Читать книгу Walks Alone - Sandi MDiv Rog - Страница 6

“Let’s take that one,” Running Cloud whispered in Cheyenne to White Eagle as they watched the woman by the river.

White Eagle kept low behind the thick shrubs and tall grass. He stared at the woman whose skin was white like snow as she stretched out her leg and ran her fingers along its length to remove the second stocking.

When she stood, she placed her hands on her waist, emphasizing the flare of her hips beneath her thin, white dress. She tilted her head and removed her hat then worked to take down her hair. Long, yellow hair cascaded to one side, down her back and around her. It curtained her body all the way to her knees as she shook out the pins. She then ran her fingers through her mane, catching the sun’s light.

Never had White Eagle seen so much yellow hair. He glanced at Running Cloud who crouched next to him. Beneath his paint, Running Cloud’s eyes widened. Together they looked back at the woman.

Her hair was now pulled over one shoulder, and she glanced around as though she were looking for something, as though she’d lost something on the ground. Hands on hips, she stopped over her boots. For a long time she studied them, as though she expected them to walk off on their own.

Finally, she lifted the thin material of her skirt, kicked one boot over and quickly jumped away. When the boot didn’t move—he assumed she expected it to move—she kicked the other one and jumped back again. Keeping her focus on the boots, she knelt down, reached out and picked them up. She then bent forward, holding them as far away from her as possible, and shook them out. Nothing came out of the boots, and she cautiously peered inside them as though she were looking for something but afraid of what she might find. Pursing her lips, she bound the boots together by their laces and hung them around her neck.

White Eagle and Running Cloud tossed a side-glance at each other. They shrugged.

She turned her back to them to unbind something from around her waist.

White Eagle held his breath as he crept forward to get a better look.

She tossed a small pouch on a nearby rock, turned, and stepped toward the river. When she came to the edge of the bank, she dipped her foot in the water and gasped. Slowly, she stepped into the river and moved in up to her knees. The water tugged on the white material of her dress, dragging it into the current. She then moved in up to her waist.

With hair cascading over her back, she closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sky and sighed. A slight breeze blew loose strands of hair away from the young woman’s partially burnt face and arms. Her hair lit up like gold under the sun.

White Eagle hoped Running Cloud wouldn’t notice his fascination with the young woman. Never had any woman affected him this way. She looked like a ghost, floating over the water.

She moved in deeper but stopped.

He stopped breathing.

She held her boots over her head and dipped herself in up to her neck, releasing another long sigh. The water washed around her, taking the ends of her dress with it, gently pulling the fabric and her hair into a milky-white wave. Obviously her arms grew weary as she continued to hold the boots above the water, so she balanced them on her head.

His lips tugged into a smile. He cast a side-glance at his friend and realized Running Cloud was watching him. White Eagle forced a frown.

Again, she looked around but didn’t see them hidden in the nearby grass. She held the boots in the air high above the water’s surface, dipped her head completely under, and sat on the riverbed.

“That white woman is strange.” Running Cloud pinched his lips together as if he’d tasted something nasty.

“White women are all strange, and they’re cowards. That one’s afraid of her own boots.”

“Hmm. She’s not lazy like the others. How many other white women did you see walking? She was the only one not sitting beside her man on those boxes pulled by horses.”

“I don’t think she had a choice,” White Eagle said.

“If you think she’s such a coward, why don’t we go down there and see her reaction? Even better, I’ll hold her down and you can take her.”

White Eagle glared at him. A feather danced from the braid over his friend’s shoulder, and for the first time in all their years together, White Eagle wanted to drive his knuckles into his face. Despite the Indian wars and the number of soldiers he’d killed, White Eagle had never ravished a woman. So why would Running Cloud suggest he do such a thing now?

“I have another plan,” White Eagle said, trying to make him forget the idea. “I’ll go down to the bank. I bet she’ll take one look at me and panic.” There was something about this woman that drew him. The need to test her bravery was strong. Would she react like the other whites?

Running Cloud grunted, shaking his head.

“She will,” White Eagle said. “All white women are the same. I’ll go down there, and if she panics, you give me the saber you took off that soldier at Summit Springs.”

“You can go down there, but that’s not enough. Let’s watch them for two suns. If she’s a coward, I’ll give you the saber. But if she acts with bravery, I get your breast plate.”

~*~

Anna stayed under the water and faced upstream so that the current’s force would pull the loose strands of hair away from her face. It reminded her of the times her father used to take her to the beach in Scheveningen and swimming in the canals in Holland. It’d been that long since she’d done anything enjoyable like this.

The coolness enveloped her as she floated over the riverbed. What an invigorating delight. Her body cried out for her to stay under as long as possible. She continued to hold her boots up out of the water when the shadow of a figure standing on the embankment caught her eye.

After coming up, she rubbed the water from her eyes.

Beth gasped. “Anna, what are you doing?”

“It feels wonderful! Why don’t you join me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare. Al would tan my hide.”

Anna rose and climbed out of the water’s delicious pool, her pleasure short-lived. It wasn’t fair for her to enjoy its refreshment if Beth couldn’t join her.

“Oh, my.” Beth’s eyes widened as Anna stepped out of the water. “Pray that no one comes near the embankment. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I can see right through your chemise.”

Anna gasped, and her gaze darted to the trees. Thankfully, she didn’t see any peering eyes or unwelcome visitors. Letting her boots fall down around her neck, she grabbed her dress and plopped herself on a flat rock next to her new friend.

The two of them bent over the gown in search of the semi-precious stone. Anna dripped water on her dress, but she didn’t care. It felt more than wonderful to be wet.

“I’m sorry Al wouldn’t allow the others to help you,” Beth whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize. You’re not responsible for his behavior. Besides, the others didn’t seem interested in helping me anyway.”

“They think you’re rich.” Beth glanced at her, and then looked quickly down at the dress. “I mean, with your nice clothes and all, and then because you’re traveling alone, and when you mentioned the jewel, well, I guess they all got hungry for money.”

“I’m certainly not rich, and I do owe you something for letting me travel with your wagon train. Food isn’t free, I know.” She glanced back down at the dress. “I’ve found it.” She tore through the threads and out fell the small jewel.

She set the stone next to her money pouch and stood. Balancing one foot on a rock, she slipped her stockings over her damp leg and hooked them one by one to her garter. She then tied her money pouch back around her waist, pulled on her boots and reached for her corset.

“You’re not going to put that on over your wet chemise, are you?”

Anna shrugged. “I can’t very well wait for it to dry. Someone might come and find me this way.” She rubbed her hand along the cotton. “It’s dry in some places already.” She pulled the clinging fabric away from her shoulder.

“In what places?”

Both of them laughed, but Anna wasn’t about to wait for it to dry. It felt good anyway to have the moisture against her skin. Beth helped her slip back into her corset and started doing up the stays along her back.

How nice to have a new friend. Anna sensed Beth needed one as much as she did. She knew how helpless and alone Beth must feel. The woman was so beautiful, Anna couldn’t understand why Al would be so cruel.

“I’m sorry Al hurts you,” Anna whispered.

Birds twittered and a sparrow’s singing danced on the air, contrasting with the sudden tension pulling between Anna and Beth. The silence stretched out with Beth’s tugging as she tightened the last stay. Anna braced her legs to keep her balance. She was sorry she’d said anything. Nobody had ever talked to her about Uncle Horace’s beatings, and she thought Beth might want to talk or know that someone cared. After the final jerk on the was tied, she turned to face Beth.

Tears streamed down Beth’s cheeks as she handed Anna her bustle and skirt.

“I’m so sorry.” Anna placed her hand on her chest, then lowered it again so she could attach the bustle and step into the skirt. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Beth gave her a shy smile. “I’m not hurt that you spoke about it. In fact, you’re the only one who seems to have noticed. The others haven’t said anything, probably because they feel it’s not their business.” She held out Anna’s dress jacket and helped her in it. “Thank you.”

After struggling into the well-fitted fabric, Anna grabbed her buttonhook.

“I try to find my strength in the Lord,” Beth said.

Her words surprised Anna. She’d learned the hard way that the Lord didn’t keep bad things from happening. How Beth could find strength in that, she didn’t know. She finished the last button and tossed her buttonhook into her carpetbag.

“I’m unable to have children.” Beth sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Now Al feels I’ve ruined his life. He’ll never be able to have the son he’s always wanted.” She sighed. “That’s all he used to talk about before we were married three years ago. He loved me back then. And now I don’t have any family left.”

“Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry.” Anna stepped closer to give her a hug.

“Beth, woman!” Al’s voice boomed from the top of the bank, causing both women to jump. “Why ain’t you fixing my supper? Get your lazy self up here and get to work.”

Beth gave Anna a weary smile and climbed up the embankment.

Al glared at Beth, and as she walked past him, he knocked her upside the head. He then scowled at Anna, his thumbs in his suspenders. “Where’s my payment?”

Anna snatched it from the rock, climbed up the embankment, and handed Al the stone. It was the first time she saw him smile, and it was a wicked one at that.

She trudged back down to the river and drank from the pitcher until it was empty. When she knelt over and splashed water on her hot face, its coolness tempted her again. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and let it soak in the flowing current, watching as the water drew her long tresses downstream.

It had been a rough trip since Cheyenne, and they’d traveled nearly all day. Despite the scorching heat and the lack of water, it was worth it. She had gained a new friend. Beth seemed to be a caring person, and Anna would hold her kindness close to her heart. She was thrilled with the thought of them possibly being neighbors. She’d never had a friend before, and maybe Anna could be the kind of friend to Beth she herself had needed all these years.

Twisting her hair, she wrung out the water. When she looked up, a wild man stood watching her on the other side of the river.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He stood with a self-assured stance, his legs braced apart and his hands at his sides. A tan breechcloth hung at his bare waist, and his beige, buckskin leggings with fringed flaps emphasized his height. Silver armbands clamped just above his elbows, and black hair with feathers brushed over his shoulders in the slight wind, sending loose strands over his face, half covered in a black mask of paint.

Her heart galloped in her chest. She swallowed hard and waited for him to move or speak. When he did nothing, she forced her gaze from him and turned to see if Al was still at the top of the embankment. He’d already left.

She looked back to the Indian.

He was gone.

~*~

Two days later, Anna trudged behind the wagons again. Despite payment, Al still wouldn’t let her ride with any of the settlers.

After seeing the Indian, she hadn’t been sure if she ought to tell the others. She didn’t want to be responsible for frightening everyone, but in the end she finally did talk to one of the men—not Al.

They had searched high and low for this so-called Indian, only to conclude that she had a wild imagination. Incensed by the memory, she tightened her arms around her carpetbag. Why would she dream up such a thing?

He was just as real as any of them.

To think . . . she had finally seen a real Indian. Papa would have been thrilled. He probably would have tried to befriend the savage. She giggled at the thought.

The sun’s heat bore down on her head as usual, and a tumbleweed brushed against the hem of her dress, mocking her with its spindly limbs and dry branches. Just like the desolate bush, she might blow away, far away over the brown hills of sandy terrain. Hopefully, Beth would soon be allowed to bring her some water.

Dust from the wagons assailed her. If only she could ride with Beth.

A snake scurried across her path, and Anna squealed as it disappeared into a hole.

Watch out for them snakes. They’ll crawl into your boots at night.

Anna could still see the ticket agent in Cheyenne, gnawing on his toothpick and leaning on the counter as he said those words. She had slept with her boots on, and after three days of traveling with these settlers, her feet punished her.

Denver City was just hours away. Surely, a bit of discomfort was worth the trouble in light of that fact.

She kept a comfortable distance between her and the others, not wanting to be in the way. Why must she be a burden to these people too? Two wagons could have fit between her and the one she followed. The ground spun, while the sounds of locusts and other insects buzzed in her ears. Her legs felt heavy, and her feet ached.

Denver City. Almost there. Her new home.

Her head pounded with each step as she chanted the words. The ground spun. The sounds of locusts buzzed in her ears. Her mouth felt sticky and her head ached. If she didn’t get water soon, she might faint. And if she fainted, would anyone notice? She’d never fainted before. What would it be like? She didn’t want to know.

“Lord . . . please . . . I need water.”

Short screams and shouts from all sides snapped Anna to attention. Around them swarmed a colorful parade of Indians.

“Arm yourselves!” Al shouted from his wagon. He aimed his rifle. An Indian fired, and Al’s rifle dropped.

Beth’s screams carried through the air.

None of the other men dared raise their rifles, and no more shots were fired. One man jumped from his wagon, his hands high above his head. Savages bounded onto the wagons, while three others held their weapons on the men. The women and children cried and screamed.

Two Indians galloped toward Anna.

Hugging her carpetbag, she tried to run, but her feet took root and held her to the ground.

Dust and two painted warriors surrounded her in a stunning array of colors. It brought to mind the tulip parades in Holland, with reds, yellows, and blues jumping out at her. The horses tossed their wild heads, and their manes danced with feathers. Paint circled their eyes, handprints waved on their chests, and flashes of lightning streaked across their flanks.

The Indians circled her, sunlight reflecting off their silver armbands. They looked her up and down. Not daring to turn, she felt the gazes of the savages burn into her back. Their torsos, other than a breastplate made of small tubing, were bare and painted. Quivers slung over their backs with rifles at their sides. Would they use their weapons on her?

The screams and cries of the settlers faded into the distance, replaced by the horses’ snorts and the crunching of their hooves. She felt as if the entire world had vanished, and only she and the colorful intruders existed beneath the great big sky.

As they came around again, Anna’s gaze moved daringly to one Indian’s face. Half covered in a black mask of paint, he brought to mind the appearance of a bandit. Only this bandit would likely steal more than her paste jewelry. The mask had a thin, white stripe below it, accentuating the black that covered his eyes. Red stripes of paint slashed across his cheeks and chin as if a knife had taken its pleasure on his face. His bright eyes snagged her attention and held her captive in his fierce gaze.

The man she’d seen on the bank.

Unable to move, all she could do was hold her breath and wait for the Indians to do something, wait as her heart thundered in her chest. The screams of the settlers had diminished to cries. Thankfully, no gunshots had gone off. She didn’t dare look toward the wagons. Fear paralyzed her.

Lord, please keep Beth safe.

The other Indian moved closer. Long, dark braids draped over his shoulders. Feathers protruded from his head like a fan. He circled her, and the pounding in her head beat faster every time he came a little closer. He held a stick with feathers, and when just a foot away, he jammed the stick into Anna’s hair, painfully forcing it loose from its pins.

“Take down,” he said.

Anna dropped her carpetbag. With quivering hands and eyes welling with tears, she untied her small hat and yanked on the pins. Would they scalp her? Hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back to below her waist. For the first time in her life, shame swept through her for having so much hair. Vanity hoarded all these golden locks, her crown of glory. Greed for this treasure would now cause her demise.

“Running Cloud!” The Indian with the feathered stick straightened and put his fist to his chest. He pointed at Anna. “You! Walks Alone. Gift to White Eagle.” He pointed to the bandit-looking Indian, the one called White Eagle.

The meaning of his words slammed into Anna. She’d never get home.

Running Cloud dropped his feathered stick and dismounted in front of her. Anna found the ability to move and turned to run. He seized her by the hair, jerking her to a stop. He yanked her around and grabbed her arms in a biting grip. She tried to twist away, pushing against his powerful limbs.

White Eagle dismounted and strode toward them. He was much taller and broader than the savage who held her in his clutches. By his scowl and the fierce look on his painted face, Anna knew she was doomed. White Eagle reached out—Anna screamed. But he grabbed Running Cloud’s wrist.

Eyes wide with surprise, Running Cloud turned, releasing his hold on Anna. White Eagle jerked him back and shoved him to the ground. Running Cloud raised his hands, palms up as White Eagle towered over him.

Anna turned to run, but White Eagle caught her by the arm and swung her around. Screaming, she shoved, but he held her against him. His hair and feathers cascaded onto her shoulder, and his painted face came inches from hers, emphasizing his bandit-like mask, the white stripe beneath it, and the red slashes on his cheeks and chin. Leather and sage assailed her senses as his breath feathered against her cheek.

“Lord help me,” she whispered, wishing she could faint. Perhaps she did want to know what it would feel like. Now seemed the perfect time to lose consciousness.

Heavy breathing blocked out the sounds around them. A dangling feather tickled her face. His fingers slid up onto her chin—her breath caught in her throat. They glided across her cheek and tenderly brushed his feather away.

Their gazes met. Behind dark lashes, warm blue-green eyes swept over her from his gentle, almost sympathetic gaze.

There was a man buried beneath that mask of war paint.

~*~

White Eagle released a long, slow hiss as his gaze swept over the woman’s face and down his arm where her yellow hair wrapped around his dark skin and silver armband—a stark contrast.

Despite the fear evident in the pine-green depths of her eyes, he felt as if she could see inside of him, as if her gut knew she saw a man, not a savage.

From her nose to her chin, her face burned bright red from the sun, and her lips were cracked and dry. This woman needed water.

Her gaze darted to her carpetbag. “Please,” she whispered.

He glanced down at the bag. Did it have weapons? He jerked it from the ground. To her obvious dismay, he tore it open. He found a book, The Last of the Mohicans, and photographs. Then nothing of significance, just fake jewelry and other feminine articles. But one item practically burned like fire in his hand—a Bible. He hadn’t seen the white man’s book since he left Denver six years ago. The one his father had. He shoved it back in. No weapons. He stuffed everything else in and handed it to her.

Relief reflected in her eyes as she hugged the bag.

White Eagle ambled to his horse, his stride uneasy.

Distant cries of women and children carried up from the wagons as the other braves rummaged through their belongings. If only that man hadn’t raised his rifle, no one would have been killed. But had their roles been reversed, White Eagle might have done the same.

He grabbed his water skin and removed the stopper. He walked back to the woman and held it out to her.

She gaped at it.

He shook the water.

She looked at him then back at the skin. Lunging forward, she dropped her bag. After a moment’s hesitation, she snatched the water skin. Water spilled down her chin and over her front. She choked.

“Slow down,” he said in Cheyenne. “I mean, slow down,” he said again, only this time in French. He shook his head and went back to his horse. “I can’t talk,” he mumbled in English.

Running Cloud rode up to him on his horse. White Eagle boldly met his gaze. He’d almost forgotten about tossing his friend to the ground. He’d never before laid a hand on Running Cloud, who was more like a brother than a friend.

“We’re taking the woman,” Running Cloud said in Cheyenne, motioning towards Walks Alone.

“No.” White Eagle turned to his horse and straightened out the blanket. “I don’t want her.”

“You’re refusing my gift?” Running Cloud’s voice rose as he thumbed his chest. “You knock me down for her, and now you don’t want her?” He turned to Walks Alone, eyes blazing. “Then I’ll take her.” Running Cloud moved toward the woman.

“No!” White Eagle grabbed the reins, ready to grab more than that if he had to. “I’ll keep her.” White Eagle never agreed with Running Cloud’s ways of war, ravishing innocent women, and if he even laid a pinky on this one, he’d . . . what would he do? Kill his friend? The thought of him touching her made him so livid with rage, he just might. But at what cost? He’d lose his life to the other braves protecting their war chief, and then what would happen to the woman?

Was he actually contemplating murdering his friend? A friend who had been more like his brother? What had come over him? Sure it was the Cheyenne way to kill a man who touched his woman, but this woman didn’t even belong to him.

Running Cloud leaned over his saddle. “She’s mine,” he said slowly, laying emphasis on each word, “until you make her yours.”

White Eagle’s fists tightened on the reins at his suggestion. “I don’t do that, and you know it.” His words were like the low rumble of thunder before a storm.

Running Cloud arched a brow, a smirk on his lips. He then laughed. “You think that’s what I meant?” He continued to laugh. “Then you’re a fool.”

The significance of his words poured over White Eagle like a heavy rainfall. He meant for him to take her as his wife. A wife? He didn’t need a wife. He was ready to tear into Running Cloud for that, but he kept his hands to himself. He had to calm down. There’d been enough fighting between friends with Black Bear on the rampage. But how could Running Cloud force him to take this woman as his wife? He ran his hand down his face, trying to contain his fury.

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head in disbelief. At least the woman would remain unharmed. But did he have to make her his wife to keep her safe?

White Eagle marched to Walks Alone, seething with fury.

Spotted Owl galloped up to them, letting them know the other braves were ready to go. Running Cloud took off toward the wagons.

Now Walks Alone not only hugged her carpetbag but also his water skin. He took the water skin, grabbed the woman’s dainty elbow, and led her to his horse.

She gasped as they neared the painted beast, and it wasn’t until then that he realized just how large his horse must appear to a woman her size. “Get on the horse,” White Eagle said in Cheyenne. He shook his head in frustration. English. He needed to speak English.

Realizing she wouldn’t be able to mount without help, he lifted the stiff and proper young lady from the ground. Wide, green eyes looked down on his face. The position reminded him of his father when he’d pick him up and playfully toss him in the water. And just as his father had done, White Eagle lifted her above his head. She weighed no more than a child, and despite his anger, a chuckle rumbled in his chest as the woman, stiff as a board, hugged the bag as if it might keep her from falling. Forcing the grin from his face, he set her on his horse. He then pried the carpetbag from her fingers, and as she protested, he tossed it to Spotted Owl who looked none too happy about having to carry the lady’s belongings—he already had a bag of sugar, and some of the white crystals stuck to the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not carrying this.” Spotted Owl made ready to toss the bag on the ground.

White Eagle turned on him. “You will.” He had a feeling that bag was all the woman owned, and he hated the thought of leaving her photographs to the elements. What he wouldn’t give to have pictures of his own parents. Or was that truly the only reason he wished her to keep it? His hand still tingled from touching the white man’s holy book.

Another scream carried from the wagons, but White Eagle pushed it out of his mind, unwilling to investigate. They should leave.

He mounted behind Walks Alone, and she straightened. Her feet dangled over one side of the horse, and he sensed she might jump off, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and clicked the reins. The horse galloped away from the settlers. Spotted Owl, Standing Elk, and the other four warriors joined him. To his surprise, Running Cloud galloped ahead with the dead man’s wife in his saddle. White Eagle clenched his jaw. Now he had two women to protect rather than one.

Walks Alone grasped the horse’s mane then his arm, but quickly released him as if he might bite. Then she grabbed the mane again.

“Be still. I won’t let you fall,” he said, finally in English, his accent strange and thick. How long had it been since he’d used this language? It was one thing to teach his friends how to speak English, but to think on his feet was more difficult.

The other braves rode beside them, and she leaned into him but immediately pulled away.

White Eagle sighed. The settlers were headed for Denver City, but now these two women were headed west.