He had seen the Crow village by then, from the distance, and had steered a wide berth, and camped far from it, in a cave in the forest. He knew the ways of the woods well and was adept at them. He had been on the lookout for war parties, but there were none. He had seen through a telescope that everyone at the camp appeared to be busy. It was the end of summer, and he suspected they were getting ready for winter. He wondered if this girl in the lake had just slipped away to play instead of working. She looked young enough to do that, and if she was the chief’s daughter, perhaps they let her, as a kind of privilege. There was so much he wished he could ask her, so much he wanted to know about her.
He could see as she swam that she was naked again, and she didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on her face, and not the bits of flesh that emerged as she moved around under the water. She stood up in the water then, and it only reached her waist. Their eyes met and neither of them moved, and then she smiled and ducked under the water again. She was teasing him, like a wood nymph. He almost felt as though he had imagined her, but she was all too real, and such a beautiful woman. He couldn’t imagine any wood nymph prettier than she. And the look of innocence in her eyes overwhelmed him. He decided to introduce himself, although it seemed more than a little foolish here.
“Jean de Margerac,” he said, pointing to himself and bowing low. She looked puzzled for an instant, as though she didn’t know what he’d said. He said it again, pointed to his chest, and didn’t move, and then she got it.
“Wachiwi,” she said softly, and pointed to herself. He didn’t know enough about the local tribes to be sure which one she was from, and when he tried a few words, it was clear that she spoke neither English nor French. He spoke both, and had learned English since coming to the New World. He had learned Iroquois and Huron, but she didn’t seem to recognize those either. They were tribes far to the east of where they were. They were left with signing to each other and miming, which seemed to be enough.
They now knew each other’s names, although nothing of each other’s histories. There was a nobility to her that told him that she came of privilege in her world, but was a free spirit, just as he was. In an odd way, their histories were not so different. He had felt too confined in his own world in France. And out of love for him, his older brother, Tristan the marquis, had allowed him to leave France, with his blessing. She was signing something to him then, and it took him a while to understand that she was asking him where he came from, pointing to the sky with a question in her eyes, and then the forest. He pointed to the woods in answer, indicated that he was riding a horse, and tried to convey many, many, many days. Trying to explain to her that beyond was an ocean and an even longer journey was too much to translate into pantomime for her. He had come from France, Brittany, and was the Comte de Margerac. The fact that his older brother Tristan was the marquis, and lord of extensive lands, would have meant nothing to her. All they had to share was who they were at this moment, to each other, with no past and no future. All they had was now, which was a heady feeling for them both.
He took off his boots and waded into the water with her, feeling slightly crazy. If any of the braves had come, he would have been dead, without boots or a weapon. Like her, he wore a knife at his waist, for cutting his way through the woods, but he wouldn’t have wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any of the braves from her village, and he had left his gun on his horse, so he didn’t frighten her. They were like two children, meeting in a forbidden place, taking an enormous risk, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She looked like a girl with a lot of spirit. Most women would have run screaming from him in her situation. Instead she swam naked in the water only a few feet away from him, tempting fate, or trusting him, he wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t look like a loose woman. There was no hint of invitation in her eyes, just innocence, curiosity, and friendship. She was a most unusual girl. And luckily for her, she was safe with him. And something told him she sensed that. But she was either very foolish or very brave.
She dressed again, while he turned away, and they sat on a log, trying to exchange small bits of information. He asked if she had children and she shook her head. He guessed that she wasn’t married then, although she seemed to be of a mature age. Perhaps she was a chief’s favorite daughter he couldn’t part with. She pantomimed then that she had been taken from her home and ridden many days. She showed him the scars from where she had been bound, since she still had them, and then pointed to the village from whence she came. What she tried to say to him made it sound like she was a prisoner there, but that made no sense to Jean since she was alone at the lake. He went to his horse then and showed her his drawings and sketches, of lakes, forests, a few of people, and she nodded. They were very good. He showed her one of his maps, but she didn’t seem to know what it was, having never seen one. She indicated that she liked his drawings better. And then it was time for her to go.
They had managed to form an odd friendship, curious about each other, from two entirely different worlds. An Indian girl, perhaps of rank, and a French nobleman, both far from home, who had happened on each other in this peaceful place. He stayed after she left and drew the waterfall, and wanted to give it to her the next day.
Jean came the next day, but she didn’t. Both of Napayshni’s wives were sick from berries they had eaten, and she stayed in the village to take care of the children.
It was two days before Wachiwi came to the lake again, and she was disappointed to find that Jean wasn’t there. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if he had gone back to where he came from. She knew that he hadn’t run into any of the Crow braves, because she had heard nothing about it in the village, and she would have if they had found a white man and killed him. They would have brought his scalp back to the village and given it to the chief. He had just vanished as he had appeared. But he seemed like a good spirit to her. He had done her no harm and seemed peaceful and friendly in every way.
She was quiet when she went back to the village that night. The men had a celebration to honor yet another hunt, and some of them got raucous. Napayshni had a lot to drink, which was rare for him, but he was in a festive mood, and he tried to come to her in her bed. She felt him near her after he came back to the tipi, she ignored him and pretended to be asleep, and he went back to his own bed. Before he did, he had touched her face and neck with gentle fingers, hoping she would wake. She was not ready for him, and didn’t think she ever would be. She had sensed his mounting passion for her recently, and it reminded her that she needed to get away. She was worried that soon he would force himself on her, frustrated by the long wait. He had been patient so far, but she knew he wouldn’t be forever. She knew from other women of the things men did, and in fact, like it or not, she belonged to him. He could do what he wanted with her. It was a miracle that he had never pressed the point.
It would be a long winter sleeping in the same lodge, and both of his wives would be heavily pregnant by midwinter. It was easy to guess that he would turn to Wachiwi for his needs, and want her to get pregnant too. Having many children was a sign of virility and importance for the chief. And he had wanted Wachiwi since she arrived. He had been restrained with her, but she knew. Soon he would make her his wife. She wanted to be gone before he did. She had vowed never to let him near her. The murder of her brothers and Ohitekah was too much for her ever to forgive.
There was talk of breaking up the camp soon, in the final days of summer. The buffalo were beginning to move on, and the Crow wanted to hunt some more before winter. They had had a long time in their summer camp, and Wachiwi had enjoyed the time she had spent at the lake, especially since she had met Jean. And she had enjoyed her time alone there even before that. The day before they broke camp, she went back to the lake for a last time. She thought he was gone by then, as she hadn’t seen him in several days, and she didn’t expect to meet him again.
She walked as she always did, at a good pace, so she would have enough time a
t the lake before she had to get back. The air had gotten a trifle cooler, and she could sense that autumn was coming. A few leaves were starting to fall from the trees, but it was still warm enough for her to swim. She took off her clothes as she always did, and even the water was a little cooler. Afterward, she put her dress and moccasins back on, thinking of Jean, and was startled when he suddenly appeared. It made her wonder if he really was a spirit after all. She hadn’t seen him in at least a week. He signed to her that he had gone away and come back. He couldn’t express it to her, but he had hoped to see her again, at least once. He felt he had to see her one more time before he left. He handed her the drawing he had done of the waterfall, and she looked pleased. She gave it back to him, because she couldn’t take it back to camp with her. And then he showed her a sketch he had done of her, which touched her even more. She smiled at him the moment she saw it.
They sat on their favorite log then, as they had before. She picked berries and handed them to him, and they were sitting there peacefully like two children, when they both heard a sound at the same time, like the stirring of leaves. Wachiwi started, and so did Jean, and before either of them knew what had happened, Napayshni walked into the clearing, looking as stunned as they did. For an instant none of them reacted, and then without a sound Napayshni lunged at Jean. Wachiwi didn’t know what to do. She had no idea he had followed her there, he never had before, and she didn’t know if he had come alone. What she didn’t know was that he was tired of waiting, and had decided to consummate his marriage to her at the place she loved so much, before they broke camp. He thought it was the right thing to do. And as she watched, terrified, Wachiwi saw both men locked in a deadly grip, their faces red, grunting, and their hands around each other’s throats. She stood helpless, afraid to interfere, and just as Napayshni seemed about to get the best of Jean, she saw Jean loosen his grip on the Indian’s neck, reach for the knife at his belt with one swift movement, and run Napayshni through. The man to whom she belonged stared at her in amazement and made a gurgling sound, as blood exploded from his throat, and he fell slowly backward onto the ground. Jean was choking and trying to catch his breath, as they both looked down at Napayshni. His eyes were open, he lay still, blood was gushing from his chest, he was dead.
“Oh my God,” Jean said, with a look of terror, with no idea what to do next, and Wachiwi moved faster than he did. She took one of Napayshni’s legs, pointed to the other and Jean, and pulled him toward a thicket. It was not the way to bury an Indian chief, but there was nothing more they could do. They both knew they had to move quickly. If anyone knew he had come there, or had followed him from camp, Jean and Wachiwi would be killed. Jean had never intended to hurt him, but he had had no other choice. They had been playing with fire when they made friends.
Wachiwi was powerful and swift as they dragged Napayshni into the bushes. The brush was so thick there, she knew he wouldn’t be seen or found for a long time, and then she pointed to herself and to Jean, and in the direction of his horse. She was saying clearly that she had to go with him, and he had figured that out too. He cleaned his knife in the water as quickly as he could, replaced it in his belt, and together they ran soundlessly toward his horse, saying not a word. Wachiwi swung herself onto his horse in front of the saddle, as though she belonged there, and Jean mounted, put an arm around her, took the reins, and in an instant they were off at full speed.
She pointed to paths and clearings in the forest that he hadn’t noticed and would never have seen. And it was clear to him as he rode with her that she had spent a lifetime on horses. She kept urging the horse faster, and both of them knew that they had to get as far away as quickly as they could. When Napayshni’s absence was discovered in the camp, if it hadn’t been already, they would come searching for him. Jean had guessed the moment he saw him that he was the chief. What he didn’t understand was Wachiwi’s lack of emotion at seeing him killed. If anything, she seemed relieved. He couldn’t figure out if he was her husband, or what their relation to each other was. But he had no time to ask as they rode. Wachiwi was concentrating on getting them through the forest. They rode on for many hours at full speed until it was dark. His horse was exhausted by then, and Jean just prayed that they wouldn’t lame him in the woods. They still had a long way to go. They were riding north and east. She finally let him stop when she noticed a cave. They tied the horse to a tree, and he followed her into the cave. This time he took his weapons with him. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were, nor was she, but he had a vague idea. He was trying to get to the home of a trapper he knew, where he had stayed for several days on the way west. He was French, they had met in Canada, and had known each other for years. Jean didn’t want to endanger him, but by the time they got there, they would be a long, long way from the Crows.
Jean could see something in Wachiwi’s eyes then, as though she wanted to express something to him. For a moment, as they left the lake, she had wanted to take him in the direction of her father’s village, but she realized immediately that if she did, she would be bringing danger to them, and maybe even a full-scale war with the Crow. As far as they knew, and would figure out, when she didn’t come back either, if they found his body and not hers, they would assume that she had killed their chief and run away. They would be certain of it if she went back to her village, and they would take harsh revenge. She had to stay away from her father’s tribe. Maybe the Crow would think she had been kidnapped by another tribe at the lake, when Napayshni was killed. But it was unlikely, since there was no one else around. They would think she did it. All she could do now was travel with the white man, and what would happen to her after that, she didn’t know. She had no idea what he would do with her now. He said very little that night, nor did she. They exchanged glances, but no words, and they made no effort at pantomime. Both of them knew what had happened and what the consequences would be if they were caught.
They slept little that night, left before dawn, and rode even harder that day. They had to cover some open terrain, and Jean knew they were in Teton Sioux territory, which was never safe. The Teton Sioux were fiercely hostile even against other Sioux and feared by all. But by sheer luck they saw no one when they covered open ground. They rode like the wind, and then disappeared into the cover of the forest again. It slowed them down, but they met no one on the way. There was no cave to sleep in that night, and they both sat awake, listening to the sounds of the forest, but no humans emerged, and after two days of riding, so far no one was following them. They both wondered if maybe Napayshni’s body hadn’t been found yet. Jean hoped not. Maybe his disappearance and Wachiwi’s was still a mystery to the chief’s people.
On the third day, Jean’s horse was getting noticeably tired as they pressed on. But Jean knew where they were by then, he had mapped the territory, and thought they were relatively safe. The Crow could still come after them, but the tribe didn’t know in which direction they’d gone since they had a long head start. And the tribes in the area they were now traveling through were mostly peaceful and involved in trading and agriculture. They weren’t as warlike as the Crow or the Teton Sioux. There were generally no war parties in the vicinity, and Jean hoped that was still true.
They had covered hundreds of miles by then, at full speed, faster than Jean had ever ridden before. Wachiwi was tireless, and she urged his horse on in a way he knew he never could. She was twice the rider he was. She acted as though she had been born on a horse. They rode on after dark that night, and had begun to see farms, a few settlers’ homes, and finally Jean recognized the cabin he had been looking for. He brought their horse to a halt in the front yard, and led him into the barn, and then he urged Wachiwi onto the porch and knocked on the door. It was the home of Luc Ferrier. He had been in the New World for years, trapping in Canada, and trading with the Indians. He had been married to an Indian woman who had since died. Jean considered him a good friend, and trusted him. Luc opened the door and gave a shout of delight when he saw him, and they sp
oke rapidly in French.
“What are you doing back so soon? I didn’t expect you for another month. Did you run into trouble or get scared?” He always teased Jean, mostly because he had a title, and Luc didn’t. He was from the Pyrenees and a rough mountain man, but he had a kind heart and a lot of ill-disguised respect for Jean, although they liked to tease each other with friendly insults. Luc had seen Jean in some difficult situations, and he always handled himself well.
“A minor incident,” Jean said casually, but Luc could see that they were tired and could guess that they had ridden hard. He didn’t know why or for how long, but he could tell that something had happened and he didn’t want to pry. Whatever it was, they would be safe with him, which was why Jean had headed for his cabin as soon as they left the lake.
“Who’s your friend?” Luc couldn’t resist asking. She was lovely.
“Her name is Wachiwi, and that’s all I know. I think she’s Crow, or maybe Dakota. I can’t tell. I don’t know these tribes as well. I tried to speak Iroquois and Huron to her, she doesn’t speak either. She was living in a Crow village, but she tried to explain to me that she was taken from somewhere else, I think maybe from her father.”
Luc spoke to her in Dakota then, which he spoke fluently since he traded with them at times. He was conversant in many dialects and had an ear for languages, and Wachiwi answered rapidly and talked for quite a long time, explaining her story. She was very impassioned about it, and very expressive, as Jean listened to them both, and understood not a word. But Luc nodded and commented occasionally. Jean wondered if she was telling him that Jean had killed the Crow chief. He hoped not. He didn’t want to implicate or involve him in any way, which it might if he had knowledge of it. This was their problem, not his, and Jean fervently hoped that nothing would come of it. He was planning to continue traveling east with Wachiwi to Fort St. Charles, and to St. Louis after that. He wanted to get both of them as far away as possible from the Crow. What he would do with her after that, he had no idea. And he didn’t know what she wanted either. He was hoping Luc could find out.
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