, he thought, she had always been both of these things to him.
Even as a youngster, she had been trouble, yet comely—although at the time he would have dared the wrath of three enemy tribes rather than admit it. Truth was, even then he had appreciated her. From her hair, which reminded him of the color of a fawn; to the earth-toned hue of her eyes, he had always looked upon her with “pleasant eyes.”
And although she was a slight little thing—she stood no higher than chin level to him—she more than compensated for her lack of stature with a determined disposition. Her face shape was distinct, too. Not round, as was common amongst his own people; not straight up and down, like so many of the whites he had known. Hers appeared to resemble the shape of a heart.
A heart? Lone Arrow shook his head. If he did not know himself better, he would have thought his ideas sounded love-struck.
But he did not think of her in that way.
Or did he? Certainly, he could not deny that he found her attractive, now, then…
At that thought, incidents from eight and a half years ago filled his consciousness. Certainly, he thought, back then he had been more than a little aware of her prettiness. He had simply been too young, and much too annoyed with her at the time to value it.
Still, all those years ago, he could have handled her with less hostility.
She had been innocent, and so very pretty…And as he recalled again her shy advances toward him, and in particular his reaction to them, he remembered that she had embarrassed him…
Fort C.F Smith looked like a stronghold, but to Lone Arrow it represented a sort of haven. At last he would be able to dismiss the girl, allowing him to return to his mountain and to his people.
He paused at the top of a butte, waited for her to advance to a position beside him, and caught her hand as a means of stopping her progress. He was aware of the exact moment when she came to stand beside him, and looking out from their hilltop, he pointed out the fort to her.
“Íkee, look,” he said to her, even though he knew that she did not understand his language. “We will be there before the sun finds its way into the sky this day.”
He glanced down at her, his look catching her in the act of smiling up at him. And that was when it happened.
His stomach dropped. She was so pretty, so innocent, so sweet.
In the distance, he heard the white man’s music—its refrains being sent up to them on the wind.
She leaned in toward him.
She said, “Dance with me,” but he did not understand her words.
He turned away from her, only to have her race after him, stop him and pull him around toward her.
She touched him, and shock filled his system; and not only because she had put her arms around his shoulders. She was even now carrying his arms to her, placing them around her waist.
He stood still, not knowing what to do. For although she was too young to know, far too young to understand what could happen between them, he was not. He was sixteen, a man in many ways.
He knew that he should move away from her, do something to stop this. Still, he could not take his gaze from her, and he moved his body as she dictated.
They danced; his steps fitting hers as if the two of them might have rehearsed these movements a hundred times.
For a moment, he wanted nothing more in this world than to kiss her. But he did not do it. Instead, remembering who he was and who she was, he made a move to turn away. He should have. But she reached up to him, there to place a sweet kiss on his cheek.
And Lone Arrow became lost in it. But not so lost that he did not recall that she was no more than a child.
And so he did nothing to return the embrace, for he knew that he must not show her what he felt. Alas, he had to get away from her.
Shrugging off her hold on him, he pointed her in the direction of the fort and gave her a small push toward it.
He was pleased to note that she took a step away from him, but she went no farther than a few paces before she turned back to him, confusion in her eyes.
“Délaah! Go!” he said, using gestures and signs that he knew she would understand.
He watched as the hurt came over her face; watched as she so obviously read other meanings into his actions.
And how he wanted to go to her, to ease that look from her eyes. But he could not do it.
Again, he signaled her to go away.
And at last she did as he demanded. But not before she had swung around and rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms.
And when her body came into contact with his, he lost a little bit of himself to her; she, a mere child.
He must not, he could not, let her know what was in his heart. Wrenching her arms from around his neck, he accidentally pulled off the silver locket she had given him. It was broken. He had broken it.
It was as though the locket mirrored what must take place between them. But perhaps it was for the best, he reasoned. After all, in his experience, the white man demanded payment for all things given. Perhaps this jewelry would buy the things she would need to survive.
Forcing himself to let the chain drop into his hand, he offered the locket back to her And then he did what he had to do. He signed to her to go away. And this time she would not misunderstand him.
Without any further communication, he turned his back on her and trod off in the opposite direction.
He knew his actions hurt her; knew she did not understand that he did what he had to do. But there was nothing else he could do if he were to be true to his honor.
In the end, he watched her all the way to the fort, only leaving the vicinity himself when someone from the stockade rushed out to escort her inside those gates.
And when that gate closed, Lone Arrow felt as though a part of his life had been shut out from him…
It was all so long ago.
And despite it all, he knew he owed her an apology. At a time when she had needed him, when he had been her lifeline within a sea of confusion, he had treated her as though she meant nothing to him.
If only she had known the truth.
But the truth was something he could not share with her. Now, or ever.
“She is beautiful,” came the refrain in the wind.
And Lone Arrow made a sound low in his throat. He had best rid himself of such thoughts. He must keep reminding himself that, though she might be lovely to look at, this woman had secrets. Secrets, he suspected, that she believed would make him think less of her…or she would not be withholding them from him.
Slinking soundlessly through the fort, he made his way to a spot outside the main stockade, all without incident. Once outside the fort’s walls, he found the cache where he had hidden his weapons, as well as some food and, picking up a knife, he sa
t down to put his weapons into order.
Still, he could not keep his musings from focusing on one thing: he had not been completely immune to her when they were children. If he had to spend more time with her, how would he restrain himself now?
Ho! There was only one thing he could do: he must ensure she left to go home on the morrow.
Sleep came in fits and spurts. It was impossible. But what had she expected? How could she sleep when every fiber of her being cringed in embarrassment?
What had made her think that because she was a grown woman Lone Arrow’s attitude toward her would have changed? Would she never learn?
Apparently not.
Well, what was she to do now? She supposed she could seek out Lone Arrow tomorrow and give him the cross. Surely, she realized, she could trust him with the treasure.
In truth, it was probably the best solution…or was it?
She frowned, reckoning that she could dog Lone Arrow’s steps until he would have no choice but to take her there. But would that work?
He was Indian. He probably knew more ways to avoid her than she could possibly envision. Although, could he? If she did not leave his presence ever?
But such a feat would be an impossibility. After all, a girl had certain needs that she must attend to now and again. She simply could not be with him every moment of every day.
What, then, was she to do?
She could go to the mountain by herself. Carolyn paused as the thought struck her.
She could do this, couldn’t she? After all, hadn’t Lone Arrow taught her how to survive in the wilderness? Hadn’t she done it before she had met up with him eight and a half years ago?
And she had survived. Barely, she reminded herself, but she had weathered the experience.
Turning over in bed and staring up at the ceiling, Carolyn mulled over her choices. There certainly weren’t many of them.
Truth to tell, as cockeyed as it might be, the more and more she thought about it, the more and more she liked the idea. For one, striking out on her own would make her less dependent on him and less reliant on his good will. For another, it placed her destiny into her own hands.
