‘‘She has no need.’’
Amy pondered that a moment, then asked, ‘‘Where’s Loretta?’’
It was becoming more apparent to Hunter by the moment that Amy didn’t recall her wild flight with Loretta last night. ‘‘She sleeps in my lodge.’’
‘‘Why am I here? I want to be with you, Hunter. And with Loretta. Please?’’
‘‘You may come to my lodge tomorrow.’’ Hunter glanced at the pot of porridge. ‘‘My mother prepares food for you to eat. And medicine. She will make you strong again. I will bring Loh-rhett-ah to see you. It is a promise I make.’’
Amy caught his arm. ‘‘Will you make that boy go away?’’
Hunter pried her fingers loose and rose. ‘‘Swift Antelope is my loyal friend. It is good that he stands outside. No harm.’’
Turning to his mother, Hunter slipped easily into his own language, plying her with questions. His mother informed him that although Amy was weak, with proper nourishment and plenty of rest, she would soon recover. The internal bleeding had completely stopped. The cut on her leg was healing nicely.
Hunter explained that he would return with Loretta shortly, then left the lodge, holding the flap aside for Bright Star, who had respectfully waited for him to finish his business before she tried to enter. Swift Antelope inched toward the doorway, stretching his neck to see past Hunter’s arm. Hunter tugged the flap closed.
‘‘Swift Antelope, stop staring. You’re making her uneasy.’’
‘‘She is very golden, is she not?’’
Hunter had the disturbing feeling that his young friend hadn’t heard a word he said. ‘‘She’s very frightened. Of you. She wants you to leave, and I don’t blame her. You’re drooling like a rabid wolf.’’
A dimple flashed in Swift Antelope’s cheek. ‘‘That is a good sign, is it not? That she has noticed me.’’
Hunter walked away, shaking his head. He found Loretta awake when he entered his lodge. She was sitting up in bed, raking her fingers through her tangled hair. When she saw him, she averted her face, still angry, if the glint in her eyes was any indication.
At first Hunter tried ignoring Loretta’s glares. After feeding her a breakfast of dried fruit and some of his mother’s flat white bread, he took her to visit Amy. After that he retrieved her satchel from Maiden’s lodge and escorted her down to the river. Instead of bathing, which would have required the removal of her clothing in his presence, Loretta washed her hair and scrubbed her face. En route back to his lodge, she refused to look at him and didn’t respond when he spoke to her.
When she was still treating him to frigid silence long after the midday meal was over, Hunter’s patience snapped. They were sitting in his lodge on buffalo robes, she on one side of the room, he on the other, the silence so thick it suffocated him.
‘‘You can make war with your eyes for a moon and win no battles. I grow tired of your anger, Blue Eyes.’’
She lifted her small nose in the air and refused to look at him. Her hair had dried in a wild tangle of ringlets that wreathed her head in gold. Frustrated, Hunter clenched his teeth. Whether she realized it yet or not, she no longer feared him as she once had. A frightened woman didn’t push like this.
‘‘You will tell me of this anger that burns within you, eh?’’
‘‘As if you don’t know!’’
He propped his elbows on his bent knees. Women. He’d never understand them. If she was still angry because he had mentioned taking other wives, why didn’t she say the words to him? It wasn’t as if he planned on marrying someone else today.
‘‘Blue Eyes, you are my woman, eh? This Comanche wishes for your heart to be filled with sunshine.’’
She threw him a contemptuous glare. ‘‘I may be your woman, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it! Besides, why worry about me? With so many wives, I’ll be lost in the shuffle. You won’t know if I’m happy or not. And you certainly won’t care.’’ Two bright spots of color dotted her cheeks. ‘‘And that suits me just fine.’’
Silence fell over them for a moment.
‘‘When will you take Amy home?’’ she asked suddenly.
‘‘Her father hides behind his wooden walls and lets Comancheros steal her. She stays with this Comanche.’’
‘‘You can’t possibly mean to keep her here! Her mother will be worried sick.’’
‘‘That is a sad thing, yes?’’
‘‘You promised!’’
‘‘I made the promise to bring her to you. I have.’’
‘‘She isn’t a horse, Hunter! You can’t keep her here!’’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘Ah, yes? Who will take her from me?’’
‘‘You are an insufferable, arrogant, bullheaded—’’
Hunter gave a snort and rose to his feet. His lodge suddenly seemed too small for the both of them. He would go to visit his father, where women showed proper respect.
Many Horses was putting the finishing touches on a bow he had been making when Hunter entered the tepee. Setting the weapon aside, he fastened his wizened old eyes on his eldest son and pursed his crinkled lips. ‘‘You look like you’ve been eating She Who Shakes’s plum pudding and bit into a plum pit.’’
Hunter was in no mood for jokes. ‘‘My woman has my hackles raised.’’ Sitting cross-legged, he picked up the iron poker next to him and began prodding the charred wood and ashes in his father’s firepit. ‘‘One unto the other, with no horizon, that is what she wants! Imagine her setting up a lodge, tanning hides, sewing, cooking, gathering wood, all by herself. And what if she became ill while I was away? Who would tend her? Who would keep her company? The way she believes, if I was gone for a long while, she couldn’t even go to Warrior to seek solace.’’
‘‘Would you wish for her to?’’
Hunter gave the ashes a vicious poke, sending up a cloud of gray that made Many Horses cough. The truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of Loretta with another man. ‘‘Right now, I’d give her away to the first man stupid enough to take her.’’
Many Horses kept silent.
‘‘All my children would be—’’ Hunter rolled his eyes. ‘‘Can you see me, surrounded by White Eyes?’’
‘‘Ah, that is the trouble. She is a White Eyes.’’ Many Horses nodded and, in a teasing voice, said, ‘‘I don’t blame you there. No man could be proud of a son with white blood. He’d be weak and cowardly, a shame to any who claimed him.’’
Hunter froze and glanced up. The white blood in his own veins was an unspoken truth between him and his father. Never before had Many Horses alluded to it.
Many Horses sniffed and rubbed the ash from his nose. ‘‘Of course, there are the rare exceptions. I suppose a man could raise a child of mixed blood and teach him to be one of the true People. It would take work, though.’’
The stiffness eased from Hunter’s shoulders. ‘‘Did I test your patience, my father?’’
Many Horses seemed to ponder that question a moment. ‘‘I found myself short on patience the time you shot me in the thigh with your first bow and arrow. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been standing behind you.’’
Hunter laughed softly. ‘‘You weren’t when I let fly with the arrow. If I remember, I turned around to ask you a question.’’
‘‘Which I never did answer. I always thanked the Great Ones that you were only knee high. If you’d been much taller, your brothers and sister never would have been born.’’ He sniffed again, then grinned. ‘‘Come to think of it, Warrior was even more dangerous with his first rifle. Remember the time he accidentally fired through my lodge and shot a hole in your mother’s cooking pot? She was boiling rabbit. The water hit the fire and filled the place with so much smoke, I nearly choked to death before I got everyone outside to safety.’’
Hunter threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘‘I remember you pulling that rabbit out of the pot and telling Warrior it was a perfect shot, right through the heart. Except, of course, that
it was gutted. And would he practice on live targets from then on?’’
‘‘Speaking of pits in plum pudding, do you remember your sister’s first attempt? Your grandfather broke off his only remaining tooth trying to eat it.’’
‘‘And swallowed tooth, pit and all, so he wouldn’t embarrass her in front of Gray Horse, who had come to court her.’’ Hunter placed a hand over his aching midriff and sighed. ‘‘It is good I came, my father. You have the gift. Already my heart is lighter.’’
Many Horses ran his tongue over his own jagged teeth, nodding thoughtfully. ‘‘I am proud of all my children,’’ he said huskily. ‘‘Of you, most of all. It is a strange thing, my son, but when a man takes a babe into his arms and claims him as son, it becomes a truth within his heart. The blood in his veins is as nothing. The color of his eyes is as nothing. When you took your first step, it was toward my outstretched hand. That was everything. White Eyes or Comanche, you were my son. I would have killed any man who said you weren’t.’’
Tears burned behind Hunter’s eyes. ‘‘What are you saying, my father?’’
‘‘I am saying that you must walk the path of your own heart. You came here angry because your yellow-hair is angry, yes? If you love her, it will be the same when she is sad, when she is happy. Have you ever stood where a stream spills into a river? The two become one. They laugh over the stones together, twist through the sharp canyons together, plunge down the waterfalls together. It is the same when a man and woman love one another. It is not always a pleasant thing, but when it happens, a man has little to say about it. Women, like streams, can be smooth one minute and make a man feel like he’s swimming through white water the next.’’
Hunter leaned forward over his knees, brandishing the poker under his father’s blackened nose. ‘‘I don’t understand her. I treat her kindly, yet she still shakes with fear at the thought of being one with me. I try to make her happy and make her angry instead.’’
Many Horses lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘Fear is not like a layer of dust on a tree leaf that washes away in a gentle rain. Give her time. Be her good friend, first— then become her lover. As for making a woman happy, you succeed sometimes, you fail sometimes. That is the way of it.’’
Hunter took a deep breath and let it out on a weary sigh. ‘‘It’s not that I have another woman in mind to take as wife. It’s just—’’
‘‘That you are bullheaded?’’
Hunter smothered an outraged laugh. ‘‘A little bit, yes?’’
Many Horses shrugged. ‘‘One unto the other is not a bad thing for a man. I am sure enough glad I have only one tug rope coming into my lodge. Can you imagine how exhausting three or four wives would be?’’
‘‘My mother has been enough for you, but she is a special woman.’’
Many Horses grinned. ‘‘She is a jealous woman. And I’m not a stupid man. I didn’t want to live in a wasp’s nest all my life.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘I like things as they are. Fewer sharp tongues nagging me. Fewer mouths to feed. And only one woman to try to understand. I brought her slaves to help her with the work.’’
‘‘My yellow-hair does not believe in having slaves.’’
‘‘Neither does she believe in many wives. Give her a choice, slaves or wives. See which she chooses.’’ Many Horses waved his hand before him to clear the air of ash. ‘‘You must also remember the yellow-hair may give you many more children than a Comanche woman. Take care or you could father more children than you can feed. I’ve never seen a white woman yet who wasn’t a good breeder.’’
A slow grin spread across Hunter’s mouth. ‘‘You will tell her this, yes? So far she isn’t showing the proper enthusiasm.’’
‘‘She’ll come around. Give her time. Be patient. The rewards will be worth the wait.’’
Hunter tossed aside the poker and rose. ‘‘I will think long on your words.’’
‘‘You sound like a man with eyes going two different directions. What maiden in the village entices you?’’
‘‘There is no one.’’
‘‘Hmmph. Bullheaded, just as I suspected. I used to hope you might outgrow it. I see you never will.’’
‘‘I have the strongest arm in my lodge circle. Her pouting will not sway me. If that’s being bullheaded, then I sure enough am.’’
Many Horses rolled his eyes.
‘‘You think my arm is not the strongest?’’
‘‘I think you should fight your battles with men on the battlefield, my son, where you have a chance of winning. That is what I think. But when have you ever listened to me?’’ He reached for the bow he was so skillfully crafting. ‘‘I suppose you must learn life’s lessons your own way.’’
Choosing to ignore his father’s digs, Hunter said, ‘‘It’s a very small bow. Who is it for?’’
‘‘Turtle,’’ Many Horses replied with a mischievous smile. ‘‘At my age, there is little pleasure in life. It is time I watched my grandson learn to shoot. I and my friends are placing bets. I have two horses that say he will shoot Warrior in the thigh. Old Man thinks it will be in the rump. Want to wager?’’
Hunter’s smile turned wry. ‘‘I don’t think so. If I recall, I told Warrior that I would teach Turtle how to shoot.’’
Many Horses nodded, then quirked an eyebrow. ‘‘So it’s your thigh I’m wagering on, eh? Hmm. Sometime today, bring your yellow-hair by to meet me.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘She may want to bet with us.’’
‘‘My yellow-hair?’’
Many Horses grinned. ‘‘If Turtle aims a little high, think of all the grief he might save her.’’
Hunter gave a snort of disgust and left the lodge.
Chapter 20
PATIENCE. OVER THE NEXT FIVE DAYS, Hunter’s became as elusive as dandelion fuzz caught in a high wind. He was living with not one but two angry yellow-hairs, Loretta because he refused to take Amy home and had made mention of the possibility that he might marry more than one woman. Amy because he was forcing Swift Antelope’s company upon her. On all counts, Hunter felt justified and carried on with implacable determination, trying to ignore the glares to which he was treated every time he set foot inside his lodge.
By the fifth night his perseverance was rewarded with a smile from Amy after Swift Antelope escorted her home from their daily walk. With flushed cheeks, Amy regaled Loretta with the details of her time spent with Swift Antelope, about the doe and twin fawns they had spied upon, about the flowers Swift Antelope had picked for her, about the birdcalls and sign language he was teaching her, about the silly tricks he played on her. Clearly Swift Antelope was making headway with Amy; the girl was beginning to heal.
Hunter’s already low spirits plummeted. It was a sad state of affairs when an untried boy had more luck with women than a grown man. It was especially upsetting because Hunter knew he had paid dearly, not once but twice, for the right to possess Loretta, that he could exercise his rights at any time he chose, yet found himself hesitating because of the shadows in her eyes. Recalling his father’s advice, he could only scoff. The way things were going, if he was to become his woman’s friend before he became her lover, they might never move on to the second stage of their relationship.
The more disgruntled Hunter became over the situation, the more he glowered, and the more he glowered, the more uneasy Loretta was in his presence. The worst part was, Hunter couldn’t blame her. Their bargain hung over them like a dark cloud, her promises binding her to him yet holding them apart. He knew she dreaded the moment when he would confront her, demanding that she lie with him. With each passing day, the prospect seemed to grow more frightening to her. Hunter was perceptive enough to realize that waiting patiently for her to come around wasn’t abetting him in his cause, yet he couldn’t bring himself to force her, either.
Though she had never spoken of her parents’ deaths, Hunter had been on enough raids to know what horrible things she must have witnessed. That alone would have been enoug
h to make her hate Comanches with a virulence to last a lifetime. And it was certainly enough to make her fear men, no matter what their race. To make matters worse, the other males in her experience had been brutish as well— her incestuous uncle, Santos and his comrades, and, whether he liked to admit it or not, Hunter himself. When Hunter looked at the world as he imagined she must see it, his heart twisted. What was there in her experience to commend him?
The nights tormented Hunter the most. He wanted Loretta beside him with an intensity that made him ache, not only to slake his desires, but simply to hold her. For him it was a sweet pleasure to be close to her—a sentiment she clearly didn’t share. She went to amazing lengths to avoid sleeping with him, afraid, he was sure, that sleeping wasn’t what he had in mind. Each evening she puttered endlessly in the lodge, inventing needless chores until he took mercy on her and pretended to be asleep. When she deemed it safe, she took her rest next to Amy, with Hunter lying only a few feet away, wide awake and frustrated because he wanted her beside him.
By the sixth morning Hunter came to the disturbing realization that he had never been more miserable. While chewing on a piece of roasted venison, he studied the interior of his lodge, trying to imagine it as it had once been—with no yellow-hair to nettle him. The imagined loneliness that washed over him nearly took his breath. Hunter realized he preferred being miserable with Loretta than to live in emptiness without her. That realization sobered him and spurred him into action. He knew he must take steps to be sure she would never leave him.
Hunter found Warrior down by the river, teaching Pony Girl to swim. Sitting beneath a cottonwood, Hunter pressed his back to the trunk and rested his forearm on his upraised knee. ‘‘Warrior, I must make a short trip,’’ he began. ‘‘Will you watch my woman and her sister while I’m gone?’’
Distracted by the question, Warrior forgot to watch his niece and turned. ‘‘Another trip? You’ve only just returned.’’
Hunter’s gaze dropped to Pony Girl, and his eyes widened in alarm. Shooting to his feet, he yelled, ‘‘Warrior, she’s going under!’’
Comanche Moon Page 31
