White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  “And?”

  “He must hunt and provide for our people, and defeat our enemies.”

  “This sounds like all of our warriors.”

  Dove frowned and stared at the river, reticent to say what was in her heart. “And if he is to be great, he must be more skilled than I.”

  “Why is this?”

  “I am a woman.”

  “And you wish to take as mate a man who is better than you?”

  “No!” She looked confused. “I wish to find a warrior who will accept this woman’s skill and not try to change her. Only a great warrior will not feel threatened by me. Waho would try to stop me from hunting. He does not appreciate my skills or ability to ride at his side.” Jeremy’s promise of riding at her side warmed her almost as much as his kisses. Jeremy understood.

  “True. Waho is not the man for you.” Her father smiled. “I would not have given you to him. The daughter of Golden Eagle deserves better.” Turning serious, he lifted her chin with a finger and stared into her eyes. “In my enjoyment and yes, amusement, in teaching my daughter to hunt and fight like a warrior, I failed to teach her how to judge a warrior by looking into his heart. That is where the greatness of man lies. Anyone can learn to hunt or fight. These are skills that can be taught and learned by most.

  “Have you never considered that there is more to being a warrior than having the right skills? A warrior with no heart is only a weak man in a strong body. This is why I say to you: look to a man’s heart.” Golden Eagle chuckled. “Sometimes, daughter, there is no greater force than the love that comes from our heart. You must stop comparing each man to yourself. “If a man’s heart is filled with hatred and bitterness, he is not a great warrior, no matter how skilled he is. Wisdom and goodness comes from within. A great warrior knows when to fight, when to ride away, when to kill and when to show mercy. Do not seek a man who is a better hunter, a better killer than you. Seek a man whose heart is more generous. For that man will see the truth, and act in an honorable manner.”

  “What if that man won’t stay? I can’t leave my people,” Dove said firmly.

  Golden Eagle smiled. “You must put your trust not only in him, but in yourself.”

  Dove was overwhelmed with all that had happened that night. There was much for her to consider. “You are wise, my father. I will think upon what you have said.”

  Father and daughter embraced, then sat side by side. Dove closed her eyes, content to sit with her sire’s strong arm around her. Above her head, an owl loudly hooted. She thought about Jeremy’s vision. He hadn’t told anyone yet. She would tell her father. In a minute. It was so peaceful, so relaxing to sit surrounded by his love while listening to the rush of the river. Her mind relaxed as sleep tried to claim her.

  Golden Eagle stretched his arms out to the side. “It is time—” Dove heard a sickening thud and felt her father’s body jerk. His voice ended in a strangled gasp.

  “Father? What is wrong?” He didn’t answer. He wore a look of shock on his face and tried to speak, but couldn’t.

  “Father!” Her voice rose. Her mind knew what had happened, but her heart refused to believe it. “No,” she sobbed, frantically pulling at the arm which had dropped heavily over her shoulder.

  Golden Eagle fell forward, revealing the arrow shaft embedded in his back.

  White Dove screamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeremy finished grooming White Blaze before sending the mare back among the herd. With a nod to the two braves in charge of watching the horses, he decided to make his way to his bed. His day started before the rising of the sun, and he’d had a tiring day today. But his time spent with Dove left him wide awake and energized. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not yet.

  Returning to the camp by strolling along the river, he contemplated the stars and mulled over the evening, pleased with the outcome. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and embraced the night, loving the feel of freedom that went much deeper than his lack of white man’s clothing. Could life be better? Well, maybe. If his muscles didn’t feel like he’d been run over by a herd of buffalo and if Dove were his wife, he’d have all he wanted.

  Soon, he consoled himself. He meant what he had said about waiting until she was sure of herself—and him. Jeremy rolled his head side to side and stretched his arms overhead to work loose the kinks. When he came to the edge of the village, he decided to fetch his mouth organ and go play outside her tipi. If he had to fall asleep thinking of her, he wanted to be sure she thought of him as well.

  A piercing scream stopped him in his tracks. Chills ran down his spine. It came again, from the river on the other side of the village. The fear he felt made his stomach queasy. He recognized that voice: White Dove. He’d seen her and her father heading away from camp after he’d left her to take White Blaze back to the herd.

  Around him, men and women poured out of their tipis, looking around wildly. His heart pounded frantically as he ran toward the river. “Dove,” he yelled. “Where are you?” He heard others running behind him, fanning out.

  “Here,” her call came. “Over here.”

  Rounding a bend in the river, he skidded to a stop. White Dove knelt near the edge of the water, bent over her father. She rocked back and forth and sobbed uncontrollably. “He’s dead. He’s dead.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

  A hush fell over the gathered tribe. Jeremy knelt beside her, and the starlight from above revealed the shaft of an arrow buried deep in Golden Eagle’s back. Fighting the urge to be sick, he felt for a pulse. “He’s not dead. He’s alive.” Barely. They needed a doctor and fast. He glanced around as if expecting to see one shoving through the mob. The realization that there wasn’t a doctor within hundreds of miles struck him hard. For the first time, Jeremy realized just what living the life of a Lakota meant: no doctors, no sheriffs, no outside help. He glanced around, feeling sick and totally helpless.

  Striking Thunder shoved through the crowd. Seeing his father, he blanched, but his voice remained calm. “You and you.” He pointed to several braves who were standing nearby. “Search to find anyone who might have done this. White Dove, let’s get him to the tipi.”

  She stared up at her brother, shock in her wide eyes. “We were talking. We made our peace. Why?” Her voice rose. “Who?”

  The edge of hysteria in her words lent Jeremy strength. She needed him. The sick weakness left him. When several men came forward to carry Golden Eagle, Jeremy scooped White Dove up into his arms and cradled her close. He didn’t know if it was proper or not. He didn’t care. Dove needed him.

  He followed Striking Thunder to the tipi but hesitated to enter when the village medicine man and Sofia followed Golden Eagle’s son and wife inside. Setting White Dove down, Jeremy stared into her eyes which were glazed with tears and shock. As he pulled her close, she buried her head against him, her sobs muffled. Behind her, Jeremy watched Emma and Jessie join them. They all settled in to wait.

  After what seemed like hours of waiting in the cold night, Striking Thunder called to them. From the gravity in his voice, it was evident that he held little hope for their father’s survival.

  Dove tore from Jeremy’s arms and ran to her brother. “He will live. He has to live,” she sobbed.

  Striking Thunder held her from him. “The arrow has been removed, but he has lost much blood and is having trouble breathing. He has very little time.”

  “I want to be with him.” Dove tore herself free and ran into her parents’ tipi.

  Jessie laid a hand on Striking Thunder’s arm. “Should we wait here?”

  Shaking his head, Striking Thunder laid his hand over hers. “Our mother needs all her daughters.”


  Jessie and Emma hurried into the tipi where loud chants and the sound of rattles being shaken could be heard. Not sure what to do, Jeremy hung back. He wanted to be there for Dove but didn’t want to intrude. Jessie was family. He was not.

  Striking Thunder glanced at him. “My sister needs you.” Then the young chief spun and returned to the tipi.

  Jeremy followed. He found Dove sitting on one side of her father, her mother at his head, and the medicine man standing over him. The fire had been stoked, and several torches lit.

  Shadows and light. Life and death.

  Jeremy went to Dove and knelt behind her. To his right, White Wind continued to stroke her husband’s forehead, softly calling his name. Golden Eagle’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to speak. Blood flecked one side of his mouth. He tried to wave his hand at the medicine man but it fell weakly to the fur upon which he lay.

  The old man bowed and left. A shuddering sob shook Dove. Jeremy rested his hands on her shoulders, wishing he could do more. The feel of her fingers resting on one of his hands linked them, not just physically, but emotionally.

  Golden Eagle turned his head toward White Dove as another sob escaped her. “I am sorry, Father,” she said.

  “No. We…had time.” He coughed. “Follow your heart. Marry…love.” He looked to Striking Thunder. A look of understanding passed between father and son.

  “I love you, Father.” White Dove held his hand to her cheek for a moment, then laid it gently on his chest.

  Golden Eagle’s gaze fluttered, shifting from Dove to Jeremy. No words were spoken, but Jeremy felt as though he’d received silent blessings from the old man before he turned away, his hand searching.

  “My…son…”

  Striking Thunder came forward and bent down to take his sire’s hand. “Speak no more, Father. Save your strength. We will find those responsible.”

  “—proud of you.” He turned his head toward his wife and daughters-in-law. Again he had to wait until another spasm of coughing stopped. His eyes fluttered shut.

  Fearing this was the end, Jeremy held his breath. But once more—as if fighting the approach of death, holding it at bay—the old warrior opened his eyes, making a visible effort to keep them so. “Take care…your mother.”

  Emma and Jessie nodded, then Jessie pulled Emma into her arms when she broke down sobbing.

  White Wind leaned over her husband. “My husband,” she began, but her voice broke.

  Golden Eagle tried to smile. He lifted his hand to her face and winced at the pain the effort brought. “I will wait for you.”

  Jeremy, from his position, noticed a look of understanding pass between the venerable couple.

  “I love you, my husband.” Tears ran down White Wind’s face as she held his hand to her lips.

  “As I you.” And, with those last words, Golden Eagle’s strength failed. Sucking in one final breath, then releasing it, the once-great Lakota chieftain’s head rolled to the side.

  A hushed silence fell. Jeremy felt tears rolling down his own cheeks. White Wind collapsed over her husband, her voice lifting in a wail of pain and agony. At a signal from Striking Thunder, Jessie and Emma pulled her away and led her outside. Jeremy stood and pulled Dove up to him. She resisted.

  “It’s my fault,” she sobbed, fighting him.

  Striking Thunder came over to them. “No. It is not your fault.”

  “We went to the river to talk. We made our peace. If I had not held anger in my heart, we would not have been there. This would not have happened.” Fresh sobs tore from her.

  Striking Thunder shook her. “Listen to me, little sister. Who are we to say what is not to be? The spirits have chosen this night to take our father home. But first, they gave you a gift. They allowed you to make your peace with him. Our father died with love in his heart.” He waited for a minute. “Our mother needs her daughter to be strong and brave.”

  Dove pulled away and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want vengeance. I want whomever did this to pay.” With those words, she fled.

  Jeremy made to follow, then stopped. He stared at Striking Thunder. “When you learn who did this, I assume you will go after them.” He paused and waited for Striking Thunder to nod. “I’m going with you.” Nothing and no one would keep him from seeing justice done.

  “Yes, we will seek vengeance.” He held up the weapon that had slain his father.” This arrow belongs to the Crow. Tomorrow we will bury my father. Then we will avenge his murder.”

  Standing straight, Jeremy stared at his chief. “I don’t believe in killing just to kill. But I do believe in justice. A good man has just been murdered. Not in battle. Not while defending what is his.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “Your father was shot in the back. In cold blood. By a coward.”

  Striking Thunder studied him. Finally he nodded. “You will go.”

  Leaving the tipi, Jeremy stood outside, unsure of what to do or where to go. Mass confusion had erupted. Wails and screams came from everywhere as women huddled together, mourning the death of their old chief. Men gathered in circles, their voices raised in anger.

  Needing to do something, he entered his deserted tipi, gathered his bow and arrows, then returned to the river where he’d found White Dove and her father. They had been almost exactly halfway between the camp and the herd of horses. Standing where Golden Eagle had been shot, he faced the direction where the arrow had come, then started walking, bending down to look for any signs.

  He passed one group of trees, but they were off the path of the arrow by a good five feet. Instead, a lone scraggly bush in the direct line of fire offered scant cover. Still, under the cloak of darkness, it had been enough. Jeremy studied the scene of the ambush.

  Whoever had killed Golden Eagle had used that bush for cover, then fled to the trees. The Crow would then have had to have crossed the river to flee. Yet there were few trees to hide behind.

  Bending down, careful not to get too close to the bush, he lit a match and searched the ground and the barren branches of the bush, aided by the full moon. Excitement rose when he spotted an arrow tangled in the bare branches near the ground. The murderer had likely dropped it. He picked the weapon up and studied it, but his excitement dimmed when he recognized it as a Sioux arrow. It couldn’t have come from the assassin.

  He stuck it in his quiver planning to return it to its owner later. Each arrow carried the mark of its owner, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find the right person. Spotting footprints leading away from the river, toward the herd of horses, Jeremy forgot about the arrow in his concern for the two braves guarding the horses.

  He stared into the inky darkness. He hadn’t seen anyone while walking back to the village, but he knew how clever the Sioux were. Part of his training was learning to conceal himself, to blend in with his surroundings and move without leaving any sign. Surely the Crow were just as skilled.

  Remembering the Crow raid from just a little time before, Jeremy decided to go check on the horses and the braves guarding them. With all the commotion, he wasn’t sure if the warriors who would take over the night shift would come, and he didn’t want the boys out there alone—even though they could probably handle themselves better than Jeremy himself could.

  He hurried, wishing he’d brought his rifle with him. Normally he left it in his tipi, preferring to do as the Sioux. Only a few had rifles, and most found them cumbersome and slow. A good warrior could fire off dozens of arrows in the same time as it took to fire off one round with a rifle.

  When he reached the herd, he called out to the boys.

  “What do you want, wasicun?” Waho emerged from the shadows.

  Jeremy’s body was electrified by a sudden feel of danger. “I came to check on the herd.” Overhead he saw the silent shadow of the owl circling.

  “I will guard our horse
s against the thieving, murdering Crow. Leave. You are not needed here.”

  Jeremy hated the fact that Waho had shared the same thought. But one warrior was not enough to keep the Crow at bay, especially if they had murderous intentions. The fact that the Crow had returned not to steal, but to kill left Jeremy with the feeling that the village needed more security.

  “I will stay.”

  “I do not need your help, White Man.” Waho took a threatening step forward.

  The arrival of several warriors stopped Waho from advancing further. Striking Thunder stepped forward. “He stays.” He motioned for three others to join Jeremy. “We will guard our camp until we find and deal with those responsible for my father’s death. I have placed guards along the river, and on the other side of the prairie, and tomorrow we shall move our camp.”

  Jeremy took his place, as far from Waho as possible. Staring up at the star-studded sky, Jeremy saw an owl swooping down toward him. Then back up it flew, circling. Over and over the bird returned to him before moving away as if also keeping watch. When it flew overhead for the fourth time, Jeremy lifted his arm without knowing or understanding why he did so.

  To his surprise, the owl dived toward him and landed on his arm. Its razor-sharp talons dug into his flesh. Too shocked to move or feel pain, he stared at the snow-white bird.

  “You are needed. Follow your heart in all things.”

  Blinking, wondering if he’d actually heard the bird speaking or was just remembering his strange dream, he knew he was losing it. Owls did not talk. Jeremy felt the weight of the bird leave his arm and fly away.

  He rubbed his eyes. He must really be tired and his mind overwrought from the events of the night. But when he looked at his arm, he saw drops of red beading where the bird’s talons had dug into him. His fingers rubbed his arm where the bird had perched and came away wet with blood.

  * * *

  Dove left her mother sleeping in Emma’s tipi. It had taken several cups of herb tea to calm her mother and send her to sleep. Outside, the entire camp continued to mourn her father’s death. There wouldn’t be much sleep for most this night. Including her.