She stared at the thing, turning it round and round in her hand, where it glittered and sparkled like so many jewels.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you know, child?”
Katrina shook her head and reached back inside the bag. Nothing more was there.
“It’s wampum, Katrina. Indian wampum.”
Katrina continued to look puzzled as she gazed at the white and glittery shells set in a background of blue-and-white beads, all put together on a long belt.
“Gold to the Indians,” her uncle went on to say, “useless to the whites.”
Was this some sort of queer joke?
“This is my dowry?” She chanced a brief glance up at her uncle.
The man nodded. “Given to you by your mother.”
“My mother? But my mother was not from this place and she—” Sudden intuition had Katrina pausing, and she could think of no plausible explanation for the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes. If this were her mother’s gift to her, then… “No, it can’t be. I… My mother came from abroad. It’s what I was told. It’s what—”
“…Your father wanted you to think.”
“Wanted me to think? Are you saying that…? But, then, that would mean…” And then it happened. Within the space of a second, the whole scenario of her early life, that of her parents, fell into place, and memory of a woman with long, dark hair surfaced.
All at once, inconsistencies she had been pondering, things she hadn’t understood, began to make sense: She had felt at peace here in the West, she had known some of the Blackfoot language, she had experienced a sense of familiarity when she’d first seen the Blackfoot doll…
She was…her mother had been…
“Indian.” She didn’t realize she had said the word aloud. But she immediately sent an accusatory glance toward White Eagle. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go on thinking my mother was from the East?”
White Eagle stood motionless under the scrutiny of her glance. “It was not my place to say anything to you,” he said, lifting his shoulders. “Besides, on that first day we met, when you stepped off the white man’s mystery boat, would you have wanted to know this? I think not.”
“That’s not a good enough reason.”
“It is a fine reason.”
“There have been many more opportunities since then when you could have—”
“I did not wish to force you to have to live here. If you came to love this place, I wanted it to be because of the land, because of the people here, because it…because I became important to you; not because, once you knew you were of mixed blood, you would
have
to stay here. Besides, you seemed so proud of your mother and her fine heritage. I did not wish to spoil it.”
A tear fell down Katrina’s cheek, then another and another, but she had ceased to care. “Oh, White Eagle,” she said, “don’t you know? Haven’t you guessed how I feel? I’ve wanted to belong here for so long now, only I didn’t think that I did. I…I believe I am proud of my heritage…I have been wishing for it. I am so proud of you…I am honored to be your—”
“Your mother’s father was French,” her uncle spoke up from beside her, “and her mother was half-Blackfoot…and…” he seemed to reminisce, “…the most beautiful woman in this part of the country. Your father got her, damn his rotten soul.” The old man’s chuckle took the bite out of his words.
“And I…”
“This is your home, child…always has been. Forgive me, it was wrong of me to send you away. I thought I was doing right by your father. I forgot I needed to do right by you too.”
Katrina drew a tortured, deep breath before she threw herself into her uncle’s arms. “Oh, how I have hated you. But I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s all right, now. I would have hated me too.”
“I am…Indian?”
“Yep, part.”
“So then it wouldn’t be so wrong if I were to marry…”
“…This young strapping lad, here?” The old man glanced at White Eagle. “Always hoped you would. The two of you loved each other even as children. Seemed only right to try to get the two of you together.” The old trader suddenly glowered at White Eagle. “Where are those bride presents, young man? Hope you saved many horses in that raid on the Assiniboin. You’re gonna need them.”
White Eagle grinned at his friend and nodded. “I have many gifts to give you, old man.”
“Heard you already married her.”
“It is so.”
“Better have those gifts ready.”
White Eagle’s grin widened. “It will be so.”
“There is one more thing.” It was Katrina speaking, her uncle having settled her back onto her feet. “Am I truly penniless? My inheritance and dowry are only Indian wampum?”
“Heavens, child. What gave you that idea? Never needed your inheritance, or dowry. Your father and I have as much wealth as anyone could ever want, all in gold and silver and jewels. We’d been here so long, we’d forgotten about it. Came from an old Austrian family, your father and I, one that was sentenced to exile when one of our uncles ended up on the wrong side of a king. But never lost our wealth, never needed it either. And the fur-trade business is mighty profitable. Mighty profitable indeed.”
“But I
did
need it.”
“Nope.”
“But my lawyer said…”
“I was trying to get you out here, child. Always did believe you’d be happier here.”
“What? You mean all the money that I ever needed was in New York City all along? Then my solicitor was…”
“A friend of mine,” her uncle said shamelessly, though he did give her an anxious glance. “I was right, wasn’t I? Aren’t you happier here?”
Katrina burst out in a laugh, while tears streamed down her face. But she simply said, “I am happy here.”
Some of her emotion must have been mirrored on her uncle’s face, for she could see his eyes well up with unshed tears. He said, “The money will always be there in the future for you or for your children.”
Katrina nodded.
“Your father and I took the name of Wellington when we came to America, but our real name is Wulver, one of the richest families in Austria—”
“Wulver…I might have expected as much,” said a cultured, male voice. No one had seen Prince Maximilian come upon them. “Started to suspect something about the girl when I first began to talk to her. She had the features of someone I’d seen before and yet…”
“Why you old tyrant. What are you doing here?”
“Heard the botany of this place needed a good study. Had to come here and find out for myself.”
“That’s right. Just been telling my niece here about her inheritance and about her dowry.”
Prince Maximilian sent a glance toward Katrina and grinned. “No finer family in all of Austria.”
Katrina returned that smile.
“Excuse me,” her uncle said to Katrina and White Eagle, “we’ll talk some more later. I need to catch myself up with this old friend.”
With that, the two men strode off to the house of the bourgeois, both of them speaking in excited tones, all at the same time.
Katrina glanced at White Eagle, he back at her. Carefully, almost reverently, Katrina gripped the Indian wampum in her hand and, lifting it up toward the heavens, exclaimed, “This is my husband, White Eagle. I take him now, for always and forever.” She glanced back toward White Eagle and proffered him the gift of the dowry. “Here, my love, this is yours. A dowry is not to keep for oneself, but to give to one’s husband.”
White Eagle gave her a heartwarming smile, and said to her, “My love, Shines Like Moonlight, has at last come home. Welcome.”
There against the backdrop of never-ending prairie, majestic mountains and luminous sky, she grinned back at him, her smile gradually turning to a peal of laughter.
I have for a long time been of opinion, that the wilderness of our country afforded models equal to those from which the Grecian sculptors transferred to the marble such inimitable grace and beauty; and I am now more confirmed in this opinion, since I have immersed myself in the midst of thousands and tens of thousands of these knights of the forest; whose whole lives are lives of chivalry, and whose daily feats, with their naked limbs, might vie with those of the Grecian youths in the beautiful rivalry of the Olympian games.
No man’s imagination, with all the aids of description that can be given to it, can ever picture the beauty and wildness of scenes that may be daily witnessed in this romantic country; of hundreds of these graceful youths, without a care to wrinkle, or a fear to disturb the full expression of pleasure and enjoyment that beams upon their faces—their long black hair mingling with their horses’ tails, floating in the wind, while they are flying over the carpeted prairie, and dealing death with their spears and arrows, to a band of infuriated buffaloes; or their splendid procession in a war-parade, arrayed in all their gorgeous colours and trappings, moving with most exquisite grace and manly beauty, added to that bold defiance which man carries on his front, who acknowledges no superior on earth, and who is amenable to no laws except the laws of God and honour.
—George Catlin
Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the North American Indians, 1832
About the Author
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”
Find Karen Kay online at
www.novels-by-karenkay.com
.