Lakota Surrender (21 page)

Kristina glanced away. She’d had time to think and had manufactured several different excuses, but now that the moment was here, she found herself reluctant to say anything at all. Yet, she couldn’t confess. Her father would never forgive her, nor Tahiska. She sighed. “Do you know, Father,” she began, “that you’re the only one to ask me? Mother just had Tahiska thrown in jail and me locked in my room.”

“I’m sorry, Kristina. Don’t know what’s happened to your ma. She’s gone a little crazy over this.” The major’s glance darted around the room. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“No. Forgive my bad manners.”

Her father smiled. He straddled the only chair in the room while Kristina paced in front of him.

“What happened exactly?” He put one hand to his forehead and rubbed his scalp in an unconscious manner.

“There’s been a terrible mistake, Father,” Kristina rushed her words together. “Tahiska has done nothing wrong. In fact, he’s been a gentleman. Actually, he rescued me, like a knight out on the prairie. I was riding alone, and you know I often do this, I’ve never had trouble before. Yesterday, however, my horse lost her footing—she stepped into a hole or something and I lost my seat. Tahiska found me. I was stunned, it was late in the evening, and rather than bring me back to the fort, he cared for my horse and for me. He brought me food for supper and for breakfast and walked me to the fort this morning to ensure I arrived here safely. I knew you would be worried, but I never expected this sort of reception.”

“That’s all that happened?”

Kristina nodded, unable to bring her gaze directly to meet that of her father’s.

Major Bogard hung his head. “And for this the savage was jailed?”

“He is no savage, Father.”

“You’re right, Kristina. He is no savage. I was going to free him tonight. I was going to ensure there would be no war. But he’s already gone.” Her father sprang up from his seat. “Damned clever is what he is. Made a lasso out of his shirt, simply unlocked the door and walked out. We’ll never find him on the prairie to explain the mistake.” Her father shook his head. “We may all die for this.”

Kristina stopped her pacing in front of the window. Her father was right. There was no warrior alive who would let this insult go unchallenged. And Tahiska was no average warrior.

She peered out the window into the starlit night. Where was he? Would he come to her? Or would he put her aside? And if he hurt so much as one white man, where would her loyalties lie? “You’ve got to find him, Father.”

“Kristina,” her father implored from across the room. “He’s a wild Indian. He could hide in the prairie for several months without discovery.”

“Then don’t hunt for him.” Kristina spun around. “Let him find you. He won’t harm you. Wave a white flag. All Indians know the meaning of the flag. If you go alone into the prairie, he’ll find you.”

“He’ll find me and scalp me.”

“I honestly don’t believe he would do that to you.” She couldn’t promise it, but Kristina felt fairly certain that Tahiska would not hurt her father. If anything, mightn’t he still believe that he was tied to her? She hadn’t actually thrown him away.

“I’m not so sure. I’ll think about it, Krissy.” Her father paced to the door.

“Take me with you. If you’re uncertain, take me too. He would never hurt me.” Kristina thrust herself between her father and the door. “Tell him it was a family matter. Apologize for mother. Talk to him.”

Her father moaned, considering it. He scratched his head. “I’ll think about it, Kristina. Good night.” He reached around his daughter to grasp the doorknob. “And, Krissy,” he said before he strode away, “I’m glad you’re home safely.”

“I was never in any danger with him.”

Her father sighed, then smiled. “I know that now,” he said and stepped into the hall.

Kristina closed the door and sank back against it. “Tahiska,” she whispered to herself. “Where are you?”

She awoke to a kiss.

“Tahiska!”

Her voice was only a murmur, but he placed his fingers over her lips.

“Shh!”

His long hair brushed her cheek. It felt like a feather. “Tahiska,” she sighed. She looked up and stared into jet black eyes.

He said nothing, his gaze steady.

“Do not speak,” he signed.

Kristina nodded.

“I will come for you tomorrow night at this time. Be ready.”

“Tahiska, I can’t…”

His fingers flew to her lips.

“Be ready! I will have no more foolishness. You are my wife!”

Before he could leave, Kristina snatched at his hair, pulling him down to her.

“My father wants to talk with you. This whole thing has been a mistake. He feels bad. He wants to make it up to you. And we are not married. I divorced you.”

“I will hear no more of this! We are married! You did not throw me away!” He rose away from her, towering over her as she lay on the bed. “And I will council with no white man!”

Kristina lifted her face toward him.

“I am white.”

“You are my wife!”

“He is my father!”

Fury filled the Indian’s eyes, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

“Be ready!” Pivoting, he silently stalked to the window.

“Tahiska!”

He whirled about.

Kristina trailed behind him.

She slowly strode toward him. She was dressed in a white, cotton gown which did little to hide her figure. When she reached him and stood before him the breeze from the window blew silken strands of her hair against him. He shivered.

Her fingers traced the curve of his face, his lips, her touch gliding down to his neck. Everywhere she touched she left a fire. He wanted her instantly. It was all he could do to remain outwardly unmoved.

She pulled her hand away, and signed, “Whatever you do, please be careful.”

He sighed, finding himself responding to her without willing it.

He pulled her into his embrace and inhaled her sweet scent. It was almost too much.

His lips met hers, and what should have been a light brush of his tongue leapt into a howling need. He snatched his mouth away, but found instead he was raining kisses over every part of her face and neck.

When he at last set her away, his breathing was shallow and fast. Crossing his arms over his chest, he grasped his fists together till his knuckles turned white.

His love for his woman was deep, his devotion, eternal.

“Tomorrow,” he signed before he twisted silently away to disappear out the window.

Wendall Bogard’s gaze scanned the distant slopes. His efforts at finding the Indian so far had met with failure. He felt as though he were attempting the impossible. These Indians probably knew every blade of grass upon the prairie. And unless the young man desired to counsel, it was unlikely the major would make contact.

The white flag, strapped to his saddle, flapped in the wind, making the only sound in the otherwise silent prairie. The day was hot, and the major’s dark blue uniform soaked up every ray of the blazing sun.

Removing his hat, the major wiped the perspiration from his brow.

He was alone. He had scowled at Kristina’s advice, yet the more he considered it, the more sound her reasoning became. If he treated the incident as a family matter, perhaps he could save the fort from being propelled into an Indian war.

Thus, he had made his preparations. He would meet the Indian one on one. Tahiska, White Buffalo, was an intelligent man. The major was hopeful that if a parley could be arranged, this whole mess could be forgotten.

He sat forward on his horse and inspected the horizon. Nothing. Not a single sign of human life. Muttering incoherently to himself, the major turned his horse west.

He hadn’t gone more than a half hour’s ride when he discerned the mounted figure alone atop a distant swell in the prairie landscape. The major exhaled a quick breath in relief. Hope leaped within him. White Buffalo was willing to talk. Approaching the Indian, the major grew uneasy. From a distance, he hadn’t noticed Tahiska’s appearance. Drawing closer, the major realized the Indian wore nothing but a breechcloth and moccasins. His knife belt was strapped to his waist, his quiver and shield were slung across his back, and in his hands were bow and lance.

His face was painted for war, and it was this fact alone that made the major want to twist around and hurl himself towards the fort. But the Indian sat atop a strong, spirited pony, and the major knew in a single glance that his own horse would stand no chance in a race against the fine animal.

As the major drew closer still, Tahiska set his pony into a series of concentric circles. He bore the animal close to the major and retreated. It was the language of the mounted warrior, and in it he expressed his willingness to parley.

As if by mutual consent, both men dismounted and hobbled their horses.

The major swept his hands up and out over and over, ending with his right hand sweeping outward from his mouth. He had just wished the warrior a pleasant afternoon and had asked if it weren’t a good day to talk.

Tahiska nodded and indicated a seat for the major. The Indian had formed, by cropping the grass short, a small circle. In the center of it he had placed several buffalo chips and dried grass. Tahiska struck a spark to the chips. A flame leaped upwards and the Indian nursed the fire until only a small, hot blaze burned.

Tahiska positioned himself directly across from the soldier and, with a fluidity of motion, sat down.

He lit his red stone pipe with a buffalo chip after presenting it first to the north, the south, the east, and west. Taking a few puffs, he passed it to the major.

Major Bogard understood the sacredness of the pipe. No ceremony was ever commenced without it, and its presence alone on a battlefield would cause all to lay down their weapons.

He took a puff and returned the pipe back to its owner.

The major scrutinized Tahiska. His hair was unbound and left hanging down his back. There was a section of his hair cropped short in front. It was the first time the major had noted this. It meant the Indian grieved for a loved one.

He stared into the intelligent, black eyes. The Indian’s face was painted black, with only two white streaks down his cheeks. And despite himself, the major shivered.

“My wife,” Major Bogard began, “has brought insult upon you. For this I feel bad. My wife was crazy with worry for our daughter. Never before has our daughter failed to return from a ride on the plains. We both feared for her life. I spent my day yesterday searching for her. Had I known she was with you, I would not have worried. Kristina,” he spoke her name amidst the sign motions, “my daughter, has told us of how you rescued her upon the plains when her horse lost his footing. She told us of your kindness. It is with a heavy heart that I learned that your generosity was met with dishonor from my wife. I hope that you are a man who can understand the weaknesses of others and it is with this in mind that I seek council with you.”

With this signed, the major returned his hands to his sides and waited. And as he looked into the warrior’s face, he could only hope that this young man carried a wisdom far older than his age.

Tahiska nodded, holding himself rigidly to ensure he exhibited no outward signs of his confoundment. His head was reeling. He understood all that the major had signed, but most of it had made little impression. His attention was struck by this fact: Kristina had lied.

Time passed. Still, Tahiska said nothing.

The major grew uneasy, and sitting forward he signed, “It was wrong to imprison you. It was the action of a woman sick with worry for her child. Surely you can understand the irrationality of an upset mother. Know this. It was her action alone. None of us at the fort are upset with you. You are welcome there. I have brought you several gifts to show you my sincerity. And if you will allow it, I will purchase for you a full week of supplies at the trading post. You may choose there whatever you need, and I will pay the trader for all your purchases.”

Tahiska flicked a finger to indicate he understood.

He waited. At length he became satisfied that the major had no more to say.

“It is good that you have come to me,” the Indian signed. “The love of a parent for a child is strong and binding. I can grasp why your wife acted as she did. What I do not understand is why your soldiers fought me. I did nothing to them. It is against these soldiers that I go on the warpath. I am not at war with your wife. I will not harm women and children. You have spoken well for your family. But what of your soldiers? Am I to be thrust about each time a woman scowls? Is my honor to be smeared because a woman gossips?”

Major Bogard paused. Tahiska watched him, noting several things: the deepening flush spreading over the major’s face and neck, the man’s hands nervously fiddling with the kerchief at his throat, the twitch of muscles along his cheek. At last the major started, “The soldiers believed, as did my wife, that you had harmed my daughter and brought shame to her as only a man can. That is why you were attacked.”

Tahiska leaped to his feet. Fury cut through him like lightning. And it was several moments before he was able to contain his anger.