Destiny's Bride

by Ginger Simpson

  Arriving at a lodge he proclaimed as his own, Lone Eagle held open the entrance flap and motioned for her to enter. Although he was oblivious to what had happened, Cecile’s mood lightened. Instead of earlier doubts about being alone with him, his home provided a safe haven from someone who so evidently disliked her.

  Her inspection noted the tidiness of her surroundings. Cooking vessels were neatly stacked on wooden shelves above the floor, and a ring of stones created a fire pit that held several blazing logs. As the drying wood crackled and burned, filling the room with warmth, smoke spiraled upwards and out an opening at the top of the tepee. Lone Eagle hadn’t left her sight since their arrival, so someone else obviously readied the lodge for them. The thoughtfulness touched her heart and dimmed the memory of the one hateful woman.

  Cecile’s gaze rested on a raised platform holding numerous blankets and skins, then traveled to the weapons hanging on the wall next to a tapestry of the sun, moon, and stars. Did the drawing have special meaning? She turned to ask.

  “My grandfather drew the picture on the skins before the tepee was built.” Lone Eagle answered before she opened her mouth. Did the man possess the ability to read minds?

  “What does it mean?”

  “It tells the story of my birth and the love my people have for the land and the Great Spirit above.”

  She smiled, thinking how much she had yet to learn about Indian ways, but a frown tugged at her lips at a mental image of the strange woman. Cecile yearned to ask Lone Eagle about her, but her description would fit most women in the village. Pointing her out seemed the best idea. She warmed her hands over the fire and decided to wait until they crossed paths again.

  Lone Eagle ducked outside and came back carrying her valise of meager belongings. She searched around for a place to put her things, and thought again of the path her life had taken. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d dwell among Indians, but for some strange reason, she felt at ease. She busied herself stacking her things along the far wall. If this was to be her home, she’d decorate the way she wanted.

  Although her rearranging got interrupted several times by those bringing small gifts and offerings of food to welcome Lone Eagle’s new woman to the tribe, Cecile didn’t mind. By sunset, the continuing parade of people ceased and she plopped down next to the fire. “I’ve met so many today, I’ve already forgotten their names. Why must you all have such confusing ones?”

  Lone Eagle laughed. “Don’t worry, Green Eyes. In time you will become better acquainted with each of them. Then it will be easier to tell them apart.”

  She smiled, recalling all the round, brown faces with dark eyes and hair, and highly doubted the possibility. “I’m not so sure. They only have to remember one person with red hair, and I have to know the names of one hundred who all look alike.”

  The day had been emotional as well as physical, and even breathing took energy Cecile didn’t have. Lone Eagle brought fresh water, and she sat on their bed of buffalo skins next to the fire, enjoying the glow and watching the shadows dance on lodge wall as she washed up. Relaxed by the warmth, her eyes grew heavy, but she fought to stay awake. All during the trip she’d looked forward to sleeping in a nightgown instead of the confinement of her clothes, and darn it, tonight she was going to get her wish. She scrubbed at her face with lukewarm water to wash away her drowsiness, but she needn’t have bothered. She crossed to where she’d stored her clothing, and the sudden realization there was only one pallet shocked her wide awake.

  What hadn’t she noticed it before? A lump formed in her throat as she pulled her gown out of the stack of clothes and looked around for a place to change. Lone Eagle most likely viewed her need to wear different clothes for bed much like he considered her need for a saddle—neither necessary. Worry niggled at her. Did he plan to share a bed with her?

  Clutching her nightdress, she wondered where one found privacy in a big circular room. Where was the security in having only a flap to cover the opening of the tepee? His perplexed look followed her every step, and she almost chuckled at his confusion…except this didn’t seem the appropriate time to be amused.

  “Lone Eagle,” she finally asked. “How does one know when the other needs privacy? There is no door to close or bolt.”

  Lone Eagle grinned. “A closed flap signifies a desire for privacy, and as a show of respect for this, no one will enter without your approval. You have nothing to fear. This will be your home until we are joined, and no one will enter unless you open the flap and invite them in.”

  Cecile furrowed her brow. “My home or our home?”

  “This lodge was built by Little Rabbit and I was to share it with her.”

  A sigh whooshed from Cecile. She didn’t much relish the idea of living in a lodge that held constant memories of his past love, but objection wasn’t an option. Still, he hadn’t answered her question.

  “As is customary, I will live with Broken Feather and Singing Sparrow until I take you as wife. Little Rabbit and I never shared this lodge. The women erect it at each camp with hopes I will share it with another, but I have avoided entering because of the sadness it brings to my heart. Your presence makes it a place that cries to be filled with new and happy memories.”

  His statement flooded her with warmth as well as relief, knowing she didn’t have to face the awkwardness of sharing a bed with him. Yet strangely, a tinge of sadness lingered because she wouldn’t be. The image of the angry woman flashed in her mind, bringing with it a feeling of cowardice. Being alone frightened her. Cecile took his hand in her trembling one. “Would you at least stay until I fall asleep? I’m feeling a little anxious and I think I can rest easier if you’re here.”

  “Yes, I’ll stay, but would you like to me to step outside so you can go through the white ritual of nighttime?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lone Eagle paced outside, left to guess how much private time Green Eyes needed to do whatever she was doing. When he'd waited a considerable amount of time, he announced his presence by clearing his throat in case he hadn’t stayed away long enough.

  She was already in bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin, her long red hair cascading over the covers. The fire had died down to a few flickering flames, casting a soft glow on the walls of the tepee. She turned and looked at him, and the fire’s reflection danced in her eyes the color of spring grass. The sight of her quickened his heartbeat, and he took a deep breath. He wanted to pretend she really was his woman; to take her in his arms and claim what he'd thought about those nights on the trail.

  Instead, he showed restraint, refusing to rush her. She needed time, and although desire surged through his loins, rather than quenching his own needs, he focused on adding wood to bring the fire’s dying embers back to life. Taking some of the robes piled in the corner, he laid down on the other side of the fire pit to abide to her wishes.

  ***

  Cecile curled into a ball, feeling the comfort of the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief and hoped sleep would claim her quickly. Briefly, the strange feeling of disappointment that Lone Eagle hadn’t wanted to share her bed crossed her mind again.

  She repositioned the blankets and snuggled down, but an uncomfortable fullness reminded her a long time had passed since she’d gone to the bathroom. The urge intensified, and although she hated the thought of venturing out into the cold and unknown, she really had to go.

  “Lone Eagle,” she whispered. “I hate to bother you, but I need to relieve myself.”

  She’d learned to avoid the term ‘bathroom’ as it seemed so out of place. A long had passed time since she’d used a facility that even remotely resembled one. She chuckled, thinking what she should have said was that she needed to find a suitable tree to squat behind.

  If her request annoyed Lone Eagle, he didn’t show it. He rose and opened the flap of the tepee for her. In response, she raised her eyebrows and clearly gave him a puzzled look. “Whe…Where do I go?”

  Lone Eagle picke
d up a small burning branch from the fire pit to light the way. She wrapped herself in a buffalo robe, but when she stepped outside, the cold air hit her in the face like a fist. The sudden urge to run back to the warmth of the lodge was inviting, but not nearly as strong as the increasing need to pee.

  She followed him through the darkness until an unusual sensation in her stomach stopped her in her tracks. She stood perfectly still. It happened a second time. This was not at all like the fluttering feeling she’d been experiencing, but something much more distinctive. She felt her bulging stomach and realized she truly felt the movements of her baby.

  Lone Eagle held the burning branch in the air and looked at her beneath an arched brow. She took hold of his free hand and put it on her stomach. “Feel,” she said, “the little one is moving.”

  His eyes widened, and obviously uneasy with touching her in such a personal way, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “This…this child will certainly be strong and healthy.”

  He held onto her elbow and guided her to the edge of the village, leaving her at a large stand of trees where she could find privacy to relieve herself. Cecile lifted the bulky buffalo robe and squatted. Beyond the sounds of her own bodily fluid splashing the ground, she heard water bubbling nearby.

  She glanced over her shoulder at veiled moonlight reflecting in a large stream. She'd wondered about the village’s nearest source of water and now she knew. A shiver ran up her spine as the cold night air found her bare bottom while she squatted. Would her bladder ever empty? Finally, she finished and hastened back to Lone Eagle. The piece of flaming wood he held had burned almost down to his fingers.

  They crossed the compound to the tepee. Most of the campfires had died out, and the quiet village appeared to be sleeping. Somewhere in the distance, though, she thought she heard a fussy baby. How strange to think that in just a few months she’d have a child of her own. At the lodge entrance, she paused and smiled up at Lone Eagle. “Thank you…thank you for taking care of us.” She patted her stomach. She’d come to depend on him for everything.

  Cecile went to her bed and Lone Eagle stretched out on his pallet next to the fire. She shivered, thinking how nice it would be to cuddle together to regain the warmth lost in the cold night air, but questioned her reasoning. Snuggling beneath the furry robes, she grew warm and comfortable, but the cold night air had been too stimulating and now she was wide awake. She recalled the events of the day, while waiting for sleep to come. The initial shock of meeting Lone Eagle’s people was over and she could finally relax. So far so good. The flames dwindled and the lodge grew darker.

  Lone Eagle’s low, even breathing told her he'd fallen asleep. In the dimness, she created a mental image of his handsome face. Again, the baby moved, interrupting her thoughts. She gently massaged her stomach as if assuring the infant that everything would be fine. Finally, she fell asleep, secure in knowing Lone Eagle was nearby. No need to wake him and expect him to leave.

  ***

  Cecile woke to the sounds of children laughing, dogs barking, and people moving about outside. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and stretched her arms high over her head. Lone Eagle was gone, his buffalo robes folded and put away.

  Rummaging through her stack of belongings, she searched for something clean to wear. Using a long piece of rope, she tightened Walt’s trousers around her waist then hid the cord with one of his long, flannel shirts.

  Lone Eagle stood outside the lodge, calling her name. She opened the flap and bid him enter.

  “Good morning, Green Eyes. You must have been very tired. I hope you slept well!”

  “Thank you. Yes, I slept very well. And I feel wonderful this morning. Now that the morning sickness is gone, I wake up feeling refreshed and ready for whatever the day brings.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when she wondered if she really was ready.

  Lone Eagle sat while she pulled a comb through her tangled hair. “My parents have asked you to share our morning meal. We have been waiting for you to wake up and join us.”

  Cecile’s cheeks warmed. “I’m so sorry I slept so late. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “There’s no need to apologize. A woman in your condition need’s rest. My parents understand.”

  How did he always know what to say to make her feel better?

  Her stomach rumbled and breakfast sounded good, but outside, the cold morning air assaulted her. She shivered and pulled her jacket closed until the initial shock passed and the sunlight filtering through the trees brought rays of warmth to her face. Trying to match Lone Eagle’s long strides while crossing the compound to his parent’s lodge warmed her even more.

  She smiled at a few children outside one of the other tepees. Other than their happy giggles, there was serenity in the village. In some ways the camp reminded her of Silver City, with small ones playing and adults going about their normal routine. Some whom she’d met the day before smiled and waved as they walked by, and as she and Lone Eagle approached his parent’s lodge, the pretty woman with the menacing look stood in the distance. Again, before Cecile pointed her out, the woman disappeared behind a distant tepee. Cecile knew she was bound to see her again, but fretted about the woman’s demeanor. The aroma of breakfast wafting in the air enticed Cecile and made her forget her worries.

  Singing Sparrow dished up something akin to oatmeal. Whatever the concoction, it looked appetizing, and Cecile sunk down on a robe next to the fire and eagerly accepted the steaming bowl. The contents had a flavor identical to the maple syrup her mother bought at the mercantile, and memories of home and her parents flooded her thoughts. She discreetly brushed away the tear that trickled down her cheek.

  She scraped the bottom of the bowl for the last bite then licked her lips. “Lone Eagle, please thank your mother for the delicious food.” The English he learned from the prairie missionaries proved a blessing. Without his knowledge of the language, they couldn’t communicate.

  After eating, Cecile helped wash the utensils and then excused herself to tend to her morning toilette. With Lone Eagle escorting her back to the lodge, more questions came to mind.

  “You probably want to introduce me to members of the tribe who can help teach me things, don’t you? First, can you take me to where I can bathe? I honestly need to wash my hair.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “The women gather at the stream in the morning to bathe and do laundry. Men are not welcome there during the women’s time, and it is tribal law they stay away.” He pulled aside the lodge flap so she could enter, but before she did, he stopped her. “We have much time to teach you the way of the people, so do not worry about that.”

  A sense of uneasiness gripped her at the thought of going anywhere without him, but she gathered her hairbrush, washcloth, soap, and soiled clothing and put them into a basket. With a deep breath, she started toward the stream, haphazardly balancing the full container on her hip.

  “Green Eyes,” Lone Eagle called after her. “I will speak with my mother about clothing for you. My woman should wear something more fitting than what you brought.”

  Cecile glanced down at the faded flannel and sagging men’s pants. He was right. She didn’t look very becoming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Cecile reached the steam, the young Indian women stopped chattering and giggling and stared at her. Her first urge was to turn and run, but if this was to be her home, she had to face them. With a deep breath, she walked to the water, continuing to smile as she approached. Hopefully, friendliness would beget friendliness, as she’d heard all her life.

  She knelt and wet her washcloth, noticing they resumed their cheerful banter. It was far more comfortable having them ignore her rather than being the object of their curious stares, but not being able to converse with them made her feel helpless. How would she ever make friends if she couldn’t talk to them?

  Cecile braved the cold water to wash her hair, and when she lifted her dripping wet head, Lone Eagle’s siste
r, Little Dove, moved closer. They hadn’t been introduced, but Lone Eagle had pointed her out. She knelt beside Cecile and pounded clothing on the flat stones of the creek bank. A few other women looked over their shoulders and snickered, but Little Dove’s friendly gesture was comforting. Cecile used a scrap of linen to blot her eyes, keeping a side glance trained on the young woman.

  After finishing her laundry, Little Dove hoisted her basket onto her hip, and although no words were exchanged, she waved as she walked away. Cecile’s first order of business was to learn the language so she wouldn’t feel like such an outsider, and she knew just the man to help her.

  With her bath and laundry finished, she strolled toward her lodge, deep in thought and appreciating the beauty of the forest. She slung her wet hair back and forth, sending beads of water flying in all directions, and she giggled out loud. How wonderful to feel happy and carefree for the first time in quite a while.

  An abrupt end to her happy mood came by surprise. The one with the menacing stare stepped directly in front of her. The woman’s eyes were stone cold and her rigid jaw quivered. Hot, pungent breath assailed Cecile’s face, and waving a tightly clinched fist, the unknown female spat an unfriendly message in her own tongue, and as quickly as she appeared, she left.

  Her threatening behavior left Cecile with trembling hands and weak knees. What was behind all the hatred? She needed to find Lone Eagle but wasn’t sure her legs would support her. Taking small, unsure steps, she started toward his parents’ lodge.

  The tepee flap was open, and Lone Eagle relaxed against a woven backrest next to the fire pit, making arrows. She sat next to him, feeling safe in his presence, but still shaken from the experience. The way he wound fine threads around feathers and secured them to the end of wooden shafts fascinated her, and her fear was soon forgotten. But why was he working on arrows? Dread filled her when she deduced he was probably going hunting. Then she’d really be all alone. The idea didn’t appeal to her, especially after what had just happened.