“Thanks. I think.”
“You’re quite welcome.” He stepped back while holding open the door flap. “Come on. We’re having a powwow in my lodge. I’d like you to be there.”
Faith followed his orders without hesitation and fell into step beside him. “Will Irene be there, too?”
“Of course. She’s waiting for us. We’ll need her help if we expect to get out of this mess and keep our hair.”
Scurrying to keep pace with his much longer strides, she made a sour face. “That sounds awful.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think. I’ll try not to be so blunt.”
“No, no,” she said, laying a hand lightly on his arm. “I don’t want to be coddled. I’m a part of all this and I need to know everything, just like the rest of you do.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. In spite of what everybody seems to think, I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman.”
The muscles of his arm flexed beneath her fingers as he said, “I’m more than aware of that, believe me.”
“All I have to contribute is Rojo,” Connell told the group, “but if I have to give him up, I will. Black Kettle had never seen a canelo before. I know he fancies the red color.”
Faith had folded her grandmother’s quilt into a small bundle and was sitting on it instead of the buffalo robe. “I wish I still had the money Anna Morse gave me so I could donate something,” she said, “but it’s with Charity in our wagon.”
Both Connell and Ab shook their heads. The plainsman explained. “Out here, the best currency is on the hoof. A swift, sure-footed horse can carry a hunter after buffalo or a warrior after his enemies. It’s worth its weight in gold.”
“That’s right,” Irene said. “Horses are used as a dowry, or payment of a debt, or as a reward for heroism…lots of things. A husband even has to give one to his mother-in-law if he wants to talk to her face-to-face. She can’t even go visit her daughter unless she’s sure her son-in-law is not at home.”
Connell smirked, “Now that’s a habit a lot of men would like to see spread to every culture.”
“Very funny,” Faith countered, making a face. “That rule was obviously made by men.”
“Perhaps,” Irene said. “But in many ways our women have more rights than you do. For instance, the horses given to a bride’s father by her husband-to-be become her property and the whole herd stays with her even if the marriage breaks up. She also remains within her own tribe and he joins that one, instead of the other way around.”
“Oh, my.” Faith was surprised to hear the older woman seem to identify so closely with the Indians, but since no one else had noticed that Irene had referred to the Indians as “our” women, she made no comment. Poor Irene. It was getting easier and easier for Faith to push aside any niggling envy and feel sorry for her. After all, the woman had loved Connell and believed he was dead, then married a skunk like Tucker and almost lost her life because of it.
Being sold into slavery to the Arapaho or traded to the Cheyenne sounded like solace after having endured all that other grief.
Except what about Red Deer? Faith added, keeping her thoughts to herself while the others continued to discuss various options relating to barter with Black Kettle. How sad it was that Irene had found true love, only to be forced to abandon it. Still, she had been reunited with her betrothed. Some women never had even one chance at happiness, yet here was Irene, so blessed with men who loved her that her heart was torn between them!
I will not be jealous, Faith insisted. I will not covet her good fortune.
Furious at the difficulty she was having living up to those noble declarations, she felt like stamping her foot and shouting, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.
How adult. How ladylike. How stupid, she told herself wisely. The others were never going to accept her as their equal unless she took control of her emotions. It was high time to stop thinking with her heart and start relying upon her wits again.
It would also help her mature image if she quit running around with her Cheyenne garb tied around her waist, she added, blushing. Now that Irene had explained how the knotted cord was supposed to be tied and that its presence was more symbolic than functional, it was easy to see what the Indian girl had been trying to explain with her confusing hand signals.
Lost in thought, Faith worried a loose thread in the quilt hem with nervous fingers. Every time she recalled her encounter with Connell from the previous evening she was mortified all over again. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she didn’t think she’d ever be more embarrassed than she had been the moment she’d fully comprehended her openly scandalous error.
No one asked Faith’s opinion during the impromptu powwow so she offered none. When the group broke up and Connell left to meet with Black Kettle, she was the only one who chose to remain in the teepee to wait for him.
Upon his return his countenance was grim. She managed to allow him a few moments of peace before her curiosity and impatience got the better of her and she blurted out the questions that had been nagging her.
“Well? Did you make the trade? Can we leave soon?”
“Yes, I’ve arranged for Irene’s freedom. And, no, we can’t leave right away.”
“Why not?” Faith’s imagination immediately saw many possible scenarios—all of them bad.
“Because Black Kettle wants to hold a special feast in our honor.”
Her breath left in a whoosh of relief. “Oh, is that all? When?”
“Tonight. That’s when the exchange will take place and Irene will confer her supposed spiritual powers on Walks With Tree.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“As long as he sees an advantage for himself, yes.”
“What if he pretends to go along with your plan, then changes his mind and tells Black Kettle the truth?”
Connell regarded her with concern. “He won’t.”
“But what if he does?”
“Let’s worry about the things we can control and leave the other stuff to the Good Lord, okay?” He stopped looking so somber and smiled encouragingly. “If you want to help, I suggest you spend the afternoon praying that our plan works and that nobody gets hurt in the process.”
She pulled a disgusted face. “Maybe you should do the praying for both of us. I’m afraid God isn’t very happy with me right now.”
“Oh no? What terrible sin have you committed, Little Dove Woman?”
“I keep breaking a commandment and I can’t help myself.”
“I find that hard to believe.” There was growing mirth in his eyes, in the lopsided quirk of his mouth.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
When he came closer and laid his hands lightly on her shoulders, Faith felt his controlled strength, the warmth of his palms, and imagined that he caressed the strip of bare skin where her Cheyenne dress had left the curve of one shoulder exposed.
Surely, he couldn’t have done so. Connell loved Irene. They were still promised to each other. Faith looked up into his smoky-colored eyes and saw them glistening.
“I would never make fun of you,” he said earnestly, quietly. “Never.”
At that moment, if he had asked her what sin she was battling, she could not have kept from confessing her covetousness. To her relief, he didn’t press for an explanation.
Instead, he said, “I’m sure God understands what’s in your heart, Faith. You want do the right thing. But you’re human. We all make mistakes. God’s grace and forgiveness take care of that.”
“Only if we repent and stop doing the same thing over and over,” she said in a hushed voice.
Connell drew her into his embrace. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see. You’ll feel much better when you’re back with Charity and we find your father.”
The moment he’d pulled her close, Faith’s arms had slipped around his waist as naturally as if they’d done the same thing a thousand times.
Clinging to Connell, drawing on his strength, she liste
ned to his heart pound in unison with her own racing pulse. Truth to tell, if he hadn’t brought up her estranged family she wouldn’t have thought of them at all. Not now. Now when she was so dizzy with excitement, so taken with his nearness, that there was no room in her consciousness for anybody or anything but him.
Could she love him? she wondered in awe. Was that what these turbulent feelings were?
Why not? her conscience answered. Of course she cared for Hawk. It was perfectly normal to be grateful for all he’d done and all he’d promised to do when they finally got to California. She’d be lost without him, both literally and figuratively, and when the time eventually came to part, she was going to miss him terribly. The thought of never seeing him again brought unshed tears.
Long minutes passed in silence. When he finally did ease his hold on her, Faith was reluctant to let go.
Connell once again grasped her shoulders, but this time it was to put her away from himself and say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I didn’t mind. Really.”
“Still, it was wrong. It won’t happen again.”
The fact that he was obviously determined to keep that vow was underscored by the squaring of his shoulders, the jut of his chin.
Faith’s pride reared up and took control of her tongue before she could stop it. “Fine. Don’t touch me. Don’t even act like my friend if it pains you so. Just get me out of this horrible camp, point me toward California and forget about me. I can look after myself.”
Taken aback, Connell scowled down at her. “Who put the burr under your saddle?”
To her utter dismay her lower lip began to quiver. “Nobody. Go away. Leave me alone.”
Instead, he reached out and gently cupped her cheek. “I won’t desert you, even if you try to get rid of me. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted.
His large thumb intercepted a tear on her cheek and whisked it away. Then, with a hoarse groan he once again pulled her close. Holding her as if he never intended to let go, he laid his cheek against her hair and murmured, “I’ll keep you safe, Little Dove. I swear it.”
Touched by his sincerity and warmed all the way to her soul, Faith was about to answer when he whispered one more thing just before he broke away and strode quickly from the lodge.
She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he’d said, “Even from myself.”
Chapter Thirteen
Faith didn’t see Connell again until evening. The day had seemed endless. Bored, lonely and growing more fidgety by the hour, she’d thought of offering to help the Cheyenne women with their chores. If they’d seemed more amiable when she’d approached them she might have tried.
Some of the young warriors, however, were a different story. They’d acted much too friendly when she’d left the meeting lodge and started to walk back across the encampment toward Irene’s teepee. Rather than stir up more trouble, Faith had decided to be discreet and had reversed direction, determined to stay out of sight until Connell called for her.
Several shy little girls had peeked in at her by getting down on their knees and peering under the raised outer edges of the teepee. Then they’d run away giggling when Faith had tried to talk to them. Other than that, and the occasional passage of a rangy dog, she’d remained totally isolated for the rest of the day.
Shadows lengthened. A cooling breeze wafted beneath the vented skirts of the teepee, bringing Faith welcome respite from the stifling heat. Outside, the camp was coming alive. People called to each other, women sang, children shouted, and somewhere not far-off somebody was playing a flute.
The sound of passing hoofbeats drew her to the door. She moved the edge of the flap just enough to see out. Several mounted Cheyenne were driving fresh horses into the circle and exchanging them for ones that had been staked in front of various teepees during the day. The men rode in such harmony with their horses it was as if they and the animal were a single entity. Little wonder the U.S. Cavalry had found the Plains Indians to be such formidable foes.
Though weary from relentless pacing, Faith couldn’t force herself to rest. She’d been almost ready to throw caution to the winds and make a mad dash for Irene’s when Connell finally appeared. He ducked inside and let the door flap fall closed.
“Oh, thank goodness! I thought everyone had forgotten me,” she said, hurrying toward him.
His raised hand stopped her. “Simmer down. I just came to check on you and tell you to stay put. I’ll send for you later. When it’s safe.”
“Safe? Here? How can any of us be safe in this camp? You should have seen the way those Indians leered at me when I tried to go find Irene!”
“You went out? By yourself?” He muttered an unintelligible expletive. “No wonder.”
Faith was sorry he was upset, but she wasn’t willing to accept the blame for his foul mood. “You never told me to stay inside,” she argued. “As a matter of fact, you didn’t bother to tell me anything before you went off and left me. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs all day?”
“It would have been preferable to attracting attention. Have you looked outside our door lately?”
“I watched a herd of horses go by about half an hour ago,” she said with a scowl and a glance past his shoulder. “Why? What’s out there now?”
“A Cheyenne with a flute. Didn’t you hear him playing?”
“I heard some unusual music. Is that important?”
“To him it is. The flute and the special tune come from a medicine man. Hearing it is supposed to make you fall in love with whoever plays it.”
“Me?” Eyes wide, she gaped at Connell. “That Indian expects me to fall in love with him?”
“He sure does.”
“Oh, dear. What should I do?”
“Well, for starters, don’t get close enough for him to throw his blanket over you. If you do, he’ll take it as a sign you’re willing to be courted.”
“You mean like Red Deer and Irene?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Faith rued them, wished she could call them back, but the damage had been done.
She saw Connell’s jaw clench, his spine grow rigid. “No,” he said. “Like Red Deer and Singing Sun Woman.”
“Who’s that?”
“That’s the name the Arapaho gave Irene. After tonight she’ll become Irene Wellman again and Singing Sun Woman will cease to exist.”
Faith wasn’t so sure. It seemed inconceivable that Irene could just forget the past year and go back to being the same person she’d been before coming to live with the Indians. A lot more had changed than just her name. And speaking of her name…
“I can see why they’d think the watch was singing, but how did they come up with the sun part?” Faith asked.
“The pocket watch has a gold case. Maybe it looked like the sun to them.”
“That makes sense.” Puzzled, she thought of the few descriptive Indian names she knew. “What about Walks With Tree? Did they call him that because he was born crippled and needed a wooden crutch?”
“Probably not. Children aren’t given permanent names when they’re little. Sometimes they do something special to earn their adult name. Other times they’ll be presented a name as a gift. An older warrior may admire a younger man and give away his own good name as a kind of blessing.”
“Wouldn’t that get confusing? Two people would have the same name?”
“It doesn’t work like that. Once a name is given away it’s treated like any other gift. The one who had the name before chooses a different new one for himself.”
“Gracious. I’d be totally befuddled.”
“Not if you were used to it.”
“I will never get used to all this,” she said, sweeping her arm in an arc that took in the whole teepee. “How much longer must we stay here?”
“We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said. Then he smiled slightly and added, “Unless you go wandering again and get yourself engaged to be married befo
re morning.”
When the same girl who had brought her clothes and food the previous evening returned, Faith was so glad to see a familiar face she felt like hugging her. How she wished the young woman spoke English so she could properly thank her for her kindness. Still, she reasoned, there were some emotions that lent themselves well to pantomime, graciousness being one of them.
Faith grinned as she reached for the girl’s hand and said, “I’m so glad to see you again.” Genuine tears of thanksgiving misted her vision. “I’m going to be leaving soon. I want to thank you for letting me wear your beautiful dress.”
The girl tried to pull away. Faith resisted. “Don’t be frightened. I want to be your friend.” A barely perceptible hesitation on the girl’s part encouraged her. “That’s right. Friend,” Faith repeated.
She let go to use both hands for gesturing, sweeping her hands from herself to the other and back again while continuing to nod and smile. “Friends. You and me. Good friends. Yes?”
The girl finally nodded.
Faith was thrilled to have spanned their language barrier, however minimally. She pointed to her own chest and said, “Little Dove Woman,” then gestured toward her companion, eyebrows raised questioningly.
The Cheyenne said something in her own language, then translated it. In English it became, “Spotted Fawn Woman.”
Feeling like a teacher who had just broken through to a difficult student, Faith could tell her companion was as proud of their progress as she was. Encouraged, she caught up folds of her soft deerskin dress as if about to curtsy and tried again to make herself understood. “My dress? Where is my dress?”
Spotted Fawn shook her head and took a cautious step backward.
“It’s okay,” Faith cajoled. “Don’t go. You can give it to me later.”
Again came the shake of the girl’s head, this time a lot more insistently and accompanied by a wave of her hands.
Faith frowned. “What’s wrong? I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”
Frontier Courtship Page 14
