Scars of the Heart (16 page)

“Hello, Summer Song. I am Carly.” She reached toward the child as if to shake her hand but stopped. These people did not share her customs, and she didn’t want to frighten the girl.

Summer Song looked up at her mother and spoke several words. Carly thought the child’s sweet voice did indeed sound like a song.

Little Bird laughed and interpreted for Carly. “She says your hair is like winter grass and your eyes are like spring grass.”

“I guess I do appear odd to her.” Carly smiled again at the child. “She is beautiful, Little Bird. You must be very proud.”

“She brings me much joy. Do you have children?”

Before Carly could answer, Summer Song rose from her mother’s lap and moved hesitantly toward Carly. She extended a tiny hand. Little Bird reached to restrain her, but Carly held up a palm to still the woman’s efforts. The child touched the honey strands of Carly’s hair, first gingerly. When neither woman stopped her, she took a soft curl in her hand and traveled the length of it. She turned and fled back to the safety of Little Bird’s embrace, giggling and burying her face against her mother’s breast. With one round eye, she peeked at Carly through a veil of ebony.

Both women laughed, and, despite her unconscious resolve to be a martyr, Carly found a friend.

Summer asserted itself, and the next few days seemed hotter than ever, leaving Carly to wonder if she had imagined the autumn nip in the air. Little Bird spent many hours with Carly, teaching her to do the daily tasks and chatting amiably about life with the tribe. She learned that she lived among a small group of Pawnee. While she remained hesitant about trusting them and sharing of herself completely with Little Bird, she enjoyed the woman’s company and stories. Mostly she enjoyed the time spent with Summer Song and the other children.

Carly noticed that every member of the tribe, especially the elders, treated the children with patience and love. No one seemed too busy for the rambunctious bunch or irritated by their antics. Except for a few babies Carly noticed strapped to boards on the backs of some of the women, Summer Song appeared to be the youngest. She would seek out Little Bird often, like one who wanted to explore the world bravely yet needed the frequent assurance that her mother was still nearby. The older children’s curiosity soon drew them to follow. Carly and Little Bird were often surrounded by the happy herd. They alone could pull Carly from the depression that plagued her, if only for a few brief moments.

As the two women followed several others to a nearby spring to gather water one morning, Carly could feel an excitement among the people. Women leaned close together, twittering like sparrows. Even the stoic braves seemed to be full of anticipation. She asked Little Bird about the unusual atmosphere rippling through the camp.

“A wedding party will arrive today. They come from a neighboring village to collect my sister. Twelve horses she brings!” At Carly’s quizzical expression, Little Bird continued. “Horses are very valuable to the Pawnee. Most of ours were stolen three moons ago by our enemies, the Cheyenne. It is rare for a bride to bring twelve horses, even when she is the daughter of a chief. It will be a night of feasting and dancing.”

The anxious Indians didn’t have long to wait. A rumble, like distant thunder, announced the arrival of the groom, his escorts, the dozen ponies, and the tribe’s own scouts who’d been sent out to intercept the visitors. People poured from their homes and dropped what they were doing to greet their old friends. Carly’s curiosity spurred her to rise from her place beside the tepee and observe the commotion at the other end of the camp.

Though the cocoon of Pawnee limited her view, she could see the new strangers perched proudly atop their mounts. One man, the groom she guessed, sat with a regal air. His hair hung free. A single black-and-white feather rose from the back of his head, secured by a narrow strip of leather. He wore no shirt, but a breast shield made of thin, hollow reeds covered his chest. More feathers hung from a hole in his earlobe, and a beaded rawhide band encircled his upper arm. His face appeared to be carved marble, his eyes narrow and menacing. As he slowly moved his gaze over the crowd, their murmuring died.

Carly wrinkled her nose in distaste. How could any woman choose such a bear for a husband? She couldn’t imagine this granite giant being the least bit warm, loving, or sensitive.

There was slight movement in the crowd as they made way for one of their own. Carly caught a glimpse of the tall man she had seen before and labeled as the Pawnee leader—Black Hawk, Little Bird had called him. He reached up to clasp the other man’s arm in a greeting. A silence fell that was so pervasive not even a sparrow twittered. After a poignant moment, the visiting brave lifted his free hand high overhead, displaying the ropes that led the prized ponies.

Immediately a collective cheer rose from the mass—a repetitive yip that grew in volume. The skittish animals danced and reared. From within the core, a dog began barking. The frenzy increased. All cheering died as the crowd scuttled backward. The groom’s horse reared nervously as the others clambered around him. The gathering parted. Men hurried women and children aside as three of the ponies broke free and bolted.

The crazed animals raced through the center of the village. Shouts of concern and unheeded commands followed. Carly stepped back to the safety of the tepee. Movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention from the stampeding ponies. The small band of children scurried from the path . . . all but one.

Summer Song!
The little girl froze with fear as the powerful animals thundered toward her. She clutched a corn husk doll to her chest. Her round eyes grew even wider in fright. A scream split the air, and Carly realized it was her own. Without another thought, she ran toward the child.

Her legs seemed weighted. She glanced from the girl to the horses. The ground below her vibrated from the beat of their hooves. White madness shone around their wild eyes. Carly felt their hot breath on her neck as she lunged forward, arms outstretched. She hit the ground hard, sending every breath of air from her lungs. Razor-sharp hooves churned at the earth all about her.

She gasped for air, struggled to cover her head with her arms. She desperately searched for Summer Song. A powerful blow to the shoulder sent her reeling. Hot pain shot through her chest and down her arm. Another blow caught her in the temple, spinning her like a rag doll. Loud ringing blocked out the thunder as a lightning bolt seared a path through her brain.

As quickly as they had come, they were gone. Carly’s limp body rolled to a stop in the swirling dirt. She blinked rapidly against the sting of dust and tears. Trying to focus on the blue of the sky, she fought the blackness that threatened. Even as it overpowered her, she cursed the darkness—for it knew no honor, seducing her with a familiar brown gaze and warm rich voice.

Carly awoke slowly, blinking her eyes to clear the haze from her vision. In fragments, she remembered the wild-eyed, powerful ponies stampeding toward Summer Song. She remembered falling in their path to try and save the child. She remembered a strong arm slipping gently behind her shoulders and the last face she’d seen.

“Kade!” She bolted upright and instantly wished she hadn’t. Piercing pain shot through her head. A wave of nausea washed over her. Little Bird ran to her side.

“Carly, you lie still.” She gently pushed her patient back to the pallet. “You took a hard blow to the head. You must rest awhile.”

“But I thought . . . I thought Kade—” She realized, even as she tried to explain, his image had been a vision, a gift offered in unconsciousness. Kade was dead.

“Summer Song? How is—”

Little Bird smiled broadly. “She is shaken but unharmed.”

“But how? I thought she got caught in the stampede. I tried to reach her . . . I—” She struggled to rise again to a sitting position. Little Bird pressed her backward once more.

“You did reach her. Your fingertips brushed her chest, pushing her out of the ponies’ path. I am only saddened you were injured. Carly, I owe you many thanks. You are . . . how do you say . . . a hero! Yes, you are a hero!”

Carly shook her head slowly, careful not to disturb the subsiding pain. “I did what anyone would have done. I’m just happy she’s all right.”

As she looked around, she realized she had been brought to a different tepee. “Where are we, Little Bird?”

“This is one of the chief’s tipis. He has four, besides his own, that his family members live in. He is most grateful to you for saving the life of his only great-niece.”

“Great-niece?” Carly vaguely remembered Little Bird was somehow related to the chief.

“Yes, my uncle ordered you to be moved to one of his lodgings, and I asked for you to share mine.”

Little Bird spoke with so much pride, Carly knew she ought to be impressed. It sounded as if such an honor rarely occurred. Yet she couldn’t help wonder if the horses should have done a more thorough job and sent her to be with her parents . . .
and Kade
, some part of her whispered.

She tried to raise her arm to identify the source of the low throb in her forehead. “Ooooh.” Quickly lowering her arm, Carly reached with the other hand to tentatively touch her shoulder. It now throbbed every bit as steadily as her head did.

Little Bird stilled her actions. “You must lie quietly. You have a bruised shoulder, though no bones broke. It will be sore for many days. You also have a cut and big bump on your head. I am happy to say, it did not need stitching. We have cleaned and wrapped your wounds. I have a drink here for your pain.” She reached for a gourd cup and lifted her patient’s head off the furs.

Carly eyed the concoction warily. She arched a brow at Little Bird, then closed her eyes at the discomfort that slight action brought. She was ready to drink before her caretaker even answered.

“It is from what you might call
turnip
—dried, ground, and mixed with water. This will take away your pain so you can sleep. If you feel like attending the festivities tonight, you will be an honored guest.”

Settling back, Carly thought sleep sounded heavenly. As her eyelids grew heavy, the vision returned. She felt warm and secure under the scrutiny of that rich, brown gaze. “Little Bird,” she murmured, “how did I get here?” The woman’s words sounded far away as Carly struggled to hear her answer.

“Black Hawk carried you. He has stopped by to check on you several times and will return soon.”

Even as Carly slipped away, she wished she could feel at least a bit as impressed as Little Bird sounded. President Lincoln had been a great man. Black Hawk was a simple figurehead of a savage people.

“I have someone here to see you.”

Little Bird’s voice roused Carly from sleep. Remembering the overwhelming pain accompanied by sudden actions, she turned slowly. To her relief, only mild discomfort reminded her of the morning’s incident.

The Pawnee woman stepped forward, steering a reluctant child by the shoulders. Summer Song resisted her mother’s efforts. Her bottom lip swelled in a pout. She glared at Carly from beneath pinched brows. Little Bird spoke softly yet firmly to her daughter.

They stopped an arm’s length away, and both women waited. Finally Summer Song peered up at her mother and protested loudly. Little Bird’s eyes widened in shock. She started to respond, but the girl continued. This time as she finished, she pointed a stubby finger in Carly’s direction, finally turning with another fierce stare.

Bewildered, she looked to Little Bird for an explanation. A deep blush warmed the woman’s copper coloring. She knelt quickly by her daughter, turning the small, rigid frame to face her. Holding her by the shoulders, Little Bird scolded the child soundly. Carly noticed the bottom lip grow in defiance.

Her curiosity won out over etiquette. “Little Bird, what is it? Why is she upset? What did she say?”

Again the woman’s color heightened. She glanced from the child to Carly and back.

“Please tell me,” Carly insisted.

After a moment’s hesitation, Little Bird gave in. “She said you pushed her in the dirt . . . hard. And you broke her doll.”

Carly noticed the corn husk remnants in the child’s hand. She wanted to laugh, but one look at Summer Song’s stubborn and scorned expression squelched that urge.

“My daughter shames me, Carly. I have explained to her—”

“It’s all right, Little Bird. May I talk with her?” When the woman nodded, Carly smiled at the girl. “I’m very sorry if I hurt you, Summer Song.” Little Bird quietly translated Carly’s words. “I was afraid those wild horses would hurt you much worse if I couldn’t move you out of their way. I didn’t have enough time to pick you up and run, only to push you.”

She waited for some response. None came, but the furrowed brow seemed to ease a bit. Carly continued. “I am also sorry I broke your doll. I know she was your special friend, and I can’t fix her.” She paused. “But, if you’ll let me, I can make you a new doll, just like my mother made for me when I was a little girl. You could help. What do you say? Can we be friends again?”

Summer Song hesitated until she received a nod of encouragement from her mother. The tot shuffled her feet forward, stirring dust from the earthen floor of the lodging. A tiny hand rose to her mouth, and two fingers slipped in between the full lips to be suckled. Once she reached Carly’s pallet, she stopped.

Carly stared up at her with a pleading grin. Just as she thought the child might turn and run away, a smile spread slowly behind the slobbery fingers. She dropped to her knees and gave Carly a tight hug. Though the action made her wounds throb, Carly didn’t wince or try to hurry the girl. She slipped her good arm around the small body and squeezed. Summer Song felt so warm, so sweet. Tears threatened as Carly realized how long it had been since she had shared in such an act of affection.

“Off with you, wee one. I must feed Carly this broth before she sleeps once more.” Little Bird repeated the order in Pawnee, brushing hair from the child’s eyes.

Summer Song bounded toward the tepee’s door flap. Carly turned her attention to Little Bird as she reached for a gourd bowl. Both women stopped at the sound of the quiet voice.