The Renegade's Woman (9 page)

No one except the Leader of the Wagons, who pointed his white, bony finger at Standing Bear and screamed, "You can't have her! You can't have her!"

Suddenly, he found himself at the mouth of a deep, protected valley, high up on the big mountain. He carried a tiny blue-eyed babe, and led a small band of battered survivors into the sheltered valley. His heart leapt when he saw Pale As Moonlight walking among them. They had not taken her from him! He called her name, ran to her, but when she turned, he was looking into the face of his uncle's captive wife, White Lily.

Whistling Hills found him at dawn, curled into a ball, shivering on the ridge above where he and Pale As Moonlight had made love the day before.

He couldn't meet the eyes of his friend for shame and sadness. How could he have ever thought to risk the lives of his people like that? He knew his vision was all too realistic. He himself had lived through just such an attack, and they were becoming more and more frequent, with less and less provocation. Those who fought the white man died.

He gathered his heavy spirit and his pony, and silently followed Whistling Hills back to the village. It was a warrior's duty to tell everyone of his vision as soon as he'd had it, but Standing Bear could not bring himself to do so. Not until late that night when his uncle and the other elders were gathered around the Council Fire and summoned him to them.

"Tell us what you have seen, son of my sister, so we can hold council. Your vision clouds your eyes and heart. Together, we will decide what must be done. "

By the time of the big trading day with the Indians, Sally didn't know which emotion was strongest within her, desperation that she would never see Standing Bear again, or fear that, if she did, she'd haul off and throttle him because she was so angry.

She hadn't heard hide nor hair from the man since they'd parted three days ago. How dare he leave her like this? The least any gentleman could do after ravishing an innocent woman and introducing her to all manner of heinously improper acts of physical lust was to say thank-you before riding off on his painted pony.

Of course, Standing Bear was no gentleman.

Still, it cut to the quick that he had given his word, and then broken it without so much as a good-bye.

"Come on, Sally. " Her sister Alyssa pulled at her arm, snapping her out of her stormy thoughts. "It's time for supper and I promised Mrs. Tompkins that we'd help at the serving table. "

She'd managed to avoid the trading grounds all morning, under the guise of baking pies. But it seemed her time had run out.

"You've been moping around long enough. Stars above, I don't know what's gotten into you for the past few days, but it's going to end right now. "

"The pies are still too hot to carry, " she protested unenthusiastically. She knew Standing Bear would be there, and she didn't know if she could get that close to him without doing something they'd both regret. Like murder the obstinate man in front of everyone. Or throw herself at his feet and beg.

It was mid-afternoon, and the wagon train had taken a rare day of rest in the wide river valley where they were trading with the Arapaho and Cheyenne. The Indians had camped on the other side of the river the night before, and this afternoon they would share a feed, to celebrate a successful day of peaceful trading.

"Don't be ridiculous. We can carry the pies with a towel or something. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid of those savages. Now, let's go. "

"They're not savages, " she countered automatically. At least most of them weren't.

"Well, then. "

Sally reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged up the long line of wagons to the huge meadow where the trading had begun early that morning. The clearing was a riot of rippling colors, sounds and smells, dotted with scores of blankets on the ground where both Indians and wagoneers had plied their goods. By now, most of the exchanges had taken place, and everyone was happily looking over their new treasures. The wagoneers had acquired baskets of dried fruit, jerky, furs, and the finest cured hides she'd ever seen. The Indians had gotten flour and sugar, dried beans and an assortment of tools, furniture, clothing and personal items, which had proved impractical for the travelers to carry any further west. If Sally weren't so nervous, she would have found the whole thing fascinating. As it was, she had eyes for only one piece of work.

She spotted Standing Bear immediately, sitting astride his horse at the edge of the clearing, in the middle of a rank of a dozen mounted braves, all wearing sweetgrass ropes coiled over their chests. Badger Men. Lookouts, no doubt. Keeping watch over the proceedings to make sure everything remained peaceful. On the opposite side of the meadow stood a matching group of men from the wagon train, unmounted, but no less vigilant for that. Everyone was armed to the teeth.

Shaking off a tingling of foreboding, she followed Alyssa to the long, rough plank table the men had put together for the pot luck. After depositing her pies, she joined Mrs. Tompkins and picked up a ladle to help serve the line of hungry traders that had already formed.

She could feel Standing Bear's eyes on her unrelentingly, but she refused to meet his gaze. He could sit there and stew until doomsday as far as she was concerned. A woman had her pride.

She made a point of smiling and chatting merrily with everyone who came through the line, but inside she was dying. She couldn't help but steal short glances at the man she'd had the supreme misfortune to fall in love with.

He looked magnificent. Broad-shouldered and straight of bearing, he personified rugged masculinity. Her heart simply melted at the sight of him. The ends of his long, raven hair fluttered in the breeze along with the feathers that adorned it and the ceremonial club he held in one hand. Bright sunshine gleamed off the trimmings of his pipe-bead vest and the fringes of his leggings, the butter-colored buckskin contrasting handsomely with the deep copper of his skin. The ruthlessly male angles of his face looked sharp enough to cut herself on.

It was a total package that never failed to reduce her limbs to the consistency of the mashed potatoes Mrs. Tompkins was heaping onto tin plates.

"Oh, what lovely pies, " said a voice, interrupting Sally's reverie. She looked up, surprised to see a beautiful older white woman, dressed as an Arapaho. Her honey-blonde hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and she wore an ankle-length, fringed dress made from soft, supple deerskin. The woman smiled, indicating the pies. "One of the few things I've missed. May I?"

"Of course, " Sally said, snapping herself out of her shock. "Which would you like? Apple or cherry?"

"Oh!" The woman's warm brown eyes lighted on the pies in reverence. "Apple and cherry?"

Sally chuckled and cut two generous pieces, one of each flavor. "I insist that you sample both. "

"You are too kind, " the woman said, her smile broadening. "And what a happy coincidence. My nephew was just asking yesterday what pie tasted like. " She gestured toward the line of mounted warriors and tipped her head at Sally. "I can't imagine where he heard about pies. He was also talking about some mysterious potion he'd heard of, made from arsenic beans. What a strange idea!"

Sally blanched. Arsenic beans? Her nephew? Involuntarily, her eyes darted to Standing Bear.

"Um, I sure he must have meant coffee beans. "

"Coffee! Why, of course, that's what he must have been talking about. "

"There's some brewing just over there you might try. "

"I think I will. " The woman paused. "I wonder if I could ask a favor? Can you take my nephew a slice of pie? He refuses to leave his post to eat, and I do worry so about him. " She gave Sally a much-too-knowing look. "He hasn't been himself for the past couple of days. "

"I, um... " She wanted to refuse. Needed to refuse. There was no way she could do

this. But the appeal in his aunt's concerned gaze was impossible to disappoint.

"He's that one, there, with the red striped war paint on his cheeks and the black spotted pony. "

Like she didn't know exactly which warrior the woman meant. "I--" She sighed, knowing she couldn't say no. "All right, I guess I can do that. "

"Thank you, my daughter. Sometimes men are too stubborn for their own good. "

With that, the woman slipped out of line and walked over to join the circle of elders who, together with the leaders of the wagon train, were seated at the center of the goings-on.

"She must be a captive, " Alyssa said in hushed tones of pity. "Poor thing. "

Sally turned to stare at her sister. "She seemed happy enough to me. Didn't look the least bit like she wanted to escape. "

"I've heard some white women choose to stay with the heathens, " Mrs. Tompkins confided in a whisper. "They say Indian men know things... " She glanced at Sally and Alyssa's astonished faces and cleared her throat. "Well, never you mind. "

The rattled woman sliced off a piece of pie and handed the plate to Sally. "You be careful, hear? Isn't that the very devil who followed you the other day?"

"I don't remember, " Sally stated flatly, then sucked in a fortifying breath and marched across the meadow to the cadre of warriors.

"Your aunt wanted you to have this. " She thrust the pie toward Standing Bear and turned smartly, ready to flee.

"What is it, Pale As Moonlight?" he asked, boring holes in her neck with angry eyes.

Deliberately misinterpreting his question, she answered, "Pie, " and started walking away.

"Wait. "

At his sharp command, the other braves turned to stare. She recognized two of the men as his companions from that first day. Their eyes assessed her somberly.

"Did you make this pie for me?" he quietly asked.

Her heart trembled, wanting to cry out, Yes. I made it for the man I love. Instead, she said primly, "You flatter yourself, sir, " and bolted back to the table.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze. Soon it was time to squeeze a blanket in amongst the others surrounding the central bonfire and watch the impromptu speeches and dancing which had been suggested by both sides of the happily stuffed gathering.

The mood was festive, with laughter and much improvised sign language between new friends. The wagonmaster, Mr. Dexter, and the Arapaho chief gave long-winded orations on the benefits of a peaceful co-existence of their peoples, and a group of beautiful young girls did a haunting circle dance around the fire, accompanied by thundering drums and high-pitched singing.

Sally noticed Standing Bear's aunt sitting behind the Indian chief, and wondered if he was her husband. She got her answer when, after the dance, the chief got up and addressed Mr. Dexter. It took him a while to get around to the point, but by the time he did, the large crowd was breathless with curiosity and anticipation of what he would say next.

"In the old days, it was the custom for Indian warriors to take enemy women captive. " He looked around, and, next to her, Alyssa and Mrs. Tompkins shrank back nervously.

He went on. "It was in this way I met my wife, White Lily. " He turned and smiled at her. His wife's returning smile left no doubt that the two were deeply in love. "In all ways, we are united. Our four children are the joy of our lives. " He paused again, looking affectionately at a group of youngsters who were off to one side on a blanket eating sweets that had been distributed earlier.

"But there is one thing that troubles the heart of my White Lily. We were never married by one of your Christian preachermen. " His gaze swept the gathering. "Is there such a man here among you who would do this for us now?"

The crowd erupted in surprised speculation, until Dan Monroe, a Baptist minister en route to the gold fields of Alaska rose from a blanket and stepped forward. "I will do it, gladly. "

A hush descended on the onlookers as the unusual couple took each other's hands and recited their nuptial vows in front of the preacher and the odd assembly.

Sally's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, this is so romantic!" Even Alyssa agreed, wiping moisture from her lashes.

Sally stole a glance at Standing Bear, who still stood his lookout post. He was watching his aunt and uncle, a tender expression on his face. He caught her staring, and she nearly missed what happened next.

Standing in front of the gathering, White Lily was saying, "Some of you might think it strange that I would give up my 'civilized' life to stay with my Arapaho captor. To marry him, and bear his children. But I love my husband, and he loves me. I have been treated well and am accepted among his people as an equal. These are a good, honest people whose only wish is to live and hunt in peace. I have a good life, and I don't regret a minute of it. "

Her eyes wandered over the crowded blankets and stalled for a moment on Sally. "But I'll admit, sometimes I long for the sound of my own language. " She laughed softly, then became serious. "We live in troubled times, with misunderstanding and hostility so common between Indians and whites. Both sides wish to end the bloodshed, but to do that, all of us need to educate ourselves, learn about the ways of the other. "

All around, people nodded. "But how?" one of the wagoneers called out from the crowd. "So few of them can read or write, or even speak English. How are we supposed to teach them if we can't even talk to them?"