Proud Wolf's Woman (6 page)

“Eaaa!”

She heard the man’s voice.

Something stirred within her, some emotion, some…

“A-doguonko do-peya kuyo!”

The harsh, feminine voice interrupted her thoughts. Opening her eyes, Julia tried to turn her head, but the finger beneath her chin held her fast. She groaned, she tried to stir, but the man’s grip tightened and after a few more struggles, she gave it up.

“Nevaahe tse’tohe? Ne-toneseve-he?”

Julia felt, more than observed, the man’s intense look at her. She didn’t know what he’d said, and for a moment she was glad, fearing whatever the words meant, fearing him.

Suddenly he let her go and she sank to the ground, praying the man would leave.

But he didn’t. Instead she saw in her peripheral vision that he moved his hands, heard the slap of his shirt fringe as he spoke to her Kiowa mistress in the language of sign. But Julia was beyond caring what occurred between the two Indians. All she knew was that she had escaped the punishment her mistress had intended, at least for the moment, and she inched gradually backward, as far as the rawhide around her neck would allow.

The Kiowa woman responded to the man in rapid gestures and some moments went by where the two conversed in this way.

“Saaaa!”
Had the man been speaking English, he might have cursed, and Julia glanced up to see a flurry of hand motions, none of which she understood.

Her Kiowa mistress spit on the ground, then into her palm, wiping the contents of it down the man’s shirt and Julia at last peered into the man’s face, if only to see his reaction.

She gasped. But it wasn’t because of the Kiowa woman’s action, nor was it due to the man’s response, which was nothing save a stoic regard.

As though struck, Julia, barely able to breathe, could do no more than stare. Could it be? Too many years had intervened since they had last seen one another, but…

She recognized this man. Didn’t she? He was…

“Neeheeowee,” she said his name. Neeheeowee, a man she had once known, a man she had once…

For a moment, awe gave way to hope as it flared within her, and she almost reached out toward him. But at the last moment, she held back, returning her hand to her side.

She looked down at herself; at the tattered rags she wore, at the dirt and grime on her clothes, the marks on her body; she felt the scratches and bruises on her body, the filth that clung to her hair, the stench that exuded from her body. She closed her eyes, experiencing more: the degradation of her spirit, the sadness in her recent memory, the betrayal of
her heart. She pulled back completely.

Why should Neeheeowee help her? He was Indian.

Indian.

If her own husband hadn’t thought enough of her to try to save her, along with himself, why should this man?

He was Indian.

She looked away, silently cursing the fates that had brought her to this. Why should destiny suddenly bring this Indian back into her life? Reminding her of all the good she’d once known, reminding her of friendship, of honor, of…

She didn’t finish the thought. She inched backward, away from him, away from her mistress, trying to recall if she had done something terrible in this life to deserve these fates. Nothing came to her—not a terrible passion, nothing—not even the opposite. Neither the good she had done, nor the people she had influenced, brought her happiness.

At this moment, all Julia knew was despair.

And so it was with the despondency of one who has known defeat that Julia gazed up at Neeheeowee, blind to all about him, save only one point: He was an alien to her, an Indian.

She would beg no quarter; she would expect none.

Neeheeowee glared at the Kiowa woman, at Julia, back at the Kiowa.

“Where is your husband?” he asked of the Kiowa woman in sign language.

“Gone,” the woman replied in kind.

“When will he return?”

The Kiowa gave him an assessing look. “Is my husband a woman that he needs to tell me his movements?” She smirked. “He is gone, I tell you. Do you want to purchase the captive? Is that why you ask? I will tell you now that if you want to purchase the woman, you will have to bargain with me.”

“My business is no concern of yours.”

“It is if you want the captive.”

Neeheeowee didn’t even hesitate. “I bargain with no woman.”

The Kiowa smiled, though the gesture quickly turned to a sneer. “Then the captive still belongs to me, and I can do with her as I want.”

Neeheeowee grunted while the woman scoffed.

“I will beat her if she does not obey me. She does little enough work, leaving it all to me.” The Kiowa woman suddenly chuckled as though with great pleasure, although her glance at the man was shrewd, assessing. “I like to hear her scream.”

Neeheeowee set his lips; it was his only reaction. “Is it supposed to mean something to me if you beat her? Am I supposed to care? The only thing I can tell you is that if you damage her, I will not want to buy her.”

The Kiowa woman smiled, the gesture showing small, yellow teeth. “So. At last we get to the truth. You do want to buy her. Why?”

Neeheeowee glared at the woman’s upright hand as she completed the sign motions. He had not meant to give away so much. Perhaps his time away from camp had caused him to forget how to deal with people. He gave the woman a blank look before beginning. “It is not the concern of a woman what a man wants,” Neeheeowee said in hand motions. “If I intend to bargain, I will talk with your husband when he returns, not before. But know you this: If I find the captive damaged, I will tell your husband all you have said to me. I would ensure that he knows that I would have paid a higher price had the captive not been damaged.”

The Kiowa woman snorted. “My husband cares not what I do, especially as regards a slave. And as for your wealth, keep it. My husband is already rich in guns and horses. Why should he want yours?”

It was Neeheeowee’s turn to mock; he did so, using all the ridicule at his command. Was the Kiowa woman so blind that she could not see the wealth in the ponies which stood at his back? Was she such a bad judge of horseflesh?

“I will return tomorrow when the sun is first up,” Neeheeowee signed, “and if you are lucky, I will purchase the slave then—maybe.” Here he leered at the woman. “But only if she is undamaged. Remember this, woman, for I will not hesitate to tell your husband all you have said if I find the captive with any more bruises.”

“Naaaa!”
The woman spit on the ground, into her hand, but catching the look in Neeheeowee’s eye, she didn’t dare rub her hands down his shirt again. She hissed at him instead.

Neeheeowee, in response, did nothing—no emotion at all to be witnessed as he signed, “Remember.”

And with a quick look to Julia, to the woman he had once known, he spun around, the flap of his fringe, the restless whinnying of his ponies, noting his movement, and, leading a wealth of eight ponies behind him, he paced away, looking as though he weren’t at this moment angrier than he could recall being in a long, long time.

Chapter Three

“Neeheeowee…” Julia’s voice trailed off.

She watched Neeheeowee’s natural gait as he walked away, observing that not once did he glance her way, nor did he indicate he might still call her friend. She gulped, swallowing hard. No, this man she’d known—Neeheeowee—had plainly turned his back on her, shifting away from her as easily as her husband had done.

She glanced up toward the heavens, wondering what she had done to make those people closest to her hurt her the most. Even her parents…

Julia breathed out in a rush, trying to rein in her thoughts. It did no good to remember these things; it accomplished nothing.

She looked away, trying to think of other things, but the effort was wasted. The memories intruded upon her, the mental images bringing back old hurts, old wounds, she’d put to rest long ago. Suddenly, she recalled the day six years ago when she stood in Fort Leavenworth, watching her parents leave on a trip to St. Louis, never to return.

Some had said her parents were captured or killed by Indians, some had believed the two had lost their way, while others openly accused her father of desertion.

But Julia believed none of it. In truth, she hadn’t known what to think, though secretly she feared her parents had simply gone back East, deserting their daughter to her own fate. Hadn’t Kenneth suggested this to her? Hadn’t he plagued her with the possibility of it for months?

Julia slumped her shoulders. Kenneth. Gone now was the man who was supposed to have treasured her above all else, the man who should have loved her despite her faults, exalted her for her accomplishments, the man who, in truth, could find nothing right with her, nothing to admire.

Julia sighed convulsively.

She might have felt self-pity, but there was no time for it. Too soon the Kiowa woman stood before her, muttering words at her, making gestures that Julia couldn’t understand and Julia, as though deaf and dumb, stared up at the woman in mute response.

That the woman flounced away, that she did not administer the usual punishment was lost on Julia. Submerged in a world of her own making, Julia barely registered anything else until, with a flutter of harsh words, her Kiowa mistress shoved three water bags into Julia’s hands, and with clear-cut gestures, ordered Julia to fetch the family’s water supply.

Julia didn’t even blink. She knew the chore. In truth, this hauling of water had become a daily task, one she looked to with favor since it required the removal of the rawhide noose. And though it did no good to feel it, even to think it, for those few prized moments out of the collar, Julia felt free. And perhaps, by comparison, she was.

She waited now as her mistress removed the noose and Julia rubbed her neck where the tough rawhide had cut into her skin. That her fingers came away bloody seemed of little consequence. It made little difference to her anymore.

Since her capture, only a month ago, Julia had become resigned to the fact that her life offered little point. What had seemed barely tolerable to her before her capture, appeared by comparison a sort of haven now. She grimaced, grasping all at once the sadness of it, for Julia had found little happiness in her former life.

Tears formed in her eyes, but whether she cried for the injustice of her situation or whether perhaps for the final admission as to her unhappiness, Julia couldn’t be certain. She only knew she hurt.

Kenneth had departed this world, and, despite all his faults, Julia mourned his passing. She had, at one time, loved him well. She began to feel tears well up in her eyes again when all at once her Kiowa mistress stood in front of her, interrupting her thoughts, shoving her toward the creek, and Julia, dodging out of the way, crossed camp to tread the well-worn path to the water.

“Ehaeesenehe!”
Julia heard the voice of a child call out.

“Enovo’e!”
another one answered.

“Epeheveene’e!”

The children called out to one another, but Julia had no idea what was said and so she turned away, fixing her gaze on the ground as her feet, on their own, took the path through the weeds.

Why had Neeheeowee turned away from her? He had recognized her, she was certain of that. Why hadn’t he rescued her, or at least attempted it?

Julia tried to imagine herself in his situation. If their places were reversed, if Neeheeowee had been caught by soldiers, would she have come to his aid? It would have been difficult; Kenneth would have objected, but Julia felt certain she would have at least tried.

Why hadn’t Neeheeowee?

She shrugged, trying to recall what she knew of the Indian man. It had been seven and a half years ago that they had met. She had been accompanying her friend, Kristina, out onto the prairie, to secret meetings with Kristina’s Indian husband, who, along with his two friends, had journeyed to Fort Leavenworth on a mission of revenge.

But the two women hadn’t known the Indian’s purpose at the time, had only known that Kristina loved her husband as she loved no other. And Julia, Kristina’s best friend, had aided the romance, albeit against her own best judgment; yet, when Julia had glimpsed Kristina, her friend had been so much in love, Julia could not resist meeting this man who set her friend to blushing, if only to witness the two lovers together.

That’s when she’d met Neeheeowee.

She hadn’t liked him at first. Moody to a point of rudeness, he would never speak to her, never acknowledge her presence. Still, after a while Julia had come to appreciate his quiet guardianship, for she was often left alone with him, he acting as her protector.

She remembered once she had been learning the Lakota language along with her friend, Kristina, and armed with this new ability to communicate, she had solicited conversation with Neeheeowee. It hadn’t worked, he still hadn’t talked with her and she had decided then that he did not know the Lakota language well; he, himself, being from the Cheyenne tribe.

Still, they had spoken, if only in quiet gestures, and it was this once that she had witnessed his smile…

“Why
do you wear feathers?” she asked of Neeheeowee in the language of the Lakota, her gaze centered on the buckskin pouch she was sewing. But he didn’t answer at once, and Julia, looking up, gestured toward the feathers in his hair, raising her shoulders in a question.

He snorted as he usually did when he thought she had displayed stupidity, and Julia felt certain he wouldn’t answer her. Still, she waited.

They were seated, she and Neeheeowee, along with another Lakota warrior, Wahtapah, out on the prairie beneath a few cottonwood trees. Beside them, a small stream of water ran through the land as though in a hurry to converge with some other large body, while overhead the occasional song of a dove broke the usual silence of the prairie.

Neeheeowee took his time answering, and Julia wondered if he would ignore her, as he had done in the past. But at length he raised his hand. Pulling the two feathers from his head and pointing to them, he said, “Mee’e, epeheva’e.”