Frontier Courtship (11 page)

She proceeded to the door, then paused and turned. “I know you don’t understand a word I’m saying, but I am grateful. I doubt anyone I know back home would have welcomed you the way you’ve welcomed me.” The corners of her mouth lifted once again. “I just wish you smiled a little more.”

To her surprise, the Cheyenne women not only smiled, they began to giggle.

Connell hoped Faith had seen his signal and was trailing along behind, as was the custom. He hadn’t dared speak to her as he passed or break stride while accompanying Black Kettle on through the camp. To do so could have caused him to lose face, setting him back a long way in his negotiations to free Irene.

He’d figured from the start that he’d have to either buy her or convince the chief she was already his wife and therefore belonged to him. Now that he’d seen how important her so-called skill was to the Cheyenne, however, he suspected he’d have to rethink his plan.

If Irene had been adopted into that Cheyenne band, his task would have been much easier. As chief, Black Kettle was supposed to set an example of benevolence for his subjects, which meant he would take no personal revenge if Irene decided to run off. Moreover, the chief was wearing a scalp shirt, indicating that he bore an even bigger burden to live in peace with tribal members. Both of those elements could work to Connell’s advantage as long as he didn’t push his demands too far.

Above all, it was critical he find a way to be alone with Irene and learn her exact situation. Then they could work together to secure her freedom. In theory, that sounded easy. In truth, the problem was far from simple. And speaking of solving insurmountable problems, he still had Faith to worry about, too.

Connell altered his even strides just enough for a quick glance back. The sight that greeted him was so comical he nearly burst out laughing.

Black Kettle noticed and paused to look back, too. The men’s eyes met in shared good humor.

“She is brave,” Black Kettle said.

Nodding, Connell chuckled. “Sometimes too brave.”

“The little ones like her.”

“True.” The plainsman laughed, incredulous. “I hope they don’t tear her to shreds proving it.”

As he watched, Faith struggled to make forward progress while surrounded by a gaggle of excited children, some barely big enough to walk. He could tell she was speaking to them because she kept bending down, first one way, then another, in response to a tug on her skirt or a tap on her arm. One little girl of about five was holding up a miniature cradle-board with a doll made of deer hide tucked inside.

Faith barely had time to properly admire the doll when another girl thrust a tiny brown puppy into her arms. She held it the same way the child had, like a baby, and rocked it, much to all the children’s delight. When the pup started to wiggle then lunged up to lick Faith’s face, the entire group burst into riotous laughter.

Eyes twinkling, smile bright, Faith’s gaze met Connell’s and he was struck by the fact he’d never before seen her look so happy. She was like a child, herself, a carefree girl enjoying an amusing time with friends. Had she been that lighthearted before her mother had died and she’d been forced to take charge of her foolhardy sister? he wondered. Or had she always been the serious, overly conscientious person he’d helped at Fort Laramie?

Whichever it was, he was glad to see her smiling now. Very glad.

T
hough Irene and the medicine man went on ahead, Connell and the chief waited until Faith and her playful entourage drew nearer. When the little ones stopped in deference to Black Kettle’s authority, Faith did, too.

She was still holding the squirming puppy in her arms and grinning. “Sorry you had to wait,” she told Connell. “I would have been here sooner but somebody made me designated babysitter and I have no idea how to quit the job!”

“They’re just curious about you,” Connell said. “And little wonder. They probably think you sprouted from the earth like a stalk of corn.”

“Why would they think that?” His cursory glance at her muddy clothing answered the question. “Never mind. I get the idea. Do you suppose I—?” She’d been about to say
Irene,
and stopped herself in the nick of time. “I mean, would it be possible for me to clean up while we’re here? I’d love to be able to wash.”

“How about your ribs?” the plainsman asked. “Don’t you need them wrapped again?”

“I told you before. They’re fine.”

“Humph. I didn’t believe you the first time you gave me that story and I certainly don’t believe it now. Not after the manhandling you got from Stuart.”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted.

Sobering, Connell turned to Black Kettle and they began to converse in Cheyenne.

When he again faced Faith he said, “We’ll be given a lodge for the next two days. After that, everybody will break camp and move north to follow the buffalo for better hunting.”

He waited, watching her face until he saw the full portent of his statement register. The moment she opened her mouth, he interrupted. “That’s right. One lodge. Don’t look so shocked. It’s the custom in all the tribes. Families live and work together. In
harmony.
”

“But…”

“As my niece, you will be expected to cook and clean and care for the teepee while I go out hunting with the braves.” He smiled benevolently. “Actually, it’s not all that different from the arrangement we had before.”

“You didn’t bunk in my wagon!”

“We have no choice.”

“Well, I have a choice. I’m not sleeping with you!”

Standing off to one side, Black Kettle began to chuckle, then said in perfect English, “I am glad she is your kinsman, Pale Hawk. Forget what I said about making a trade. I would not have such a prickly pear if you gave her to me with a hundred fine horses.”

The lodge they were assigned was on the outskirts of the village. Connell entered first and Faith followed. In the center, directly below the vent hole at the top, a small fire smoldered. Buffalo robes lay at one end of the room, hair-side down, and folded leather parfleches filled with dried fruit and meat hung like decorated saddlebags from the slanting rafters. The only worn or soiled things in the room were the sparse trappings they’d had with them while traveling, including Connell’s rifle scabbard and Grandmother Reeder’s quilt.

“This place looks brand-new,” Faith marveled.

“It is.” He closed the door flap for more privacy. “It belongs to a newly married couple. They’ll stay with relatives until we’re gone.”

“How unfair! We can’t let them give up their home.”

“We can’t refuse. It would be disrespectful. The fact that we were offered this lodge shows we’re highly valued guests.”

“Oh.” She walked slowly around the perimeter and assessed the fine handwork on the parfleches as well as the embroidery on the tent lining. “This is beautiful. Did the bride make all this?”

“Probably none of it,” Connell explained. “It’s customary for her mother to prepare the lodge and pitch it near her own, then furnish it just as you see it and present it as a gift. Sometimes other relatives contribute things, too, but it’s the bride’s mother who’s in charge.”

“Won’t she be resentful of us? Most women would be.”

“If she is she won’t show it,” Connell said. “One of the things the white man doesn’t understand about the Indian is his sacrifices for the common good. Even though tribes make war with each other, there’s very little dissension within the bands. If a man is poor or sick, the others take care of his family’s needs without hesitation.”

“We do the same back home,” Faith argued.

“Really? After the tornado blew your house away, how many of your neighbors offered you another house, or even a bed?”

“They would have if they could have. They’d been hit hard, too. Everybody suffered terrible losses.”

“I understand that,” Connell said. “But out here another branch of the tribe would have brought all they owned, if necessary, and given it to you with no strings attached. In return, all you’d have been expected to do was try to get back on your feet and someday do the same for another needy neighbor.”

“That’s like the scripture, ‘Do unto others’!”

“Exactly.”

“How wonderful.”

“Yes, it is. But that isn’t all there is to this culture. Rules are strict. Customs can seem harsh. Even cruel. Justice is swift and deadly. Tribal life is not for the fainthearted.” He looked at her tellingly. “Or a good place for a lone, unprotected woman.”

“I know what you mean. So, how are we going to save Irene?”

Connell snorted. “That’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself ever since I saw how important she’s become to the Cheyenne. I need to know more details, which is why you won’t have to worry about me getting in your way tonight, Little Muddy Dove Woman.”

She ignored the jest. “Why not? Where will you be?”

“Standing under a blanket in front of Irene’s lodge and waiting to properly court my future bride,” he said flatly. “If she plays by the rules and comes out, she’ll join me under the blanket and we can huddle together to talk privately—all night, if necessary—as long as we stay in the public view.”

“What if she doesn’t come out?”

“Then I may have to abduct her.”

Faith couldn’t help the catch in her breath. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not for Irene and me. Even if Black Kettle weren’t the chief, he’s wearing a scalp shirt. Both dictate his code of conduct. If he came after us he’d be breaking a taboo and proving he’s not worthy to remain chief.” The plainsman’s brow furrowed. “But that doesn’t prevent him from getting even another way. You and Ab might have to pay dearly if I left you behind.”

“You wouldn’t!” she blurted, immediately penitent when she saw the hurt in his eyes. Her voice gentled. “No, of course you wouldn’t. I know that. And I’ll do whatever I can to help you free your beloved Irene. I promise.”

Without a word, Connell nodded, turned and walked out.

In minutes, a girl of about fifteen arrived bringing food, water and a soft, pale deerskin shift. Faith had never been so thrilled to receive new clothes in her entire life. She slipped out of her dress, unwound the chafing muslin strips that circled her torso, and gladly donned the native attire over her bloomers.

The girl showed her how to wrap and tie the leggings she’d brought, then lace moccasins over them. The completed outfit was comfortable beyond belief. Faith stepped back and twirled to show off the dress.

“Oh, thank you! I love this.”

Her words were heartfelt and simple, yet clearly not understood, so she smiled and patted the teenager’s hand in a motherly fashion.

Acting shy, the girl held up a small rope.

Faith took it and looked down at her garb. Nothing seemed to be missing. “What’s this for?” She chuckled at her own silliness. “Never mind. Of course you can’t tell me.” Holding it out, she asked, “Show me?”

The Indian girl gestured to her waist, then made a tying motion, so Faith knotted the rope around her dress like a belt, much to her companion’s muted glee.

Shaking her head and covering her smile, the girl went to work on Faith’s hair with a wide-toothed comb, eventually making long braids, leaving them loose instead of rolling them as Irene’s had been. She then led her to the food she’d brought and presented it proudly, using hand signals to urge her to eat.

Faith was so intent on devouring the dried fruit and stringy meat she didn’t even bother to protest when the Indian girl gathered her ruined calico into a bundle and ran from the lodge with it.

At dusk, Connell waited patiently outside the door to Irene’s teepee. A blanket was draped across his shoulders in spite of the continuing heat.

To his consternation, he wasn’t her only suitor. A muscular brave who looked to be about twenty-five, had come to stand beside him. The enmity in the Indian’s eyes was as sharp as an arrow point and as menacing as the fangs of a prairie rattlesnake.

Connell’s only advantage was that he had arrived before the brave and was therefore closest to the teepee door. If Irene stuck to Cheyenne custom, she would speak to him first, perhaps ignoring the other man entirely. In that case, Connell knew he’d best not turn his back on his rival unless he wanted his hair parted with a war club.

He could hear Irene inside the lodge. She was talking to the old medicine man in a mixture of Cheyenne and Arapaho. Pleased at the sound of her familiar voice, Connell listened. It seemed strange to hear her speaking languages other than English, but he was proud that she’d become so accomplished. Some prisoners never even tried to understand their captors, let alone learned from them.

Neither man moved a muscle when the old Arapaho appeared at the teepee door, paused to tell Irene he was going off for a quiet smoke, then limped away.

Tense, Connell waited for her to come out. Seconds seemed to tick by very slowly.
Like a pocket watch in need of winding,
he reflected. His heart swelled with gratitude that Irene had had her amazing watch with her when she’d been kidnapped, and that she’d had the intelligence to use it to such good advantage.

He could only think of one other woman who would have done as well, and that woman was Faith Beal. Except that Faith would probably have talked too much or acted stubborn and gotten herself into a worse pickle, Connell thought, smiling to himself. She was quite a woman. Unique. With a heart as big as the prairie and courage that would put many a man to shame.

His musings came full circle and his gut gave a twist. Irene was his betrothed, not Faith. Irene should be first in his heart even if they were both merely honoring an old promise rather than being madly in love, so why did he keep thinking of Faith with so much affection? And why had no other woman ever stirred such fervor within him?
Not even Little Rabbit Woman.

As if summoned by his turbulent thoughts, Irene Wellman left the confines of her lodge to face her suitors.

Connell lifted the front edge of his blanket. So did the brave standing close by.

She hesitated, looking from man to man, and raised her hand toward Connell, palm out, as if urging patience. To his total astonishment, she then stepped into the arms of the Cheyenne brave!

Connell froze. Had his worst fears been confirmed? Was he going to have to resort to the same kind of warlike tactics that had put her in the Indian camp in the first place? He strained to hear what she and the brave were saying, but their words were muffled beneath the wrapped-around blanket. All he could hope at this point was that she’d give him a chance to talk to her, too.

A tug on his buckskin distracted him momentarily. He looked down to see who had had the audacity to break into a courtship ritual. The most unlikely Indian he’d ever seen was grinning up at him.

“Thank goodness I finally found you,” Faith said.

Connell scowled. “I should have known. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, mostly.” She pivoted to display her dress for him. “A sweet girl brought me this. Isn’t it wonderful? And so comfortable. Even my sore ribs feel better. She fixed my hair and fed me, too.”

He was eyeing her costume. “Who dressed you?”

“The same girl. She didn’t understand a word I said and I didn’t understand her, either, but we managed just fine.”

One corner of his mouth twitched in a repressed smile. “Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Irene can explain it to you,” he said, cocking his head toward the blanket where the two still stood, wrapped together from the waist up. “When she’s done with him.”

Faith lowered her voice. “That’s her? Under there?”

He nodded. “Why don’t you go into her lodge and wait for us. There’s nobody else home right now so it’s perfectly safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He allowed his smile to spread. “I’m sure glad I already warned the tribal council you were crazy in the head.”

“Why?”

“Never mind. Just get inside, out of sight, and wait for me.”

Faith faced him, hands fisted on her hips, and pressed her lips into a stubborn line. “No. I’m not going anywhere till you tell me what’s so funny.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Let’s just say, as your
uncle,
I’m disappointed in your upbringing and leave it at that.”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Talking in riddles won’t get you off. I intend to know what’s going on around here or else—even if I can’t speak the language.”

“Okay,” Connell drawled, “but remember, I didn’t want to do this. You asked for it.”

Pausing for effect, he smiled and added, “Little Dove Woman, I regret to inform you…you’ve tied your chastity belt on the outside of your clothes.”

Mortified, Faith had immediately wheeled and run for the privacy of Irene’s teepee, fumbling to untie the rope as she went.

Although she’d now had hours to examine the knotted cords more closely, she still couldn’t visualize how they were supposed to be applied or what good they’d do.

Her cheeks flamed. No wonder the Indian girl had giggled and looked so embarrassed when she’d mistaken the rigging for a sash!

In retrospect, she felt slightly vindicated, however. Never in all her reading or listening to tales of fellow pilgrims had she heard even a whisper about Indian women wearing such things. On the contrary, more than one emigrant had sworn that promiscuity was the norm for the tribes of the plains.