by Karen Kay
Leaning over, she touched him, but he took her hand from him and kissed it.
“We will go no further. Do not try my control,” he said in Lakota, then signed his meaning. He frowned at her.
Stunned, Kristina lay still.
Perhaps it was his frown. Perhaps it was her own frustration. But whatever it was, Kristina was suddenly ashamed of her behavior. She had flung herself at him, and it was he who had called a stop to it, he who had maintained control.
Her heart was still racing, her breathing unsteady when the tears gathered in her eyes. What must he think of her? If it had been left up to her, they would right now be satisfying their mutual desire. He knew it as undeniably as she did. How could he respect her?
She rolled over, presenting her back to him. She sat up and struggled with her chemise and bodice. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she couldn’t see the buttons on her bodice clearly. Deeply embarrassed by her nudity she fought to dress herself, but her hands trembled so violently that her efforts were in vain. Tahiska circled his arms around her, steadying her hands in his own.
Then gingerly, as gently as possible he set her hands into her lap, completing the buttoning of her clothing himself. Not a word was said, yet his gentleness acted as a salve to her battered pride.
He kissed the back of her neck, trailing his tongue over the curve of her ear. Then delicately he dried her tears, stroking her cheeks, before he followed the movement of his fingers with his lips.
He dressed her with all the care of a patient lover, giving Kristina time to regain her composure. This done, he drew her down into his embrace. Her back was still to him, his knees straddling her bottom, effectively holding her in place. Kristina could feel his arousal, still very much in evidence, and a warmth spread outward towards the core of her sexuality. It wasn’t much, but it was a reminder that he still wanted her.
“The plains are not the place for a man and woman to come to know each other,” Tahiska said in his own tongue. “What if the Pawnee should attack us? I have not been listening for an enemy. I would be surprised. Perhaps I would be killed and you’d be taken captive. It would be a great coup for my enemy.”
Kristina listened to the sound of his voice, not understanding what he said, but reveling in the intimacy of his tone. They rarely spoke to one another, relying on sign language for their silent conversations. Kristina had never before noticed the resonant baritone of his voice. He was speaking into her ear and Kristina turned her head until she felt the soft touch of his lips against her cheek. She closed her eyes and let out her breath.
But he was not to be coerced back into passion. With his hands in front of her, he signed what he had said so that she would understand.
“What enemies?” she asked, leaning back, into his arms.
“The Pawnee are a powerful and warlike tribe. They are my enemy. They would kill me if they found me. Here we are an easy target.”
“The Pawnee have not given us trouble at the fort,” she signed.
“Because those Indians at the fort are hang-around-the-fort Indians. They fear the white man, but they hate the Lakota most of all. The Pawnee rule the land on which we sit. I am the intruder. And while I do not fear them, I do not wish to present an easy coup.
“Come,” he signed, as he stood and extended a hand to her. She accepted his help and rising, fell into step beside him. He held her hand, and his touch sent warmth to her.
When they came to the lone cottonwood tree, he pushed her against it, planting his feet on either side of her. The time had come to talk. He stared at her a long while, unable to ask what was in his heart.
Tahiska found little in his world to fear. Being Indian, he was direct, honest, and to the point. He never spoke in circles, never told lies, and subterfuge was wholly unknown to him.
Yet he was here with this woman—a white woman—and he was reluctant to ask her the meaning of the white man’s dance, about the man with whom she had danced. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answers he sought. His relationship with her was so new and so fragile, if her answer was not the exact one he wished to hear, his heart would be crushed. They already had so many barriers to face, not the least of which were race and culture, he could not also bear competition from a white man.
Finally, he drew a deep breath and stared at her, his gaze direct, piercing. He had to take the risk.
“Tell me the meaning of this dance between the white man and woman.” He had spoken in Lakota, forgetting he had to convey the meaning to her. He did so and then tensed, ready to hear what he feared she would say.
Kristina met his gaze. She held it. She could see his rigid control and knew without asking that this question had not come easily. She sensed that her response was of great consequence. She didn’t understand why this was so but she refrained from asking. She cleared her throat, wishing she could speak Lakota. Sign language had its limitations, and the ways of love were difficult to convey without action and without words.
“It has no meaning,” she signed. “It—is—for,” there was no word she knew for “fun.” She used the sign for “happy” instead.
Tahiska straightened away from her.
“That white man makes you happy?”
She shut her eyes.
“No. Tahiska,” she spoke his name and reached out toward him. Her fingertips touched his arm. “I…you make me happy.”
He snorted. “Then why do you hold the white man?”
“I…it is our way. It is how we dance. We attach no meaning to our dances. I do not love this white man. I did not even wish to dance with him. I had no choice.”
Tahiska said nothing. Kristina said nothing.
They stood still, staring at each other for a very long time.
Finally Tahiska took her fingertips from his arm. He spread them over his heart and held them there.
“When you danced with that man,” he said in Lakota, looking directly at her, “I hurt here.” He signed his meaning, then added, “You hold my heart.”
Kristina’s gaze never wavered from his. As she stared, a mist gathered in her eyes. She had never known anyone so honest, anyone so free of self-righteousness, and certainly no one quite so beautiful.
She tore her gaze away from his and took his hand in hers, spreading his fingers and palm over her breast. When she looked back up at him, tears were collecting in her eyes.
“Tahiska.” Her lips shook as she spoke. “I love you.” She said it. She signed it.
He nodded. Then he gathered her in his arms.
“It is done then. We will be together. It will be hard for us,” he said in his own language, “but maybe if we love enough, we will survive.”
He kissed her then and gently brushed her tears away.
Chapter Seven
Tahiska was gone fourteen days. They were good days, glorious days. His heart was filled with an exuberance that colored everything in unusually bright hues. His Indian heritage had taught him to revere nature, but never had he felt this degree of oneness with all. The touch of the sun was a gentle caress, the smell of the grasses and flowers an exotic perfume, the songs of the birds a sweet harmony. He felt a part of all around him and yet strangely above it. He knew the presence of Wakan Tanka was in himself, and as a spirit, Tahiska soared free.
He’d left the day after the wedding party, telling no one where he wandered. Now, having found that which he had sought, he returned to camp, several skins richer.
It was almost dark. Neeheeowee and Wahtapah sat around the near smokeless fire. Both were attending to small chores. Neither looked up as Tahiska stepped into view. Nothing was said.
Undaunted, Tahiska strode to the tepee and, pushing back the flap, went inside. The fire, blazing in the center of the lodge, gaily greeted him. Stepping to the right, he sat down cross-legged to contemplate these last few days and to settle on his next course of action. After sitting for quite a while, he rose, satisfied. His pipe lay in the shadows toward the back of the tent. Tahiska had
not yet acquired the tobacco habit, so his pipe was like new. He tread to the spot where it had been left and, picking it up, he noticed another object alongside it. It was an odd-shaped article with strings stretched tightly over its frame. He could not remember seeing it before, yet he knew that something so strange must have come from Kristina.
Taking both objects with him, he emerged from the tent.
He glanced at Wahtapah and then at Neeheeowee.
They both returned his gaze.
“Welcome back, my brother,” Wahtapah said. “Come sit with us and smoke.”
Tahiska did as asked, placing his pipe before him and the other object to his side. As he lay it down, he accidentally pulled one of the strings and the object made odd sounds. At once he remembered where he had seen it before: at the wedding.
He peered at his friends. “Kristina has been here?”
“She was here the first day you were gone.” It was Neeheeowee who spoke. “She waited. She paced; she played this song-maker; she spoke with us. She has asked about you many times. She did not come today. I think she worries about you.”
Tahiska nodded.
“It is good she was here,” he said. “It shows she does not fear us.”
“Why would she be afraid?” Neeheeowee asked. “We have done nothing to her or her people.”
“Have you not noticed, my friend, how the white man fears us? He takes our weapons when we visit, yet parades his own in front of us. Why would he do this, if he is not afraid? He tries to make us feel inferior. He has often sold the firewater to our people to make them crazy. Why would he do this, if not from fear that we are superior? Do not doubt that the white man is afraid. But not Kristina. She has always been brave.”
Wahtapah laughed.
“You miss the point, my brother,” he said. “She was here not to show bravery but to find you. She seemed agitated. Perhaps you will not find her amenable.”
Both men laughed.
Tahiska smiled. He was an Indian, free to roam and do as he pleased. He was answerable to no one and asked permission from no one. The thought of needing to tell anyone, even a loved one, his whereabouts was so foreign to him, the idea never even formed in his mind. That Kristina had worried about him pleased him. He had many gifts for her. He wanted to see her smile.
He would go to her immediately. And despite his friends’ opinions, he was sure he would find Kristina sweet and patiently awaiting his return. It was, after all, what he would expect from an Indian maiden…
Kristina, however, was not pleased. She was deeply worried and hadn’t slept well since Tahiska had disappeared. Where had he gone? Why? Dark circles rimmed her eyes and worry lines creased her forehead. Her hair, usually shiny with health, hung limply down her back.
She paced in front of the bed.
What had happened to him? He said he had enemies in this country. Did he lie lifeless somewhere on the prairie? Should she try to find him?
She hadn’t seen him since the evening of the wedding party. They had spoken of love. He had been so kind and gentle, she’d been sure he meant everything he’d said. Yet, now he was gone. He had left without a goodbye, without even a word. Had he kissed her and run? Perhaps his feelings for her were not as she had believed. Did Indians speak lightly of love?
Of one thing Kristina was certain: she loved Tahiska. With every ounce of her being, she loved him. And with this love came other desires: she wanted to be near him always. She wanted to marry him, live with him, bear his children. A wave of pure desire swept through her with the thought of children, their children. But this image was sketchy, and filling out the details created a myriad of questions. Where would they live? Would Tahiska expect her to adopt the Indian way of life? And if he did, could she bear to leave her home? Or would he yield to her society and reside at the fort? Would she want him to sacrifice his identity for her and risk rejection by a world that saw the Indians as heathens and savages?
Was she playing with fire? Perhaps, yet she was unable to stop herself. She thought of him constantly and wanted more than anything else to share her life with him. But was she equally willing, if he should ask it of her, to give up her own world? It wasn’t perfect, but there were things she liked here: the feel of silken clothing, the thrill of music, the warmth of a candlelight dinner—even her terrible, old, hard bed. If she were to live with the Indians, she would have to sleep on the ground, which was something she couldn’t fathom. The more Kristina considered these things, the more she was certain she could not leave her own world behind.
And yet she loved him as she loved life itself.
But she couldn’t bear to think what her lifestyle would do to him. There was not a white man at this fort who would accept the Indian on the same level as himself. Look at the Indians who had tried to live like the whites: where once they were active, they now were crippled; where originally they were rich, living upon their own land, they now were poor and beggars within their own country. Whereas once they were free, now many were enslaved. She couldn’t do that to Tahiska. He was happy, healthy, and utterly independent. She couldn’t allow him to be otherwise.
Suddenly, she saw the situation for what it was: an unsolvable dilemma. But perhaps she worried for nothing.
Tahiska was gone. For whatever reason, he had left, and she couldn’t be sure he would ever return. It was entirely possible that he didn’t share her feelings, and if he didn’t, her worry was misplaced.
Her heart wrenched. Had she merely been a challenge he couldn’t resist?
Kristina flung herself across the bed. No tears would come, yet she could find no peace. More than ever she needed him here with her, dispelling her fears, calming her nerves.
Suddenly she smiled. An image of Tahiska flashed through her mind: his hand over hers, spreading her fingers over his chest, pressing her hand to his heart. Though he had not said the words “I love you,” he had done better. He had shown her that he cared. Every action he’d taken had spoken of devotion just as strongly as words. He was a man of honor. He would not do these things if his feelings were not genuine.
She flopped over and stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t sit and wait for word of him. She would have to search for him. She would never know peace until she discovered what had happened to him. Tomorrow, she would find her father, she would beg for his help, and she hoped he would somehow understand.
This decided, she closed her eyes, praying she would finally find solace in sleep. But it was not to be. She twisted, she turned, she got up and paced.
When the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Kristina finally found release and dozed.
The lyrical notes of a flute teased her into semi-consciousness. It was a strange melody, rather exotic. She rolled over to catch more of the unusual song, but it was gone, and she quickly drifted back to sleep.
She awoke to a kiss, or at least she thought she did.
“Tahiska?” It was a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she were awake or dreaming. His clean scent reached out to her, along with the smell of deerskin. She tried to open her eyes, but in her exhaustion, they wouldn’t obey her command. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed, but it was enough to register the image of him. He was leaning over her, smiling…
She smiled back in response. “You came back. You’re safe.”
She tried to touch him, but when she reached up to pull him down to her, her hands met with nothing but empty space, and they flopped back down to her sides.
It was several moments before she felt the massage, first her feet, up over her calves, under her nightdress, over her thighs, her hips. She was aware of her nightdress being pulled up and she stretched, luxuriating in the sensation.
There wasn’t an inch of her that went untouched. She arched her back with the embrace while unconsciously she parted her thighs. Even the part of her that was most intimate was not forgotten, and she squirmed with the thrill of it.
He rolled her over, continuing his roving caress across her butt
ocks and up her back. Even her head, her scalp was massaged.
Up and down, his hands worked over her body until she thought she would burst with pleasure.
“Tahiska,” she whispered and turned once again onto her back. She was now sufficiently alert to open her eyes, and this time she caught a good glimpse of him.
He looked magnificent, dressed richly in his white shirt with porcupine quilling. Colored beads hung from his ears while around his neck hung a single tooth on a buckskin cord, and in his eyes was a look of love. Pure love. For her.
“Thank God you’re safe.” This time when she reached for him, she grasped firm, sculpted arms and pulled him down to her.
The deerskin against her bare flesh felt like soft butter. It took her a while to realize her nightgown had been discarded.
He kissed her, his teeth nipping at the corners of her mouth. He caressed her face, smoothing the lines on her brow, fingering the dark circles under her eyes. He brushed her ears with his lips, then nibbled at her lobes. He kissed his way down from her chin to her neck. She moaned and wiggled beneath him.
He uttered not a sound and, at length, he straightened up to stare at her naked form cushioned upon the white man’s bed. He suddenly had need of a cold swim—an icy cold swim. His control was being tested, and at the moment he was not sure he could suppress his urge, though he knew he must.
He would not disgrace her.
To Tahiska the human body was beautiful in its natural state and it saddened him to have to hide her perfection beneath the nightdress, but still he slipped it back over her body.
Bending, he kissed her again; then clasping her hand in his, he pressed the odd-looking instrument he had played for her into her palm. Shaped like a bird with its beak open at the bottom, it sang like a flute and, for the man who knew its melodies, it held great medicine over women. He closed her fingers around it and, turning away, stole from the room as silently as he had come.
