by Karen Kay
When she finished translating, Kristina glanced at the colonel, who sat for the moment, poised to react.
“Trade!” The colonel leaped to his feet, his face livid. He pounded on his desk, causing Kristina to shrink away. “Trade! I’ve been summoned to a council in the middle of the day on the Fourth of July because this Indian wants to trade!”
“Colonel, sir, I think that…”
“Tell this savage,” the officer ignored her, “to come back tomorrow. Tell him he’ll have to pay double for wasting my time. Tell him…”
“…to report your trickery back to his tribe and invite the whole of the Sioux nation here in war?”
“Father!”
“Sioux?” The colonel’s gaze snapped to the door, and Kristina witnessed the slow flush that filled the commanding officer’s face. It made her wonder if the man had something to hide. Finally, the colonel opened his mouth to speak, closed it, tried again, stammering, “These Indians are from the Lakota nation, not the…”
“One and the same, Colonel.” Her father, the major, stalked further into the room, fixing his gaze upon the senior officer. “The French gave them the name Sioux. It’s an insult. The Indians call themselves the Dakota, or Lakota, depending on dialect.” That the major was furious was without question. “If you would care to study the Indians in this country, you would know that these men are Sioux, just from the make of their moccasins. Your ignorance could have cost every man in this post his life. You’re new here, Colonel. You don’t insult these people and expect to live long. I suggest that you pick a less warlike tribe to abuse in the future. The Sioux can boast as many as ten thousand warriors. Are you ready to fight them?”
Kristina flinched as the colonel shot a glare at her. He drew himself up to his full height, then spoke to the major, “I was not informed by your daughter these warriors were Sioux. Had I known…”
“The fault,” the major said, advancing across the room, until his face was inches from the colonel’s, “is solely yours. You asked my daughter to interpret. Yet even you know the Indian might consider this degrading. When I heard you had asked Kristina to act as interpreter, putting her life in danger, I…” The major leaned back. “I’m surprised the Indians are still here.” He glanced at her.
Kristina smiled, but she knew it was shaky. “I did my best.”
Her father nodded and, wheeling around, sized up the Indians. Then, turning back, he leveled a penetrating glare at her. “They say they’re here to trade?”
“Yes.”
“Did they tell you why they’ve come so far south?”
“They feel they’re being cheated by the fur company in their country. They are making inquiries here in the hopes of finding the exchange fairer at our post. He said that their tribes are angry.”
The major nodded. “You’ve done well, honey.” He gave her a sidelong grin. “I’ll take over from here. Your ma needs help with the festivities. You go on now.”
Kristina glanced at Tahiska beneath her lashes. She would rather have stayed. She nodded compliance, however, then lifting her skirts, rushed toward the door.
Tahiska watched the exchange between the two soldiers with interest. While intuition told him the newcomer meant them no harm, he held back, preferring to observe the argument from a distance.
It was only when the white woman was addressed that Tahiska experienced a rush of concern, though he couldn’t decipher its exact source. His senses alerted, he felt, rather than merely saw, the smile exchanged between the newcomer and the woman. And with complete shock, Tahiska felt the stirrings of jealousy burst within him.
The girl and the man exchanged comments, and in Tahiska’s aggravated state, he didn’t notice the resemblance between the two speakers. He did, however, mark the bond between the woman and the white man, and again a rush of raw emotion swept through him.
Tahiska’s keen insight warned him of the woman’s dismissal. Emotion tore through him. Now that he had accepted her, he would fight to keep her. Besides, if she became interpreter, it meant he would see her again, something that had suddenly become important to him.
He caught her quick glance at him through her lashes, though she tried to cover it. He instantly sensed the desire in the look and, with fluidity and grace, Tahiska sped to the door on silent feet, blocking the exit with one arm spread across the entrance.
The white woman, Kristina, had neither seen nor heard his movement and walked straight into him. Though the contact was brief, her touch triggered a response within him. Startled at his instantaneous reaction, and infinitely aware of the watching and the flaring hostilities, Tahiska’s first words were unnecessarily harsh.
“The white woman stays.” He followed his verbal command with rapid signing. “I told her I would use her as interpreter. It was a promise.”
Tahiska didn’t glance at the woman. His signs were entirely for the newcomer, but the Indian noted, with pleasure, that Kristina had not shifted away from him. She was still close, only a few inches away, and he sensed she was staring straight up at him. Though Tahiska longed to return her look, his rigorous Indian training kept his wayward body under control and his stare upon his potential enemy.
“You do not understand,” the white soldier signed. “Our chief is new, he does not understand your ways. You do not need the woman to interpret. We do not abuse you in this way. I am also a chief. I will interpret for you.”
“You ask that I bring dishonor to my tribe, to myself, and to this woman’s family? I have told her I will listen to her. It is enough.”
“I am her father,” the white man signed. “You would not dishonor me or my daughter.”
“That is for me to decide,” Tahiska retorted, his features carefully blank, not registering the amount of relief he was feeling. He was also not pleased with himself. That the white soldier was Kristina’s father should not bring such pleasure. That he would allow a woman to walk with the three of them and to talk to them openly didn’t bear repeating. Nevertheless, he would not alter his decision. “I have given my word,” he stated in the Lakota dialect while signing. “I have no more to say.”
His eyes challenged the white soldier. He would stand his ground. His word was inviolate. Besides, the pleasure of seeing the woman on a regular basis was almost more than he could bear. And in the look exchanged between himself and the soldier, Tahiska knew that in this, their first skirmish, he had won.
Major Bogard was not at all pleased. He wished his daughter to have as little to do with these Indians as possible. Yes, he had at one time envisioned Kristina working with the natives, educating them in civilized ways. What he hadn’t realized at the time was that his picture of the situation was qualified. He had envisioned her teaching the hang-around-the-fort Indians. Not these. These men were wild. They were unpredictable. They were from another culture entirely. Besides, it wasn’t just because of her safety or virtue that he worried. If her mother ever found out…
When a junior officer had apprised him earlier that afternoon that Colonel Wheeling was requesting his daughter’s presence at a council with the Indians, the major had been furious, as well as suspicious.
He had been close enough to interpret. True, he had been away from the fort, but only for a few hours. Why hadn’t Wheeling summoned him, waited for him? After all, he was the cavalry officer whose specific job concerned handling and soothing these wild tribes. Was it the colonel’s intention to insult these men?
The major could only speculate, but he was certain that these mistakes deserved consideration and perhaps a lengthy report to army superiors in Washington. Something was not as it seemed here.
One didn’t assume an attitude of superiority over these wild tribes without cost. He had seen it before. He had seen these Indian men, pushed so far that they’d had no alternative but to fight, if only to retain their dignity. And if these Indians here were angered and insulted beyond repair, they could bring the ferocity of the Sioux nation down upon the fort, a grave condition
, for with the trade wagon away, the fort could not produce enough manpower to withstand an Indian attack.
But there was more to contend with here than just the colonel’s stupidity; this senior officer had completely disregarded his junior’s influence in the fort. He had not even considered Major Bogard’s rage at finding his own daughter acting as interpreter to men, to wild Indians who could, just as easily as not, destroy her—although now, after seeing these men, the major doubted that this would ever happen.
These were men of their word. And the major, having been in the West longer than any other man at the fort, understood the mores of these tribes—that once a brave had pledged his word, he might as well have sworn his life. To these wild tribes, one’s honesty, one’s integrity was inviolable.
Yes, the major understood these things, but did the colonel? Again, what were the commanding officer’s motives?
The problem was that the major could think of no quick solution to resolve this mess.
It was obvious the Indians would not retreat. It wasn’t yet clear to the major how his daughter had convinced them to allow her to interpret, but it was now done.
Briefly, Bogard’s rage at the colonel flared. The commanding officer’s actions had placed Kristina in direct and indefinite contact with these Indians. It meant she would have to accompany these men whenever they were about the fort, and he, her father, would not always be there to protect her. Such close, unchaperoned conduct was not even allowed amongst his own people. Major Bogard scowled. He knew of no way to communicate this to these men.
Kristina’s father sized up the Indian. The look he received in return was intense.
Despite himself, the major relaxed. He could sense nothing about the Indian that could be interpreted as disreputable. In fact, Kristina would probably be safer with the Indian to protect her than with any white soldier in the fort. It was there in the Indian’s manner. He would guard her well.
“Understand me,” the major began, his signs clear and distinct. “I am her father. And though you have given your promise to Kristina, it is due to a mistake. I fear for her. She has never been interpreter before now. But I will bring you no dishonor. She will accompany you here in the fort. But know this, I will allow no harm upon her.”
The Indian nodded, then drawing his right hand downwards and toward his body, he said, “Do not fear. I will protect her as though she were my own cousin.”
Satisfied, Major Bogard acknowledged his pledge and, turning his back on the Indians, he redirected his rage to the colonel. He would determine just what this officer’s intentions were. And if the colonel squirmed a bit under the barrage of profanities and threats, so much the better.
Kristina had witnessed the entire exchange all from close range. In fact, she still stood beside the Indian, only a few inches away. She had situated herself so that she had a clear view of both her father and Tahiska.
When her father turned to speak with the colonel, she took the opportunity to study Tahiska in closer detail. He was utterly handsome, utterly compelling, and he seemed quite unaware of it. His skin was a few shades darker than her own; his hair, which fell well below his shoulders, was neatly combed; his nose was straight and slightly aquiline; his lips were full and sensuous; his eyes black and mysterious, yet always direct.
He glanced at her now and she smiled, averting her eyes. But he would have none of that. Touching her gently under the chin, he brought her gaze back to his.
She blushed. The Indian’s touch was gentle, yet her pulse responded as though she were running. She couldn’t control these feelings and worse, she knew they were radiated in her eyes. Though he lowered his hand, just the remembrance of his touch set her on fire, made her limbs weak, quickened her heartbeat.
What was happening to her? Why did her vision come with a touch that stirred her very soul? Surely she was not attracted to him. He was Indian. There was a gulf between them, between their two cultures, that would be almost impossible to bridge. And yet, hadn’t she jumped at the chance to visit their country, knowing there was something out there for her? But she hadn’t actually envisioned staying in Indian country, and she had surely never anticipated these feelings of…
Covertly she glanced up at him. Her stomach dropped and, despite herself, despite the other company in the room, she wanted him to kiss her so badly she felt almost faint from it. She gazed at his lips. A mistake. For when she raised her eyes back to his, she knew he easily read the desire in them.
Kristina squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. Who was she trying to fool? She was very attracted to him.
“Will you show us the trading post?” He spoke to her, and when she, at last, opened her eyes, he made the signs in front of her face. Never once did he relinquish eye contact.
“Yes. You—your friends, come with me.”
She swung away and faced the two men at the opposite side of the room, who were still arguing. “Father,” she interrupted, “I’m escorting the Indians to the trading post. Then I’ll prepare for the Fourth of July celebration.”
“Yes,” her father answered, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Go on, Kristina. I’ll join you later.”
Nodding, she pivoted to find three Indians patiently waiting. But only one stared at her, and in his expression was a knowledge of her she wished he didn’t have.
Kristina felt desperate to fly out the door and scramble to the trading post as quickly as possible. However, all of her Bostonian social training came to the fore and Kristina stepped through the door as demurely as possible. Once outside, she glanced back to ensure the Indians were not far behind.
She stopped short.
No one was there.
Picking up her skirts, she backtracked to the colonel’s office. As she peeked around the door, she saw them, still standing in the same place and glaring at her.
She gazed at her father and Colonel Wheeling. They were locked in argument and were unaware that anything untoward was occurring.
Stealing back into the room, she addressed Tahiska in sign. “I will show you the way to the trading post. Please follow me.” She twirled around.
“Hiya!”
She peered back over her shoulder. The Indians hadn’t budged. Kristina didn’t understand what Tahiska had said, but she knew noncompliance when she saw it. Hadn’t she read his signs correctly? Didn’t he want to see the trading center?
Again she turned toward them. She smiled, then signed, “If you will follow me, I will show you the trading post. Did you not wish to see it?”
“I will follow no woman!” Tahiska’s gestures were rapid, his expression grim. “I would not insult my friends by insisting they be led by a mere girl.”
“But I mean you no insult,” she spoke in sign. “How else can I lead you to the post if you do not follow? I cannot point it out from here.”
“Then we will stay here until you discover a way.”
Kristina stared at Tahiska as though he had suddenly grown another two eyes. “You don’t honestly expect me to…” She halted her speech, switching to sign. “It is our custom that a woman precedes a man into and out of a room. There is no insult meant. It is only custom.”
“It is not ours!”
Kristina expelled one long breath, realizing belatedly that being interpreter for these Indians would be no easy task. “Then tell me,” she said, standing directly before Tahiska. “What is your custom?”
“You must discover this yourself, for I cannot speak it to you.”
Kristina took a moment to try to clear her thoughts. She was to show them the trading center, yet they would not follow her to it, for it was not customary to lag behind a woman, nor would they enlighten her as to exactly what was the custom.
Kristina caught Tahiska’s scrutiny and smiled.
“Perhaps,” she gestured, “if you lead the way, I will show you the trading post.”
Tahiska nodded and brushed past her, the other two Indians adhering to his lead.
St
unned, Kristina gazed after them. This was the oddest way she’d ever seen of escorting guests.
She shook her head and, picking up her skirts, tagged along behind.
Now and again one or the other of the Indians would glance back at her to discover which way to turn. Kristina would motion to them in sign and though slow, the quartet eventually found their way across the fort to the trading center.
They had stopped just short of the building and all three Indians stared at the sign affixed to the top of the building.
Kristina glanced at it, wondering what it was about the sign that had captured their attention. It clearly read “Trading Center,” the letters carved into the wooden log, and at each end of the post hung a huge bouquet of flowers, probably, thought Kristina, the feminine touch of the trader’s wife.
Tahiska scowled over his shoulder at Kristina and motioned her forward.
“What is the meaning of the flowers?” he wanted to know. “Must we also trade with women? Is the white man so cowardly that only his women are here to meet strangers, to face possible danger?”
Kristina gasped. She had never heard anyone speak so disparagingly about her race and so condescendingly about her own gender. While she tried to think quickly of a defense, she was reminded that to the Indian eye, her presence here, without a soldier escort, could make the white male appear fainthearted.
“It’s only a sign that says to others that this is the trading center,” she finally responded. “The trader’s wife has most likely hung the flowers upon this post to create beauty.” Kristina motioned toward the beadwork on the Indian’s own clothing. “Even the shirt that you wear boasts of beauty. It was obviously made by one who cares for you. The flowers you see there are meant as ornamentation only. Come inside, you’ll see. It’s not a place where many women dwell.”
