by Karen Kay
Completely honest with himself, Tahiska, considered the pleasure that had shot through him with the white woman’s touch. That she had felt it, too, was without doubt. He was not a young boy never affected by passion, never tasting the pleasures between a man and a woman. He thought he was worldly wise. Now he wondered. He had never felt such an intense pleasure from a relatively simple action. An image of the woman locked in his embrace crept into his thoughts. His body immediately responded, causing Tahiska discomfort. The sensation was a surprise. He disciplined himself.
He was on tribal business. The matter for which he had come was of the utmost importance to him, and its urgency was the only reason he was here at the white man’s fort. He tried to conjure up his anger at the whole of the white race, but his efforts were in vain. He snorted, and disgusted with himself, he turned away. He would spare neither his time nor his thoughts on the white woman.
Chapter Four
“Ah, Miss Bogard. There you are.”
Kristina smiled, and letting herself into the commanding officer’s quarters, stepped into the room. Her full skirts rustled as she moved, creating the only sound in the silent room. Even her slippers, usually muffled by surrounding noise, fell in a hushed echo as she crossed the wooden floor toward Colonel Wheeling’s desk. She had never been more aware of the sounds of her movement than at this moment.
As she came further into the room, she tensed. Something was wrong.
Immediately she espied the three Indians standing at the opposite end of the room, their expressions blank, their posture stiff. While her attention lingered on the Indian dressed in white, a sensation, similar to the one she had felt earlier that morning at the piano, flitted over her nerves. She eyed him cautiously. Why did her body react so at his mere presence, and why did she feel as though she knew him? She took an unsteady breath, then turned away.
“Good day, Colonel Wheeling. I understand you asked to see me. Is there something I might do for you?” Although she stood with her back toward the Indians while she addressed the officer, every nerve in her body screamed that she was being observed—hostilely. Why?
“Yes, Miss Bogard,” the colonel replied, gesturing to a chair. “Won’t you, please be seated?”
When she had complied, the colonel took his seat as well. “I must ask a favor of you this afternoon. These three Indians have come here to have council with me. They have some business here, but I am hard put to understand them. I don’t know their tongue and I’ve never mastered that language they use with their hands. In your short time here at the fort, I have observed your fluency in this sign language. Would you be so kind as to act as translator for us?” The colonel followed this request with an engaging smile.
Kristina was taken aback. She had never been asked to perform such a duty before; and she was well aware of the unusual nature of this request.
“Have you asked my father to translate?” she asked the colonel.
“He has been gone from the fort for a few hours, and we don’t expect him back before sunset.”
“I see,” Kristina said. “And the half-breed translators?”
“None are available. Most started their celebration early and already are in bed—drunk. No, Miss Bogard, because this is a holiday there is no one else here to help. And these men are anxious to speak.”
She paused, then, treating the colonel to an enchanting smile, she said, “I’d be happy to help. Have you ascertained anything yet?”
“Only that their business is pressing,” he retorted. “But that’s from observation alone, not because we’ve managed to communicate.”
“I see,” Kristina said, standing. She twirled around and for the first time gave her full attention to the Indians, or rather, Indian. She noticed no one but him. However, none of the Indians paid her any attention, and it gave her a chance to step closer to them.
She stopped short. An image flashed before her; her heart began to pound, and unconsciously, she swept, a hand over her eyes. Suddenly, she realized why he seemed so familiar. Her head spun; her heart began to race. She blinked, feeling as if she were on the verge of fainting. Still, he stood proudly before her and she knew he had stepped out of her dreams, into reality. He was the one from her vision. She put a hand to her throat and gulped in air. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t act as translator. She needed to think. She needed distance. And most of all she needed time to pull herself together.
She spun around to face the colonel, wondering if she looked as haunted as she felt.
“Why, Miss Bogard, are you all right?”
“I…” she gasped. “Sir, I don’t believe I can act as translator for you.”
“Of course you can.” The colonel eyed her cautiously. “There’s no reason for you to be afraid of these Indians. After all, I’m here to protect you.” This was said so tonelessly that Kristina wondered for a moment at that “protection.” “Perhaps,” he continued, “you’ve had too much sun today. This might be a welcome relief for you. Why not just see if you can ascertain their business, my dear?” The colonel chose to pin her with a charming smile, but Kristina was beyond such influences. She could react to nothing but of nothing but him. Think him.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Now just turn around and ask them why they are here,” he replied, the impatience in his tone obvious.
She gulped and knew she would have to do it. Short of running from the room as though she were pursued by demons, she had little choice. She took a long, unsteady breath, then turned around. She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she wouldn’t see him, only her dream.
She stared at the floor, unaware that she was trembling. She wondered what he thought of her actions. Would he think she was crazy? It was this last thought that propelled her into motion. Through sheer willpower, she forced her gaze upwards, to meet his.
Her smile was weak, her movements hesitant as she began to sign, “Good day.” She swung her hands in a sweeping arc over her head, ending with her right hand pressed down over her heart, telling them she hoped all their days were happy. There was no response. Her hands trembled, and she could only hope that they had understood.
“Halt!” There was no mistaking the thrust of his right hand. The one in the middle, the one from her vision, shot forward. His expression grim, he glared first at her, then at the colonel. His eyes remained on the colonel. “You would insult us by bringing in this woman!” His movements cut through the air, his motions so quick, Kristina could barely follow. “We have come here for council. We have come a great distance to talk of a matter of grave importance. We represent the Lakota nation and you insult us in this way? Since we have arrived in this fort, we have endured such bad manners from the soldiers that we begin to wonder if they are feeble-minded. But this—bringing in this girl—is an insult no Lakota need abide. We do not council with women. Our meeting is at an end.”
He hesitated and Kristina saw that he stared at her trembling fingers. He glanced up at her and she could have sworn that she caught a fleeting look of tenderness in his expression.
It was quickly masked, though. Tearing his gaze from hers, he shrugged, and motioning to his friends, stalked to the door.
“No!” Kristina gasped. “Wait!”
The Indians paid her no heed. Their flight was so fast, yet so graceful, they were almost away before Kristina forced herself into action. “Wait!” She darted across the room and unmindful of her own discomfort, she reached out to him, placing her hand upon his arm. Again, a charge shot up her arm, vibrating through her whole body. And if Kristina had shrugged off her reaction to him before, she was more than reminded of it now. The atmosphere around them fairly exploded.
All three men stopped at her gesture. All three men scowled at the hand that lay upon the Indian’s shirt. One man looked up at her fiercely, though beneath her touch she felt him shiver.
“We mean no insult.” Kristina had recovered herself. The trauma of his reaction to her simple greeting of “good
day” had jolted her out of reverie. Her only intention now was to somehow save this council, and she motioned the gestures of sign with her right hand, her left still detaining him. “This is summer. Most all our men are gone with the wagon train to trade furs across the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers. We celebrate today. It is a holiday and many of our men are not here. There is no one else to translate because our chief does not understand sign language. It is because we value you and do not wish to waste your time that I have been brought here. I am only an interpreter. I do not add ideas to the council. I am here only so you and the chief can talk.”
She had never looked at anyone so directly. She felt mesmerized and doubted that she would be able to look away. He stared back at her. His gaze was intense and as potent as a caress. It was an odd sensation, this looking at one another, and for a moment she could have sworn she knew his thoughts as though they were her own. She swallowed, then gestured, “We do not mean to disgrace you. We only try to communicate.”
Her hand tightened upon his arm, and she continued to stare at him. He was so close she could smell the clean scent of prairie grass that clung to the deerskin he wore, plus another indefinable scent that could only be marked as his own. She wondered if she should step back, away from him, but she couldn’t force herself to move.
He watched her while long moments passed; his study of her was so intense that for a moment she was certain he could see into her soul. And she wondered if he would dare to do the unthinkable and listen to her.
He shifted his gaze so that he stared at her fingers, where they touched his arm, and Kristina held her breath, praying that he could see beyond his pride and know that she would never intend him insult. Finally, he responded. “Perhaps you do not intend to demean us.” His motions were slower now, not so erratic. “But your chief does. He must know our customs to be chief at a trading post. I think he is afraid. I think he hides his fear behind the skirt of a woman. I think he uses you.” He looked down his nose at her and, though he tried to pretend differently, Kristina noted with a sense of elation that he watched her not with hostility but with admiration. It gave her hope to go on.
“Maybe you are right,” she gestured. “I do not know him well, but still he is chief. If you have business here, you will have to speak with him.”
“Halt!” His thrusting motion stopped just short of her breasts. His gaze was unwavering, yet she felt his anger did not extend to her. He raised his chin defiantly. “I do not have to speak to anyone. Our cause can be settled another way.”
“I beg you to try to continue the council.” Unable to look away, she held his gaze. “Perhaps I should explain. I am told I’m too forward for a woman. I am told I compete too fiercely with men. I am told I have talents only men should have. Maybe that is why the chief feels comfortable in asking me here.”
He paused suddenly, and Kristina warmed under the heat of his gaze which travelled down to the hem of her dress and back up, till his eyes returned to hers.
“Why do you say this?” he signed. “Are you one of those women who—?”
His hand motions stopped in midair. He had the grace to realize he should not ask what was in his mind, but Kristina, familiar with his culture, knew his thoughts, knew that his inquiry was personal, that he wanted to know about her—was she male in spirit rather than female?—wanted to know if that was why she competed with men in their own sphere.
“No,” she spoke aloud, responding to his thoughts, not to his question. She shook her head firmly, signing, “No, that is not why.”
She could feel the blush rise to her face and she looked away. Odd, but Kristina also felt urged to assure this man in a most feminine way that his speculations about her were incorrect.
“I…” Kristina paused, and with eyes clearly focused on his, she added, “It’s just that I am smarter than most men.”
Though not a single muscle moved, the Indian’s eyes mirrored amusement, while beside him one of his friends smiled.
They all visibly relaxed. Kristina smiled. She just might be able to save this council after all.
“I beg you to continue,” she signed. “But if you feel you must not council through me, come back tomorrow. Other men will be here then.”
He hesitated. Nothing was said for a few moments, nothing was signed, no breath was drawn. He drew his arm, with her hand still upon him, closer.
“I will have you.”
Kristina stared at him, unable to respond. It was a small victory. And deep within her mind, she saw his gestures again and again. Did she dare to interpret that phrase other than the way it was meant?
“What is this all about?” Colonel Wheeling interrupted, his voice startling Kristina, who jumped back. Four pairs of eyes, three Indian and one white, stared at him. He knew he had been forgotten in the midst of the turbulent emotions, and he waited as Kristina stepped back to the middle of the room, away from the Indians. She smiled shyly at him.
“Sir, they were insulted you brought in a woman as interpreter. They’re here from the Lakota nation and apparently they don’t council with women, even as interpreter.” As she spoke, he watched the three Indians step back into the room. “They almost walked out.”
The colonel had the grace to blush. That was exactly what he had intended. He didn’t like Indians. He had fought several different tribes back east and he saw no reason why he should humor these men. “Yes, I thought they were leaving. Maybe you can tell me, Miss Bogard, why are they still here?”
Kristina swallowed. “I seem to have convinced them to trust me as interpreter after all.”
The colonel considered her naiveté, then facing the Indian in white, noted the intelligent leer in his obsidian eyes.
There was no pretense in that expression, and the colonel knew, without a doubt, that he’d been found out.
“Proceed, Miss Bogard,” he ordered at last. “Let’s discover why these young men have traveled such a great distance to come here.”
“Yes, sir,” Kristina uttered and, pivoting around, addressed the Indians.
“You are from the great Lakota nation in the northwest. I have heard of this tribe, though you are the first from it I have met. You are welcome. You have traveled far to conduct business here. How can we help you?” She noted with satisfaction that her hands were steady and vocalization was not necessary to accompany the signing.
“Wait,” he motioned. “What are you called?”
Kristina, caught off guard, felt color flood her cheeks. It was another personal inquiry. The second one so far. She hadn’t expected either. Her gaze locked with his.
“Kristina,” she repeated aloud, pointing to herself.
“Kris-tee-na.” His Indian tongue added an elegance to the pronunciation that her ear had never before heard. She liked it. He pointed to himself. “Ta-his-ka.”
“Tahiska,” she repeated, then inclined her head to the other Indians, though they both only returned her stare. She then pointed to the colonel, but the Indian’s halt sign, plus his cold glance, kept her still.
“Tahiska,” she tried his name again, then asked, “What does it mean?”
“White Buffalo,” he responded. “And the meaning of yours?”
Kristina shrugged and glanced around her. “It has no meaning.”
Tahiska nodded, then added in sign, “I had heard that white people’s names hold no symbolism, but until now I didn’t believe it.”
“What is he saying?” the colonel interrupted, earning himself a glare from Tahiska.
“We’re introducing ourselves,” Kristina responded, glancing over her shoulder and pivoting slightly. “I think it’s important that he know who we are. It’s good manners. One of the Indians here at the fort told me that ritual and manners are vital to a council,” she explained, hoping the colonel would not question her further. She was not inclined to reveal to the commanding officer that there was more to the content of the communications.
The colonel paused and Kristina held her brea
th, waiting. And though his gaze at her might have been suspicious, finally he waved her on, saying, “Very well. Proceed.”
Sighing, she turned back to the Indians.
“Question,” she rotated her upright hand. “Why are you here?”
Staring at the woman, Tahiska was still for a moment. So much had happened here today that he needed time before replying. First there had been the woman and his reactions to her at a time when he was on important tribal business. And now this, this insult from the colonel. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the colonel had intended every disgrace.
Tahiska hadn’t expected either problem, and he hoped that his friends would understand his actions. He dared much by admitting this woman to council. He trusted none of the white people he had met so far, with the possible exception of the woman. Did he dare to tell her his exact purpose? What would the white man’s reaction be if he told them he had come for the scalps of two of their men? In just the little time he had been at the soldier fort, each person he had come into contact with, save the woman, looked upon him with a mixture of fear and condescension. He was particularly aware of it since it was an attitude he’d previously faced from a few fur traders with whom he’d bartered. And while at any other time Tahiska might have challenged this patronization, such action would surely defeat his purpose here.
The white chief had just insulted him. He knew it. He had seen the gleam in the white man’s eyes.
This washechu was not to be trusted.
It meant that he and his friends would need to guard what they said. It meant he would have to find these two white men without assistance from the washechu at the fort. Cautioning himself against revealing too much, his hands, one finger up, switched past each other.
“Trade,” Kristina translated while the handsome warrior continued the signs, his movements graceful and fluid. “They’re here because trade is poor elsewhere. The fur company in the north cheated them this year. All the tribes are…angry. Where once five buffalo robes would be fair exchange for a rifle…now ten buy only a…knife. They have come here to seek better exchange. He wants to know…how we trade and what…we offer.”
