Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 (35 page)

“I remembered… I do not believe the Americans think too highly of an Indian man and a white woman together.”

He stared at her a moment before he said, “I believe you are right. In truth, it may go beyond even that. I do not think the white man thinks too highly of any other people except his own, but please, go on. What was it you recalled?”

“Gray Hawk, I am white. Do you mean to insult me?”

“No,” he said. He paused, but when she didn’t say anything further, he went on. “But what did you think of me at first?”

She opened her mouth to speak, yet said nothing. She gazed at him. “Well, I…” She looked away. “I… Gray Hawk, it is only that…I—”

“You do not need to go on, Gen-ee. I know what you thought of me at first, and I am afraid in my trying to have you understand my point of view, I have also caused you to become flustered. It was ill-mannered of me. Please continue. I am interested in what it is you recalled.”

“Are you?”

He nodded.

And she said, “When my father and I first came to St. Louis, there was a young boy in the town at the time, a little younger than you. He was half Indian, half white. He became involved with the daughter of a rich fur merchant who did not approve of the boy. When the two young people tried to escape to get married, the father had the half-breed hanged.”

Gray Hawk merely shrugged. “What is this ‘hanged’?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I would not ask if I—”

“It is where a man is put to death by hanging him from his neck.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is a way of killing a man. It—”

“No, I understand this; what I do not comprehend is why people would kill a man for the simple act of courting a girl in order to marry her. I can see that sometimes there are bad feelings about two people coming together, but once it is done, why would others try to kill him, if this boy had done nothing to them?”

“Because he was Indian.”

“And that is the only reason?”

She inclined her head.

“I see,” he said. “And this is how a civilized people handle their young?”

“Gray Hawk, not all people are like that. It is only that I remember it now. But I leave the point.”

“Then tell me this point.”

“If we tell many people in St. Louis that we are married, we may have to acknowledge others’ prejudice, and I frankly don’t feel like doing it. I believe that we should not let anyone else know that we are married.”

Gray Hawk shook his head. “It is dishonest. I would never be able to look at your father without the lie being always there, always between us. And I would not live my life that way.”

She sat up straighter. “Then we could tell my father and perhaps Robert, too, but only them. They would keep our secret, and—”

“You
fear this for me so much?”

Genevieve nodded. “I have observed that the Americans are not too tolerant toward the Indians. In truth, many Americans hate the Indians and would jump at any excuse to do them harm. Now, you will be going into a town where there will be more white men than Indian. You would be unsafe. I only propose that we tell very few people of our marriage and thereby avoid any trouble.”

Gray Hawk jerked his head to the left, an emotional expression. He said, “I would not hide from the truth.”

“But Gray Hawk—”

“Enough.” He gazed over toward her, his stare at her intense, until at last he felt himself relenting. He said, “I may not like what it is that you propose, yet I think you speak wisely. I do not believe you would be so intent upon telling me this if there were not danger. Besides,” he smiled at her, “a man should always listen to the wisdom of his sits-beside-him-wife. Therefore, I will consider all that you ask.”

“Good. And your decision? What will it be?”

He grinned. “I do not know. I have not decided yet.”

“But you will let me know when you do?”

“I will let you know.” He dropped the robe from around their shoulders. “But come now, I did not bring you here to talk of these things. There are many other matters that are more exciting, more interesting to do. In truth, I have other activities on my mind.”

She smiled at him. “Such as?”

“Would you like me to show you? Perhaps give you an intimate demonstration of what I have been thinking?”

“I would like that very much, yes.”

He laughed. “Come here closer, my sweet Gen-ee, and I will do my best to show you.”

And for the rest of the night, Gray Hawk strived to the best of his ability to present to his Gen-ee exactly what he’d had on his mind.

And Genevieve, ever the romantic, relished every moment.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Hot corn! Come gets yer piping hot corn!”

“Fresh milk! Milk here!”

“Aaaaaaaaaples! Fresh aaaaaaaaaples!”

The cries of the street vendors, the tinkling of little bells, the smells of fresh, hot corn, of cinnamon apples, of pies and muffins welcomed Genevieve and her Indian husband into the city of St. Louis.

It had been a long trip to this place. It had been a tiring trip, and it was starting to turn cold.

They walked into the town, no horses in tow, with little more than the clothes upon their backs, having made the journey from the Blackfoot camp almost completely on foot.

It was necessary, Gray Hawk had said. There was always danger, he’d gone on to explain, when one traveled through enemy country on horseback. Horses, found alone, indicated a rider nearby and would always be investigated. It was safer, if not as convenient, to walk and to carry as little as possible.

And so they had left their horses in the care of the orphan boy in Gray Hawk’s camp, and with nothing more than a few buffalo robes and several changes of clothing and moccasins in their possession, they had started on their way.

It was not as inconvenient as it might sound, however. Genevieve had already grown used to walking—toes pointed in—and so had found the trek not as daunting as she might have done at some earlier time. She had also grown accustomed to carrying their meager supplies on her back, thus leaving Gray Hawk free to fight any enemy or animal they encountered.

In truth, she’d found that the weight on her back helped her balance. But she hadn’t told Gray Hawk this, content to let him believe that she labored under the burden.

When they had first come in sight of white settlements, she noticed that Gray Hawk had taken to making notches on a stick. She had asked him about this and had discovered that he was counting the number of settlements he encountered by putting a scratch on a stick for every home.

But after only a few miles’ travel, when he’d found that his entire stick was filled with notches and still he hadn’t even begun to include everything that he saw, he’d thrown the stick away in disgust.

Genevieve, however, was not at all upset with how numerous the white communities were. She’d already known there were too many to count easily.

No, she was concerned with something else, something that worried at her day after day: she did not look Indian.

Despite her clothing, despite her traveling companion, her braids and the load upon her back, she looked exactly what she was: a white woman dressed up in Indian garb.

It wouldn’t have been so critical if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t certain what would happen if she and Gray Hawk were sighted as such. What would these people do to a white woman traveling with an Indian? And more importantly, what would they do to Gray Hawk?

She had mentioned her fears to Gray Hawk time and time again. He had listened attentively, and then, only a few days ago, he had acted.

He had taken out the paints that he always carried in a bag with him and had demonstrated his Indian artistry upon her. He’d fussed over her, making designs and patterns all over her body, and within a short time, he had painted the entirety of her face, her hair and any skin visible…red, white and black.

It was an effective disguise. Not too many people would see beyond the surface, even though the paint hadn’t entirely covered over the color of her hair, nor had it done anything about the shade of her eyes.

But it didn’t seem to matter. The whole effect of it was this: She looked Indian. She looked invisible.

No one paid them any attention.

It wasn’t long after they had passed the more numerous settlements that they entered into St. Louis proper, and it was then that Genevieve began to direct Gray Hawk toward her father’s home, although Gray Hawk remained always in the lead.

Genevieve had gazed around her as they traveled over the more civilized boulevards of cobblestone, gravel and brick, those streets swarming with pigs.

She’d forgotten how many pigs ran through town, the beasts serving not only to clean up the garbage left on the streets, but also to fill the role of an intelligent household pet.

But besides the pigs, the avenues this day were filled to overflowing with Indians, street urchins, vendors and peddlers, and as she and Gray Hawk passed the vendors selling their goods, Genevieve wished she had the money to purchase something.

She’d practically forgotten about sugar, about its sweet taste, about muffins and scones and breads, and her mouth watered as she sniffed the delicious scents. Funny that she hadn’t missed the confections until this day.

They passed all this by, however, Genevieve being content for the moment to do no more than nibble on a piece of dried buffalo meat.

Still, no one paid them the least attention, and at length she and Gray Hawk came to her father’s estate, no one having stopped them, no one having demanded that they answer questions, no one having even glanced at them a second time.

She gazed at the place she had called home ever since she and her father had arrived in St. Louis, a little over a year ago.

It was an impressive mansion, at least for this part of the country.

Odd, how her viewpoint had changed.

It looked big now, magnificent. But she remembered the first time she’d viewed this home. Then, having come here directly from England and the grand estate where she had been raised, she had considered this American home, and the grounds that went with it, small and hardly worth the money she and her father had paid for it.

But looking upon it now, it appeared to her as though it were the palace of a king.

It stood three stories tall, its siding painted white; its roof, black; and its shutters and trim, green. It had a wide front porch, perfect for receiving callers, and a curved carriage lane that ran all the way up to the house.

All around the house was acre after acre of rolling hills, where the woods had been pushed back, the lawns carefully cultivated and the bushes cut and trimmed to perfection. Genevieve was amazed that, at this time of the year, her father’s lawn was still very green.

Tall trees of maple, oak and birch surrounded the house proper, the leaves beginning to change, and Genevieve, as she gazed out upon it, found that she possessed mixed feelings.

What was wrong with her? Did she have nothing but a flighty disposition?

She must, she decided, for as she continued to stare at her old home, she felt a pang of homesickness, longing to do nothing more than run to the house, go up to her old room and throw herself across its bed, never to come out to face the world again.

But she knew she couldn’t do it, and she tried her best to tamp down the urge.

How could she feel this way?

She loved Gray Hawk more than she loved anybody; she wanted to stay with him, live with him. She’d given him her word of honor to return with him, she now remembered. But, goodness, if the sight of all that luxury ahead of her didn’t sway her from her intentions—just a little.

Maybe she could persuade Gray Hawk to stay here?

She shook herself physically.

What was she doing? What was she thinking? She couldn’t renege on her promise to him. She wouldn’t.

It didn’t make sense. How could the mere view of a house cause her such doubts, and all within a few minutes?

She didn’t know.

But it did.

“That is it,” she said. “This is where my father lives.”

If Gray Hawk thought anything about it, if he was at all impressed or even daunted by such a show of wealth, he didn’t say a word. He merely inclined his head, though when he glanced back at her, his gaze was intent upon her, speculative.

He said, “Come, we had best see him at once.”

Genevieve nodded, but then she held back, pulling on Gray Hawk’s sleeve.

He turned a sharp gaze on her.

“Have you decided yet what you will say to my father?”

“
Aa
,
yes, I have.”

“And?”

“You must decide for yourself what you will tell him.”

“But I thought that you…”

“He will ask you about what has happened to you, not me. You must tell him what you think is best.”

“But I thought that you were going to explain matters to him, tell him all about us.”