Proud Wolf's Woman (17 page)

There were hundreds of names inscribed on that black rock up there, homesteaders passing through the country, leaving their signatures behind to pass into history, but she said nothing of this to Neeheeowee, not sure how to describe the concept of writing.

She remembered hearing that Pawnee Rock was also a prime camping spot for the pioneers, despite the frequency of Indian raids and attacks. Nestled in the shade of the hill, it provided the pioneers’ herds with ample grazing land and the people with water from the nearby Arkansas River.

Food was no problem either. Game abounded here, antelope, wild turkey, deer, and the ever-present scattering of buffalo.

Seated in a safe spot, under a nearby cottonwood tree, Julia let her gaze turn to the south, to the sand hills of the Arkansas valley, as barren and forlorn as the African desert, but seeing nothing there, she looked westward, over the unmarred stretch of prairie, her gaze searching out the herds of buffalo and antelope dotting the landscape.

They had been traveling from that way for some time now, and always, after they had reached the Arkansas River, there had been buffalo. But before that, before they had reached the river, there had been nothing.

She remembered again the harshness of the last few weeks of traveling. It had been a cruel trek across what she now came to realize had been the
Jornada,
or Horn Alley, as the Americans called it: a desert march.

She remembered being glad to drink of the chalky white substance Neeheeowee had called
mahpe,
not even caring anymore if the water might be contaminated.

It was also during this time that she’d become aware that they traveled the Santa Fe Trail, and she remembered wondering if she might come across white travelers. So far, though, she had seen no one…up until now.

She looked down again upon the scene below her, her gaze taking in the herd of buffalo that seemed to stretch out to the horizon. Sometimes she and Neeheeowee had been forced to move amongst those numerous herds these past few days, Neeheeowee seemingly at ease over it, Julia half-afraid of the huge beasts. Often they would follow a buffalo trail, seeking out the hollows where buffalo had lain down and rolled over and over, these spots dotting the flat, endless land as though they were shimmering aqua beads strung out on a necklace of brown and green grasses.

It was in these hollows that she and Neeheeowee would water the pony and stock up on their own water supply, if low.

She smiled, watching the sun as it began to set in the western sky, the magnificence of color there, the golds and pinks, the reds and oranges, unlike anything she’d ever seen, and as Julia watched it, she experienced a sense of well-being that was as pleasurable as it was unusual. There was something about this limitless space that did something to her: the prairie that looked more silver than green under the hot, spring sun; the grasses that waved in the wind; the expanse of sky and high clouds. Even the air seemed magnified in purity, and she breathed it in now with a satisfied sigh.

She listened to the wind, the breeze blowing the faraway sounds of the trailblazers to her.

She supposed she might have gone down there to them, since they camped so close by, but she didn’t and she wouldn’t, content to continue her travels with her Indian companion, her proud wolf.

Yes, that was how she had come to think of Neeheeowee now: Proud Wolf. It was difficult not to picture him this way; not when he tilted his head a certain way, sometimes looking down his nose at her, although she knew it was all a facade.

She wondered again at how the white man had ever come to think of the Indian woman as a slave. Clearly there were divisions of labor as to the men’s and women’s work, but Neeheeowee did not balk at taking on her tasks when she didn’t know them or couldn’t do them.

And never did he scold her nor make her feel his inferior. Never.

In truth, she had never felt so cherished.

Still, there was something else: She had never asked, she had not thought to, but she had come to understand that Neeheeowee was taking her back to Fort Leavenworth. Another chivalrous move on his part.

She straightened up, away from the tree, looking out upon the camp that Neeheeowee had pitched. Stretched out beneath a canopy of cottonwood trees, their site disappeared into the landscape. And she knew it would take more than a little expertise for anyone, even an Indian, to find their camp.

She had noticed that Neeheeowee made no moves to light a fire this night, and Julia could only assume that was because of the close presence of the pioneers. And though she had come to realize that Neeheeowee did not much fear the white man, he did go out of his way to avoid them.

She glanced over to Neeheeowee now and watched him as he worked at camp chores, untying his bow, working over the wood, even chipping away at an arrowhead and shaft. These actions had become so commonplace to her of late, she barely even noticed him doing them.

As though aware of her scrutiny, Neeheeowee inclined his head just slightly before turning it quickly to his left, a gesture which had become familiar to Julia, and she couldn’t help but believe it an Indian custom, with some meaning to it.

He looked over to her, his expression stoic, unreadable.

“Ta-naestse,”
he said, making a gesture toward her, indicating her voice. With a lift of his shoulders, he gave her to understand that he asked a question and Julia realized she had been humming, something she’d not been aware of until this moment. She stopped, but he motioned her to continue and then, possibly by way of a compliment, he smiled.

Julia was immediately captivated; so rarely did he honor her with such an expression.

She smiled back and continued to hum in tune along with the lazy fiddle, whose notes drifted up to them from the pioneer camp below. She knew the song being played down there and had she felt more at ease she might have sung along, but, being a little self-conscious, she contented herself with a mere hum.

At length, she rose, wandering to the edge of the ridge and there, looked over to the pioneer camp. Dusk had fallen all around her, bringing with it the scent of the pioneers’ campfire, the soft feel of evening air, and the nightly squawk of prairie hawks. Also, too, were the sounds of laughter and of happy music which filtered up to her. All at once, a sense of melancholy overcame her, and Julia wondered at the cause. Perhaps it was only her desire to be near to the things she had once known, or perhaps it was simply the melancholy which she had heard so often attached itself to the prairie traveler.

Whatever the cause, Julia began to recall the dances, the jigs, the excitement of being young, unattached, and in love, the thrill of being asked to dance by the most handsome of beaus.

Caught up in her reminiscence, she swayed to the rhythm of a jig, her feet finding their way into the simple steps of the dance. And all at once, she twirled once, again, until at length she spread her arms, spinning round and round, the leather fringe of her gown flowing outward and swaying like so much prairie grass in the wind.

She smiled as a slower waltz took over the beat and melody, remembering when she’d danced to this very song not so long ago.

And without even thinking about it, she curtsied as though to a suitor.

“Oh, my, yes,” she said to this most handsome of imaginary partners. “I’d be more than happy to accept this dance.”

Her arms came up to rest on her partner’s strong, invisible shoulders as he began to twirl her around and around the carpet of prairie grass, the hard earth beneath her feet her dance floor, the darkened sky overhead her ballroom.

“Are you planning to ask me to walk with you in the garden after the dance?” Julia asked into her shadowy partner’s ear, throwing her head back while the dark curls of her hair fell down around her waist.

She giggled as she pretended her fanciful partner’s reply, deeming it to be a most naughty of answers, and she feigned a blush, saying softly, “Why sir, how dare you speak to me as such.”

But when she smiled, it took the edge off her words, so that the dreamy figure holding her continued to whisper to her, the words so terribly naughty, it made Julia laugh.

She reached down, to sweep the train of her fictitious gown over her arm and then it happened.

Neeheeowee stood before her, stepping into her arms as though he were her fancied prince, his very real arms encircling her, his hand over hers.

His steps were smooth and slow, his look at her intense under the beginning shadows of a softened night.

She matched his steps, looking up to meet his gaze.

The moon appeared as an imperfect disk in the soft hush of evening, its radiance already beaming down, basking them in a glow of silvery light, and, as she looked up to him, Julia thought Neeheeowee more handsome than anyone of her acquaintance, and at this moment he bore more traits of what is considered the civilized man than anyone else, white or red.

Her one hand rested over his smooth shoulder, her other hand he clasped tightly within his own and he twirled her around their ballroom of softened prairie grass and hushed, moon-filled night. They danced as though to the tune of a hundred violins with thousands of spectators watching, yet they danced only for themselves.

The music from below had long ago ceased to play, but not so these two dancers. They swept around the circle there on the ridge, each twirl bringing her closer and closer into his arms, neither one aware that they danced to none other than the music of their own hearts.

His head came breathlessly close to hers, his lips hovering over her own and Julia, looking up, begged him silently for his kiss, her gaze pleading, her lips trembling.

She didn’t have to wait. As he completed the one last twirl, his lips pressed sweetly over hers and Julia responded as though she had waited all her life for this moment, or more particularly, seven and one-half years.

“Julia,” he murmured, his tongue sweeping into her mouth while his teeth bit gently down on her lip. His breath, tasting minty and sweet, mixed with her own.

Suddenly they stopped, her body thrust up close to his, the imprint of his masculine form forever pressed into her memory. He bent a little lower, his gaze seeking out hers until, at last, he kissed her…once, twice, again, this time raining kisses over her face, then, down to her neck, tracing the pulse at her neck with his tongue.

“Julia,” he groaned again, and she felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressed up against her.

“Love me,” she pleaded, and she might have surrendered to him right then. But she didn’t.

A gun fired off in the distance, near to the pioneer camp.

The two lovers pulled apart, Julia barely able to move, her gaze still lingering over Neeheeowee, from the silvery outline of his dark hair down over his chest, still lower to his…

She gasped and he seemed to swell.

He grabbed her hand, bringing it closer and closer to him, until with a shudder, he seemed to realize what he was doing and let her hand go, let her go, and, stepping away from her, he took several deep breaths.

But he didn’t leave. He did nothing, staring at her as though that action alone would fulfill his need.

But it didn’t. He didn’t, and as though he at last gained control over himself, he turned swiftly away, striding so quickly from her that Julia was reminded of the swift movements of an agitated stallion.

And as she watched him leave, she came up straight against a sudden realization, one she would rather not have known: Her heart went with him.

Neeheeowee, her Proud Wolf, her trusted guide. Neeheeowee, her love.

“I love him.”

She sighed. Well, at last she had admitted it. And maybe, if she were truthful, she might confess that she had always loved him, ever since they had met over seven years ago.

But she wasn’t quite so bold, nor so truthful. And so she shut her eyes instead, not quite willing to think of it.

Yet she couldn’t stop herself, and the thoughts kept coming back to her. She was in love—in love with a man who, though kind, was as foreign to her as the prairie across which they had traveled.

Neeheeowee. Proud warrior, Indian…love.

And Julia, unwilling to envision more, murmured a quick, “Oh,” and turned away, rushing toward her remote spot beneath a cottonwood tree, where, at least for this night, she could be alone.

And though the wind howled cool that evening, making red man and white alike shiver beneath their covers, neither Neeheeowee nor Julia sought out the other, both knowing what lay between them, neither one willing to acknowledge it, neither one willing to see it to fruition.

It was clearly a standoff.

Neeheeowee was perpetually alert now. It was necessary, for he no longer strode over grounds belonging to the allied tribes of the Cheyenne. He now was the intruder into the country of the Pawnee, the Kaw, and the Osage. And though the latter two tribes were weak, none would hesitate to count coup on a lone, Cheyenne scalp.

They were camped in a beautiful spot this night, where the water tasted as pure and clean as if it had been driven here from icy mountain streams, a place where trees abounded, where lush grapevines tempted one’s appetite.

It was an idyllic setting for what Neeheeowee knew would be their last night in camp, their last night together. On the morrow, they would reach the outskirts of Fort Leavenworth, and there Neeheeowee would set Julia free.

Free. It was what he had intended to do all along, to bring Julia home, to set her free.

Why, then, did he feel a great sadness?

They could have arrived at the fort a few days earlier, but Neeheeowee had deliberately delayed along the way, not quite willing to part ways…yet, leave one another, they must. Julia had her life to live there amongst her own people, and he…he had to consider his deceased wife and unborn child, his resolve to avenge their deaths, to free their spirits.

There was nothing here for him with Julia. Nothing. Just the stirrings of his body and the tempting sensations of his spirit. Once she was gone, so, too, would his body return to his own control.