Lakota Honor (4 page)

He pushed her away and growled, "Go home, little girl."

She almost tripped and fell, but grabbed onto a tree to catch herself. She stared at him. Had he told her to go home? He wasn't going to kill her?

He slid the knife into the leather sheath strapped to his pant leg, and she saw more scars around his wrists. Nora's hands heated and before she knew what was happening, she took a step toward him.

His head shot up and he glared at her.

"I'm Nora." What the hell was she thinking? The man almost killed her.
But he didn't and he'd been hurt badly one time in his life.

He continued to glare at her. "Go home."

His voice reminded her of sand paper run along a block of wood and the low baritone key on the church organ.

"Are…are you passing through Willow Creek?"
Do as he says. Go home. What am I thinking?

"Are you deaf? I said leave." He pointed behind her. "Go home."

He spoke English well. She assessed his face, his clothes, his skin tone. He wasn't only native, he was white, too.

He hadn't moved his arm from the stiff position.

She glanced in the direction he'd pointed with no intentions of leaving. Something about him fascinated her. At first she was scared to death and now she wanted to know something—anything—about him.

"I'm quite capable of finding my way home, mister."

He spoke in his language, and she knew by the way his face twisted with fury he was angry. He pulled the wide blade from its sheath, and sinister eyes glared into hers. His full lips lifted up at the corners, but not in a kind way and he ran the tip of the knife along his cheek.

She retreated. He advanced until they stood so close she could smell campfire on his skin.

He grabbed her braid and weaved the knife through it. "What a nice trophy this would make."

He is going to scalp me!
She closed her eyes and enlisted any courage she had left deep inside her. She wasn't going down without a fight. She stood taller and lifted her chin. Inside she was panicking, but she'd rather die than allow him to take her beautiful hair.

He laughed, but there was nothing merry about it. He pulled a clump of hair from her braid and sliced it from her head.

She gasped and felt her head where he'd cut the hair.

He pointed the blade, the tip pricking her throat. "Go. Before I change my mind and take it all."

Without so much as a second thought, she rushed through the forest she loved, leaving behind the birds and the eerie stranger who scared and excited her at the same time.

CHAPTER SIX

Nora ran as fast as she could over the uneven ground. Branches slapped her face and pulled at her hair as she went by. She didn't look back until she stepped onto the path behind the hotel. Her heart thumped, and she wheezed low moans from her throat. She slumped against a tall spruce, put her hand on her chest and shivered as she glanced behind her into the dense forest. The dark trees were no longer welcoming. But she was more concerned with the stranger that lurked among them.

She turned and almost collided with Elwood's dog, Savage. The black half-wolf was wild and mean. Savage's fur was matted and dirty. An ugly looking scar that pulled the skin sat above his left eye and deformed the face. The hair on top of his head stood up, and his ears lay back and pointed. He hunched low as a deep threatening growl rumbled toward her. She glanced up at the street beyond the buildings. Where had he come from?

"Savage," she said in a commanding voice.

The dog's lip curled, large fangs dripped with saliva. The dog had chewed through the rope that tied him to the fancy wagon, and she doubted Elwood even knew he was missing.

Savage growled.

If she weren't in danger of losing a limb, she would've thought his growl sounded more like a giant cat's purr, a roll of the tongue making the sound rippled. Her toes scrunched, and she realized while running for her life in the forest, she had forgotten her boots.
Great.

Savage crouched lower. The hair on his neck stood and his tongue dashed out to lick his fangs.

Oh, this isn't going to be good.
All animals could smell fear and she stunk of it. Sweat trickled down her neck. She didn't dare move her hands from her sides, for fear the deranged animal would see her shaking and lunge for her throat.

She spotted the mercantile and the blacksmiths next door. She was so close to home. If she screamed would there be enough time for someone to come running and stop the animal from ripping her to shreds?
I doubt it. Besides, Elwood may be the one running and he's the last person I want to see.

Another growl and this time a large paw stepped toward her.

Oh dear.
She loved all animals, but this one was different. He was mean and wouldn't think twice about ripping her arm off. She thought of the stranger in the woods. He was similar to the wolf-dog. He, too, was a mixed breed, who would hurt, or even kill if the opportunity arose. After all, he was going to scalp her.
But he didn't.
Yes, yes, he didn't but his dark eyes said he would
. And she knew without a doubt he was capable of anything.

His presence exuded arrogance—it reeked of danger, need and hunger. By taking his knife to her hair he'd accomplish scaring her to death, and making her run away terrified. She glanced at the dog, now two feet from her. She inched back into the tree, trying to melt into the trunk.

Savage growled.

"Savage, you go home." Her voice trembled. "You heard me. Now get going, right now."

The filthy animal barked and showed his teeth.

I'm dead.

"Nora, Nora," Joe yelled from between two buildings. He leaned into his walking sticks and waved.

She didn't dare move. The dog was so close now she could feel his breath on her hand. Joe's feet shuffled in the grass. She wanted to yell at him to go home, but didn't move for fear Savage would strike. She watched as Joe struggled to get to her. How she'd love to heal his mangled legs. Her hands grew hot and tingled.
I can't help him. If Elwood found out, he'd never stop pursuing me.

Joe came up beside her. "Why ya way out here? Out here?"

She watched as his beautiful blue eyes rolled; something she'd seen him do many times.

Savage growled again.

"Oh, puppy, stop it. Stop it. " Joe reached for the dog.

Savage twisted his head and dug his teeth into Joe's hand.

Joe screamed and clutched his bleeding hand to his chest. He shook his head from side to side and opened and closed his eyes repeatedly.

Nora kicked the dog's snout with her bare foot and felt the jab of sharp teeth against her toes. She kicked him again, this time in the side. The horrible beast lunged at her and she kicked him harder. She knew the dog wouldn't stop now that he'd tasted blood.

She picked up the crutch Joe had dropped and swung at the dog catching him in the neck. He rolled backward and shook his head before he came at her again. This time she was ready. She'd never played baseball, but she watched a few games out on the church lawn. She positioned the crutch like a bat. Joe screamed in the background as Savage leapt toward her. She squeezed her eyes and swung. The wooden stick vibrated in her hands. The dog yelped and began to whimper.

She opened her eyes. Joe was crying and Savage lay on the grass, whining.
What have I done?
She dropped the crutch and knelt in front of him, but he got up and limped away. She stood and watched Savage until he disappeared into the trees behind them. Joe's crying became louder. She went to him and took his hand. The boy was beyond sobbing now, he gasped as fat tears messed his face. There was blood everywhere, and Nora's stomach rolled.

"I will fix it, Joe. I promise."

The boy's body rocked back and forth, and he almost lost his balance.

"Joe, you need to sit down."

He shook his head again, and she didn't know if he was answering her or if this was one of his odd behaviours. She slid the stick out from under Joe's arm and leaned him against her. She lowered them both to the ground. With Joe positioned against the tree, she took his hand once more.

Oh my.
The tip of Joe's thumb hung by a few pieces of flesh. She couldn't see the rest of his hand, there was too much blood. Nora's hands shook with the need to heal him. Red blotches covered her palms, and the tips of her fingers were the color of Joe's bloodstained ones. She wondered if he would tell anyone, or what his reaction may be once she made this right. There was no time to debate the outcome. She needed to heal him.

Joe continued to cry, rocking back and forth.

"Here we go." She placed her hands on his to bring the thumb into place with the torn bone and flesh. The heat in her palms intensified and she squeezed.

Joe tried to pull away, but she held him to her. The boy's pain shot down her arms to nestle back into her own thumb. She swayed. The earth spun around her. She dug her knees into the grass and closed her eyes. She absorbed the wound until she felt the thumb was no longer dislodged.

The boy was silent when she released his hand.

She walked a few feet away into the forest where she threw up all over the bushes. She waited and vomited a second time. Still light-headed, she wiped her mouth with her apron and faced Joe.

The boy held his hand in front of his face. The thumb no longer bloody and looking horrid.

"How's your hand, Joe?" She knelt in front of him.

"It's all better. Look, Nora. Look." He shoved his hand into her face.

She giggled. "I see that. Are you okay now?"

The boy smiled and his eyes lit up. "You made me better. You. You. You," he shouted.

She smiled.

"Yes, Joe, I did. But you mustn't tell anyone."

"I know. I know. Like a secret."

"Like a secret,' she confirmed and squeezed his hand.

He tilted his head and scrutinized her for a long time before asking, "Are you a witch?"

The word sobered her. All of Pa's fears echoed in her mind. "No, Joe, I am not a witch."

"They're real you know. Pa says. Pa says."

"I'm sure they are, but I am not one of them." She eyed him. Did he believe her? She didn't need him telling folks she was a witch. People didn't like someone different, and if word of her gift got out they'd lynch her for sure.

"What are you? What are you?"

Nora sat a moment. She'd done this enough times to know the right answers. But she'd never healed someone like Joe, someone with a simple mind.

"Well, I'm—

"I know. You're a good witch." He smiled.

Oh dear.
"No. No I'm not a bad, or a good witch, Joe. I'm just a girl with a gift."

"Like a present? A present?"

"Yes, like a present." She could work with this. "You know on Christmas morning how all the gifts are wrapped and under the tree?"

He shook his head and glanced at the ground.

She wondered why he didn't know. Elwood must buy his son gifts at Christmas. She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Well, they are wrapped up so you don't see what's inside. Like me. I'm wrapped up so no one sees my gift."

"Oh, you're a special present."

"That's right." She smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Nora, Nora I won't tell anyone you're a present," he whispered.

"Thank you, Joe. You're a good friend." She hugged him. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."

She took his hand and wiped the blood as best she could onto her apron. She looked like she'd slaughtered a chicken, but there were no signs of trauma on Joe.

"I'm going to head home and get cleaned up. Then I'll come back to the hotel and play a game of cards with you in the dining room."

She stood, helped him up and handed him his crutches.

"Okay. Okay!"

They walked to the street and before she left him, Nora brought her index finger to her lips. "Shhh."

Joe smiled and limped toward the hotel door.

Nora's feet were sore and her big toe was cut from Savage's teeth when she'd kicked him. She needed her boots. They were the only pair she had. She'd go home first and change then head into the forest to find them, before going to see Joe.

As she got closer to home, the morning altercation with her father came rushing back. Was he home? She doubted it. He'd go to work, because he didn't want to see her. Nora's eyes misted. She'd never felt so alone. Pa didn't want anything to do with her, other than to tell her where she could go and what she could do. There were no conversations about her day, no card games, no moments filled with laughter. They didn't talk to each other anymore. She was isolated in the tiny shack, forbidden friends, enemies and love.

She hiked up her skirt and climbed through the window. The smell of vomit filled her nostrils. Pa hadn't cleaned up the mess. She glanced at her bloodied, muddy apron and decided not to remove it until everything was tidied. She placed her ear to the door to listen, in case he was still home. Silence.

In the kitchen, she stood back and assessed the situation. Pa had left his clothes, dirty and smelling to high heaven, in a pile on the floor. The cushions on the sofa were still wet from his vomit.
Oh Pa. What am I going to do with you?
She tossed the clothes out onto the porch to be washed. She filled two buckets, threw Pa's clothes into one and carried the other one back inside.

From her knees she scrubbed the fabric on the sofa as best she could and sprinkled baking soda on top to rid it of the awful smell. Next she opened all the windows to air out the house and washed the floors. Nora's hair hung from her braid in damp wisps that stuck to her cheeks. The hammering and clanking from the shop echoed into the kitchen, and she wondered if she should go and see how her father was faring. The gesture would anger him. She'd be better off fetching her boots.

She peeked at the clock on the mantel. It was ten minutes past noon, and Pa wasn't coming home for lunch. He wouldn't be able to keep anything down anyway. Knowing it was safe to escape for a while, she went out the window.

Otakatay packed up his bedroll and tied it behind his saddle. He didn't like being this close to town. He inspected the place he'd slept for three nights. All evidence that he'd slept there had disappeared under the thick blanket of branches and leaves.

He mounted Wakina and guided the animal through the trees. Noise from town pushed through the swaying leaves to swirl around
him. Horses pulled wagons, boot heels clicked on the wooden walk and children's laughter eased into his mind. He set his jaw against the reminders of a life he hadn't been allowed to enter. The streets he'd never walked along without being stared at or judged. The homes he'd never been invited into.

His eyes narrowed and his rugged features hardened. He grabbed the reins once more. He hated the wasichu. He hated their towns and their homes and the very ground they walked on. He hated that he had to mingle within their communities and buy goods from their establishments.

He tightened his hold on the reins until his knuckles paled. The white man took what he wanted without thinking of the consequences. They held themselves higher than any other creation while they pranced around like kings in this rough, uncivilized land.

His father was white, the first wasichu he learned to hate. Buck Morgan had been a useless piece of shit, mean to the very core and Otakatay despised him. He wished that instead of killing the snake so quickly he'd have prolonged his suffering. The son of a bitch hadn't deserved to live as long as he did. Otakatay ground his teeth until his jaw ached.