by Lydia Olson
“It is,” David said. “But I am on your land tonight. I am in your home. I wish to abide by whatever customs are most appropriate to you.”
Silver Paw withdrew his hand and pressed it over the area where his heart rested. “Very well, David,” he said. “And welcome.”
David placed his hand over his heart, nodded in thanks, and said, “I’m pleased to be your guest, Silver Paw. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Come,” Silver Paw said. “I will introduce you to my tribe.”
Following Silver Paw out of the tent, David breathed a sigh of relief to know that he and Sarah were now in good company. He was even more assured that they were friends with Silver Paw and his people when he witnessed a few of the native children admiring Sarah’s dress and playing with her hair when he stepped outside. He stopped for a moment, smiling and waiting for Sarah to look up. She was laughing, trying her best to understand what the children were saying as they felt the fabric of her clothes and the texture of her hair.
Sarah finally looked up and saw David. She waved and smiled. David did the same, and as the sunlight cut through the trees overhead, it cast a heavenly glow on Sarah that made his heart drum faster than it already had during the days they shared their time together.
Chapter Twenty-One
Night had fallen and the scene that settled in the Quapaw encampment was one that Sarah couldn’t look away from. The entirety of the village, which she had deduced was around forty to fifty people, had set about constructing a large fire that was lighting up the forest. Several men were dressed in ceremonial garb, and a younger native man, who appeared to be in his early teens, was being spoken to in serious and what sounded like congratulatory tones.
David and Sarah were seated beside one another, with Silver Paw to their right, watching the fire as the other tribe members prepared what appeared to be some kind of ceremony.
“What’s going on?” Sarah whispered to David.
David leaned in. “Look at the young man on the other side of the fire.”
Sarah noted the young man who was being given a considerable amount of attention. Another native man held his arms, looking him square in the eyes as he gave him some sort of instruction.
“I see him,” Sarah said.
“That’s Light Foot,” David said. “He killed a bear that tried to come into their camp the night before last. Silver Paw told me all about it. They’re honoring him tonight, it seems, a kind of celebration.”
Sarah watched as the ceremony went on. She was amazed and honored to have the privilege of seeing firsthand what was transpiring. It was something she had only seen in pictures and drawings, things she had only read about in the books that lined her shelves at home in North Carolina. She had never before been this up-close and familiar with a single native, let alone many of them. It excited her, made her feel like she was stepping outside the confines of a domesticated and academic life. She felt close to her father once again, though he had been gone for what felt like a long time. Though he was an academic, he was a man who had prided himself on having been in the field for a significant portion of his life. And now here Sarah was, “in the field” and seeing a tribe of natives honoring one of their own as a fire burned brightly and a vast and milky array of stars blinked in the night sky above her head.
Oh Father, she thought, I wish you could be here now. I wish you could see all of this splendidness. Maybe you are watching. Maybe you can see it.
I miss you, Father.
I miss you so very much.
For the remainder of the ceremony, Sarah and David watched silently as it all played out. A dance took place around the fire. Some kind of fermented drink was consumed by the teen who killed the bear. The spectacle of it all was enthralling beyond measure. The camaraderie that all in attendance shared was warm and welcoming.
Sarah felt a nudge on her right. She turned and saw a native who went by the name Wild Boar, and a woman beside him who was speaking something in their native language in his ear. It seemed that a few of the older tribesmen spoke English, though the consistency and grasp on the language varied. In Wild Boar’s case, it was a bit more fragmented than the others.
“Wife,” Wild Boar said. “She wants to know name.”
Sarah looked at the woman, a beam of interest on her face as she stared in curiosity at the light-complected guest. “My name is Sarah.”
Wild Boar nodded toward David. “Husband’s name?”
Sarah’s cheeks blushed. My goodness, she thought. How many times will this particular question be asked?
“Oh, he’s not my husband,” she said.
Wild Boar appeared confused. “Not husband?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, not husband. Friend.”
“Friend,” Wild Boar repeated. “I-ka-ge.”
“I-ka-ge,” Sarah said, logging away the tidbits of the language she was learning. “Yes.”
Wild Boar turned to his wife. They conversed for a moment, Wild Boar’s wife appearing perplexed at the answer.
“She does not understand,” Wild Boar said to Sarah.
“That he is not my husband?” Sarah asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Not husband.”
Sarah glanced at David as he conversed with Rolling Thunder. The right side of his face glowed in the fire. His beard, along with the way his eyes lit up in the fire, stoked the warm sensation Sarah felt in her chest for the past couple of days. It started back in the room they shared in Little Rock. It was a feeling that, while it was pleasant and fulfilling, was one she was trying her best to not encourage. But as she and David sat amongst the natives, as they were served as guests at a ceremony so different from any that Sarah was accustomed to, she felt her defenses lower—with the name Michael Crane not coming to mind as often as it had been.
“Wife say,” Wild Boar said, “he e-te-hi.”
“E-te-hi?” Sarah asked as she furrowed her brow.
“Yes,” Wild Boar said.
“What does that mean?”
Wild Boar thought. “Not sure.”
Turning to David, Sarah pulled on his shirt. He turned to her, and she asked him, “Do you know what e-te-hi means?”
David nodded. “I do,” he said. “Who did you hear that from?”
Sarah acknowledged Wild Boar and his wife. “That man said that his wife called you that.”
A slight look of bashfulness came over David’s face and he looked away. “It means handsome,” he said.
Sarah laughed as David told her the translation. Well, she thought, Wild Boar’s wife is not wrong ….
Sitting a bit closer to him than she was before, Sarah looked on as the natives danced around the fire. The ceremonial beating of drums made her heart feel as if it were beating in sync with their rhythm. For the remainder of the night, Sarah completely forgot about all of her obligations and the remainder of the journey that would take her to Clarendon. Instead, she just shared the time with David and took note of all she witnessed. It would end up becoming one of the fondest memories she ever had.
***
Inside Silver Paw’s tent, a map he had received from the man who had been known as Troutman was spread across the calf hide on his cot. It was the state of Oklahoma, with parts of Texas at the edge of the map.
“You are here,” Silver Paw said as he pressed his finger onto the map. “Your town is not far from here. A two-day ride at the most.”
“So,” David said, tracing his finger on the map, “I keep heading east on the path you spoke of to get there in due time.”
Silver Paw nodded. “Yes. It does not have as much wildlife. Much safer. You will pass through mountains on the first part of the journey tomorrow. There may be bears, but we believe we have scared them off since Light Foot killed one. Once you go past, there is a town not far beyond it. A train is there. If you take it, you get to your town quicker.”
David stroked his chin as he pondered the prospect of riding the train. It should have been an easy choice to mak
e. It would get him and Sarah to Clarendon in less time, but it would cut down on the amount of grains left in the hourglass that counted down the time left for their companionship on the road. I don’t want to be without her, he thought. Not just yet.
“If I don’t take it,” he said to Silver Paw, “which direction would I go?”
Silver Paw appeared confused by David’s unwillingness to take the train. “Same direction,” he said. “Just keep headed that way. You will get to where you are going.” He held up the map. “Do you need?”
David shook his head. “I’ll manage without it.” He tapped two fingers on the side of his head. “I have a good memory.”
“We supply you with a few things before you leave tomorrow.”
“That will help,” David said, “but I wish to trade for them. You’ve been more than hospitable.”
“Not required.”
“Please, Silver Paw,” David said. “I wish to trade for what you are giving. It’s the least that I can do. I want to express my gratitude.”
Silver Paw took a moment. “Yes. This will be fine.” He looked around. “Your friend?”
“She’s in the tent you provided us,” David said. “I think she is sleeping.”
“Wild Boar and his wife talk about her.”
“Did they, now?”
Silver Paw nodded. “They think she should be your wife.”
Nothing came into David’s mind that resembled a reply. The thought of Sarah being wed to him had not occurred to him until that moment. He knew he was attracted to her. He was more than aware that the friendship they had made the attraction all the more wonderful—and, because she was to be wed to someone else, more tortuous. After Silver Paw mentioned what Wild Boar had told him about the prospect of being her husband, David thought of the name Sarah Bryant before hiding the beaming smile that came as a result.
“Thank you again,” David said, ready to move on and call it a night. “I’ll never forget this night.”
“Rest well, David,” Silver Paw said as he stood. “Let me know if there is anything you may need.”
David gave a kind of two-finger salute before retreating—and then the name Michael Crane crept into his mind, followed by that of Tucker Willis.
“Silver Paw,” he said as he turned back. “I’m curious, do you know much about any rumors or stories of bandits?”
“Yes,” Silver Paw said with an air of graveness in his tone. “A few.”
“Tucker Willis,” David said. “Does that sound like someone you know?”
Silver Paw drew a deep, serious breath. “Yes,” he said. “He was one of the gray coats who tried to kill my people.”
It didn’t surprise David to hear it, but it still made his skin crawl.
“Michael Crane,” he said. “What about that name?”
Silver Paw shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”
Let it go, David thought. Just focus on the tasks ahead of you. “No reason,” he said. “Thank you again, Silver Paw.” With that, David left Silver Paw’s quarters and moved to the far end of the camp where Wild Boar and his wife had donated their lodgings for the night. He moved inside and saw Sarah lying peacefully on the ground, sleeping. A bearskin blanket was wrapped around her, with a glow that came from the night’s activities and the fire they had been sitting beside.
She’s so beautiful, David thought. He got down on one knee beside Sarah over the area where he had planned to sleep, a few feet apart from where she rested. He looked at her hair, wavy and elegant. The freckles across the bridge of her nose were faint and appeared as if God had left them there like a kind of unique print. David so desperately wanted to reach out and stroke her cheek, so he extended his hand to do so—but he stopped himself, remembering the name Michael Crane and the relationship he had to Sarah. David withdrew his hand as he recalled those facts, and lay down on the ground with his back to Sarah. He resolved to skip the train ride that would expedite their journey to Clarendon.
Just a little time is left, he thought, though he would still mention the train to Sarah in the morning, just as an option.
I want every possible second with her that I can have.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The bags on David and Sarah’s horses were secured, resupplied by Silver Paw and his people. The path cutting through the forest that led to the mountain area David and Sarah would pass through waited for them just eight miles away.
Silver Paw and Rolling Thunder stood next to each other as the other villagers looked on. Rolling Thunder, holding David’s rifle in his hand, extended it out for him to take.
“Yours,” Rolling Thunder said. “I cleaned the dirt off.”
David took the rifle and looked it over, a sheen on it from where the grime from the journey had been removed by Rolling Thunder’s hands. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Rolling Thunder extended his hand. “I shake your hand. Like you. In your custom.”
David took up the offer and shook Rolling Thunder’s hand before slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He then turned to Silver Paw, nodded, and rested his palm over his heart. Silver Paw did the same, returning David’s nod before saying, “Be safe. I hope we cross paths again.”
“As do I,” David said before taking one last look at the tribe before he got onto his saddle.
Sarah, waving goodbye to the children that had played with her when she first arrived, had a forlorn quality about her. “I’m sad to leave here,” she said. “It’s hard to explain.”
Looking at the natives, David felt the same. “No,” he said. “It’s not. I feel the exact same way.”
The two departed the village with the sun on their backs and the jagged, rough peaks of the mountains ahead of them. Though the sun shone brightly during the first part of their travels, dark skies pregnant with rain slowly rumbled in like the start of a predator’s growl off in the distance.
***
Rain fell in thick sheets, thoroughly dousing every inch of Sarah and David as they made their way across the mountain terrain. Everything was slick. The harsh, edgy earth of the mountain beneath them appeared like dull daggers poking out of the ground. They slowed their pace as the rain intensified, the winds howling and forcing them to move inch by precious inch as their horses struggled to keep their footing.
Shielding her eyes to see through the rain, Sarah saw that she only had a few feet of visibility in front of her—and it was slowly closing in. “David!” she cried out, hoping to be heard over the wind. “I’m having trouble seeing.”
“Move slowly,” he called back. “If we go step by step, we’ll make it through this.”
“We should find shelter.”
“Yes, without question. If we move a little further, I think there’s an area where we might find some caves. Just follow close to me. We’ll be alright.”
Sarah entrusted David with every shred of courage she could rally. She followed behind him, visibility in front of her now limited to just a foot. The rain had long ago soaked her clothes. The wind pulled at her hair, and she shivered all over as she gritted her teeth and prayed that a fire was in her immediate future.
The ground around them seemed to narrow as their horses moved a few more paces forward. Sarah noted that the winds seemed to be picking up on the right side, and she tightened the bearskin around her shoulders that the natives had gifted her with as she glanced to her right. The road seemed to be non-existent, and a sickly feeling of vertigo overcame her.
“David,” she said. “I can’t see the road.”
David held up his hand to motion her to stop. He looked to his right, nodding as he glanced at Sarah. “That’s the edge of the cliff,” he said. “I don’t know how far down it goes. Move closer to your left. Stay on my rear.”
Sarah did as David instructed and hugged the left side of the mountain. Her horse snorted and squealed as she continued pressing unwillingly on the slippery trail, the cold now on the edge of unbearable. Lord, she p
rayed, please don’t let me fall off of this mountain. She recalled a story her uncle had told her about a childhood friend of his who fell off of his saddle in a storm. The young man had fallen twenty feet and broken his arm. It made her shiver even more thinking about it. She bit her lip so hard thinking about the story that she nearly cut herself.
“Almost there,” David said, “we just need to go a few more paces.”
The ground beneath Sarah dipped down. She was grateful for any kind of decline in the earth, hoping that it would continue and lead them to the bottom. The horses, practically touching, moved further down the declining terrain and prepared to move right—and then a clap of thunder rang out. Both horses were spooked, and they responded by backing up a couple of feet each, each trumpeting its fear.
