Scanning the yard swarming with people, he moved aside when two young Sioux women rushed up the steps to enter the house, eager to see the inside of a white man’s house. Children dragged parents and grandparents toward the schoolhouse and barn. Leaving the porch, Jeremy caught sight of a lone warrior standing off to the side.
As with most of the Indian men strutting around, this brave wore almost no clothing and his body looked honed to perfection. He seemed to be watching Striking Thunder’s family break free of the clump of women and proceed through the crowd.
Jeremy frowned and narrowed his eyes. No. The warrior had his eyes on Dove. Jeremy was sure of it. Was this Dove’s warrior? Jealousy reared its ugly head. He studied the man. He was shorter than Dove, and the shape of his face reminded Jeremy of a jug. Humor took the edge off his jealousy. If this man had been the warrior Dove waited for, she’d have already married him. No. He didn’t think Dove was any more interested in Jug-head than in himself. Feeling despondent, he headed for the barn.
“Jeremy!”
Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder. Jessie waved him over. He didn’t hesitate. Long loping strides took him past the silent warrior. Their gazes met. If Jeremy needed confirmation that this warrior wanted Dove, he had it in the fury in the warrior’s eyes, and in the tightening of his fingers curled around his lance.
Boldly, Jeremy moved between Jessie and Dove. The center of his back tingled and tensed. No doubt, had others not been present, Jeremy would have had the wicked head of a lance lodged in it.
* * *
Waho watched Dove walk away with her family. For five years he’d tried to win the right to call her wife. Each offer he presented to her father was more generous than the last. But still she refused. It mattered not that she refused every warrior. He wanted her.
Speaks With Truth, his friend, joined him. “You think to win her, still?”
Waho didn’t take his eyes from Dove. “She will be mine. Has her father not said she will be wed by the Sun Dance?”
“Ah, the Sun Dance.” Sly eyes turned to study Waho. “Will Waho dance? Will he prove his courage by taking part in the ceremony?”
Waho thought of the dance. Each year, at the end of summer, tribes gathered for the painful ritual. Only a warrior who wanted to prove his courage and bravery had the muscle of his breast pierced with a piece of bone. A long leather thong attached to the embedded bone was then tied to a tree which the warriors danced around, pulling against the thong to break free. He shuddered. Sometimes the bone tore free of the flesh quickly, but most often, it took hours of painful tugging for the warrior to tear free.
Staring at his friend, he shrugged, careful to hide his fear and distaste for the ceremony. “If the spirits demand it, Waho will dance.” Waho could not see the sense in subjecting himself to the pain of ripping his own flesh just to prove how brave he was. But he knew this year he might have to endure it. Too much was at stake—more than just claiming Dove for his wife. He’d just have to hope he could convince her to marry him before then.
Speaks With Truth nodded. “The daughter of Golden Eagle is indeed a brave woman. She killed Mato to save the white man’s life, and that of the child. She will only take as mate a man who is also brave.” His voice was full of longing and admiration.
Waho frowned. He’d heard of Dove’s battle with Mato. It did not please him. Not only had Dove earned the praise and respect of all for her courage, but with her act, she’d forced him into a position of having to prove he was worthy of her.
Waho’s gaze dropped to Speaks With Truth’s chest, its two scars. His friend had participated not once, but twice, in the Sun Dance. Was he considering dancing a third time to make a bid for White Dove? “Does Speaks With Truth look to take a second wife?” He would not allow anyone to come between him and what he wanted.
Speaks With Truth reluctantly shook his head. “I have no need of more wives.”
“That is good. I would not wish to challenge a man I call friend.” He eyed Dove as she walked beside the white man. His lips twisted. Would she, like the rest of her siblings and her father, choose white over Sioux? Had she saved this man’s life to claim him for husband?
His contempt must have shown because Speaks With Truth turned serious. “Our chief will not allow you to challenge him.” He nodded toward Jeremy as the group disappeared through the crowd.
“Our chief,” he spat the words, “cannot prevent Waho’s challenge. This is the way of our people.” He’d waited long for Golden Eagle’s daughter. She belonged to him. He’d do whatever it took to claim her.
“Careful, my friend. She is free to choose. If she wants the white man there is nothing you can do.”
“Another foolish decision on the part of her father. She should be given only to the warrior who earns the right to claim her as wife. But no matter. She will choose me.” He said the words with a certainty born of knowing he would do whatever it took to make her his.
“Once she is mine, she will no longer hunt and do as she pleases. She will obey me. She will learn her place and not disgrace the tipi of Waho. She will raise my children while I provides all she needs.” His gaze fell on Dove’s dark hair, the light streaks shining in it. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew her eyes also reflected her white blood. Tainted blood. He hated the idea of it. If not for the prestige of marrying Dove, and the coveted position of chieftain that might fall upon any fearless brave who might wed her, Waho would have chosen a meek, dutiful Sioux wife.
Not one with pale eyes and brown hair. Not one who was taller than him, another source of resentment. But if he wanted to rule, he had to marry Dove. Only she could bring him the power he craved.
“You have a difficult path ahead of you, my friend.” Speaks With Truth paused, as if he meant to say more, but fell silent. He clasped Waho on the upper arm. “Be careful. Do not let greed cloud your judgment.”
Seeing the frown and worry in his friend’s features warned Waho that he might have gone too far. Speaks With Truth was loyal to his chief and tribe. “She will be content to be wife,” he added, meeting the other man’s gaze to soften his previous declaration.
Speaks With Truth nodded and walked away, leaving Waho alone with his thoughts. He grinned. Greed and power, ha! He was only driven to claim what should have been his. What should have been his father’s but had been taken from their family long ago. When it had come time to replace Golden Eagle, the council had all but forgotten how Waho’s own father had once been a great leader of their clan; they had not recalled that Waho himself had the blood of chiefs in his veins. It should have been he, and not Striking Thunder, who had been named chieftain of the Lakota.
Images of the past intruded. As his father’s son, he’d dreamed of the day when he’d become chief. But then an attack by their enemy followed by illness had killed most of their tribe, including his mother. His father had chosen to take him and his sisters away and join another tribe for safety in numbers. The blow had been hard. No longer had others respected Waho. In the new tribe, he’d been no one important, his father no better than any other warrior.
When Golden Eagle had decided to step down, Waho put in his bid for the position of chief, but the council had refused to even consider him. It mattered not that his own father had been a great chief. They had given the highly respected position to Striking Thunder.
Kicking a rock, Waho vowed that soon he would claim the respect due him. He cut through the throng of people setting up tipis and found Dove with her family. Once more he eyed her, hungry for the power she could bring to him. And he had to admit that she attracted him physically, too. Despite her white blood she’d please him well on their sleeping mat.
He eyed the young red-haired woman beside her: Striking Thunder’s wife, Emma. Hatred rose once more to smolder and burn hot within his breast. The white woman should have been his. Was it not his sis
ter who’d died at the hands of a soldier seeking to cause trouble between the Sioux and Arikara? It didn’t matter that the woman’s father, a colonel in that soldier’s army, hadn’t had anything to do with it. Emma’s father had been in command. Waho held him responsible for Meadowlark’s death. But once more, the council had sided with their chief. As Striking Thunder had captured the flame-haired woman, she belonged to him. Worse, she now lived not as a slave but as wife of their chief.
His lips twitched as he thought of the plan hammering in his head. He spun on his heel and left. Soon, he’d be the rightful chief. Then both Dove and the white woman would know their place.
* * *
By noon, all the tipis had been erected. Cone-shaped dwellings in all sizes, painted with scenes of war and other important events, squatted along the stream, behind the two cabins, schoolhouse and barn. Golden Eagle and White Wind, along with Striking Thunder and Emma, had erected their tipis between Wolf’s house and the barn.
From the newly constructed log corral where the bear cubs romped and ran and chewed on bark, Jeremy leaned his forearms on the top rail. At first glance, it looked as though total chaos reigned, but out of the confusion, he saw that things were actually very organized. Cooking fires sent smoke up into the sky and children ran about in small groups; those who had not attended the winter school were eager to see the insides of the buildings. The students were more than happy to show off their knowledge.
Braves came and went in groups as they hunted for the next night’s feast when the children would give their formal presentation. Still, though there were crowds of people surrounding him, Jeremy felt as though he were alone, out of place.
When he saw his sister, he waved. “Jess!”
She hurried over to him. “Hey, Jer. How are the cubs?”
Glancing down when he felt gnawing on the tip of his boot, he grimaced and moved his foot to rest on a log rung. Undeterred, the baby bear attacked his other boot. He shook his head ruefully. “Fine. They might not leave me with any boots, though.”
Several boys dressed in breechclouts ran past. Makes Music followed, his face scrunched with determination to join the others.
Jessie turned her excited face to Jeremy. “Isn’t this wonderful? Everyone seems so pleased with our work. There’s Striking Thunder.” She waved madly to her brother-in-law.
Striking Thunder joined them. He wore a fringed shirt, leggings and feathers dangling in his long hair. “Hau, my sister and brother.”
Jeremy returned Striking Thunder’s greeting with a nod of his head. As usual, he felt small and insignificant in the chief’s presence. Striking Thunder looked Sioux through and through. No one would ever guess his mother was half English. Wolf and Dove, on the other hand, each had brown hair and blue eyes. Dove’s other sister and her husband were still in St. Louis.
“Where is Rook? He was supposed to be back an hour ago. Sofia is raising Cain in the kitchen.” Jessie stood on tiptoe, searching for Rook’s bushy white head. “There are so many people here, it’s hard to find anyone!”
Striking Thunder grinned. “He has returned from his hunt and is with my father. They are telling stories.”
Jessie moaned. “That means he won’t be back for a while.”
“Go tell Hawk-Nose Woman that I will send Booming Voice to her.”
Jeremy winced at the names the Sioux had given to the couple. At first, Sofia had been upset with her name, until she’d learned how revered the hawk was. Pleased with his own name, Rook always made sure his voice boomed louder than normal around the tribe. But as bad as their names were, even if they sort of fit, they were nothing compared to his: Hunkuya Mato. He grimaced. From what he’d gathered, the name meant mother to bear cubs. Their mother! Could a name be more embarrassing? Well, maybe Sofia’s, but still, for a man to be referred to as a mother was truly humiliating.
After a few more minutes, Jessie left to go check on the twins, leaving Jeremy alone with Striking Thunder, who made no move to go and fetch Rook. He shifted uneasily, wondering if the chief planned to take him to task for putting his sister’s life at risk. Though the warrior was around the same age as his brother James, he wore the authority of a much older and wiser man. Unable to stand the growing silence, he blurted out, “I didn’t mean to put Dove in danger.”
Striking Thunder looked thoughtful. “No. You did not.”
Feeling foolish, Jeremy stared at his bear cubs, waiting for a lecture. James would have paced in front of him, his face red as he yelled and told him how stupid he’d been. He’d endured a lifetime of scoldings from James. “Well, aren’t you going to yell at me? Trust me, everyone else has.” It wasn’t that he wanted another lecture, he just wanted it over with. For some reason, Jeremy hated knowing he’d disappointed this man.
Striking Thunder looked startled. “Have you not taken responsibility for your actions?” Striking Thunder indicated the cubs.
“Well, yes.” He waited, the silence stretching his already taut nerves. “That’s it?”
Striking Thunder regarded him for a long moment. “You made an error in judgment. What have you learned?”
Jeremy stared at the Lakota chief in surprise. No one had ever taken this tack before—not since his mother had died, anyway.
Geez, it was bad enough to admit to oneself what a fool one was, but to state it aloud? This was worse than a lecture. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I didn’t take time to learn what I needed to know. I thought it would be easy to get the honey. But I was wrong. I should have asked Jessie or Wolf. Or even Dove. But I wanted to surprise them. Show them that I could do it by myself.” He hesitated. “I was trying to impress Dove and almost got myself and Runs—Makes Music—killed. And Dove.” He shuddered, reliving those horror-filled minutes. “My unthinking actions put others in danger.”
Striking Thunder nodded. “Will you remember that lesson?”
Watching the cubs sniffing between the logs forming the corral, Jeremy nodded. “Definitely.”
Dove’s older brother reached down to stroke one of the cubs as it stood on its back legs and rested its front paws on his calf. “A man is judged by how well he takes responsibility for his actions. You have accepted your consequences and have learned from your mistake. There is nothing more to be said on this matter.”
Jeremy nodded, then frowned. “I know nothing about raising cubs. What if they die?”
“They will not. You have good instincts.” He indicated the large outdoor pen filled with sawed-off logs, tender green leaves scattered on the ground and a large pail of water in one corner. The remains of a meal of fish sat in one corner.
Jeremy looked surprised. “I was just trying to make it like the wild.”
“Exactly.” Striking Thunder looked pleased, and for the next few minutes, they discussed how Jeremy should raise the cubs so that one day they might go off into the wild to live as bears should. At last, the chieftain clasped him on his shoulder with one hand. “Do not try so much. Sometimes the answers to our questions become apparent when we stop looking so hard and actually observe. And don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Jeremy sighed when Striking Thunder left. “Great. A riddle.” Somehow he didn’t think if he just gave up on Dove that she’d suddenly come around and magically fall in love with him. No. He should just face facts and admit defeat. Leaving the cubs to play, he walked between tipis, his steps slow as he examined each dwelling. The painted scenes on each hide circling the tall poles spoke of adventure and bravery.
Rounding one tipi, he came to a sudden halt. Before him, he spotted Dove walking with the same warrior who’d eyed her earlier. Jeremy ran his eyes over the man, noting the thick muscles, wide shoulders and gleaming bronzed skin. He wasn’t sure what most women wanted in a man, but he couldn’t imagine this warrior was it. He squinted at the man’s jawline. Ye
ah, the Indian was definitely jug-faced, with hard, cold and unfriendly eyes. The set of his rounded jaw lent him almost a sinister look. No, this was not the man to whom he had pictured Dove being attracted.
Of course, it hurt to imagine her with any man other than himself, though. Did she like this guy? Was he her “perfect warrior”? His stomach churned. “Damn.”
“Whatcha swearing for, boy?” Rook stopped next to him, holding three rabbits in one hand and a couple of prairie chickens in the other.
Jeremy shrugged. “No reason.”
Rook had spotted Dove and the warrior. He shook his head and lowered his bushy brows. “Yer wearin’ yer heart on yer sleeve, boy.”
“Fat lot of good it does,” Jeremy grumbled.
“You givin’ up?”
“Might as well. I’m just wasting my time. She wants a warrior. Like him, I suppose. I can’t compete with the likes of him. Even if I took off my clothes and wore one of them hide things, she’d never notice me.” He turned his back on the strolling couple, unable to bear seeing Dove with someone else.
“Harrumph. There’s more to bein’ a warrior than goin’ around with no clothes on.”
Jeremy laughed without humor. “Yeah, Rook, but she’s right. I’m no warrior.”
Taking his pipe out, Rook lit it and puffed. “What’s ta stop ya from becoming one?”
“Are you kidding? How am I going to do that? They’re leaving in the morning. No way can I learn everything a warrior knows that fast. And by the time winter comes and the children return, she’ll probably be married.”
“Then go with them.” Rook walked off.
Caught off guard, Jeremy stared after him. “Are you nuts, old man?” he called. Rook kept going. Go with them? For just a moment, he entertained the idea of doing just that. Then, just as quickly, he dismissed the old man’s advice, angry that he’d allowed himself to get his hopes up. Running after Rook, he nearly tripped over Wapayna and several other dogs running through camp.
White Dove Page 9
