Legacy-Danielle Steel

[Dalyia]

Chapter 6
Wachiwi
Spring 1784
It was springtime, and the camp that Chief Matoskah had chosen for his tribe was a good one. There was a river nearby, and the women were already at work repairing the tipis from the hardships of winter—the linings had been washed and set out to dry in the sun. There were small groups making clothing for the summer months and following winter, and the children were running and laughing and playing all around them. Chief Matoskah’s tribe was one of the largest of the Dakota Sioux, and he was thought to be the wisest chief in their nation. Stories of his youth, bravery in battle, victories against their enemies, and his prowess on horseback and hunting buffalo were legion. His five sons were all equally respected, all were proud men, married, and had children of their own. Two would be leading the first buffalo hunt of the season the following morning. Chief Matoskah, White Bear, was old now, but still ruled his tribe with wisdom, strength, and when necessary an iron fist.
His one weakness, and the joy and light of his life, was Wachiwi, the daughter born to him by his second wife. His first wife had died of an illness in a winter camp, during a war with the Pawnee. He had come home from a raid, and found her already wrapped in a buffalo robe, on a funeral scaffold, her still form covered with snow. He had grieved for a long time. She had been a good woman, and given him five brave sons.
It was many winters before White Bear married again, and the girl he chose was the most beautiful in their village. She was younger than his sons. He could have had many women, several wives at one time, as many of the men did, but he had always preferred to live with one. The bride he chose finally, giving her father twenty of his best horses for her, as a gesture of respect for her family, was barely more than a child, but she was wise and strong, and so beautiful that his heart sang each time he saw her. Her name was Hotah Takwachee, White Doe, and she looked like one to him.
They had only three seasons together when she bore him their first child, his only daughter. Her mother came to help her when the child was born in the early days of autumn. The baby was born, bright and beautiful and perfect, at dawn. Her mother was dead by nightfall. White Bear was alone again, with White Doe’s tiny girl child. Other women in the village nursed her and cared for her, and she lived in the tipi with her father. But White Bear took no wife again. He hunted with his sons, and sat in the lodge with them late into the night, smoking the pipe, and planning raids on their enemies and hunts. And although he could not admit it openly because she was a girl, he took endless pleasure in his daughter, who delighted him constantly. Sometimes he would walk in the woods with her, and he taught her to ride himself. She was the most fearless rider in the village, and rode better than most of the men. Her skill as a rider was well known throughout the neighboring tribes. Even their enemies had heard of the dancing daughter of the chief who had magic powers over horses. White Bear was proud of her, and as she grew older, she was always at his side.
White Bear received his first marriage offer for her shortly after her rites of womanhood, from a distinguished brave older than her brothers. He was a fierce warrior and excellent hunter who already had two wives and several children, but Wachiwi had caught his eye. He came to play the flute outside their tipi repeatedly, and Wachiwi never emerged, which was a sign to him that she was not interested in him, and when he began leaving blankets, food, and finally in desperation a hundred horses outside their lodge for her, his offer of marriage was official, and eventually declined by his prospective bride. She insisted to her father that she didn’t want to leave him, and remembering only too well what had happened to her mother in childbirth, White Bear couldn’t bring himself to part with her either, at least not yet. He knew that she would have to marry eventually. She was too pretty and lively not to, but he wanted her with him for a few more years before she took on the responsibilities of a wife and all that went with it. He wasn’t ready to give her up. She was the oldest unmarried girl in the tribe by her seventeenth summer, but she was the daughter of the chief. And by then, finally, she had become interested in a young brave her age. He had no important war raids or hunting parties where he had distinguished himself exceptionally yet, and she and her father both knew that he still had to prove himself further in battle and in the buffalo hunts, but in the next year or two he would. Wachiwi was prepared to wait for him till then, and her father was pleased. He would be a suitable husband for her one day, and in the meantime Wachiwi could stay with her father. He was in no hurry for young Ohitekah to win her hand, but White Bear knew that day would come. Hopefully, not too soon. And Wachiwi was only too happy to remain at her father’s side. She was entirely her father’s girl, fussed over and protected not only by him but by her brothers.
As the spring progressed, there were horse races and demonstrations. Wachiwi was allowed to enter them because her father was chief and she rode better, harder, faster, and more dangerously than most of the young men. Her brothers loved to place bets on her and were ecstatic when she won. Their father had taught her well, and her brothers added their own tricks to what she learned, so they could win their bets on her. She was a fearsome rider and rode like the wind. And whenever she finished the races, or rode with her brothers, she noticed Ohitekah nearby, but as propriety demanded of her, she never looked him directly in the eye, nor any man. She was always circumspect and well behaved, although high spirited and brave. Her father always said that if she had been a man, she would have been a great warrior, but he was far happier that she was a girl. She was affectionate with him, took care of him, and served him well as a loving daughter.
She loved to laugh with her brothers and they teased her endlessly. Ohitekah would enter into it sometimes, and obviously admired her, and even in their joking and games with her brothers, he treated her with great respect.
As spring led into summer, the hunting parties formed. Hunts for elk and buffalo helped them lay in the stores for winter, and Wachiwi helped the other women make clothes. She did beautiful beading that some of the older women had taught her, and she carefully added porcupine quills to her clothes in intricate patterns. Because of her status, she was able to wear her clothes as ornately as she chose, and even added beads to her moccasins. And often, she dyed the quills in brilliant colors before she sewed them onto her elkskin dresses.
There were tribal dances as the weather grew warm, and long, pleasant evenings as the men sat around the fires and smoked the pipe. There were always sentries protecting the camp too, since war raids were common in summer, to steal horses and furs, or even women. And occasionally they met with other tribes to trade. Wachiwi got a beautiful new blanket on one of those visits, and a new elkskin dress that one of her brothers traded a buffalo hide for, and he got her a second elkskin dress in the trade, trimmed in fur for the following winter. Everyone agreed that Wachiwi was the luckiest girl in the tribe, with five adoring brothers and a doting father. It was no wonder that she didn’t want a husband. But her interest in Ohitekah seemed to be growing, and on one hot night, he came to play the flute outside their lodge, and this time Wachiwi came outside, which was a clear sign to him that his courtship was welcome, although she kept her eyes riveted to the ground, and her gaze well away from his.
His parents had been rebuilding their lodge recently, which was also an indication that a marriage proposal would be forthcoming, and bride gifts would be left for her outside her father’s tipi soon, maybe at the change of seasons, or at their winter camp. And they also knew that their son had to prove himself in the hunt and on the battlefield first. But that time was coming soon. The big buffalo hunts had begun.
White Bear and his sons were returning to camp one warm day after just such a major hunt. Ohitekah had come with them and had done well. The buffalo were plentiful, and they had killed many. There was to be a celebration in camp that night. They were riding back, talking and laughing with each other when one of the young boys in camp rode out to them. He said that a war party of Crow had raided the camp, and were already riding away. They had taken horses, and several of their women, mostly young ones, to give to their chief. Without asking for further details, White Bear and his sons and the other men rode hard for the camp. Most of the Crow were gone by then, except for three stragglers, who turned to shoot at White Bear and his men. White Bear wasn’t injured, but two of his sons fell instantly and lay dead, and Ohitekah lay beside them, brothers in death now, and not by marriage as the young boy and Wachiwi had hoped. The Sioux men rode into camp just in time to see the three Crow disappearing, and one of them had Wachiwi, bound and tied, looking wild eyed as she shouted to her father. The Crow took off like lightning, but she had already seen her brothers and Ohitekah killed. She was shouting, and fighting her captors, but even her tribe’s fastest horses could not catch them. They rode as fast as they could for hours after her, to bring her back to her father, and they returned late that night, worn out and deeply chagrined. They had not been able to save her. The Crow who had her had ridden like the wind. White Bear had been waiting up for them, and he cried like a child when they returned without her. And as though someone had cast a spell on him, as he keened for his lost child he visibly shrank and became an old man. His soul was broken. He had lost two of his sons to the Crow, and the child of his heart. Nothing could console him.
War parties went out the next day, looking for the Crow encampment, but they had come from far away. They too were part of the Dakota nation, but had a long history of wars and raids on the Sioux, and taking the chief’s daughter was a major victory for them. White Bear knew only too well that even if they found them, they would never give her back. Wachiwi was gone forever. And more than likely she would be given to their chief as a slave or wife. Her days of freedom and being adored and protected by her father and brothers were over. She belonged to the Crow now. And no one knew it better than her father. He couldn’t bear the thought. He walked slowly into his tipi alone, saw the place where she had slept across from him for her entire life, her elkskin dresses carefully folded, even the new one trimmed in fur. He lay down in the place where he slept, his eyes closed, seeing her in his mind as he knew he would forever, and waited to die. He hoped it wouldn’t take long for the Great Spirits to take him. Without Wachiwi at his side, he had nothing more to live for. His spirit died within him the day she left.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 7

The Crow war party that had taken Wachiwi from her tribe rode hard for two days. Wachiwi fought them as best as she was able to, with her hands and arms tied. She did everything she could to save herself, including throwing herself from the horse into some bushes. After that, they tied her legs as well, and the brave who rode with her carried her slung across his horse in front of him, like a prize from the hunt. She would have killed them if she could. Other women would have been afraid of them, but Wachiwi wasn’t. She didn’t care if they killed her now, she had seen them murder the boy she loved, and two of her brothers. What they did to her now no longer mattered, if she never got back to her father. But she was going to try to escape. She lay across the horse thinking of it, as the war party traveled for days toward the Crow camp. They stopped to kill two buffalo along the way, which they thought was a promising sign.
Once in a while they would untie her, but only long enough to let her attend to her needs. She tried to run away whenever they did, and they would catch her and tie her up again each time. They laughed at how violently she fought them, and one of them slapped her hard and threw her to the ground when she bit him. She was a wildcat in their midst, and in their dialect, they talked about what a prize she would be for their chief. They were well aware from her clothes that she was the daughter of the Sioux chief. She wore a soft elkskin dress that was carefully beaded and covered with the porcupine quills she had dyed. And even her moccasins were delicately made. And although she was not as young as some of the girls in camp, she was very beautiful, obviously very brave, and very strong. She fought them almost like a man, but they overpowered her anyway. The war party was made up of their camp’s fiercest men. Some of them would have liked to keep her for themselves, but they were saving her for their chief. He already had two wives, his own and his brother’s wife, whom he had married the previous year when his brother was killed in the hunt. It had been his duty to marry her, and she was already with child. This girl was much younger than the two wives he had, and far more beautiful. He would be pleased. She had a lovely figure, and although she did not look at them, even now, she had enormous eyes. And all of them had noticed how courageous she was, even being kidnapped by a war party, and no matter how much they tried to scare her. Other girls her age, or older, would have been screaming in fright. Wachiwi tried to run away whenever she could, and clearly didn’t care if they killed her. But she was too sweet a prize for their chief for them to want to lose her. So they kept her tied up as much as possible, and rode with great speed for their camp. One of the men tried to offer her food, willing to feed her with his hands, and each time she turned her face away and refused. She looked none of them in the eye, but her face was filled with hatred, and in her heart was despair for the father she knew would die of grief without her.
It was the end of the third day when they rode into the Crow camp at last. It was smaller than her own, and she saw the same familiar scenes, of children running, women sitting in groups and talking while they sewed, men coming back into camp after a hunt. Even the layout of the camp was similar to the way her people set up theirs, and the brave who carried her rode up to the chief’s tipi, followed by the others who had made up the war party. The women and children looked up with interest as the brave jumped off his horse, unceremoniously pulled her off, and dumped her on the ground. She lay there in her elkskin dress, tied up like an animal they had killed, unable to move as one of the men went to find the chief. Both his women were sitting near the tipi, sewing, and as they watched, Wachiwi looked up and saw him. He was much younger than her father, and looked proud and strong. He was closer to her brothers’ age. She heard one of the men call him Napayshni. It meant “courageous” in her tongue as well. Their language was close enough to her own that she could understand what they were saying.
They told him that she was the daughter of the chief, and they had brought her back to him as the spoils of war. They reported that they had also taken several good horses, and three other women, but some of the men had ridden ahead with them, so Wachiwi didn’t see them on their travels. The men told him that the war party had split up after they left her father’s camp, and the other group had taken a different route back. Those who carried her said they had gone a more circuitous way, in case the men of her tribe came after Wachiwi. No one had followed them at all. The Crow who had absconded with her had hidden her well, taking a more remote route. Her people hadn’t been able to find her, and her captors were proud of having outsmarted and outridden them with their prize. And she was a beauty.
Chief Napayshni stood looking down at her without expression. “Untie her,” was all he said, and the man whose horse she had ridden on was quick to object.
“She’ll run away. She tried every time we untied her. She’s fast as the wind and very clever.”
“I’m faster than she is,” the chief said, looking unconcerned.
Wachiwi said nothing, but her hands and legs were numb when they untied her. Her hair was tangled from the trip, and her face was filthy from the dust. Her elkskin dress was torn in several places from the buffalo-sinew ropes they had used to tie her. It was a few minutes before she was able to stand. She dusted herself off, trying to look proud, and stumbling a little. She turned away so the men who had taken her would not see the tears in her eyes. Life as she had known it, among people she loved, and who loved her, was over forever. She was a slave now. She knew she would run away, but first she had to learn the layout of the camp and be able to take one of their horses. And then she would go home. Nothing could keep her with the Crow.
Chief Napayshni continued to observe her. He saw the torn dress. It was unmistakably the garb of the wife or daughter of a chief. Her moccasins were beaded, and the whole top of her dress was covered in the porcupine quills she was so proud of. These had been dyed a deep blue, with a paste she had learned how to make with berries. It was a skill few of the women in her camp had mastered. And in spite of her matted hair and dirty arms and face, it was still easy to see how beautiful she was.
“What are you called?” the chief asked her directly. She ignored him. But this time, instead of acting according to maidenly tradition in all tribes, she stared him in the eyes with a look of utter hatred. “You have no name?” he said, looking unimpressed. She was like an angry child, but he knew that other girls in her position would have been terrified, and she wasn’t. He admired that in her. Her bravery was perhaps just an act she was putting on, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all, and he liked that about her. She had spirit, and courage. “You are the daughter of a great chief,” he said, knowing exactly who her father was. The raid on her camp had been no accident, only taking her had been a random act by the braves who saw her and grabbed her, as a prize of war for their chief. And although he would never have said it to them, Napayshni felt sorry for her father. It would surely be a grief to him to lose a daughter such as this, for any man for that matter. And his men had reported that they had killed two of the chief’s sons, and others. The raid had been a great success for them, and a hard blow for Wachiwi’s tribe.

[Dalyia]

“Then why did you take me?” she asked him, “if you think my father a great chief?” She continued to look him straight in the eye, pretending not to fear him, or what he could do to her now. She had heard stories of kidnapped women who became slaves in other tribes. They were not happy stories, and this was her lot now.
“We did not plan to. They brought you to me as a gift,” he said gently. She looked hardly older than a child.
“Then send me back to my father. I do not want to be your gift.” She stuck her chin out, and her eyes blazed. She had never looked any man in the eye except her father and brothers.
“You are mine now, you with no name. What shall I name you?” He was playing with her a little, so she wouldn’t be frightened of him. Despite his reputation as a warrior and fierce chief, he was a kind man, and her situation touched his heart. He had children too, and he would not have liked his own daughter to be taken by another tribe and given to their chief. The thought of it made him shudder.
“I am Wachiwi,” she said angrily. “I don’t want a Crow name from you.”
“Then I will call you by your own,” he said, signaling to the two women sitting nearby. His own wife was younger and better looking than the one he had inherited from his brother the year before. Wachiwi could see that the older of the two was heavy with child, and she was the one who came forward when her husband called her. “Take her to the river to get clean,” he instructed her. “She needs clothes, until hers can be sewn.”
“Is she our slave now?” the woman asked with interest, and Napayshni said nothing. He owed her no explanation of his plans. He had married her, as was his obligation to his brother, and had now given her his child, that was enough. He did not want Wachiwi as a slave. He wanted her to get used to them so she would not be so hostile with him, and in time, when she had settled into their camp, he was going to make her his wife. She was much prettier and appeared more graceful than the others, and he liked the look of wildfire in her eyes. She was like a wild horse he wanted to tame, and he was sure that he could do it. Like her, he was an outstanding horseman.
Wachiwi followed the pregnant woman and said nothing to her. The woman spoke in the Crow dialect to Napayshni’s other wife, and Wachiwi understood all that they said, although she pretended she didn’t. The chief had spoken to her in her own tongue. And his women were commenting on the quills on her dress and wondered how she got them that color. They hoped that in time maybe she’d teach them. She vowed to herself as she listened to them that she would do nothing for them. Ever.
She washed at the river and they gave her a dress, it was plain and ill fitting, and one of the women handed her a blanket that she wrapped around herself. That night Wachiwi repaired her elkskin dress with the porcupine quills as best she could. Some of the quills had broken when she was thrown over her captor’s horse. She put the dress back on as soon as she had sewn it. It was all she had left of her old life.
Napayshni came into the tipi that night and said nothing to her. He slept at the north side of the tipi, as her father did, and she and the other two women on the south side, with their children. There were seven of them. And the tipi was not as tidy as she had kept her father’s. Two of the children kept waking in the night, and for most of it, Wachiwi lay awake, looking up at the sky through the opening at the top, and wondering how soon she could try to escape. It was all she could think of. She had refused to eat with them, and was determined to go hungry until she could stand it no longer. Later she finally ate some cornmeal cakes when she thought she would faint from starvation, but it was all she ate.
Napayshni got up at dawn to oversee the moving of the camp. Being a smaller village than her own, they moved every few days to follow the buffalo, and find new grazing land for the horses. She had heard that the men were going hunting that day after they set up camp again. Wachiwi was hoping to make a run for it then, if the women were busy, and most of the men were gone. She wanted to check on the three other women from her tribe, but had no opportunity to see them before they broke camp.
They didn’t have far to go to find more buffalo that day, and the men took off in the early afternoon, talking and laughing and in good spirits. She wondered how far she was from her father’s camp. She knew they had traveled three days to get here, but alone, she could travel in a straight line at great speed. All she needed was a good horse and an opportunity to get out of camp.
She wandered around aimlessly, and no one paid attention to her. She had caught a glimpse of one of the women from her tribe but couldn’t speak to her. The other women had each been given to braves at the camp and had no choice in the matter. All Wachiwi wanted to do was run.
There were some horses left after the men rode off, though not the best ones. She spotted one that looked solid and sturdy enough to travel with, though maybe not as fast as she liked. She walked over to pat his neck, looked at his legs, and without making a sound, she untied him, slipped onto his back, lay flat, lying along his side and holding on, and gently urged him out of camp while no one noticed. You couldn’t even see her on him, she had concealed herself on his far side, a trick her brothers had taught her when she was a child, and she had often fooled them and her father with it in later years. It had delighted her father and won her brothers many of their bets.
She got the horse moving fast across the plain toward the trees, before she allowed herself to sit up, and then she pushed him harder. She was going at a fast pace, although he wasn’t as good as the horses she was used to, and then she heard hoofbeats behind her, going even faster than she was. She didn’t dare look back, but only pushed the horse more fiercely. She was nearly at the treeline, going with all the speed she could, when the rider caught up with her, and grabbed her with one powerful arm. It was Napayshni, riding alone. He said nothing to her, but put her in front of him on his own horse, as the one she had been riding slowed, grateful to halt the killing pace she had urged him to, and quietly began to graze. Napayshni slowed his own horse down and reined him in. His was much more lively, and she knew she could have gotten away on it.
“You ride well,” he commented, undisturbed. He liked her spirit, and he had never seen a woman ride as she did. Her father or her brothers had taught her well.
“I thought you were hunting,” she said, her voice shaking, wondering if she would be punished now, or beaten. Maybe even killed. She had been willing to risk it, and knew she would again.
“I had some things to do in camp. The others went without me.” He had wanted her to think he was gone, to see what would happen if he left her. Now he knew. “Will you do this again if I leave you?” he asked, looking down at her. He thought she looked lovelier than ever, with her cheeks flushed from the heat and the fast ride. She didn’t answer his question, but he knew the answer anyway. She would continue trying to escape until she felt some bond to him, but it would be a long time before that would happen. Maybe not until she was carrying his child. But he didn’t want to rush that either. She had been given to him as a gift, and now he wanted to make her one. He didn’t want to break her spirit, only to tame her, like a wild horse on the plain. He believed that he could do it. He had tamed wild horses before, but nothing as wild or beautiful as she. She was a prize worth having.
They rode in silence back to the camp, with the horse she’d been riding led on a rope by Napayshni. The horse seemed relieved to be freed from his demanding rider. Napayshni kept her in front of him on his horse. He dropped her at his tipi, where the women were sitting, and then went to tie up the horses with the others. It had been an interesting afternoon for him, and a frustrating one for Wachiwi.
He kept a close eye on her that night, and said nothing to the other men. But he watched her for a long time as she lay sleeping, wondering how long it would take to tame her. He hoped it would be soon—he had a powerful hunger for her growing in him, but he didn’t want to make a move too quickly. And for all he knew, if he did, she might try to kill him. She was capable of anything, and afraid of nothing. No girl would have dared what she had tried to do that afternoon, and none would have dared to ride the way she had. He had watched her concealing herself along the side of the horse. Only his best riders were able to do that, and there weren’t many. And none with the ease with which he had seen her do it. She was quite a rider!
They moved camp again three days later, following the buffalo. The men killed some elk and a mule deer. There was abundant meat at the campfires, and they were already tanning the buffalo, and cutting it up to use it.
The Sun Dance was held around the campfire that night, to celebrate the summer months, and give thanks for their good hunting and the plentiful buffalo. Wachiwi stood to one side, watching the men dance. They did a similar dance in her tribe, and she was discovering that their customs were not so different. But all she could think of as she looked at them was that she wanted to go home. She wondered what her father and brothers were doing, and hoped that her father was well. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of her brothers who had been killed, and Ohitekah, and that she might never see her father again, but she hadn’t given up hope yet of making a successful escape. She had been thinking of trying to make a run for it that night, when the men were dancing, but it might be too dangerous to cover rough terrain at night, so she decided to wait. Next time she knew that she had to be sure that Napayshni had left the camp, maybe when they went out in a hunting party that would be away for several days.
She left the campfire early, and ate very little of the meat. She wasn’t hungry, and when she walked into their tipi, she was startled to see one of the chief’s wives writhing in pain. The other one told her that the baby was coming, signaled to Wachiwi, and told her to help. Wachiwi had never been at a birth in her own camp, and she had no idea what to do.
She sat down next to the two women and watched. The one giving birth was crying, and an old woman had come in to help them. And what Wachiwi saw looked horrifying to her, and then with utter amazement, a short time later, she watched the old woman help the baby into the world. She wrapped it tightly in a blanket, put it to its mother’s breast, delivered the afterbirth, and went to bury it outside, as Wachiwi helped clean the young mother up.

[Dalyia]

By the time Napayshni came back from the Sun Dance, he had a new son. He observed him with cautious interest, nodded, and went to bed. Wachiwi lay on her own mat that night, hoping that would never happen to her. She had been in love with Ohitekah, and the Crow had killed him as they had her brothers. Now she wanted no man, and surely not Napayshni, or to have his child. She knew her days were numbered before he took her as his wife, and she was more anxious than ever to escape.
Napayshni continued to observe her, as they continued to move camp every few days, and the days melted into weeks. One morning, after she had seen him ride out with the men to hunt buffalo, she tried to escape again. She found a better horse this time, and rode even harder than she had before. This time she was followed out of camp by one of the young boys on a faster horse than hers. He had been guarding the horses, and Napayshni had warned him that Wachiwi might try to escape. In desperation to stop her, he shot an arrow at her, which grazed her shoulder and tore her dress. But she didn’t stop for anything, even when she felt it burn. He was almost as good a rider as she, and nearly as fearless, and he was driven by his desire to please his chief.
“You can’t stop me!” Wachiwi shouted at him when he drew close to her. Her shoulder was bleeding through her dress.
“I’ll kill you if I have to!” he answered. “Napayshni wants you back.”
“He’ll have to kill me first. Or you will,” she said, shouting at him, and pulled ahead. It was a race to the death. He followed her for miles and stayed on her heels, and then destiny betrayed her, her horse stumbled, and she had to stop him, or she knew he’d break a leg. Both horses were in a lather when she stopped, and the boy glared at her.
“You’re crazy!” he shouted. Wachiwi looked disheartened, as blood poured down her arm. His arrow hadn’t pierced her, but it had sliced her deep. “Why do you want to run away?”
“I want to go back to my father,” she said, fighting back tears. “He’s old and frail.” The boy was much younger than she was, and he was mystified by her.
“Napayshni will be good to you. You should be married by now anyway, shouldn’t you?” She wondered if she should try to make a run for it again, but she knew that if she did, her horse would be lame before they reached the trees. She had been beaten again.
“I don’t want to be married,” Wachiwi said, looking sullen. “I just want to go home.”
“Well, you can’t,” the boy said practically. “I’m sorry I shot you. Napayshni said to stop you any way I could. Does it hurt?”
“Not at all,” she said blithely, unwilling to admit that it did. Quite a lot in fact.
She rode silently back to camp with him, let him lead away her horse, and went to the river alone to bathe her shoulder, wondering if she would ever get home again. She was beginning to lose hope that she would. And she would rather have been dead than be here. She was momentarily sorry that the boy’s arrow hadn’t killed her, instead of just wounding her. It had stopped bleeding by then, but it was a nasty wound and still hurt. She bathed it with the cool water from the stream and put her dress back on. She was walking back to their tipi when Napayshni rode back into camp. They had killed more buffalo that day than ever before, and he was pleased. He saw her as he rode up and didn’t notice the blood on her dress at first. He was about to say something to her, when she looked up at him with a blank expression and fainted dead away at his horse’s feet.
Napayshni was off his horse in an instant and picked her up. He had no idea what had happened to her, and then he saw the blood seeping through her elkskin dress. He called out to the women, and sent one of them to get the medicine man. He laid Wachiwi on her pallet as she slowly came around and then fainted again.
She was awake by the time the medicine man and an old woman came into the tent. The women had stripped off her dress, and Napayshni was inspecting her wound. His wives said they had no idea what had happened, but Napayshni suspected that she had tried to run away again, and something had gone wrong. And while the medicine man put powder into the wound, and a paste that almost made Wachiwi scream out, he went to find the boy who had been guarding the horses that afternoon.
“Did she try to escape again?” he asked him bluntly, looking ominous, as the boy trembled under the fierce glance.
“Yes. She did. You told me to stop her any way I could. So I did.”
“I didn’t tell you to kill her. You might have, shooting her in the shoulder like that. You could have grazed her leg.”
“I didn’t have time. She was going so fast. My horse could hardly keep up with her.”
“I know,” Napayshni answered. “She rides like the wind. Be more careful next time. What did she say when you brought her back?”
“That she misses her father and he’s old and sick. I told her it will be better for her here, with you.” He smiled shyly at his chief.
“Thank you. I won’t tell anyone about this, and I don’t want you to either.” If anyone had known he was so concerned about his captive, they would have thought he was an old woman, not the chief. He wasn’t about to become a laughingstock for her, no matter how beautiful she was. “You shot a bird and you missed. You’re a terrible shot, Chapa. Isn’t that right?” He coached him in what he was to say.
“Yes, it is.” He knew better than to argue with his chief. He had shot a bird. And he missed. That was the story, no matter how humiliating it might be for him.
Napayshni went back to the tipi then, and Wachiwi was sleeping with some potion they had given her. The medicine man and the old woman had left, and Wachiwi was dead to the world. She stirred once, and then fell into a deep sleep again as he left the tent.
She slept until the next morning, and she looked groggy when she got up, startled to be wearing only a blanket and not her dress, which was neatly folded next to her. She saw the blood on it and remembered what had happened the day before. Her attempt to escape had failed again. She was overwhelmed with sadness as she got up and put on her dress. She noticed then that there was blood on her moccasins as well.
Napayshni saw her as she came out of the tent. She looked as though she was in no condition to attempt an escape today. She looked tired and sick, and disoriented from the powerful potion they had made her drink.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked, as she stumbled past him and winced in the bright sun. All the men were in camp that day, and the women were tanning hides and curing meat. Their winter stores were almost complete.
“It’s fine,” she said, looking unconvinced. It still hurt, but she was too proud to admit that to him.
“Chapa’s a bad shot. He was trying to shoot a bird, and hit you instead.”
“No, he didn’t. He said you told him to stop me any way he could, so he did.”
“How many times are you going to do this, Wachiwi? This time you got hurt. You could fall off a horse trying to escape, and be killed.”
“Or be shot by one of your men,” she said bluntly. “I’d rather be dead than here.” It was the truth. She would never give up trying to go home until she was dead.
“Are you so unhappy here?” He looked sorry to hear it, and the truth was that he had been kind to her. He could have made her his own the first night, and she had been there for weeks now, but he wanted her to get used to him, before he made her his wife. She was no friendlier to him now than she had been in the beginning. He didn’t want to be rough with her, but she couldn’t keep running away forever. And sooner or later, someone would shoot her and kill her, or hurt her badly. He wanted to protect her from that. What had happened the day before was bad enough.
“You killed my brothers,” she said fiercely. And Ohitekah, but she didn’t say his name.
“It happens during raids and war parties.” He couldn’t change that, and he wanted her to be his. He wanted that very much. “Can we try and be friends?” He thought that if she could think of him as a friend, the rest would be easier after that, and she would accept him as her husband. She wasn’t the first woman to have been taken by a war party and given to a chief. Many of them became slaves. The other three women from her village had accepted it. Wachiwi had seen them with their braves and new families. They looked unhappy but knew they had no choice, and they were younger and more placid than Wachiwi. She had met them several times at the river, but the older women who treated them as slaves did not want them to talk to Wachiwi.
Napayshni wanted to give her more than the life of a slave or captive, and treat her as his wife. Wachiwi would have none of it. “You’re my enemy, not my friend.”
“I want you to be my wife,” he said softly. He was a great chief, humbling himself to a young girl, which was rare. In other tribes and circumstances, it would be an honor. But like the man who had offered her father a hundred horses for her and whom she refused, she didn’t want to be Napayshni’s wife. He had killed her brothers and the boy she loved, or his men had, which was enough. And they had taken her from her father. She would never forgive Napayshni for that.
“I will never be your wife,” Wachiwi said fiercely. “You will have to take me with a knife at my throat.”
“I won’t do that. I want you to come to me on your own.” She glared at him as he said it, but in spite of herself, something softened in her eyes. He was asking her, not telling her, or forcing her. That wasn’t entirely lost on her. Things could have been a lot worse. He was an honorable man, and treated her with respect, although she didn’t do the same to him. She had been harsh with him since they met. She didn’t want to be his wife or his slave, or his prize of war. “I won’t force you, Wachiwi. I don’t want to make you my wife that way. Go where you wish in the camp, do what you want. Be my wife when you are ready, and not before. But if you try to escape again, I will tie you up every day. You’re a free woman, within the camp. And when you wish it, you will be my wife, and never my slave.” He was not going to make another chief’s daughter his slave, and White Bear was an important chief. His daughter was worthy of respect. “Stay away from the horses,” he warned. “Other than that, you are free to go where you choose. On foot.” She didn’t answer him, and he walked away. What he was offering her was more than fair. But she wasn’t ready to make peace with him, and swore she never would. She was still planning to try to escape, every chance she got.
They were in their summer camp by then, and it was hot. They weren’t planning to move for several weeks. There was work to do on the game they had killed, the women were sewing, men were tanning and curing, furs were being prepared for trade. There were good grazing lands for the horses, and plenty of buffalo nearby if they wanted more. It was a relief not to have to move camp every few days, especially in the heat. And Wachiwi’s shoulder was healing by then. It didn’t hurt anymore. She was still waiting for an opportune moment to escape, but there was none now. There were too many people in camp all the time. She could never take one of the horses and ride away. She had no choice but to do what Napayshni had said, she could walk everywhere, but she couldn’t ride.
One day, she heard from some of the men that there was a lake nearby. It was a long walk, but she had nothing else to do. She had no children, no husband, and no official chores in camp. She was being treated like a guest, and Napayshni’s two wives did everything, even washed her clothes for her. Napayshni had ordered them to do so. And although they grumbled at first, they did as they were told, and treated her like another child. She had an easy life, except for the fact that she didn’t want to be there.
Napayshni was trying a new tack, as with a horse, to win her over. He was ignoring her entirely, and hoping she would come to him. It hadn’t borne fruit so far, but she looked less bellicose than she had before. As they stayed in the summer camp, Wachiwi seemed more at ease. She played with the children, and sat with the women sometimes for a few minutes. She did some of her beading, and repaired her torn dress yet again. She even taught two of the young girls how to dye porcupine quills like the ones on her dress. They found the right berries, and they got them the same striking blue and were thrilled. Napayshni was pleased to see her calming down, although he made no comment to her.
And on their second week at the summer camp, she decided to take a long walk, and discovered the lake she had heard about from listening to some of the men. There was no one there. She was all alone in the most beautiful spot she had ever seen. There was a waterfall high up on a hill, and down below, the peaceful lake. There were fish in it, and a little sandy beach. She looked around, saw no one, took off her moccasins and dress, and swam naked in the lake. Her brothers had taught her to swim like a fish.
It was the most perfect afternoon she could remember in years, surely since she had been here. She had hidden her clothes so no one could see them if any of the men came to the lake. But no one did. They were busy in camp and had work to do, and it was too far to walk for the women and children. She felt as though she were in a sacred place. She smiled broadly for the first time since she’d been taken captive, and she stayed all afternoon, lay in the sun, and swam again several times. She was singing to herself when she went back to camp. She had freedom now, because Napayshni knew she could not get far on foot. And they were too far from her own tribe for her to walk.
She looked happy and carefree and young, with her black hair loose down her back. Napayshni saw her walk into camp, and he said nothing, but his heart glowed when he saw the look on her face. She looked peaceful and happy and at ease.
He asked her what she had done that day, as they all ate dinner at their campfire. The new baby had grown strong and healthy since it was born, and his mother looked well. Both women were pregnant again, with babies that would come in the spring. The baby Napayshni wanted was Wachiwi’s, but he said nothing to her. He didn’t want to frighten her, particularly as it seemed as though she was finally settling in.
“I went to the lake today,” Wachiwi said quietly. She was less hostile to him now since he rarely spoke to her, but she still didn’t want to be his wife, or even his friend.
“On foot? That’s a great distance to walk.” He was impressed. He knew that some of the men had gone there on horseback at first, but didn’t have time these days.
“It’s a beautiful place,” she said, looking serene. He nodded, and turned away from her again, pretending to ignore her. She was his beautiful wild horse. He hadn’t tamed her yet, but he knew now that he would one day. He could see it in her eyes. The time was coming, and all he wanted was for it to come soon.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 8
Wachiwi went to the lake every day. It was a long walk in the heat, but it was worth it—the time she spent there was idyllic, and totally peaceful. It reminded her of a lake where she had gone with her brothers. And one day, just to see if she still could, she reached down and caught a fish with her hands, laughed out loud, and then threw it back. She enjoyed the time she spent there by herself. And she was so certain that no one was there that she lay naked in the sun for hours, swam with no clothes on, and even picked berries and wandered around nude in the hot sun. She felt like a child. She felt totally safe here and alone. She wanted these days to last forever, but she knew that in a few weeks, they would break camp and start traveling toward their winter camp. It was then that she planned to try and make a run for it again, but for now, she had nothing to think of, worry about, or plan. And she looked happy and relaxed when she went back to camp every night.
She had turned totally brown, and she had worn a hole in her moccasins from the long walk daily to the lake in the morning and back to camp at dusk. She always got back just in time for dinner, and Napayshni loved what he saw in her eyes. She looked expansive and welcoming and warm, sometimes even to him, when she forgot to look indifferent or angry at him. What he saw when she was open to him warmed his heart, and seemed to be opening hers. It was his fondest hope that perhaps by the time they broke camp and moved on, she would finally be his. He had been patient with her, and it was starting to bear fruit. He could feel it, even in the way she spoke to him now, when she talked about swimming at the lake. He had thought of giving her one of the horses to get there more easily, but he didn’t want to tempt her to run away again. She still might. She wasn’t his yet. Once she was, and had his baby inside her, he knew she would never try to leave again. But now she still could. He had to make her his own first, and then he would be safe and Wachiwi would be his for the rest of his days. It was all he wanted now, and he thought of it every day as he worked.
Wachiwi was oblivious to his passion and deep feelings for her as she walked to the lake every day with a light step, anxious to get to her private place and spend the day there. She was lucky, she had been given no work to do at the camp, which was Napayshni’s gift to her. Instead she could play all day, swim at the lake, lie on the beach, and dream. She still dreamed of her family and her village and her father, but now she had other thoughts too, about the two women she lived with, their children, and Napayshni sometimes. She didn’t want to believe it, but she could see he was a decent man. He was good to his men, and his wives, gentle with his children, and kind to her. If he had been a Sioux and hadn’t killed her brothers and Ohitekah, she would have liked him and might even have agreed to be his wife. Now she never would. And soon, she would be gone. No matter how kind he was to her, she was more determined than ever to run away. She was biding her time until they broke camp, and enjoying her days at the lake.
She lay sleeping on the beach one particularly hot afternoon. She had tucked her dress and moccasins under a bush, and she had fallen into a deep sleep after swimming for a long time. The children had woken them in the heat the night before, and she was tired. She had been dreaming of her father, when she heard a sound. She thought it was a bird rustling in a bush nearby. She opened an eye, looked around, saw nothing, and then sat up on the warm sand, and as she did she saw something she had never seen before. It was a man in buckskin breeches and an open white shirt, with white skin and dark hair, and he stood staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and terror. He was too paralyzed to move, and so was she. She could hear his horse now, tethered nearby. She didn’t know who or what he was, having never seen a white man before, and as she looked at him, she instantly remembered something her father had said about white spirits who had come from far away. They had always sounded mysterious to her, but having never seen one, she had never thought about it again. And she knew instantly when she saw him that this was one. She didn’t know if he was an evil spirit or a good one, and she stood naked before him, afraid to move, not sure what he would do. And he looked as frightened as she was. He was not sure if there was a party of braves nearby who would come for her and find him. And as he gazed at the exquisite young girl, her nakedness seemed almost mystical. She was perfect in every way.
To reassure her, he held up both hands and made a sign of peace that she knew was either Iroquois or Huron, but she had seen it before. It wasn’t Sioux or Crow, but she understood.
In fact, it was Huron, which he learned as he traveled with that tribe for two years. He had come west on his own, traveling, exploring, making drawings when he saw something interesting. He had drawn some maps that he thought might be useful for others following the same path, but mostly he was just exploring the New World. The second son, and younger brother to a responsible, adoring older brother in France, he had no obligations at home, and had followed his dream to the New World. He had stayed in New Orleans briefly when he arrived five years before, and ever since, the virgin territories, the Indians, the sheer beauty of it all, had given him endless joy. And he had had no bad experiences so far, with the exception of a few close calls. He had once missed a Pawnee war party by a matter of hours, who had killed the people he had been staying with, and the burning of a fort and the massacre of its occupants, where he had been days before. Other than that, his time discovering the woods and Great Plains, forests, and rivers had been a time of great happiness for him. He had thought the area he was in completely unoccupied, and now this naked girl was rooted to the spot looking at him. He could see that she was Indian, but without clothes, he could not tell what tribe, or if they were warlike or peaceful. And whatever she was, the men of her tribe could not be far away and would not welcome his meeting one of their daughters or wives naked at a lake. They would kill him on the spot. He knew they were both in great danger standing there like this. He indicated his clothes and pointed to her. She nodded and ran into the bushes, and a moment later she emerged like a doe in her elkskin dress and moccasins. The oddest thing about her was that she didn’t look frightened by him, but more intrigued and somewhat puzzled, as though she had never seen a white man before. And now that she was dressed, he thought she was a Sioux of some kind, and of obviously high rank, because her dress was beaded and ornate. He suspected she might be a chief’s wife or daughter.
He made the sign of peace again and made no move to approach her. He wanted to ask her if she was alone, but didn’t know how. He looked around as though searching for someone and then quizzically back at her. She understood and shook her head, wondering if she should admit to him that she was alone. She had a small knife at her waist, but it was for cutting berries and vines. She had never used it on a man. She still didn’t know if he was a good spirit or a bad one, but he didn’t look menacing to her. In fact, he looked scared and surprised. So much so that she smiled. She said something to him in Sioux that he didn’t understand. She pointed in the direction of their camp and made a sign for tipis with her hands. He nodded, grateful for the information so he could stay away. And then wondering if he would stop her, she began to walk away. He didn’t move. He just watched her go.
Wachiwi reached the path she walked every day. She turned back several times, and he was still standing there. He hadn’t moved, and his eyes were rooted to her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And then quietly, he melted into the forest, untied his horse, and rode away. She turned one last time to see if he was still there, and he had disappeared. The first white spirit she had ever seen had evaporated. She wished there were someone she could ask about it, or tell them what she’d seen, but she didn’t dare. Something told her that she couldn’t.
She looked serious this time when she walked back into the village an hour later. Everyone was busy, and she joined the women outside her tipi, and began to play with the children. She held the baby, which she did sometimes, and made him cackle with laughter. She was laughing with him when Napayshni came home from tanning buffalo hides, and he thought he had never seen a happier sight than Wachiwi playing with his baby. He hoped that the next child she held in her arms would be her own, and his.
Wachiwi said nothing to anyone in camp about the man she had seen at the lake. She knew instinctively that it might put him, or even her, in danger. Perhaps someone would blame her for his presence. She looked for him again the next day, but he didn’t come. But the day after that, he came back. She was swimming when he showed up, and she had just popped her head out of the water when she saw him emerge from the woods and approach her. He was wearing the same buckskin breeches and tall black boots. His hair was long, as dark as hers, and pulled back. He made the odd sign of peace again, and came nearly to the water’s edge. He smiled at her, and his whole face lit up when he did. He had watched her for a while and saw that she was alone. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. He knew he was being both brave and foolish to come back, but he had been compelled to. He wanted to see her again, and discover more about her if he could. She was the only Indian woman he had ever been alone with. He had spent his five years in America discovering nature, finding himself, growing into manhood in the world he loved that was so different from his own. And now he was mesmerized by this woman who looked to him like an Indian goddess. He realized that her being at the lake alone wasn’t just a random occurrence, he had the feeling now that she came here often, maybe even every day. And all he knew once he had seen her was that he had to see her again. He would have liked to paint her portrait and capture the remarkable free spirit and grace he saw in her as she played in the water. And Wachiwi wondered how he knew the Huron signs but couldn’t ask him.
He had seen the Crow village by then, from the distance, and had steered a wide berth, and camped far from it, in a cave in the forest. He knew the ways of the woods well and was adept at them. He had been on the lookout for war parties, but there were none. He had seen through a telescope that everyone at the camp appeared to be busy. It was the end of summer, and he suspected they were getting ready for winter. He wondered if this girl in the lake had just slipped away to play instead of working. She looked young enough to do that, and if she was the chief’s daughter, perhaps they let her, as a kind of privilege. There was so much he wished he could ask her, so much he wanted to know about her.
He could see as she swam that she was naked again, and she didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on her face, and not the bits of flesh that emerged as she moved around under the water. She stood up in the water then, and it only reached her waist. Their eyes met and neither of them moved, and then she smiled and ducked under the water again. She was teasing him, like a wood nymph. He almost felt as though he had imagined her, but she was all too real, and such a beautiful woman. He couldn’t imagine any wood nymph prettier than she. And the look of innocence in her eyes overwhelmed him. He decided to introduce himself, although it seemed more than a little foolish here.

[Dalyia]

“Jean de Margerac,” he said, pointing to himself and bowing low. She looked puzzled for an instant, as though she didn’t know what he’d said. He said it again, pointed to his chest, and didn’t move, and then she got it.
“Wachiwi,” she said softly, and pointed to herself. He didn’t know enough about the local tribes to be sure which one she was from, and when he tried a few words, it was clear that she spoke neither English nor French. He spoke both, and had learned English since coming to the New World. He had learned Iroquois and Huron, but she didn’t seem to recognize those either. They were tribes far to the east of where they were. They were left with signing to each other and miming, which seemed to be enough.
They now knew each other’s names, although nothing of each other’s histories. There was a nobility to her that told him that she came of privilege in her world, but was a free spirit, just as he was. In an odd way, their histories were not so different. He had felt too confined in his own world in France. And out of love for him, his older brother, Tristan the marquis, had allowed him to leave France, with his blessing. She was signing something to him then, and it took him a while to understand that she was asking him where he came from, pointing to the sky with a question in her eyes, and then the forest. He pointed to the woods in answer, indicated that he was riding a horse, and tried to convey many, many, many days. Trying to explain to her that beyond was an ocean and an even longer journey was too much to translate into pantomime for her. He had come from France, Brittany, and was the Comte de Margerac. The fact that his older brother Tristan was the marquis, and lord of extensive lands, would have meant nothing to her. All they had to share was who they were at this moment, to each other, with no past and no future. All they had was now, which was a heady feeling for them both.
He took off his boots and waded into the water with her, feeling slightly crazy. If any of the braves had come, he would have been dead, without boots or a weapon. Like her, he wore a knife at his waist, for cutting his way through the woods, but he wouldn’t have wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any of the braves from her village, and he had left his gun on his horse, so he didn’t frighten her. They were like two children, meeting in a forbidden place, taking an enormous risk, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She looked like a girl with a lot of spirit. Most women would have run screaming from him in her situation. Instead she swam naked in the water only a few feet away from him, tempting fate, or trusting him, he wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t look like a loose woman. There was no hint of invitation in her eyes, just innocence, curiosity, and friendship. She was a most unusual girl. And luckily for her, she was safe with him. And something told him she sensed that. But she was either very foolish or very brave.
She dressed again, while he turned away, and they sat on a log, trying to exchange small bits of information. He asked if she had children and she shook her head. He guessed that she wasn’t married then, although she seemed to be of a mature age. Perhaps she was a chief’s favorite daughter he couldn’t part with. She pantomimed then that she had been taken from her home and ridden many days. She showed him the scars from where she had been bound, since she still had them, and then pointed to the village from whence she came. What she tried to say to him made it sound like she was a prisoner there, but that made no sense to Jean since she was alone at the lake. He went to his horse then and showed her his drawings and sketches, of lakes, forests, a few of people, and she nodded. They were very good. He showed her one of his maps, but she didn’t seem to know what it was, having never seen one. She indicated that she liked his drawings better. And then it was time for her to go.
They had managed to form an odd friendship, curious about each other, from two entirely different worlds. An Indian girl, perhaps of rank, and a French nobleman, both far from home, who had happened on each other in this peaceful place. He stayed after she left and drew the waterfall, and wanted to give it to her the next day.
Jean came the next day, but she didn’t. Both of Napayshni’s wives were sick from berries they had eaten, and she stayed in the village to take care of the children.
It was two days before Wachiwi came to the lake again, and she was disappointed to find that Jean wasn’t there. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if he had gone back to where he came from. She knew that he hadn’t run into any of the Crow braves, because she had heard nothing about it in the village, and she would have if they had found a white man and killed him. They would have brought his scalp back to the village and given it to the chief. He had just vanished as he had appeared. But he seemed like a good spirit to her. He had done her no harm and seemed peaceful and friendly in every way.
She was quiet when she went back to the village that night. The men had a celebration to honor yet another hunt, and some of them got raucous. Napayshni had a lot to drink, which was rare for him, but he was in a festive mood, and he tried to come to her in her bed. She felt him near her after he came back to the tipi, she ignored him and pretended to be asleep, and he went back to his own bed. Before he did, he had touched her face and neck with gentle fingers, hoping she would wake. She was not ready for him, and didn’t think she ever would be. She had sensed his mounting passion for her recently, and it reminded her that she needed to get away. She was worried that soon he would force himself on her, frustrated by the long wait. He had been patient so far, but she knew he wouldn’t be forever. She knew from other women of the things men did, and in fact, like it or not, she belonged to him. He could do what he wanted with her. It was a miracle that he had never pressed the point.
It would be a long winter sleeping in the same lodge, and both of his wives would be heavily pregnant by midwinter. It was easy to guess that he would turn to Wachiwi for his needs, and want her to get pregnant too. Having many children was a sign of virility and importance for the chief. And he had wanted Wachiwi since she arrived. He had been restrained with her, but she knew. Soon he would make her his wife. She wanted to be gone before he did. She had vowed never to let him near her. The murder of her brothers and Ohitekah was too much for her ever to forgive.

[Dalyia]

There was talk of breaking up the camp soon, in the final days of summer. The buffalo were beginning to move on, and the Crow wanted to hunt some more before winter. They had had a long time in their summer camp, and Wachiwi had enjoyed the time she had spent at the lake, especially since she had met Jean. And she had enjoyed her time alone there even before that. The day before they broke camp, she went back to the lake for a last time. She thought he was gone by then, as she hadn’t seen him in several days, and she didn’t expect to meet him again.
She walked as she always did, at a good pace, so she would have enough time at the lake before she had to get back. The air had gotten a trifle cooler, and she could sense that autumn was coming. A few leaves were starting to fall from the trees, but it was still warm enough for her to swim. She took off her clothes as she always did, and even the water was a little cooler. Afterward, she put her dress and moccasins back on, thinking of Jean, and was startled when he suddenly appeared. It made her wonder if he really was a spirit after all. She hadn’t seen him in at least a week. He signed to her that he had gone away and come back. He couldn’t express it to her, but he had hoped to see her again, at least once. He felt he had to see her one more time before he left. He handed her the drawing he had done of the waterfall, and she looked pleased. She gave it back to him, because she couldn’t take it back to camp with her. And then he showed her a sketch he had done of her, which touched her even more. She smiled at him the moment she saw it.
They sat on their favorite log then, as they had before. She picked berries and handed them to him, and they were sitting there peacefully like two children, when they both heard a sound at the same time, like the stirring of leaves. Wachiwi started, and so did Jean, and before either of them knew what had happened, Napayshni walked into the clearing, looking as stunned as they did. For an instant none of them reacted, and then without a sound Napayshni lunged at Jean. Wachiwi didn’t know what to do. She had no idea he had followed her there, he never had before, and she didn’t know if he had come alone. What she didn’t know was that he was tired of waiting, and had decided to consummate his marriage to her at the place she loved so much, before they broke camp. He thought it was the right thing to do. And as she watched, terrified, Wachiwi saw both men locked in a deadly grip, their faces red, grunting, and their hands around each other’s throats. She stood helpless, afraid to interfere, and just as Napayshni seemed about to get the best of Jean, she saw Jean loosen his grip on the Indian’s neck, reach for the knife at his belt with one swift movement, and run Napayshni through. The man to whom she belonged stared at her in amazement and made a gurgling sound, as blood exploded from his throat, and he fell slowly backward onto the ground. Jean was choking and trying to catch his breath, as they both looked down at Napayshni. His eyes were open, he lay still, blood was gushing from his chest, he was dead.
“Oh my God,” Jean said, with a look of terror, with no idea what to do next, and Wachiwi moved faster than he did. She took one of Napayshni’s legs, pointed to the other and Jean, and pulled him toward a thicket. It was not the way to bury an Indian chief, but there was nothing more they could do. They both knew they had to move quickly. If anyone knew he had come there, or had followed him from camp, Jean and Wachiwi would be killed. Jean had never intended to hurt him, but he had had no other choice. They had been playing with fire when they made friends.
Wachiwi was powerful and swift as they dragged Napayshni into the bushes. The brush was so thick there, she knew he wouldn’t be seen or found for a long time, and then she pointed to herself and to Jean, and in the direction of his horse. She was saying clearly that she had to go with him, and he had figured that out too. He cleaned his knife in the water as quickly as he could, replaced it in his belt, and together they ran soundlessly toward his horse, saying not a word. Wachiwi swung herself onto his horse in front of the saddle, as though she belonged there, and Jean mounted, put an arm around her, took the reins, and in an instant they were off at full speed.
She pointed to paths and clearings in the forest that he hadn’t noticed and would never have seen. And it was clear to him as he rode with her that she had spent a lifetime on horses. She kept urging the horse faster, and both of them knew that they had to get as far away as quickly as they could. When Napayshni’s absence was discovered in the camp, if it hadn’t been already, they would come searching for him. Jean had guessed the moment he saw him that he was the chief. What he didn’t understand was Wachiwi’s lack of emotion at seeing him killed. If anything, she seemed relieved. He couldn’t figure out if he was her husband, or what their relation to each other was. But he had no time to ask as they rode. Wachiwi was concentrating on getting them through the forest. They rode on for many hours at full speed until it was dark. His horse was exhausted by then, and Jean just prayed that they wouldn’t lame him in the woods. They still had a long way to go. They were riding north and east. She finally let him stop when she noticed a cave. They tied the horse to a tree, and he followed her into the cave. This time he took his weapons with him. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were, nor was she, but he had a vague idea. He was trying to get to the home of a trapper he knew, where he had stayed for several days on the way west. He was French, they had met in Canada, and had known each other for years. Jean didn’t want to endanger him, but by the time they got there, they would be a long, long way from the Crows.
Jean could see something in Wachiwi’s eyes then, as though she wanted to express something to him. For a moment, as they left the lake, she had wanted to take him in the direction of her father’s village, but she realized immediately that if she did, she would be bringing danger to them, and maybe even a full-scale war with the Crow. As far as they knew, and would figure out, when she didn’t come back either, if they found his body and not hers, they would assume that she had killed their chief and run away. They would be certain of it if she went back to her village, and they would take harsh revenge. She had to stay away from her father’s tribe. Maybe the Crow would think she had been kidnapped by another tribe at the lake, when Napayshni was killed. But it was unlikely, since there was no one else around. They would think she did it. All she could do now was travel with the white man, and what would happen to her after that, she didn’t know. She had no idea what he would do with her now. He said very little that night, nor did she. They exchanged glances, but no words, and they made no effort at pantomime. Both of them knew what had happened and what the consequences would be if they were caught.

[Dalyia]

They slept little that night, left before dawn, and rode even harder that day. They had to cover some open terrain, and Jean knew they were in Teton Sioux territory, which was never safe. The Teton Sioux were fiercely hostile even against other Sioux and feared by all. But by sheer luck they saw no one when they covered open ground. They rode like the wind, and then disappeared into the cover of the forest again. It slowed them down, but they met no one on the way. There was no cave to sleep in that night, and they both sat awake, listening to the sounds of the forest, but no humans emerged, and after two days of riding, so far no one was following them. They both wondered if maybe Napayshni’s body hadn’t been found yet. Jean hoped not. Maybe his disappearance and Wachiwi’s was still a mystery to the chief’s people.
On the third day, Jean’s horse was getting noticeably tired as they pressed on. But Jean knew where they were by then, he had mapped the territory, and thought they were relatively safe. The Crow could still come after them, but the tribe didn’t know in which direction they’d gone since they had a long head start. And the tribes in the area they were now traveling through were mostly peaceful and involved in trading and agriculture. They weren’t as warlike as the Crow or the Teton Sioux. There were generally no war parties in the vicinity, and Jean hoped that was still true.
They had covered hundreds of miles by then, at full speed, faster than Jean had ever ridden before. Wachiwi was tireless, and she urged his horse on in a way he knew he never could. She was twice the rider he was. She acted as though she had been born on a horse. They rode on after dark that night, and had begun to see farms, a few settlers’ homes, and finally Jean recognized the cabin he had been looking for. He brought their horse to a halt in the front yard, and led him into the barn, and then he urged Wachiwi onto the porch and knocked on the door. It was the home of Luc Ferrier. He had been in the New World for years, trapping in Canada, and trading with the Indians. He had been married to an Indian woman who had since died. Jean considered him a good friend, and trusted him. Luc opened the door and gave a shout of delight when he saw him, and they spoke rapidly in French.
“What are you doing back so soon? I didn’t expect you for another month. Did you run into trouble or get scared?” He always teased Jean, mostly because he had a title, and Luc didn’t. He was from the Pyrenees and a rough mountain man, but he had a kind heart and a lot of ill-disguised respect for Jean, although they liked to tease each other with friendly insults. Luc had seen Jean in some difficult situations, and he always handled himself well.
“A minor incident,” Jean said casually, but Luc could see that they were tired and could guess that they had ridden hard. He didn’t know why or for how long, but he could tell that something had happened and he didn’t want to pry. Whatever it was, they would be safe with him, which was why Jean had headed for his cabin as soon as they left the lake.
“Who’s your friend?” Luc couldn’t resist asking. She was lovely.
“Her name is Wachiwi, and that’s all I know. I think she’s Crow, or maybe Dakota. I can’t tell. I don’t know these tribes as well. I tried to speak Iroquois and Huron to her, she doesn’t speak either. She was living in a Crow village, but she tried to explain to me that she was taken from somewhere else, I think maybe from her father.”
Luc spoke to her in Dakota then, which he spoke fluently since he traded with them at times. He was conversant in many dialects and had an ear for languages, and Wachiwi answered rapidly and talked for quite a long time, explaining her story. She was very impassioned about it, and very expressive, as Jean listened to them both, and understood not a word. But Luc nodded and commented occasionally. Jean wondered if she was telling him that Jean had killed the Crow chief. He hoped not. He didn’t want to implicate or involve him in any way, which it might if he had knowledge of it. This was their problem, not his, and Jean fervently hoped that nothing would come of it. He was planning to continue traveling east with Wachiwi to Fort St. Charles, and to St. Louis after that. He wanted to get both of them as far away as possible from the Crow. What he would do with her after that, he had no idea. And he didn’t know what she wanted either. He was hoping Luc could find out.
It was a long time before Luc turned to him and explained. They were sitting at his kitchen table by then, and he dished up two big plates of stew that he had made himself. He was a good cook, and they hadn’t eaten anything more than berries in three days. Jean was starving, and Wachiwi looked pale. She looked at the food with interest, and gingerly poked it with a finger. Luc handed her a spoon and showed her how to use it. She was quick to learn, and ate politely as Luc explained her situation to Jean.
“She’s a Dakota Sioux. Her father is Chief White Bear. He’s an important chief. I’ve heard of him, although I’ve never met him. They don’t trade with the French, but keep their goods among themselves. She said they were attacked by the Crow last spring, in a raid. She and several other women were taken. They killed two of her brothers and several young men, and she was given to the Crow chief as a war prize. She said that he wanted to make her his wife, and she refused. I might point out to you, by the way, that that’s very unusual. When you’re taken as a slave and refuse to marry the chief you’ve been given to, which is considered an honor, it doesn’t go over very well. He could have killed her. Apparently he chose not to, and she said he treated her decently. She tried to escape several times, by stealing one of their horses. And they caught her and brought her back every time.”
“She’s an incredible rider. I can testify to that,” Jean added. “She can ride anything under any conditions over any terrain. I’m amazed my horse is still standing. She got more out of him in three days than I have in three years. We may find him dead in the barn tonight.” Luc laughed at what his friend said.
“She’s a very courageous girl, defying the chief, and trying to run away. She says you rescued her from the Crow, which is an act of insanity on your part, I might add. If they had caught you stealing the chief’s slave and future wife, and absconding with her, they would have had your scalp in about two seconds. I don’t know how the hell you two got away.”
“We got a head start,” was all Jean said. It was obvious from what Luc said that Wachiwi hadn’t told him Jean had killed her captor and left his body hidden in the bushes. Jean couldn’t help wondering if they’d found him by then. “I’m not planning to stay here long,” Jean went on. “It’s still a little too close for comfort. I want to get to Fort St. Charles, and then to St. Louis. We’ll be fine once we get to the fort. I’m a little uneasy till then.”
“I think you’ll be all right from here on. I’ll give you one of my horses. You need a fresh mount if you’ve been pushing yours hard for three days. She says she wanted to go back to her family, but she can’t now. She doesn’t want to get them in trouble either, and she thinks the Crow will be very angry at her for running away and succeeding this time. She doesn’t want to endanger her father or brothers.” And then he looked at his old friend with a question in his eyes. “What are you going to do with her, Jean?”
“I have no idea. If she can’t go back to her family, which sounds reasonable,” particularly knowing that she would be blamed for killing Napayshni and the Crow would seek revenge if she went back to her village, “I don’t know where to take her.”
“Are you in love with her?” Luc asked him bluntly.
“I don’t even know her,” Jean answered. It wasn’t entirely true. They had been meeting for several weeks, but he didn’t know her well enough to love her. They couldn’t even talk to each other. “I just did her a favor, getting her out.”
“She says she’s your slave now,” Luc informed him.
“I don’t need a slave,” Jean answered quietly. “I don’t even have a house. All I have is a horse, and a bunch of maps. I suppose I could take her to my cousins in New Orleans and leave her there. Maybe she’ll want to stay at Fort St. Charles.”
“There won’t be much for her there. And she speaks no French or English, and has never been out of her village, except with the Crow. She’s never been to a town or a city. Can you imagine her in New Orleans? What would she do there?”
“I don’t know,” Jean said, running a hand through his hair. “She needed help. I didn’t think beyond that.” And in fact, they had had no other choice but to escape, as fast as they could. Both their lives were on the line, not just hers. But he didn’t say that to Luc.
“I think you should keep her,” Luc said, smiling at her. She smiled back at him in return, and told him the food had been good.
“She’s not a piece of furniture, for heaven’s sake, or an object. I can’t just ‘keep’ her. She should have a life, a husband, children, something. I can’t drag her around with me on my horse.”
“Maybe you should get a house and leave her there. She’s a bright girl, and she’s got spirit. You can tell that talking to her. She’s very brave to have been taken by the Crow, defying their chief, and trying to run away. And she says she’s not worried now. She’s with you.”
“Thank her for her faith in me. She’s more responsible for getting us here than I am. I would have gotten lost several times. She had an unfailing sense of direction. She knows the forest as though she’s been in it all her life. She never looked frightened or complained.”
“If you teach her French, you can talk to her.”
“And then what? I think I’ll take her to my cousins. I can buy her some decent clothes in St. Louis.”
“What she’s wearing is more than decent. Everything about it says that she’s a chief’s daughter. The beading, the quills, the beads on her moccasins.”
“I don’t think my cousins in New Orleans will understand that. If I take her there, I need to buy her proper gowns. My cousin’s wife, Angélique, is extremely proper.” There was a quiet dignity about Wachiwi, and a grace, that anyone would notice and have to respect. Angélique had been born in Paris, and was a distant cousin of the king, and never let anyone forget it. She had been in New Orleans for forty years, but she was still extremely French. He knew he would have to teach Wachiwi a few words of French by then.
Jean had stayed with them for several months when he first arrived, and still did from time to time, when he needed a taste of civilization. But it always rapidly became too much for him, and then he took off again. He enjoyed his wanderings in the wilderness and discovering new territories too much to settle for a life in town. He couldn’t imagine Wachiwi happy there for long either. But it would be a good place to take her, until she adjusted to life away from her own culture and people. For some reason, Jean was convinced she could learn. She seemed to be curious about everything. She was now as she explored Luc’s kitchen, and quietly washed their dishes in the bucket he kept for that purpose. As Jean had, she devoured the simple meal. It was delicious, and she thanked Luc in Sioux.
He only had one bedroom to give them, and he insisted they take it. He slept in the sitting room on a comfortable old couch. And as soon as they were shown the bedroom, Wachiwi lay down on the floor. She had never seen a proper bed before, but she made no comment, and assumed it was for Jean. Before that, Luc had shown her the outdoor plumbing facilities, which she had never seen before either, and she thanked him. Jean pulled her to her feet when she lay on the floor, and pointed to her and the bed, and indicated that he would sleep on the floor, but she refused and lay down on the floor again. They argued about it in sign language for a few minutes while she insisted. She was his slave now, but as far as Jean was concerned, she was a woman, and had ridden just as hard and as long as he had. In the end, to make the point to her, he lay down beside her on the floor, and she giggled. He was telling her that if she slept on the floor, so would he. She didn’t budge an inch, and he was amazed at how stubborn she was. It shouldn’t have surprised him from all he knew about her now. He was still amazed by the story Luc had told him, of her courage and all that had happened to her in the past few months. And now she was riding east with him, to an unknown fate, and he was a stranger to her. But it was clear that she trusted him completely. They had survived their trial by fire. Her fate would have been very different if Napayshni had killed him instead. She might have been dead by then, for meeting a white man in secret. In fact, Jean had not only rescued her, but saved her life, and she knew it. And now she believed she belonged to him. He had no idea what to do with her, but he couldn’t just abandon her. She had nowhere to go. And in the face of her insistence, he finally gave up and slept in the bed. He got a good night’s sleep and so did she. He handed her a blanket, she wrapped herself in it, and was asleep in less than five minutes, as Jean lay in bed and thought about her. It had been an amazing three days, which he suddenly realized had changed his life forever. He had no idea what to do with her, but he now was responsible for this exquisitely beautiful Dakota girl.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 9
Luc made breakfast for them before they left, and gave them food and fresh water for their journey. He kept Jean’s exhausted horse and gave him one of his own, a solid young horse with strong legs that would take them as far as they needed. Jean thanked him for his kindness, and Wachiwi did the same in Sioux. And then they began the two-day trip to Fort St. Charles. It took longer than Jean expected, and they arrived on the afternoon of the third day. The trip had been long and arduous but not dangerous. The fort was familiar to him, because he had stayed there before. It was manned by French soldiers, and no one seemed surprised to see Wachiwi with him. Many men traveled with Indian women, and they directed her to the quarters set aside for Indian women. There wasn’t the remotest possibility that she could stay with Jean. She was treated like a servant or a slave. She looked unhappy when Jean came to see her that evening after having dinner with the commandant. It had been a hearty meal of roasted rabbit, prepared by a French chef, with excellent wines, delicious coffee, and a delicate dessert—and afterward the commandant’s aide handed out cigars. It was the best meal Jean had had in months.
But when he went out to see Wachiwi, he was embarrassed to see that they had served her slop in a dish like a dog. It upset him to realize she was being badly treated. It had never occurred to him that they would do that to her. And the other Indian women seemed less dignified than she did. He looked at her and tried to express how sorry he was, and she looked as though she understood. She nodded. And when the door to the women’s dormitory opened, he noticed that they slept on blankets on the floor. They weren’t treated like humans, but more like dogs, and when he saw that, he decided to move on the next day. His goal was St. Louis now, where he could get her a room in a hotel and get her properly dressed. It was another two-day ride from where they were.
He appeared at her dormitory the next day, pointed to the horse Luc had given them so she knew they were leaving, and spoke to her in French. She looked pleased, and Jean had decided that Luc was right. She needed to learn another language other than Sioux, either English or French, or ideally both. If she was going to exist in the civilized world, there were many things she had to learn. She seemed bright, and Jean thought she could. He taught her a few basic words in both languages as they rode.
There was a lot about her that intrigued him and so much more he wanted to know, about how she had grown up, what her ideas were, what she thought. He had been dazzled by her beauty from the first, but even without a common language, he sensed that she was a woman of depth, spirit, and soul.
Their pace was less frenetic, because they weren’t escaping from anyone now. They were beyond the reach of the Crow, theoretically, or even practically. Wachiwi could never go back, but she was in no danger now, except from the usual rigors of the road. They camped in the woods that night, but Jean had gotten supplies at the fort, and had brought blankets for both of them. They lay looking up at the stars, and as he thought about all that had happened and how far they had come, she quietly reached for his hand and put it over her heart. He understood that it was her way of thanking him, and he was touched. Her unwavering trust in him moved him a great deal. She was both vulnerable and strong, and she suddenly seemed very young. He was worried about what would become of her now, particularly after the poor treatment he’d seen at the fort.
He slept fitfully, and when he woke, it was still dark, there was a full moon, and he saw that she was awake. He wondered if she was frightened or sad, but there was no way he could ask her, so he gently touched her face and stroked her hair. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be all right. Whatever happened, he wanted to leave her in a safe place. They had come through a lot, and he was going to see her to a good situation somewhere, wherever that was. He was not going to abandon her now. He felt surprisingly responsible for her, a feeling he’d never had before. She was a young girl, and he was going to find a good home for her. He hoped that his cousins would be kind to her in New Orleans, and perhaps let her work for them in some capacity. Perhaps she could help take care of Angélique’s daughter’s children, or work for them in the house. There had to be somewhere where Wachiwi would fit in. He lay on his side then and smiled at her reassuringly. She lay under the blanket he had given her, smiling at him, and this time she leaned over and touched his face and then kissed him on the mouth. He hadn’t expected it, and didn’t know what to say. She had startled him totally. So he said not a word, tried to resist the tender feelings he had for her, and then kissed her back. She was all he could think of and he didn’t want to take advantage of her in any way. They were totally alone in the forest and in the world. And as they kissed, he was suddenly filled with passion and an electric current passed between them. They had been through so much and been so frightened, and now they were like two shipwrecked people on a beach. They had escaped and survived together, and neither of them was sure where to go next, other than into each other’s arms, which seemed to be the only safe place they had. Jean kissed her with a fervor he had never felt before for anyone, and she embraced him with all that she had saved and held back for her whole life. She had never dared to look a man in the eye in her own village, and now she was lost in Jean’s arms, swept away by their passion, which ignited like a fuse to which someone had put a match. He moved toward her and under her blanket without thinking, and she had taken off her dress. He saw and felt the same exquisite shape he had seen at the lake, and this time she wasn’t a mysterious stranger, she was familiar and warm and entirely his. And when they fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun came up, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they belonged to each other now and this was meant to be. But where they would go now, and how, was still a mystery to both of them, yet to be revealed.
It was late the next day when they woke up and the sun was shining brightly. Jean looked at Wachiwi as she opened her eyes, watching her intensely for signs of remorse, and there were none. She smiled at him and opened her arms to him again, and he lost himself in the wonders of her body with all the passion and relief and joy he felt for her after the night before. This was not what he had expected or planned, and yet it seemed to be a gift they had been given. They were both laughing and smiling when they got up. They couldn’t talk about it, but they both understood what had happened. Somewhere along the way, the night before, or days or weeks before, without realizing it they had fallen in love. If he hadn’t killed Napayshni, they wouldn’t even be together, but destiny had intervened and now they were. He couldn’t help wondering if a child would come of the night before. He had seen that she was a virgin when they made love.
And now, the woman who called herself his slave was the woman he wanted to be with, whom he cared about and wanted to protect. In all his twenty-four years, he had never been in love before, but there was no question in his mind now that he was. Youthful passion on both sides had turned to love unexpectedly, and now Jean was totally, madly, passionately in love with Wachiwi, a girl from the Dakota Sioux nation, whom he had met beside a lake. It would be a story to tell their grandchildren, if they had any. He knew what he wanted to do now. He wanted to keep her with him. But first he had to make her suitable to bring into his world.
He redoubled his efforts in speaking to her in both English and French as they rode more sedately toward St. Louis. They stopped often to make love in the forest, and their coupling was pure joy. They got to St. Louis two days later, and by then she had learned several phrases in both languages and many words. She didn’t always use them correctly, but she tried ardently to please him, and she was doing surprisingly well. She learned quickly, and she looked fascinated and a little daunted when they reached the hotel, and he led his horse to the barn, and they checked in. She was amazed by their surroundings. He asked for two rooms, which seemed more respectable, and the clerk stared at Wachiwi in disapproval, but he said not a word as he handed Jean both keys. They walked up the stairs, and she followed him, as he led her into the rooms. They were only going to sleep in one; the second one was to protect her reputation. But she had none, to the people in the hotel she was just an Indian girl traveling with him, and they would have thought it a waste of a good room. True to his upbringing, Jean was noble to his core, even with a young Indian girl, and she sensed his respect.
They had dinner in the dining room of an inn that night, and Wachiwi began eating, as Luc Ferrier had taught her, with a spoon. She copied Jean when he put his napkin on his lap, and he showed her how to use a knife and fork. She speared her food with the fork, but the knife made no sense to her, and the food was complicated for her. Jean could only imagine how foreign everything must seem. But that was nothing compared to the adventure they had the next day when he took her to a dry goods store and a dressmaker and outfitted her.
He bought her several simple dresses at the dry goods store, and the dressmaker had three gowns that had never been picked up and fit Wachiwi as though they’d been made for her. There were two dresses that were suitable for dinner at his cousin’s house, four demure ones for the daytime, proper shoes that he could tell Wachiwi didn’t like, and five bonnets that looked beautiful on her. There were mysterious undergarments that she had no idea how to put on until the saleswoman showed her. She was wearing more clothes at one time than she had ever worn in her life. There were gloves, several shawls, three purses, and a fan. They had it all delivered to the hotel, and Jean was relieved that they were taking a boat to New Orleans. It would have taken several horses or a mule train to carry everything he’d bought her. The boxes were stacked in their rooms. He bought two trunks to put it all in and made arrangements for the horse to be returned to Luc.
By the end of the day, they were both exhausted, and Wachiwi spoke to him in her few words of halting French and thanked him for everything he had given her. She looked more than a little dazed, and when they got back to the hotel, she put her elkskin dress and moccasins on again and looked relieved. At least that was something she knew how to wear. She had insisted on keeping them, and she looked like the little Indian girl he had first met when he saw her in the elkskin dress again, with the deep blue porcupine quills on the front, and she touched his heart again.
He had taught her jolie robe and chaussure and chapeau that day, along with gown, bonnet, undergarment, shoes, and gloves. She knew the names for everything he had bought for her. She was slowly learning to speak to him, mostly in French, but in English too. When they ordered dinner in their rooms, she ate with a knife and fork to please him, but when he lit a cigar, she wanted to share it with him. He laughed as he let her do it, but explained that she could only do it with him. Her father had let her share his pipe with him from time to time when no one was looking, so she knew what Jean meant, and put her finger to her lips to show that it was a secret … like the dead man they had left in the bushes. Neither of them wanted to think of that again, but it was his death that had brought them together.
They made love in Jean’s bed that night, with the same passion as they had before. The love that they shared was visceral and sensual and explosive. It was something he had never known before, and that was a mystery to her. She had no words for it, and they didn’t need them. What they shared when they made love to each other was magical.
The next day, he helped her dress, and with her new trunks full of the clothes he had bought her, they boarded the keelboat to New Orleans. Wachiwi looked excited and was smiling happily. She knew of this river, but had never expected to see it. She had heard of it in the lodges. Her people called it the Great River. The trip to New Orleans was going to take three weeks, with good winds and fast currents if they were lucky, while the boat made many stops and people got off and on.
There were canoes, flatboats, barges, and other keelboats all along the river, which was teeming with activity. Wachiwi was fascinated by it and beamed at Jean. He had reserved two cabins for them to look respectable once again, as he had at the hotel. They put all her trunks in one, and slept in the other. And when she got confused, he helped her put the undergarments on and laced up her corset. He laughed as he did it, and had never had so much fun. She was horrified by how tight the corset was and made him loosen it. He couldn’t expect her to learn everything at once. Only days before she had been swimming naked in the lake where he met her, living in a Crow village, and now she was dressed like a lady, on the way to New Orleans to meet his noble cousins.
He was slightly daunted by the prospect, and mildly unnerved by the stares of people on the keelboat when they saw that he was traveling with an Indian woman. She was so beautiful that the men understood it, but the women didn’t, and turned their backs on her the moment they saw her. Jean was startled by it and hoped that people in New Orleans would be more understanding, and captivated by her beauty. She was so innocent, so delicate, and so mesmerizing that he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to resist her. He certainly couldn’t, and his nights with her for three weeks on the Mississippi were passionate beyond belief. The trip to New Orleans gave them the time they needed to get to know each other, and improve her English and French. She was so bright and eager that she made rapid strides in both.
They had passed Fort Prudhomme and Fort St. Pierre, and finally arrived in New Orleans.
Wachiwi looked particularly beautiful that day. She wore a pale blue day gown he had bought her that looked like sky next to her skin, and a matching bonnet he tied beneath her chin for her, and gloves that he helped her put on. And her undergarments were in perfect order, thanks to him. She was part child and part woman, and what he loved most about her was that she was entirely his. Not his slave, but his woman. The chieftain’s daughter. Wachiwi. The dancer. Luc had translated her name for him. When the boat reached the dock in New Orleans, he helped her off and she walked with silent grace right behind him.
They took a carriage to a guest house Jean knew on Chartres Street, with all their belongings. He wanted them to wait in a comfortable room while he sent a message to his cousins at their plantation just outside of town, explaining that he was back and had a friend with him, a young lady. He didn’t want to impose on them and assume that they could stay with them. Within two hours a note was returned to him, from his cousin’s wife, Angélique de Margerac, insisting that they come at once and give up their rooms in town. She didn’t mention the young lady, but Jean presumed that there would be a room for Wachiwi too, since he had been clear in his note that she was traveling with him. It was an unusual occurrence, but he felt sure that his cousins could accommodate them both, and would be glad to do so. Angélique’s note had been welcoming and warm.
She sent her carriage for them, an elegant French-made Berline drawn by four horses, and a separate carriage for their trunks. Jean smiled at Wachiwi as they set out for the long ride to the plantation, thinking how far they had come. He looked at her proudly, and took her hand in his own. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his cousins would fall in love with her too. It was the first time he had ever traveled anywhere with a woman, but the New Orleans Margeracs were his family, and had always been wonderfully hospitable to him. He was sure that this time would be no different.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 10
Angélique de Margerac was actually married to Jean’s father’s cousin, and she was from an illustrious family of aristocrats in the Dordogne herself, directly related to the king. She had married Armand de Margerac forty years before, and he had brought her to New Orleans under protest. She had been willing to live in Paris, but not the New World. He had fought hard to convince her. New Orleans had been founded by the French thirty-five years before they got there, and her husband had done everything imaginable to make her happy. He had bought her a house in town on Toulouse Street and a splendid plantation with an enormous house in the West Indies style, which he let her fill with all the antiques her family sent her from France. Armand planted cotton and sugarcane, and it became one of the most successful plantations in the region, and Angélique’s home the most elegant in the district. Their children were born there, and eventually acquired plantations of their own, and by the time Jean arrived from France, she held a decades-long reputation for being the most gracious hostess in Louisiana.
The Spanish had acquired the colony by then, but Angélique and Armand were close friends with the Spanish governor, and he dined often at their plantation and at the house on Toulouse Street. Angélique had closed the house in town the year Jean arrived, after the great fire that destroyed nearly a thousand buildings on Good Friday. Miraculously, their home had survived, but she said she was too nervous to be there any longer. She was afraid of another fire and preferred staying on the plantation. It was so much more comfortable and infinitely more grand. She loved having houseguests and had convinced Jean to stay with them for several months before he began his travels north to Canada, and eventually toward the Great Plains in the west. She had been extremely hospitable and introduced him to all their friends and several very attractive young ladies. He had shown no particular interest in any of them, but everyone had found their newly arrived French cousin very charming.
The area around New Orleans was very international, there were not only French and Spanish people living there, but a large community of Germans, which, as Angélique said, made their soirées and dinner parties so much more interesting. She was particularly proud of the balls they gave, and the many important people who had stayed there. The plantation itself was situated between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, and it took Jean and Wachiwi two hours to get there in his cousin’s elegant horse-drawn carriage, which had come by ship from France. There were two footmen riding behind, and the coachman kept the horses at a brisk pace. Angélique wanted them there in time for dinner, which Jean already knew would be an elegant affair. He had coached Wachiwi for it the night before, and he hoped she would be equal to it. He felt comfortable in the knowledge that the dresses he had bought for her in St. Louis would be perfect, not as elegant as Angélique’s of course, who still had her gowns made in Paris and sent to her by ship in the New World twice a year. And she had a clever little dressmaker in New Orleans who could copy anything she saw, even some of the gowns from Paris.
They approached the plantation, which had been named after Angélique when her husband acquired it, along a seemingly endless driveway lined with oaks. The grandeur of the West Indies house came into view fully ten minutes later. Jean smiled at Wachiwi and patted her hand. Her understanding of the language wasn’t strong enough yet for him to reassure her as much as he would have liked to.
“It will be fine,” he said quietly, and his tone said as much to her as his words did. He was wearing a beautifully cut dark blue wool coat that he had brought with him from France when he arrived, and seldom had a chance to wear now. He kept it carefully rolled in his bags. Their visit to the plantation was the perfect occasion for it, as well as for the satin coat and knee breeches he would wear at dinner, which he had left at his cousin’s home before, for his return. He was grateful that he didn’t have to wear a wig or powder his hair as he would have in Europe. Fortunately his cousins were not quite that formal, and his own dark hair would be fine.
Wachiwi was staring at the house as they approached it. Her eyes were huge in her lovely face, framed by the bonnet he had bought her. She glanced at him nervously, and it struck him that she was far less frightened on a horse, going at full speed, which would have terrified almost anyone, than she was in the situation he had put her in here. It had been brave of her to come with him, and he had a strong urge to protect her and shield her from harm as one of the footmen handed them out of the carriage.
There were six liveried servants waiting for them on the front steps, all of them black and perfectly groomed in matching uniforms. They were slaves, Jean knew—hundreds of them worked in the fields on the sugarcane and cotton crops that had made his father’s cousin an almost limitless fortune. Before Jean could say anything more to Wachiwi, Angélique de Margerac swept grandly through the front door to greet them. She was smiling warmly at Jean, and for an instant she didn’t notice Wachiwi, standing just behind him. After embracing Angélique, he stepped aside and introduced them. The look on his cousin’s wife’s face was instantly one of shock mixed with horror. She pulled back the hand she had extended, took a step backward, and looked at Jean in amazement.
“Oh … I see …” she said disdainfully, and walked back into the house without a word to Wachiwi, who followed Jean into the grandeur of the front hall, with a look of terror. “Why don’t we have the young lady taken to her room immediately so she can be comfortable after the drive,” Angélique suggested as she signaled to one of the liveried servants and whispered something to him. He nodded, and then motioned to Wachiwi to follow him. She disappeared from the room almost before she had entered it, and then Angélique embraced her cousin again with a warm smile, immensely relieved to have dispensed with Wachiwi so quickly. And as she did, her husband Armand appeared from the library where he had been smoking a cigar in peace. He looked delighted to see Jean, and couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
“I understand you brought a young lady with you. Is there to be great news soon? Perhaps we can convince you to settle in New Orleans, instead of running around all those uncivilized places you enjoy so much. So where is she?” He looked around, surprised to see Jean talking to Angélique alone. They had both been a little startled that there had been no mention of a chaperone for the young lady traveling with them, an aunt, mother, sister, or cousin. And they hoped she was suitable for him, and of distinguished birth. They knew he wouldn’t bring a mistress with him to their home.