White Dusk (4 page)

His wife.

The words sent bitterness raging through him. Once he’d viewed his upcoming marriage as a duty—nothing more, nothing less. He’d seen it as no different from any other responsibility expected of him. All his life he’d put his people first, sacrificed whatever they asked of him. Without complaint. Without resentment.

Until now. His time with the young white girl had changed everything—yet nothing had changed.

When he didn’t respond to her question, Small Bird walked away. Another layer of guilt slid across his shoulders.
She
didn’t deserve his anger. It wasn’t
her
fault he’d changed since sealing their marriage contract.

Shaking his head, he spotted Kills Many Crows leaving Willow Song’s tipi—and he remembered how Small Bird had tried to help his cousin. Fairness and gratitude made him call out after his soon-to-be wife. “Thank you for your kindness toward my cousin. Few speak to her. Most fear her.” He struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. Buried amongst all his layers of guilt was the heavy weight of the disfigurement his cousin had suffered.

Obviously surprised, Small Bird turned. “Your cousin is not to blame for what happened to her,” she said quietly.

The weight grew heavier. “No. I am.” His words rushed out unbidden, shocking him. Not once had he ever voiced his guilt—not to his uncle, his cousin, or even to their shaman.

Small Bird walked slowly back toward him. “No. That is not true. You are not to blame for the actions of the Miniconjou.”

Swift Foot laughed, the sound harsh. “No? Your brother does not share that belief.”

Small Bird brushed a strand of hair from her face and sighed. “My brother loves me. He worries.”

Staring up at the wide expanse of clear blue sky above him, Swift Foot tried to roll the tension from his shoulders. Right then, his responsibilities felt too much. For so long he’d taken everything on his shoulders. After so many years of carrying it all, he felt tired and weary. His soul cried out for peace. His mind knew it would be denied. “Perhaps your brother is right to fear for you. Perhaps you should listen to him.”

Surprised, Small Bird stared up at him. Then she shook her head. “It is too late. And remember, that’s how all this started. When your father changed his mind and decided not to take the woman he’d agreed to wed, he started the war with the Miniconjou.”

Swift Foot shrugged. “I am chief. I would not punish you or your people if you refused me.” A small part of him hoped she would, even. Though he could never have Emily, at least if Small Bird changed her mind, he’d be able to live alone, without reminders of other loves.

Small Bird considered him for several moments. “Why do you not wish to join with me?”

“I have no desire to marry.”
Liar,
a voice deep inside cried. He could not meet her eyes. Nor could he bear to stare up into the sky and see a daily reminder of what he’d lost.

“Do you fear for my life?” Small Bird kept her gaze on his.

Unsure if he admired her courage in confronting him or whether her refusal to back down and leave him in peace was infuriating, he spoke. “Your brother was right: marriage to me will put you and your people in danger should peace talks fall through. It is one thing for the enemy to come after me. But when they learn I have taken a wife, they will seek to kill you.”

“I am not afraid. You are chief. You need someone to look after your tipi.” Small Bird sounded uncertain.

Swift Foot argued, for if she chose to go through with marriage to him, he wanted her to have no false impressions. “As chief, I have many who see to my needs already.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “
All
my needs.”

Small Bird blushed when she spoke, but her voice shook with anger. “I
will
honor the spirits who saw reason to give a young boy the courage and skill to save a small girl. You may not wish me for a wife; you may even wish me to leave, but I will not. I belong here, at your side. You must accept that.” The look she gave him dared him to renounce her.

They both knew he could not. With one final glare, Small Bird left.

Swift Foot watched her stalk away. Ashamed of his behavior yet desperate, he turned and followed the river away from camp. The farther he went from his people, the faster he walked until he was running.

The spirits had tested him. Just before he’d returned to his village to take up the position of chieftain, he’d gone on a quest to learn the answer to disturbing dreams he’d been having. He’d come across Emily. The white girl’s parents had been killed in an Indian attack and she’d been alone. He’d saved her life. Immediately, he’d known she was the cause of his dreams. He’d been destined to find her.

The test was clear: his own mother had been white, had been a blue-eyed blonde. Like his father, Swift Foot had been drawn to the white woman’s exotic coloring and beauty. But he’d believed he could deliver her to her people and return, unmoved, to take over as chief.

He’d been wrong. He’d delayed his return by spending almost two full moons with Emily. Then had come the day he’d known he could not put off. He’d had to leave Emily behind and return to pick up his duties.

Unlike his father, Swift Foot had passed the test: he’d chosen duty over love, his people over his desires. He’d won. He’d lost. The words echoed in his brain with each pounding step.

Over hills, around jutting rock formations and across flat mesas, he ran until his legs could carry him no farther. Until his lungs burned. Falling to his knees, he leaned his head back and cried out, his hands above his head.

Staring up into the blue heavens hurt his eyes and heart; the color was the same deep hue of Emily’s eyes. As he flicked his gaze to the solid rock of the bluff to his left, his breath caught in his throat. The pale tawny rocks there, some bleached nearly white, brought forth memories of long ribbons of hair flowing over his arms and shoulders and brushing across his chest. He gripped his armbands. They were soft like her flesh. So soft and silky.

Closing his eyes, Swift Foot struggled against the memories of the woman he feared he’d never forget or stop loving. How could he when he saw her in the sky and land around him?

“Concentrate on your duties,” he whispered. He’d always walked his path alone, his future determined long ago. Nothing had ever been allowed to interfere with the needs of his people—not the breaking of his heart, and certainly not unhappiness at an unwanted marriage.

Nothing changed. Nothing ever would. Not until he atoned for the past.

Kicking a stone from her path, Small Bird wound her way through cone-shaped tipis. A few of the women were setting up. As soon as she and her tribe had reached Swift Foot’s, he’d ordered the camp moved. She understood his decision. A tribe on the move was less of a target for an enemy.

Staring around, the excitement of exploring and embracing a new land faded. Even the tales of courage and brave deeds painted on the many sun-bleached hides failed to impress or excite her.

Stopping behind a fairly large tipi, she glared at a scene depicting a crudely drawn warrior lying on his back with a gaping wound in his chest. Another figure stood over the fallen one, his war ax held high. Blue Elk had many such paintings. His wife, Moon Day, glanced over at Small Bird and grinned shyly. She was very proud of her man and his tipi—just as Small Bird had been excited to know she’d be sharing Swift Foot’s. The outside of his dwelling would boast of his feats of skill, courage and triumph over the enemy. Yet it seemed the inside would hold only unfulfilled dreams on her part, and resentment on his.

Small Bird resumed walking through camp, her mind on her conversation with her soon-to-be husband. She’d been so proud and eager to share a tipi with him… She still would. Changing her mind was not an option—for either of them. Just a short while ago she’d been proud; she’d had reason to celebrate. But reality had destroyed that innocent pride and happiness. Her husband did not want this marriage.

Walking around two giggling girls playing with dolls, Small Bird fought her anger and humiliation. It didn’t matter that no one else knew the truth. She knew.

Glancing toward the tipi of her parents, she saw her mother sitting amid a large group of laughing, chattering women. While Lone Warrior had reservations about the upcoming marriage, Small Bird’s mother did not. The woman held court over the matronly group while proudly adding finishing touches to her daughter’s wedding dress.

For months her mother had worked hard to plan this wedding. Even Small Bird had eagerly joined in by making the garments Swift Foot would wear tomorrow. She’d tanned the hides until they were soft and supple. Then she’d spent nearly two months quilling intricate designs befitting a renowned warrior. She’d painstakingly cut fringe and used large glass beads her father had gotten in trade from trappers. She’d also made matching moccasins, all to prove to her husband that her womanly skills were equal to his warrior’s ability, to please him and to make him as proud of her as she was of him.

Now she wondered if she’d done all for naught. A man who didn’t want a wife would not think much of the time, work or effort she put into his clothing.

Small Bird dodged two small, naked boys who ran around a tipi. One nearly smacked into her. She caught him, steadied him, then ruffled his black, shiny head. She didn’t know everyone’s names yet, or even which family each child belonged to, but it didn’t matter. She loved Swift Foot’s people—the children especially.
“Hau,”
she greeted. They smiled shyly in return.

Twisting a bit, she opened one of three small pouches hanging from the braided belt tied around her waist. When she pulled out two small pieces of root from the
tipsila
plant, the boys eagerly accepted the treat.

A brown dog nosed close, looking hopefully up at Small Bird. Laughing softly, she stroked its sleek head.
“Le tuwa ta sunka he?”

The same boy who’d run into her puffed out his narrow chest.
“Mitawa!” Mine,
he said, answering her question as to whom the dog belonged.

“She is a fine dog.” Small Bird eyed the beast’s distended belly. She hoped the animal would not give birth before the wedding. By many of her tribe, boiled pups were considered not only good but perfect dishes for special occasions. She herself had avoided the delicacy.

The boys both streaked off, the dog waddling behind them.

Watching them, Small Bird sighed. Despite her reservations, this morning she’d been just as pleased, happy and excited for her future. And she’d been under the misconception that Swift Foot felt the same way.

I believe our joining is meant to be. Do you not also?
When she’d posed that question to him, she’d never imagined that he’d disagree. And it wasn’t just because he’d saved her life long ago. As he’d said, he’d saved many lives over the years. But in saving Small Bird’s life, he’d set himself apart. His actions hadn’t been spurred by selfish motivations like pride or protection of property. He’d acted to save the child of another tribe—at the risk of his own life! His action had been an act of undiluted bravery, the mark of a true warrior. He’d put himself in jeopardy to save her. Swift Foot had first proved himself as the worthy warrior and chief he was today because of her—and his actions on that day had changed not only his life but hers.

It hurt to learn that he didn’t recognize that. It hurt worse that he didn’t want her for a wife.

Glancing around, she bit her lower lip. Now what? How was she supposed to act? To feel? What would happen after the ceremony tomorrow? Surely he’d at least want her the way a man wanted a woman. Or would he? She recalled his words: As
chief, I have many who see to my needs already. All my needs.

Embarrassed heat rose in her cheeks. A lump grew in the back of her throat. Blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay, she dug her fingernails into her palms and began to walk. She’d made a fool of herself. It hadn’t mattered that her marriage was an arranged one rather than a love match. Love, she’d figured, would come later, as it did for most. At least on his part. Love on her part wouldn’t take long. To be honest, she figured she’d been secretly in love with him all her life.

She stared at the unfamiliar landscape, trying to find something comforting amid all the changes of the past couple of weeks. She and her tribe had left their homeland to travel to Swift Foot’s. That, in itself, had been an enormous change.

The craggy mounds of a large rock formation at the opposite end of the Hunkpapa camp sat barren but for a few sparse trees and brush. It jutted proudly from the earth, the burnt grassland creeping up its sides. Small stands of dwarfed and dried-looking trees defiantly encircled the hillock, along with scattered scraggly bushes. She headed there.

One of its mounds rose to form a sharp peak, reminding Small Bird of her people’s tipis. The others in the formation appeared to be gentler. The first struck her as incredibly beautiful, a study in opposites with its sharply carved top and pale brown sides cut as if by a keen-bladed knife or ax.

Each mound sat distinctly apart, yet all were joined at their base by smaller rocks and hardened earth. They were fascinating. Until arriving in this strange land, Small Bird had known only gently rolling prairie and the dark, thick forests of the
Paha Sapa.

Swift Foot’s world was different. It was filled with such bare mounds of earth as these, along with deep, dry gullies and flat-topped mountains. Yet the starkness of his world drew her. Its beauty lay in the changing landscape and contrasting colors of green, pale brown, white and gray. Already she loved this harsh land she would soon call her own. She always would.

Two young warriors walked past, spurring her onward. She began to climb the hillock, the question in her mind whether Swift Foot would come to realize she belonged here. If he didn’t, what then?

One thing was clear: she would not change her mind. Pride demanded she forget that he’d appeared to want her to do just that. Regardless of her own feelings on the matter, she’d never do anything to bring shame to her father, mother or brother, such as breaking an engagement.

“What a way to start a marriage,” she muttered.

Brushing her hair clear of her face, Small Bird let out a frustrated breath. She reached the top of a rise and stopped. Turning, she carefully studied the large Hunkpapa camp of more than thirty tipis below. Her tribe and Swift Foot’s had merged effortlessly and with almost no animosity. The positions of the new families had been decided upon by the elders: those of great importance camped on the eastern side of the camp, or horn. Her own parents commanded the southeastern position there, which would allow mother and daughter to be close to each other once she and Swift Foot wed and placed their tipi at the northeastern entrance of the village.

Surveying the village, Small Bird saw a short distance away a younger group of women surrounded by small children. Strips of antelope and buffalo hung drying on racks nearby, while cook fires steamed with chunks of meat,
tipsila,
wild onion and greens. Nuts, and dried and fresh berries sat on squares of rawhide there, inviting anyone hungry to snack. Tonight, as they had during the past week, the two tribes would eat as one.

Moving down the hill, Small Bird avoided the group of women. Her conversation with Swift Foot was still ringing in her ears, and her heart was heavy with disappointment; she wasn’t sure she could act the happy bride. Forcing a smile to her lips when an elderly woman emerged from a tipi and greeted her, Small Bird let her expression die as soon as there was no one to see the false gaiety.

Needing to be with people she knew and loved, she made her way to where three of her cousins sat. At her approach Makatah and Shy Mouse, daughters of her mother’s sister, smiled and motioned for her to sit between them. Moon Fire, her cousin from another of her mother’s sisters, ignored her. Close in age, the four girls had grown up together.

Small Bird lowered herself to the ground and folded her legs to the side. She tried to relax and find comfort in the rhythmic scrape as her cousins used rounded stones to grind chokecherries into a fine paste.

“You look sad, cousin.” Shy Mouse, the youngest among them, eyed her with concern.

Small Bird reached out and took a berry from the pouch of water in which they sat, softening before being ground. What would her cousins say if she told them that Swift Foot didn’t want her for a wife, that like a young girl with stars in her eyes, she’d thought he’d chosen her because of a shared feeling about their past?

It would shock and upset Makatah and Shy Mouse. Moon Fire would undoubtedly gloat.

Makatah smiled with understanding. “She worries about sharing the marriage bed,” she said. “Soon she will become a woman.”

Small Bird made an expression of exasperation. That was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment.

“She has more to worry about than the marriage bed,” Moon Fire said. She tossed down the rounded stone in her hand.

Makatah, the oldest, and the only one married, sent her cousin a sharp look. “And what would you know about sharing a mat with a man?”

Moon Fire shrugged, then glanced at Small Bird with secretive, sly eyes. “That is not your concern.”

Hoping to head off angry words, Small Bird reached out to take the stone bowl from Makatah. “Let me do this,” she said. “You look tired.” She needed something to do be fore she drove herself crazy.

Makatah shook her head. “No. We prepare your wedding feast. You are not to work.” Then the young woman smiled proudly and patted the barely noticeable swell of her abdomen. “Soon your belly will grow round with child, just as mine does.”

Shy Mouse giggled and blushed. She’d just celebrated becoming a woman, and spent much of her time gazing at single warriors, seeking her future mate.

Moon Fire shook her mane of shiny black hair over her shoulder, then stood, glaring down at them. “You are fools. Our cousin will be dead long before Swift Foot’s seed can grow.”

Shocked, Small Bird glared at Moon Fire. For weeks the girl had been in a foul mood. Anything to do with the wedding caused her to get angry, sulk or grow petulant.

“Why do you seek to cause trouble, Moon Fire?” Shy Mouse asked.

“She is jealous—” Makatah dismissed the question with a wave of her hand “—that she has no warrior courting her.”

Moon Fire laughed, but the sound came out as a harsh bark. “That is what you think. Many brave warriors wish to court me.” Her mouth turned hard, ruining the soft fullness of her lips.

Small Bird reached out and picked up Moon Fire’s abandoned stone bowl. Just what she needed: Moon Fire in another of her moods. At sixteen, the same age as Small Bird, her cousin was turning vain, greedy and self-centered—and lately she was becoming intolerable. “Go elsewhere if you seek to cause strife, cousin,” she said.

Once again Moon Fire tossed her long, silky hair over her shoulder. “You are a fool to marry Swift Foot.” She bent down, her eyes burning with malice. “They will come—the warriors of Hawk Eyes—and they will kill your husband. And they will kill you to prevent you from giving birth to the grandchild of Runs with Wind.”

Makatah and Shy Mouse gasped as Moon Fire spoke the name of the dead aloud. Small Bird glared at the girl for her disrespect and insensitivity. No one needed reminding that Swift Foot’s parents had been killed shortly after his birth. Least of all her.

Glancing around the sheltered area in which they camped, Small Bird felt relieved that no one else had heard. Any dishonor Moon Fire brought to herself, she would also bring to the rest of her people. The actions of the young boys of her clan toward Willow Song earlier had been shameful enough.

Her gaze swept the large camp, and Small Bird couldn’t help the wave of relief that slid through her at the many guards standing watch. Not young, inexperienced braves, these were hardened, trained warriors. Some had even positioned themselves upon the mounds of rock where they had a clear view for miles around the camp. No one would be able to attack without their being alerted.

“Swift Foot’s warriors are many now,” she said. “We will be safe. Safer than if we were alone in our few numbers.” The marriage between her and Swift Foot would join the two
tiyospayes,
or clans of the Hunkpapa. The harsh winter had taken the lives of many of Small Bird’s tribe, including their last chief, Moon Fire’s father. With so few warriors, they were vulnerable to their enemies. But all that would change.

Moon Fire laughed harshly. “The tribe of Swift Foot will face more than harsh winters. And they do not always succeed in protecting their women and children,” she reminded Small Bird cruelly. “Have you forgotten how Swift Foot lost his aunt?”