White Wolf (33 page)

She shrugged. “They interfered where they had no business.”

“They love ya, lass. Can’t blame ’em fer that.”

Tears threatened once again. It used to be that only fights with her brothers could reduce her to tears. For a fleeting moment she wished things could return to the simple, everyday life she’d once known, but then she’d never have fallen in love.

When Rook cleared his throat, she glanced at him. “Maybe, maybe not,” she answered. “They should’ve talked to me first. They’re always making decisions that affect me without asking. It’s wrong. I’m old enough to handle things my own way.”

Rook lifted his brow and resumed his whittling. “Well, now, what’s done is done. You make yer peace with them, and soon. It’s tearin’ ya apart, and don’t ya be denyin’ it.”

Jessie sent Rook another pained look. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on one fisted hand as she watched Rook whittle away at the wood. “I know they meant no harm, maybe were even trying to help. I’ll settle with them soon.” She gave a weak grin. “They can suffer just a tad more.”

“That’s my lass. Now, off to bed with you, and don’t you worry none ’bout Wolf. He’s a stubborn cuss, but he’ll come around. Just be patient.”

She hugged Rook. He’d become more father than friend. “I hope you’re right.”

Rook lifted a brow. “’Course I’m right. Now off with ya. Give an old man his peace afore bedtime.”

Star Dreamer shivered despite the warm nighttime breeze sweeping across the land. Nearby, her parents and siblings slept. How she envied their ability to sleep. She longed to fall into a deep, soothing sleep, but it wouldn’t happen. The visions were growing stronger, more frequent as they neared the white man’s fort. The brief flashes of color and emotion haunted her day and night. But those she could handle.

What troubled her now was the cry. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she rested her forehead on her warm leggings, wishing for her husband’s comforting arms. But Two-Ree was on guard duty near the hobbled horses. She cleared her mind, concentrating on the sounds of the
Maka:
the chirp of insects, the brush of rodents scurrying through the night and the gentle sound of water slapping the bank of the nearby stream. For a time, it worked. Then, unbidden, it came.

The cry of a child. Star Dreamer shuddered, and a low, guttural moan escaped from her tightly clenched lips as images flashed across the lids of her eyes. And she was frightened by what she saw: the green-eyed woman and a child in the clutches of an evil two-headed form. When strong hands closed over her shoulders she cried out. The tender words of her husband reassured her as he drew her into his embrace and held her securely while she cried noiselessly. Nearby, Striking Thunder rose to stand guard. He met the worried gazes of his mother, father and sister, none of whom were asleep.

Jessie kept her gaze trained on the ground to avoid the blinding glare of the sun bouncing off the sandy prairie. Clouds of dust hung in the air, and it was stifling hot. In short, it was another miserable day on the trail. She sneezed, then choked on the thick waves of dust that rose from the prairie. The square of calico she held to her nose did little good.

Swatting at an annoying insect crawling on her arm, she grimaced when dust rose from the long sleeve of her shirt. Over the past week she’d been forced to wear the same blue flannel shirt and woolen pants. First their group had been assaulted by a dust storm, which left a thick layer of dust everywhere. Then two days later a rainstorm turned the dust to clinging mud. She was at least grateful that her woolen pants offered protection against the heat of the sun’s rays and the sudden drops in temperature at night. After leaving Scotts Bluff six days ago, they’d followed the trail through Mitchell Pass which was more popular than the older Robidoux Pass.

Coralie fell into step beside Jessie, then nervously looked behind them. “You don’t think those Indians will follow us, do you?” Yesterday they’d stopped for the night a few miles from the Grattan massacre site and were visited by a large band of fierce-looking Indians.

Jessie shook her head. “Wolf says there’s nothing to fear.” The evening had been fraught with tension, made worse by whispered reminders of the massacre that had taken place nearby several years before. Though Wolf tried to reassure everyone that they had nothing to fear, fear nonetheless ran high. He’d finally divided the men into groups to rotate guard duty and had even remained on hand to keep a close eye on things. She’d hoped he would come to her, but he hadn’t. Depression fell upon her.

Coralie leaned close and lowered her voice. “Those Indians seemed so savage. Wolf gave them some cattle and horses. He bribed them not to attack us, didn’t he?” She shuddered and drew a shaky breath. “I heard Lars and Rook talking about that massacre. It sounded like it just happened,” she babbled, throwing worried looks over her shoulder.

Jessie hooked her arm through her sister-in-law’s and squeezed, putting her own troubles on hold to reassure Coralie. “Quit stewing, Corie. Rook told me they didn’t give Wolf any trouble. Seems they’re also Sioux Indians. As for the massacre, that happened a couple years ago. Some soldiers tried to arrest several Sioux Indians for killing and eating a stray cow that belonged to a Mormon emigrant.”

Coralie bit her lip. “But the Indians killed the soldiers. I heard Rook telling the story last night. Only one soldier made it back to Fort Laramie before he died. Rook said the Indian chief also died.” She wrung her hands in front of her. “I’ll sure be glad to reach Fort Laramie. After all that horrible noise those savages made last night, I just know I won’t sleep unless there are soldiers nearby.”

“Come on, Coralie. We’re safe enough,” Jessie said, giving her a gentle shake.

Morning gave way to afternoon. Jessie relieved Rickard to give him a break. In the wagon train, both man and beast plodded along the vapid trail, shuffling through sand a foot deep, kicking up clouds of dust that lingered in the air, making it hard for Jessie even to see the wagon in front of her.

During the hot afternoons, it wasn’t unusual to see men sitting or standing on the wagon tongues, nodding off or resting with their hands planted on the rumps of the oxen. But at some point, someone would swat their oxen halfheartedly and remind the sluggish beasts to keep moving.

Up ahead, Elliot grumbled those very same words to his team.

Without glancing up, Jessie mechanically repeated the words, then jerked her head up to listen for Rook, who walked behind her. This daily form of prairie telegraph amused her. Commands were repeated up and down the long line of wagons from one man to another. Sure enough, she heard Rook’s admonishment— “Get up thar” —his voice as sluggish as the oxen. Jessie would have grinned, but she felt too tired and lethargic. Instead she grimaced, a wave of depression and regret overcoming her, stemming in part from lack of sleep and partly from the man riding ahead of them on his big black horse.

She lifted her eyes, her gaze straining through the clouds of dust for a glimpse of her husband, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Since becoming man and wife, they hadn’t exchanged more than a few polite words at mealtimes. A dull ache of hopelessness spread through her. How she missed him—missed the secret smiles and the stolen kisses they’d shared behind the wagons or shielded by their horses. Her body felt bereft of their sweet lovemaking in the darkened prairie.

And now that she didn’t have them, those stolen hours beneath the stars seemed all the more precious. But what she missed most was what followed their loving. Sated, cuddled together, they’d talked late into the night, about everything and nothing. Her shoulders slumped further. Wolf was still angry, and she didn’t blame him. His pride had taken a beating. She smacked her fist into her palm. Damn her interfering brothers. She took a calming breath, then regretted it when she choked on dust. Coughing, she dropped back to the rear of the wagon and uncovered the water barrel. Filling the tin cup hanging on the inside, she drank the tepid water. Though stale, it relieved her parched throat. She resumed her place beside the lumbering oxen.

Coralie left Elliot’s side. “Elliot’s not very good company right now.” She pouted. “This is so boring! There’s nothing to do all day but walk and stare at a bunch of scraggly bushes.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. Though her sister-in-law had matured, some things hadn’t changed. Of course, not so long ago she herself would have made a snide comment back to her, so Jessie supposed she too had matured. With fondness in her voice, she spoke to Coralie much as one would talk to a young child. “Where’s your knitting?” she asked.

Coralie threw up her arms. “Ruined. It’s just ruined. I’ve dropped five stitches and can’t get them back on the needle, and now they’ve unraveled too far down. I’ll never learn to knit,” she wailed, moving over to the wagon tongue. She sat, securing her skirts around her legs so they wouldn’t get caught in the wheels.

Jessie bit back a laugh as she watched Coralie scoot as far from the rumps of the oxen as she could. She was practically hugging the wagon front. “It takes time, Coralie. Be patient. You’ll learn. Why don’t you take it to Anne tonight? She can help you straighten it out.”

“Coralie, I’d be happy to give you a hand tonight after my babies are asleep,” Eirica said softly. “Do you mind if I join you? The children have finally fallen asleep.”

“You know you’re always welcome, Eirica, but shouldn’t you be resting also?” Jessie asked, eyeing the rounded belly that clothing no longer hid.

Eirica wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you start in on me, Jessie. Having your brother constantly nagging after me to ride or rest is quite enough, thank you,” she said primly. She glanced over her shoulder as if watching out for James.

“He cares for you, Eirica.”

Eirica shook her head. “I’m just an added commitment he took on because he thinks he’s obligated to.” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. Your brother is a good man, but he doesn’t need a ready-made family. He deserves a nice young woman and a chance to start his own family, and I need to prove to myself that I can take care of me and mine.”

Jessie heard the thread of wistfulness in Eirica’s voice but wisely kept her mouth shut. James loved Eirica; there was no doubt in her mind of that. She could see it in his eyes. But Eirica had to discover it on her own. After all, she knew firsthand what well-meaning interference could do. Silence fell. It was just too difficult to talk with the choking dust. Coralie jumped off the wagon tongue with a disgusted squeal when one of oxen added his share of the cow patties to the prairie.

Wolf alternated between riding ahead of the wagons and keeping an eye on the livestock, even though he didn’t anticipate any trouble from the band of Lakota Brule Indians who had paid them a visit last night. So far the emigrants had dealt mostly with the Pawnees who held the territory along the Platte River on the other side of Scotts Bluff. They were for the most part curious and friendly, seeking to trade or to beg food and clothing when they wandered into camp. But the Sioux Indians who’d visited last night, with their striking colors of paint slashed across their cheeks, foreheads and chests, had not been out for friendly trade. They had eyed the horses and wagons with malevolent intent.

But once they’d learned that Wolf was of the Miniconjou tribe, son of Golden Eagle, the mighty warriors had welcomed him as brother. The Brule, Miniconjou and Hunkpapa, his mother’s tribe, all belonged to the Teton branch of the Sioux. But despite Wolf’s Indian blood and their respect for Golden Eagle and Striking Thunder, they still expected payment for crossing their land. The bargaining went on for hours. He’d finally agreed to a dozen head of cattle, two horses, flour, tobacco, a sack of coffee, a battered coffeepot and some calico shirts brought along for trading purposes. In return, the warriors agreed not to harass any more wagons that summer.

He stifled a yawn. Red Hunter and his warriors had deliberately carried on late into the night with their shrieks and yells, forcing Wolf to stand guard—to keep the emigrants from overreacting and doing something foolish. He drew abreast of Rook, who was riding his horse.

The old man lifted bushy brows. “How long ya gonna keep that lass of yours waitin’, lad?”

Wolf rolled his shoulders. “Not your concern, old man.”

“Well, now, I reckon when two people can’t sleep at night, it affects everyone. That girl is as tired as you, and you’re both techy.” He fell silent a moment. “Weren’t her fault, ya know.”

“Makes no difference. You know how it is. What kind of life can I offer her?”

“Ya know, lad, ya might see more if ya open yer eyes. Sometimes the answers we seek are right there afore us.” With that, Rook dismounted and took his place beside his oxen.

A few hours later they were within sight of Fort Laramie. Wolf rode ahead and located an area along the Laramie River with ample grazing. As he stared out at the fort three miles off in the distance, he decided they would remain there for a couple of days. Every man, woman, child and animal needed a break from the monotonous, strenuous days of travel. Between heat, exhaustion and the tensions within his party, morale had fallen to an all-time low. The oxen also needed extra rest to regain their strength before continuing onward. When the wagons caught up with him, he announced his intentions.

The gloomy mood lifted. The emigrants cheered and laughed as they formed their wagon circle. Instead of following his usual pattern of riding out to help with the herd, Wolf sat on his stallion and watched Jessie unhitch her oxen, check them over and turn them loose to graze.

His wife. He sighed. What was he going to do? Neither of them could continue this way much longer. The strain was telling on both of them. Over the last few days, he’d spent many hours thinking about his marriage. Was it possible to make it work? He envisioned her in his life,
sharing his cabin, visiting with his family. He thought of his mother, of her desire to see him settled. Yes, she’d approve.

He spent most of each summer with his people. Dove would be pleased to have a sister-in-law who shared her love of a good hunt. He remembered how the buffalo massacre had upset Jessie, and he knew she’d approve of his people’s method of hunting, of taking only what they needed and wasting nothing. He tipped his head back. He had no doubt she could handle the harsh life, and, knowing Jessica, she’d thrive on it.

She was strong, brave, resourceful and smart. And not only was she a fast learner, she was a good teacher. He knew that she helped Anne and Eirica with the schooling of their children, taught Rickard to use a whip and was giving the older Svensson boys shooting lessons. He grinned despite the grimness of the situation. She’d even taught Shorty a thing or two on the art of spitting. Amazing. His wife a champion spitter. Again the word rolled through him. His
wife.
She was his. He thought of Jessie telling him that together they could work to help his people. It looked as though there was no choice. He would never leave her alone and defenseless now.

His grandmother’s words came back to him. He cleared his mind and heart and opened himself to the voice of the spirits. Peace stole over him as he examined his feelings for Jessie and the place she held in his heart. She fit there, as if she’d been meant to fill that void within him. His doubts fled. The dreams were right. Jessie was the one, the key. Together they’d form a team. Wolf squared his shoulders. He loved Jessica Jones with all his heart, and regretted the time lost due to his battered pride. Lighter at heart, he decided to pack enough supplies for two days and take her away into the mountains so they could be alone. He’d tell her what was in his heart and confess his love.

But what if she’d changed her mind? What if she didn’t love him anymore? Had he killed her love? That small, niggling doubt set his stomach to churning. Just then she turned and stared right at him. The wind lifted her hair and blew it around her face. His fingers twitched with the urge to brush it away, and when her lips parted, his gut tightened. He fought the temptation to sweep her into his arms and take her away right then so he could lose himself in her sweet loving. Instead he yanked on the reins and galloped toward the herd of cattle. He had supplies to gather.

Jessie watched her husband ride away as if a herd of demons were nipping at his heels. She smiled with satisfaction. It meant he wasn’t as cool and unaffected as he pretended to be. But that knowledge did her little or no good. She still didn’t know how to repair the damage her brothers had caused. She went in search of Rook. “Do you need me this afternoon?” she asked.

He glanced up from unloading one of the wagons. “Don’t reckon I’ll need ya till dinner. What are ya planning, lass?”

Jessie shrugged. “Just going to explore. I need some thinking time.”

Rook sent her an understanding look. “Watch your step out there, and don’t be gone long.”

Jessie grabbed a canteen from her wagon and stuffed some dried meat into her pockets. She contemplated riding but remembered she’d have to cross the Laramie River. From what she’d heard, there was a footbridge, but she wasn’t sure it would hold the weight of a horse and rider. She decided to walk the three miles. It would give her time to think. Sadie ran after her, looking at her expectantly. “No, girl, you stay here.”