Destiny's Bride

by Ginger Simpson

  “Then I hope someone there can teach me to make something this tasty.” Although she meant it in jest, worry niggled her. The fears she'd pushed to the back of her mind resurfaced at her own mention of the village. She still had mixed emotions about her decision to come on this trip, but really, she had no other choice.

  After another night spent sleeping on the cold, hard ground, they prepared to start off again. Seven long days ago, they’d began this trek to find Lone Eagle’s people, and aside from the horseback-induced pain, now she sensed a faint fluttering in her belly from time to time. Was the baby beginning to move? Was there something wrong? What she wouldn’t give for a woman to ask. Lordy, she didn’t even know when she’d give birth let alone what to expect.

  Cecile retrieved the scrap of paper and stubby pencil she kept in her valise in her attempt to maintain a makeshift calendar. While Lone Eagle readied the horses, she marked another passing day and wondered why she bothered. Her tracking progress only dated back to when her symptoms first began. Her inability to recall her last monthly time, together with being an only child, provided no experience to use as a gauge.

  If the villagers accepted her as readily as Lone Eagle assured her, one of the many mothers there would be willing to help her. If nothing else, her scribbling helped track the time of the year. She crammed her calendar back into her valise and mounted up for another tiring day.

  Endless hours of riding gave her lots of time to think. Her mind wandered from past to present. She tried to share her thoughts during intermittent conversations with Lone Eagle, but he focused his attention on being vigilant rather than with conversing. She recalled her mother and father, the mercantile, the bank, and her father’s big mahogany desk. What would her parents think if they knew they were going to be grandparents? She’d have to start thinking of appropriate names, but at this point she was just too tired, so her thoughts drifted to mindless things that didn’t require any concentration.

  As the sun set, she was almost sure she saw the outline of mountains in the distance. She hoped they’d reach their destination soon. Darkness gobbled up the scenery, leaving her to wonder if the endless prairie had played tricks with her eyes. Her bedroll barely undone, she fell asleep worrying about what awaited her at journey’s end.

  The morning sun bore out her suspicions—mountains definitely loomed on the horizon. A mixture of joy and fear clouded her mind. Each day brought her closer to an entire tribe of white people’s enemies. What if they didn’t accept her as Lone Eagle promised? What would happen then?

  “We are getting close.” As if reading her mind, he spoke. “Within three risings of the sun we will find my people, our people. I can tell by your face that your heart is filled with fear, but do not worry, Green Eyes. Things will go well. We will be happy and safe, and when the baby is born and is old enough, I will teach our son to ride, hunt, and sing the stories of the people. If the child is a daughter, you will teach her to make clothing from deerskins and decorate them with quills and feathers, to scrape buffalo hides clean for blankets, and to prepare and store food for the winters to come. I am certain a girl child will have many talents and the beauty of her mother.”

  Cecile smiled at the positive picture he painted, but her insides trembled. She couldn’t teach things about which she knew nothing. She’d barely mastered crocheting and her cooking skills were dismal at best. Beading and quilling? Scraping skins? Silently, she prayed for a son so she wouldn’t have to admit to her weaknesses.

  That night, they camped at the foot of the mountains. Cecile woke aching and stiff, feeling coldness invade every part of her being. The small morning campfire did little to stop her teeth from chattering. Dropping the blanket she'd wrapped around herself, she braved the cold air long enough to put on a clean shirt. Just the momentary exposure to the icy air caused her nipples to stand erect beneath her chemise. She traded the blanket for the heavy coat Lone Eagle brought her. How did he always sense her needs? Too cold to ask at the moment, she nestled into the scratchy wool and pulled the collar high. She wiggled her toes several times to make sure they hadn’t frozen solid, and before putting on her boots, she pulled on an extra heavy pair of socks.

  Lone Eagle knelt and added more wood to the dwindling flames. She eyed his lithe body, wondering how he managed the cold dressed only in buckskins. Looking at him sent a shiver coursing through her, and she pulled her coat up under her chin and moved closer to the fire’s crackling warmth.

  ***

  Lone Eagle grumbled as he readied her horse. Why did white people need such a bothersome thing between them and their horse? If Green Eyes rode bareback, he wouldn’t have to waste time and effort adding her saddle every day. When they began their new life together, he would teach Green Eyes many things. He’d sampled her cooking at the cabin and knew she could learn much from his mother and his sister. He had not yet seen her sew, but if she didn’t know how, she could learn.

  He’d seen no evidence of blankets or clothing for an infant, but the women of his tribe would happily pitch in to ready things for the baby’s arrival. His thoughts turned to the child Green Eyes carried. Should he tell his family it was his child? Would they be accepting if they knew the baby belonged to another man? He’d determine that later. Perhaps no one would ask. If he presented Green Eyes as his woman, then would not her baby be his? He smiled at the thought of a family of his own.

  Chapter Ten

  They began the climb up the mountain’s steep terrain. Tufted moss grew in the rocky recesses of the trail, vastly different from the endless miles of brown prairie scrub grass. Cecile leaned back in her saddle and spied green pine trees dotting the summit. It was early October and the deciduous trees had lost most of their leaves, leaving the landscape devoid of color. She pulled her jacket tighter to ward off the colder air, and clung to the reins as her horse followed closely behind Lone Eagle’s on the narrow and winding trail. The synchronized clop of the horses’ hooves resonated off the mountainside.

  How close they were to Lone Eagle’s village? The thought of coming face to face with his tribe brought back those all-too-familiar feelings of apprehension. She took a deep, cleansing breath, tried to relax, and reminded herself of his assurance that everything would be fine.

  The steepness of the climb made it difficult to maintain balance. Her sensation of sliding off her mount at any minute was constant. Clenching her legs against the sides of her horse, she tightened her grasp on the saddle horn. Despite riding bareback, Lone Eagle moved in perfect unison with the gait of his horse, making riding look so easy. Although she tried to imitate his rhythm, she couldn’t relax enough, as attested by her white knuckles. Her thighs ached and hunger rumbled her belly, but there was no place to stop.

  A strange bird call echoed from above. Cecile looked skyward, but the sun’s brightness blurred her vision and caused her to look away. She focused her attention instead on Lone the way Lone Eagle’s thigh muscles flexed to keep balanced. Most of all, she reflected on the kindness he constantly showed her and what her fate might have been had he not come along. That annoying negative voice in her head cropped up again, reminding her she might be riding into a much worse situation than she left behind.

  The higher they climbed, the colder it became, and the more her urge to urinate increased. She couldn’t recall ever needing to pee so badly in her life, but on the narrow trail there was no place to dismount. She tried to think about anything except her aching bladder, and focused her attention once again on Lone Eagle’s fluid body movements.

  Her thoughts drifted to things more pleasant than her present discomfort, until she heard the strange cry of the mysterious bird again. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she scanned the sky to find the source of the sound, but there was nothing visible except one lone cloud in a sea of blue.

  Worrisome thoughts of losing total control of her bladder and embarrassing herself plagued her, but luckily they rounded a bend in the trail and encountered a stand of young trees in a small
clearing. Lone Eagle reined in his horse, dismounted, and came back to lift her down. Her feet had barely touched the ground when she scampered to the privacy of the nearest tree for much-needed relief.

  Even though wearing men’s pants was considered improper, she found wearing an old pair of Walt’s much more comfortable than a skirt, and more suitable for horseback, but trying to keep them dry when squatting was another issue.

  With a sigh of relief, she ambled back to where Lone Eagle held the horses. Tears welled at the thought of continuing. The last thing she wanted to do was sit in that blasted, uncomfortable saddle again, but reluctantly she let Lone Eagle boost her back up on her horse. Her discomfort must have been evident.

  “Green Eyes, my village is not far away,” he assured her. “Soon you can rest.”

  Again, that strange bird sang. This time Lone Eagle placed his hand aside his mouth and echoed the trill exactly.

  She looked at him and raised a brow.

  “The sounds you hear are calls from one of my tribe. This mountain pass is closely guarded, and we have been observed since we began the climb. I have answered the call to identify us and assure the lookout we mean no danger.”

  Lone Eagle mounted and urged his horse forward. Confused, Cecile clicked her heels into the sides of her mount and followed along. Someone had been watching all this time? From where?

  The trail leveled out and widened considerably making Cecile feel more relaxed in the saddle. Although they’d exchanged little conversation, she sensed Lone Eagle’s excitement and wondered if he was aware of her increasing nervousness. She was preparing to voice her fears when they crested the mountain.

  There, nestled in a valley, protected by mountains on three sides, lay a village of at least a hundred tepees. She quickly spotted the one Lone Eagle had described as his father’s. It was as if the stories on the trail had come to life. Children ran, laughed, and played while a few women traipsed across an open space with baskets on their hips. Another hung something on a wooden rack beside her medium-sized tepee. Everything looked exactly like Lone Eagle said it would.

  The gnawing fear of facing this moment returned and grew stronger as they rode past a large boulder at the entrance to the village. A Lakota brave, dressed like Lone Eagle, stood on top, glaring down at them, his appearance ferocious and his loud guttural yell, ear-splitting as it bounced off the mountain walls and echoed through the village. She covered her ears.

  As if sensing her uneasiness, Lone Eagle urged his horse closer and patted her hand. The entire village came alive, and much to her chagrin, clamored around their horses. Smiles greeted Lone Eagle, as the people pushed closer, curious to see who rode with him. She followed his lead, maneuvering her mount through a sea of bodies, while strange hands reached up and tugged at her clothing. The men viewed her with open curiosity, but the women’s hostile stares urged her to spur her horse in the other direction. The mob continued to press forward, blocking her path. Lone Eagle took her animal’s reins and led her through the crowd. She sat firmly in the saddle, holding her breath, fighting the panic building within her chest.

  At the chief’s tepee, the masses parted and allowed Lone Eagle to dismount. Frozen in place, she trained her gaze forward, fearing to look down into the strange faces still surrounding and picking at her.

  Next to a distant tepee, apart from the rest of the crowd, one woman stood with arms folded in a domineering stance. Her coal-black eyes locked in a bone-chilling stare with Cecile’s, issuing a silent challenge.

  Cecile jerked her gaze away, scanning the crowd for just one friendly face to erase the unnerving feeling the woman caused. Had she made a horrible mistake by coming here? Lone Eagle’s familiar smile came into focus and eased her fear. She released her pent-up breath.

  Someone pushed the lodge opening aside, and an older version of Lone Eagle emerged. His body was almost identical in size and shape, except that Chief Broken Feather had graying hair and a slight stoop. No doubt, he contributed to his son’s rugged good looks.

  The chief grasped his son’s shoulders and pulled him close. Words he spoke close to Lone Eagle’s ear were too soft to hear. Standing behind waited a petite woman who Cecile assumed was his mother. When the chief stepped aside, the woman embraced Lone Eagle, and hugging him tightly, speaking in her native tongue. Cecile needed no translation because love and relief shone in the older woman’s eyes.

  The touching sight of mother and son brought tears to Cecile’s eyes. She appreciated the fear and anguish his parents must have experienced, thinking their beloved son dead. Thoughts of her own parents flashed through her mind. Had they discovered the truth? Did they mourn her possible demise? No, of course not. Her letter had depicted nothing but happiness, and they had no way to contact her even if they wanted. Even a return post from them wasn’t possible.

  Lone Eagle momentarily disappeared into the throng of bodies as one after another, the tribe members came forward to greet and welcome him home. Feeling forgotten, Cecile waited, too fearful to dismount, and certainly not wanting to interrupt the joyous reunion. The scene brought out jealousy, which she tamped down, but her envy turned to pity and then to anger at how her life had taken such a drastic turn.

  Finally, Lone Eagle left behind the reaching hands and adoring pats and pushed toward her. Even though a reassuring smile lit his face and warmed her throughout, an icy shiver of fear ran up her spine. He lifted her down from the saddle and into his arms, then continued to hold her close for longer than necessary once her feet were on the ground. She felt awkward with so many watching and uneasy at his familiarity. A sudden hush fell over the crowd, almost as if they awaited an explanation for his actions and her presence in the village.

  He draped his arm around her shoulders and made a statement in his native tongue.

  Murmurs moved through the crowd, and the people looked at him through wide eyes. Some engaged Lone Eagle in conversation. Cecile took a deep breath and held it, wondering why all eyes were on her again.

  “I told them you are my woman and demanded that they respect you.” Lone Eagle translated for her. “My people think you are an evil spirit that has bewitched me. I explained to them there is nothing to fear from you. They now know the one with the fiery hair will share my lodge and bear my sons.”

  Cecile gasped. No wonder everyone seemed shocked. She glanced back to the spot where the woman with the piercing stare had stood, but she was gone. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and she took a deep breath, finally feeling comfortable enough to relax, if just for a moment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lone Eagle maneuvered Cecile through the crowd, toward his mother and father. “This is Green Eyes, my woman. I am proud to bring her to my people.”

  His father surveyed her from head to toe. “I, Broken Feather, Chief of the Sioux, welcome you to our village, Green Eyes.” He spoke in broken English. “My wife, Singing Sparrow, and I open our home to you. May the spirits smile down on the lodge you and my son will share after the joining.”

  Singing Sparrow meekly approached and took Cecile’s hands. The words she spoke were in Sioux, and although Cecile didn’t understand, Singing Sparrow’s warm touch and smile made Cecile feel welcome. Broken Feather motioned for her to enter the tepee, and Cecile ducked inside, heaving a sigh at escaping the crowd of curious onlookers. The chief’s mention of ‘joining’ still rang in her ears.

  Once inside and comfortably seated on buffalo robes, Lone Eagle’s father’s brow furrowed. “My son, where have you been? You were gone for a long time and we feared you lost to us. How did you meet this woman with flaming hair?” The barrage of questions began.

  The conversation turned to a combination of Sioux and occasional English, and although Cecile understood only bits and pieces, she was too tired to mind and happy to be out of the saddle and warm again. Weariness weighted her eyes closed. Maybe she’d rest them for a few minutes.

  She awoke with a start. Her cheeks warmed at the realization she ha
d leaned on Lone Eagle’s shoulder and fallen asleep. She’d wanted to make a good impression on his parents and now she feared they would think her rude. Singing Sparrow gazed warmly into Cecile’s eyes, reached over and patted her stomach. Apparently, during her brief nap Lone Eagle had explained her “delicate” condition.

  Singing Sparrow uttered something in Sioux but held her arms in a cradling position, rocking them back and forth. Cecile nodded, pleased that Lone Eagle’s parents were happy about the baby, but her insides quivered. How happy would be to learn it wasn’t his child? Surely, he wouldn’t share that piece of information.

  Broken Feather and Singing Sparrow displayed their adoration for their son in tone and approving looks. They obviously trusted Lone Eagle’s choices and made no unwelcome overtures, continually smiling in Cecile’s direction whenever he mentioned her name. As time passed, she felt more at ease and less like an intruder. At least for the moment, within the confines of their tepee, she was safe. But her momentary feeling of comfort ended when Lone Eagle stood and helped her to her feet.

  Dread knotted her stomach. Despite the fact they’d spent many nights alone on the trail and in her own home, there was something different now that he’d announced she was his woman. Logically, she knew it was far too early for bed, but that didn’t ease her growing apprehension about the approaching sunset. Memories of how she used to look forward to nighttime saddened her.

  Lone Eagle threw aside the tepee flap to leave, temporarily blinding her with the bright sunlight. Her vision cleared to see several villagers still waiting outside for another look, but he uttered something in Sioux, and the people parted to let the pass. Their curious stares were discomforting.

  While crossing the compound, she spied the one who had earlier stood apart from the rest of the tribe. Again the woman pierced her with a heartless stare. Who was this person, and why did she appear so angry? Before Cecile could point her out to Lone Eagle, the woman disappeared behind a nearby tepee. Perplexed and disturbed by this second occurrence, Cecile shook her head but said nothing.