Kiowa White Moon

by Jeanie P Johnson

  Muraco, steadied me with his clay covered hands, smearing clay over the shoulders of my blouse. Then he smiled, and stroked one of his hands across my cheek, depositing clay over my skin.

  “I didn’t smear your face on purpose,” I complained, as I reached my hand up, and smeared more clay on the other side of his face.

  “I only returned the favor,” he laughed, taking my head in his hands, so both sides of my face were now covered with the red clay. “We sometimes use the clay as paint,” he told me. “Now your skin is red, the same as mine,” he teased, smearing the clay across the rest of my face.

  I gave a protesting squeak, but he held my head steady as he looked intently into my eyes, and the next moment, his lips were covering mine, as he held my head firmly, not allowing me to retreat from the kiss.

  The very touch sent waves of unexpected sensations throughout my body, and I staggered back, as I clung to his neck to keep from falling, only ending up pulling him with me as we toppled into the water.

  Muraco’s arms wrapped around me, holding me down in the water beside him, as he looked into my questioning eyes. His hands were gently washing the mud from my face, as his fingers traced the shape of my cheeks and nose, then smoothing his thumbs over my eyes.

  As my eyes were closed beneath his thumbs, I could feel his lips on mine again, trying to pull something from my very soul, as his lips caressed my lips in a strangely desperate manner.

  It took my very breath away, as the kiss continued, and then we were rolling in the water, until Muraco was laying over me, feasting on my lips beneath his own, as though he never planned to stop.

  “Be my woman,” he pleaded, when his lips lifted from mine, at last.

  “I can’t, Muraco. I cannot remain with your people, and you would never be happy living on a farm with me. We have nothing in common!”

  “We fit well together,” he insisted. “When I hold you at night you feel like you belong there beside me.”

  “But we come from different worlds,” I insisted.

  “We share the same world, only you will not accept it,” he murmured, and his mouth was capturing mine again as the water was slowly washing the clay from our clothes and bodies from the movements we made as we clung to each other, and turned in the water, while our legs and arms tangled around each other.

  I could feel Muraco’s fingers fumbling with the buttons of my blouse, as he attempted to remove it, and soon it was floating away, as Muraco’s hands stroked over my body beneath the water. Soon, my skirt was following the way of my blouse, and I could feel Muraco’s hands smoothing over my legs. His lips traced down over my neck, and then followed the shape of my shoulder, as he trailed kisses over my skin, causing my senses to go crazy in response, while his hands were tenderly caressing my skin beneath the water.

  The touch of his lips and hands, caressing over my skin, was something I had never thought I would desire, the way I was suddenly desiring it at that moment. I realized I was praying that he wouldn’t stop what he was doing.

  I could feel my breath coming quicker, as he proceeded, exploring my wet skin with his lips, while his hands stroked my body in such a gentle manner beneath the water. Then Muraco was laying me on the grassy bank, hovering over me, as the water dripped from his clothes and landed on my body.

  “You have a beautiful body,” he breathed, as he leaned closer, and began to taste my skin with his lips, shocking me with the very feel, as he drew his lips over my skin, touching me so intimately with his exploration. I could hear myself murmuring with pleasure, as he continued to dance his mouth over my body, finding each dip and curve as he went.

  “I cannot take you, unless you become my wife,” he told me. “Only I cannot resist the pleasure of feeling your skin against my lips,” he breathed, and proceeded to create havoc from within, as his touch explored from without.

  I lay soaking in Muraco’s caresses, as the water from his clothes dripped over me, discovering the wonders of his touch, and learning how much I longed for even more of his touch, but I knew I could not marry this man. It would never work out, no matter how much pleasure he was bringing me at the moment. I tried not to think about it. I only wanted to drown in the pleasure of his touch.

  Disappointingly, as my body shivered beneath Muraco’s lips, he pulled away from me.

  “We need to return. It will be dark soon, and then you will feel the chill of the evening, because of your wet body.”

  He picked me up into his arms, and cradled me, scooping up my clothes from the river, laying them over my body, and carrying me back to our shelter.

  Muraco, remained outside, as he removed his clothes, hanging them, along with mine, on the branch of a tree, and then he entered the lean-to and started building a fire. I watched his strong, damp back, as he leaned over his task, blowing on the kindling to get it started, while he struck a piece of flint against his knife. Once the fire began to crackle, he came and joined me beneath the buffalo robes.

  “Think on becoming my woman,” he whispered, as he pulled me against him, and began caressing my body with his large, strong hands. “You have the whole winter to decide.”

  I melted beneath his lips that were pulling the very essence from my body, as they covered mine, exploring my mouth, and then my face, continuing on, as he picked up from where he left off at the river. His persuasion was pulling me to him, while my better judgment fought against giving in and agreeing to become his woman, the way he, and perhaps myself, wished.

  My breath caught in my throat, at the talent of Muraco’s lips upon my skin, and I willingly allowed him that access, as I started to be lifted up into the wonder of how my body was responding to his every touch. It was something beyond explanation, and I never dreamed that I would be caught in a trap that I could neither submit to or escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, I was once again alone. When I poked my head out of the flap of the lean-to, I discovered that Muraco was approaching with a bucket of chinking.

  “I hope you have rested,” he said, only glancing at me briefly. “We need to finish chinking the holes. I have already eaten, so after you eat, you can come and help,” he said.

  He seemed indifferent, and I wondered if it was because I had refused to become his woman. I remember how he had treated me indifferently when I had refused to come back to his village with him, so maybe he was upset at me, because he couldn’t persuade me to change my mind, no matter how passionately he had touched me the night before.

  I merely nodded, and headed out to where I knew Dorie would be fixing food. When I approached, I could see, in the distance, that Nigel was practicing shooting a bow. Sport had joined him once more, and I felt almost betrayed by the family dog.

  Dorie handed me biscuits and ham again, but I did not complain. She had added a fried egg on the sandwich, and I munched it gratefully. The Indians typically rose at dawn, with the sun, which was what we generally did as farmers, in order to get as much work done before sundown. Therefore, the members of the village were mostly busy going about their daily routine, by then. I noticed that some were chinking their little huts, the same as Muraco was doing.

  As I looked about me, I could see Emmet standing beside a teepee, talking to a young Indian girl. Then I blinked. It was Lomasi, he was talking to, and they seemed to be having a drawn-out conversation, and I wondered if she could speak English, or was Emmet starting to learn the Kiowa language. I noticed they were using a lot of sign language as they spoke.

  Every once in awhile, they both glanced in my direction, and I got the feeling that they were talking about me. I was surprised that Emmet was even interested in talking to any of the Indians, but I had to admit that Lomasi was very pretty, so Emmet may be attracted to her, even if he didn’t like the situation we were in at the time. I knew he was still angry at Nigel for deciding to become an Indian, and refusing to come back and work on the farm next spring.

  When they saw me looking at them, they turned their
backs and started to stroll away. Emmet had his hand on Lomasi’s waist, and I wonder if that kind of thing was permitted, but then I thought about how Muraco had been touching me, so what Emmet was doing didn’t compare to what I had allowed Muraco to do.

  I turned and watched as Dorie started cleaning up from cooking. She seemed happy, with a slight smile upon her face.

  “You seem to be fitting in pretty well,” I said, feeling glad that at least she was not complaining and begging to go back to the farm.

  “It is sort of like when we camped along the way coming out here. I guess I got used to camping and cooking on a camp fire,” she smiled.

  “Only back then, I was doing the cooking,” I reminded her.

  “I don’t mind it,” she told me.

  Her eyes wandered over to where Tala was watching her from a distance.

  “Tala takes good care of me, and makes sure the other braves do not bother me,” she confided. “I like the way he protects me and is concerned about me.”

  “Yes, I guess it feels good to have someone protecting you.” I thought of Muraco, and how he had been protecting me.

  “Only everyday he asks me to be his woman,” she informed me. “He is so kind… it is hard to turn him down.”

  “Please don’t tell me you are thinking of giving in to him,” I half-cried.

  “I don’t know what I am going to do. I only know I like being with him. I like the way he is always anxious to do whatever I ask of him. He is very handsome, as well.”

  “Just don’t rush into anything,” I cautioned. “Wait until you are sure of what you want. You don’t want to live like an Indian, do you?”

  “No, but maybe he would be willing to come live on the farm,” she said hopefully.

  “He probably wouldn’t be happy living on a farm. It is not the Indian way. They like to roam and hunt, not be stuck in one place all the time.”

  “He says that the government is trying to make his tribe, and the Kiowa tribe remain in one place all the time. Maybe he won’t have any choice.”

  “Emmet would not like it. You know how he feels about Nigel joining these people, and willingly being adopted by them,” I reminded her.

  “Did you see the way he was talking with that pretty Indian girl?” she asked.

  “You mean Lomasi? She tried to stab me with her knife the other day. I should warn Emmet to keep his distance from her. She is in love with Muraco, and wants me out of his life. If she was smart, she would just wait until spring, and then she would have Muraco to herself.”

  “I think Muraco likes you instead. I can see the way he looks at you.”

  “He wants me to become his woman, but I have the farm to think about. I cannot join an Indian village as easily as Nigel wishes to,” I scoffed.

  “Wouldn’t he come and live on the farm with you?” Darie asked.

  “I have not asked him. I don’t think he would like it any more than I would like becoming a part of his tribe,” I admitted.

  I shrugged in resignation. Knowing Muraco would never agree to that, which made him all the more inaccessible to me.

  “I need to go help Muraco finish chinking our lean-to,” I hastily mumbled, wanting to end the conversation, knowing there was no hope that Muraco and I could ever be together permanently. “You are lucky you have a teepee to stay in.”

  “Yes. It is very cozy there,” Dorie agreed.

  I turned and headed to the river where Muraco was digging more clay.

  Muraco barely looked up, when I arrived. He seemed deep in thought, so I started filling my bucket with clay, and then going to where the sand was and repeating what we had done the day before. We worked in silence, and there was no physical contact between us. I thought that maybe Muraco was angry at me, which seem strange, considering he spent the night giving me pleasure.

  That was another reason I couldn’t become Muraco’s woman, I thought. I did not understand him. His moods seemed to change from one moment to the next, and I never knew where I stood with him, beyond his wanting me for his woman. Only being someone’s woman went beyond just sharing each other’s bodies, I thought. We needed to understand each other, and find it easy to talk to each other, which I was not feeling at the moment.

  It took the rest of the day to finish weatherizing the lean-to, and when we were done, I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep. My hands felt rough and dry from being in clay all day, and my back hurt.

  Muraco and I bathed to remove the clay from our arms and sooth our tired bodies, but he did not touch me. He did not kiss me. He barely looked at me, which made me feel all the more rebuffed by him. I told myself that if this was how he treated me, I would never want to be his woman, if he made me feel loved one day, and then shunning me the next.

  When we entered our finished hut, we both laid beneath the buffalo robes, but he did not take me into his arms, like he had done every night we had been together, and the very act stabbed my heart, because I felt that Muraco was punishing me for refusing to be his woman. Perhaps he had gone to the trouble to show me how wonderful he could treat me if I became his woman, and then promptly withdrew his loving touch, to show me what I was turning down.

  Well, I told myself, for all I cared, he could have Lomasi back. She would be happy to know it, and the very next time I ran into her, I would tell her that she could have her fickle brave with my blessings.

  I felt cold and lonely all night and barely slept. The small space between us seemed like a wide chasm that neither of us were willing to cross. Perhaps he wanted me to give in and beg him to hold me again, proving to him that I couldn’t live without his arms around me, but I refused to bend, because I was not the one begging him to be my man, the way he was begging me to be his woman, I reasoned.

  I was vaguely aware of him rising in the morning, and leaving the hut. I got dressed, but he did not return, and so I decided to go get something to eat, and see if he was with the others, eating. I did not see him among the group, and I thought ‘so much for his staying by my side to protect me.’

  Apparently, he didn’t care any longer if Lomasi came and tried to kill me, but she seemed a little indifferent towards me too. I could see her sitting with Emmet again, eating together, and I thought that maybe Emmet would keep her occupied, and since I was his sister, she would think better of trying to harm me.

  Nigel seemed to be happily fitting into the tribe, and was eager to do things that young boys did to practice becoming a brave. Sport was always at his heels, so I decided the family dog had chosen Nigel over me, which hurt my feelings even more, seeing as how I had also been feeling rejected by Muraco.

  When I went back to the hut, Muraco was still not there. Instead Inteus was at the hut. I asked him if he knew where Muraco was.

  “He has gone on a vision quest,” Inteus informed me. He asked me to watch over you for him, so I will come and stay in your lodge in his place while he is away.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything to me about a vision quest?” I complained. “Just what is a vision quest anyway?”

  “He goes to seek a vision from the Great Mystery in order to resolve a question, or a problem, or just to find insight into his soul,” Inteus explained.

  “And how long does it take, considering you were asked to watch over me while he is away?” I asked.

  Inteus shrugged.

  “However long it take to get the vision. It could be a few moons, or many moons. No one knows except the Great Mystery, since that is where the vision comes from.”

  “So he just leaves without bothering to say good-by or explaining that you will be taking his place?” I was starting to feel even more hurt.

  “The spirit probably moved him, and he had to follow the spirit without delay,” Inteus shrugged. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of you for Muraco. I know of Lomasi’s attempt to force you to leave the village. I will make sure she does not harm you.”

  “I think she is too busy making friends with my brother to care,” I gr
unted, angrily.

  “Yes. I have noticed,” he said with a knowing smile.

  I was thinking I should warn Emmet about Lomasi, because I didn’t think she could be trusted. I turned and decided to go in the direction that I had last seen Emmet and the Indian maiden. Just as I rounded a teepee, I noticed Emmet, with a blanket wrapped around him, lifting the flap of a small round looking hut, and entering. I decided to follow him in, and talk to him.

  When I opened the flap, a rush of heat hit me in the face, and I realized I was entering a sweat lodge, and felt embarrassed, remembering the blanket Emmet was wrapped in, which I assumed he would discard once inside. The lodge was probably meant for the men of the tribe, but as I turned to go, I hesitated when I heard familiar voices. Apparently, who ever it was, hadn’t even noticed that I had entered the lodge, because I was still hunched in the shallow opening, steam swirling up around me, keeping me enveloped in its mist.

  I knew, of course, that one of the voices was Emmet, and since the other voice was a woman, I knew this was not just designated for men, so I felt a little easier. But why was Emmet in here with a woman? Did men and women share sweat lodges together? Already, I was so hot, I wanted to leave, but my curiosity kept me there, peering through the swirling hot mist, until I could make out two people, lying together, their arms entwined around each other. Neither of them wore clothes. Suddenly, I realized that Emmet was in here with a woman, and what they were doing was a lot more than what Muraco and I had been doing together.

  I heard the woman giggle, and then I recognized who she was. It was Lomasi, and Emmet was more than just touching her. I was shocked. I thought Indian women were supposed to be chased, and a man could not take them unless they were married to them. Surely, Emmet had not married this girl. He had barely met her, I thought. He was just using her, because he could. After all, she was a mere Indian, and his disdain for Indians would have prodded him on to use her, if he had the opportunity to do so. What would happen if her father discovered it, I wondered. I did not know what the repercussions would be, and I certainly was not going to ask Muraco, or Inteus about it, considering they would want to know why I asked.