Scars of the Heart (19 page)

Indignation steeled Carly against the apprehension all about her. Though she couldn’t see the rest of the people, she could feel them. Would the soldiers succeed where they had failed last summer, wiping out the entire village this time, everyone . . . herself included?

Peet sweet sweet sweet sweet.

The warbler’s song tripped through the thick branches. Little Bird and the others immediately rose from their hiding places. The woman smiled at Carly’s perplexed expression.

“It is Black Hawk. Danger has passed from us this day.”

Windwalker waited until everyone had gathered about him. In a subdued yet powerful voice, he talked to his people. Carly saw many shoulders relax, several deep breaths drawn. The Indians returned to their village.

She ran to catch up with Little Bird. She wanted to ask what the chief had said. She needed to ask about Kade. Then she saw him riding toward her on the stallion. What a magnificent pair they made! Long, black hair flying in the wind, muscles bunching and straining, raw power barely contained.

He stopped just before her and slid from the animal’s back. “You heard?”

“I heard words I didn’t understand. What happened? Where are the soldiers?” Carly walked beside him as he led the black. The tribe’s few horses were kept in a holding area near the chief’s tepees. She knew Kade would waste no time in brushing the stallion.

“The gods have protected the people once again. The soldiers move east. It was lucky there were no cooking fires. The smoke or the smells would’ve led them right to camp. They passed that closely.” He shook his head.

Carly saw concern etch lines in his forehead. He truly cared for these people. They were his family, the only family he had left from what she’d been able to piece together. She had casually asked Little Bird about Kade’s parents. The woman reminded her it was impolite to talk of the dead. When a faraway smile softened her friend’s face, Carly seized the opportunity to learn a few details.

Kade’s father had been Windwalker’s brother. When he was a young man, he’d had a vision and left his tribe on a quest, a journey to seek the meaning of his dream. His wandering took him south, to Texas. It was there he met Kade’s mother.

She was driving a small herd of cattle across a rain-swollen creek when her horse slipped, throwing her into the midst of the startled livestock. Kade’s father galloped through the herd, lifting her to safety before she drowned. Little Bird’s eyes twinkled as she told her new friend they had fallen in love that very moment.

When Carly pressed for more, asking how they lived, when they died, Little Bird had shaken her head. “Black Hawk should be the teller of this tale.”

Watching his dark features, Carly wondered about this mysterious man to whom, by more than one count, she owed her very life. Now was not the time to inquire about his past. Somehow she knew those wounds had not healed as well as the gunshot to his shoulder had.

“Could it be that the soldiers weren’t even looking for your people? Perhaps they were Senator Doolittle’s men. Perhaps they were just traveling—”

“How can we be sure? Who can we trust? The Cheyenne and Arapaho led by Black Kettle and Little Raven were promised safety and protection, yet they were massacred. The soldiers don’t have to be specifically
looking
. If they happen upon Indians,
any
Indians, it’s trouble. And we are usually outmanned, outgunned, and helpless to do more than hold our dying and bury our dead.”

The bitterness in Kade’s voice chilled her blood. She crossed her good arm over the one in the sling. “But why? Why would they want to hurt these people? They’ve done nothing.”

He started brushing the stallion, then turned abruptly. “You don’t see it, do you? You don’t see, and yet you are as guilty as they are.”

Contempt blackened his glare. Carly resisted the urge to move away from his anger. She didn’t answer, only stared at him, confused.

“You want to know
why
the soldiers would hurt us? I’ll tell you, Carly. Because they want our land. Because we’re Indians. We’re different from them. We’re
savages
.”

His words hit her like a beefy fist. She recoiled from the blow. Before she could recover, he strode toward her, pulling something from his waistband.

“They’re gone now, but there will be more. And we can’t be here when they come. I found this where they camped last night.”

He thrust a yellowing parchment into her hand and stormed away. Carly stared at his rigid back.

Over his shoulder, he added, “We ride out day after tomorrow, whether you’re up to it or not.”

Carly looked at the paper in her shaking hands. She smoothed the folds. A sketch of a familiar face stared back at her. Big black letters read: K
ADE
R
OBERTS, WANTED FOR MURDER, DEAD OR ALIVE
.

“Are you sure there is nothing wrong?”

Little Bird had asked the same question all morning. Carly hadn’t joined her until she heard the men leave for the daily hunt. Though she reassured the woman repeatedly, Carly couldn’t quite complete a smile or focus on their idle conversation. Yesterday’s scene with Kade repeated itself in her mind.

She saw the bitterness in his eyes and heard the hatred in his voice. She’d tossed and turned all night as his words kept coming back to her. Pain burned in her stomach like a hot coal from the fire. Yet she knew he wasn’t responsible. Righteous prejudice and blissful ignorance had started the ember and fueled it for years.

“Yes, I’m sure. I think perhaps I’m tired. I didn’t sleep very well.” When Little Bird’s worried gaze cut quickly to Carly’s sore shoulder, she added, “I just have several things on my mind.”

She tried to concentrate on the sewing she held idle in her hands. The pattern in the fabric swam together until it formed the words,
WANTED FOR MURDER
.

Blinking hard, Carly cleared her vision and fought back tears. She hadn’t really believed the accusation from the townsmen of Destiny. But there it was, in print, framing Kade’s image, hanging on jail walls all across the country, delivered to her by his own hand. Carly’s heart told her that Kade couldn’t be capable of murder. Yet his behavior yesterday gave her room for doubt.

The Pawnee hummed softly beside her, sitting in the morning sun, dyeing porcupine quills. Carly willed away the unpleasant thoughts and focused on her friend’s busy hands. The quills would be woven into a new hunting shield for Little Bird’s husband.

Carly usually enjoyed watching the woman work. All the Pawnee women and men were skilled in the use of paint and beads. They loved to adorn themselves with feathers, quills, color, and earrings. Little Bird had recently finished a winter shirt for her mate. She had explained each intricate design—one showing his marital status, another his age, several depicting special feats he had performed in battle or while on the hunt.

Five wooden bowls surrounded the woman. Black dye came from mixing burned wood with water. Plants offered green, and certain clays provided the white. Stone-like objects taken from one of the organs of the buffalo created a yellow dye. Duck droppings and water produced a blue-tinted mixture.

Carly often wondered how anyone would ever make some of the discoveries and inventions she’d learned of since joining the Pawnee. She resumed her sewing, realizing the transition from needle and thread to bone and sinew had come with surprising ease. Just a few more stitches, and . . .

“There, all done.” She held up her completed project.

“Beautiful!”

Little Bird stared admiringly at her handiwork, then glanced around, twisting in her seated position. When she found who she sought, the shrill chirp of a whistle split the air. Summer Song’s silken head bobbed up above a few others’ as they sat, surrounding a gangly red pup. Reluctantly she left her friends and trotted over to the women.

Though she looked directly into her mother’s eyes and clasped her hands behind her back, Summer Song’s feet shuffled in their annoyance. After a few words from Little Bird, the girl turned to Carly, still battling her desire to join her playmates.

Carly had concealed the surprise behind her back. She stared into the round eyes and smiled. “Remember when I pushed you from the path of the ponies and broke your doll?”

Little Bird repeated the question softly in Pawnee. The child nodded.

“And I promised I would make you a new one?” Again a nod. The tiny feet stilled. Summer Song’s curiosity trumped her impatience.

“Well, I know she isn’t as pretty as your other doll, but I hope she will be a good friend to you.” Carly brought the rag baby from behind her back.

Unlike the toy fashioned from corn husks, this doll’s body, braids, and dress came from the tail of Carly’s calico frock. The garment now reached no farther than the middle of Carly’s calves, making it resemble her hide dress. She had gladly made the small concession for this child she’d grown to love. Deliberately placed berry smudges gave the baby cheeks and lips while tiny marks made with a charred stick added lashes and brows. 

Summer Song’s eyes widened even more. She glanced from the doll to Carly. Her little hands came together in a chubby knot beneath her chin. A smile bloomed across her face, adding color to her cheeks and light to her eyes.

She turned quickly to her mother with a question, then back to stare at the offering. Little Bird laughed.

“Yes, sweet. It is yours. You may have it.”

When Carly extended the doll, Summer Song snatched it from her hands. She hugged her new baby tightly, rocking to and fro as she’d undoubtedly seen adults do with their infants. Suddenly she lunged at Carly. The unexpected impact sent them both tottering, but Carly righted herself as the happy child hugged her. The bubble of laughter that rose within Carly subsided as a long, dark shadow fell across them.

The figure stood before the bright morning sun. Carly couldn’t identify the black silhouette. When she heard the harsh voice, her spine straightened, as did the hair on the back of her neck.

Little Bird scrambled quickly to her feet. Carly followed her lead. Both women still had to look up to the taller intruder. She stood glaring at Carly as she had the morning before, hands on her hips, chin held high. This time she and her companion were joined by two others.

Pointing a finger in Carly’s direction, the stranger spoke loudly, glancing around to see who listened. Several other women nearby stopped at their tasks. Little Bird shooed Summer Song back to her circle of friends and moved nearer to her white friend.

“What does she want, Little Bird? What is she saying?” Carly kept her stare locked firmly on the stranger. Little Bird also watched the taller woman and only shook her head in answer to Carly’s question.

“Tell me, Little Bird. Tell me exactly what she says.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Little Bird answered, “She says you brought the white soldiers. She says you will bring them again.”

“What? But that’s ridiculous. How could I . . . Tell her I did not bring the soldiers. I would never put any of you in danger.”

Little Bird translated Carly’s words, but the woman resounded, louder than before.

Carly waited, then tugged on the smaller woman’s sleeve. “What? Tell me.”

With a sigh, Little Bird offered, “She says your presence among us has angered the gods. You will drive away the buffalo and the rains. She says you have come to watch us wither just as our crops will.”

“Why, that’s absurd! I’m only here because—”

The woman’s interruption came slightly louder than before, drawing more curious onlookers. Little Bird’s gasp drew Carly’s gaze and concern. This time, Little Bird answered in her own language, directing her heated reply to the other Indian. More words were exchanged. The taller woman shot arrowheads into the stranger’s heart with her eyes.

Carly checked the familiar faces around her. She tried to read the emotions there. Doubt, fear, distrust? Little Bird sent them unspoken reprimands with narrowed eyes, but the usually private people were too interested in the discussion at hand to resume their work.

The women stood staring at one another—squared off, two to four. The air between them seemed to crackle as if it surrounded a thunderhead. Carly waited for the translation.

“Little Bird! I insist you tell me everything. Exactly.”

Glaring defiantly at her tribe-mate, Little Bird answered with a huff. “Though she doubts you are a maiden, she demands you be stripped bare and sacrificed to Morning Star.”

“Sa-sacrificed?” Carly knew by the stranger’s intensity and by Little Bird’s hesitation this was no joke. The woman was serious. And from the looks on the others’ faces, they were actually considering her proposal!

Little Bird spoke sharply to the intruder. With a haughty laugh, the woman stalked off. Little Bird stared pointedly at the others until they went back to their work. She tugged on Carly’s arm to lower her to the ground.

Carly’s panic threatened to overflow. “We must find Kade. I’ve got to—”

“The Pawnee no longer sacrifice maidens to Morning Star.”

Blinking at her friend, Carly tried to absorb what she said. “But you
did. 
You actually sacrificed people? And to a star?”

“Morning Star, the man-spirit of war, light, and fire. He is the son of Tirawa. Petalesharo ended the ancient ceremony before my birth.”

“Ti-ra-wa? Peta-petale-sharo?” Carly stumbled over the names that rolled so easily off Little Bird’s tongue. She shook her head.

The Pawnee woman smiled comfortingly and patted Carly’s arm. “Tirawa created Earth and all the things in the night sky. His child Tcuperikata is called Evening Star. She tells the Pawnee of Tirawa’s wishes through her helpers—wind, cloud, lightning, and thunder. Her garden is Wiharu, the sacred place. Fields of ripe corn grow there. Great herds of buffalo live there. All life came from this garden.

“Morning Star and Evening Star mated long ago. Their girl child was carried to earth in a whirlwind. The Sun and Moon mated. Their boy child was carried to earth. We are their children. When we die, we follow the path of milk in the sky to live with Tirawa.” Little Bird smiled proudly.