War Cloud's Passion Read online

  Well!

  Her first reaction was to feel that she had done something terribly wrong; her second was that of pure anger. How dare he! She had heard that Indians had all kinds of odd manners and unusual rituals. Well, she decided, this one could certainly use some lessons in courtesy.

  She followed him like a clucking hen, came right up to him and, not sparing a single word, scolded, “How very impolite of you!”

  He looked at her, and none too cordially, either. However, his quick examination of her was enough to add even more fuel to her smoldering fire. Using signs to push her meaning home, she continued, “What kind of Indian are you that you do not even listen to the words of a woman? That you turn your back on me?”

  He stared at her without a single emotion crossing his face.

  “Well,” she scolded, letting her hands drop as she spoke without the use of signs. “I think you could use a few manners, and I would like to take a moment to tell you, sir, that you may be handsome of face, but physical looks by themselves mean nothing. After all, handsome is as handsome does and—”

  “Humph!” he cut her off, but Anna, far from being irritated at his behavior, took heart. At least she had him talking. The man also had an unusual gleam in his eye, she noted.

  She chose to ignore it, however. “I feel compelled”—she voiced and signed the words at the same time—“to ask you, M…” She stopped. What was his name? So far she had contented herself with calling him the tall brave or the elder, but he must surely have some name.

  Oh, dear, she fretted briefly, she was forgetting her manners. She cringed. She had been taught all her life that no matter one’s circumstance, one could always be polite. She cleared her throat and began again, “I am sorry, but I have not introduced myself.”

  “Humph!”

  “My name is…” Here she stopped signing. There was no way to signal her name in the language of the plains, since her name, as far as she knew, had little meaning, or if it did have significance, she did not know it. So she contented herself with simply saying, while pointing to herself, “Anna. Anna Wiley.”

  “Humph!”

  “And you are…?” She asked and signed the question at the same time.

  “Humph!”

  “Don’t you know how to say anything but ‘humph’?”

  “Humph!”

  “Well, we’re not going to get very far if you won’t cooperate.”

  To this he gave her a curt nod and turned his back on her.

  Anna, however, was not to be denied. She scooted around, once more, to the front of him so he would have no choice but to see her gestures.

  She signed, again, as though he hadn’t snubbed her, “What is your name?”

  Using his right hand only, he signed, “A warrior of any merit does not speak his own name.”

  Well, what do you know? she asked herself. She had elicited a response. She took strength from that.

  “All right,” she said aloud, not signing the meaning of the words, if they even had a sign equivalent. She began, “I have to address you as something. How about if I call you ‘sir’ for now?” She followed this last with more signs.

  He shrugged.

  “Fine,” she said, continuing her gestures. “Now, sir, may I ask you what you have planned for myself and the children?”

  No response.

  She continued, “Do you plan to sell us to other Indians perhaps?”

  Again, no response.

  “Why are you acting like this? I have done nothing to you.”

  He turned his back on her.

  “Oh! Don’t you do that!”

  “Humph,” he said again and, as she came around to the front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest. He did not look at her either. His eyes, she noted, were ever on the far horizon.

  “Now, look here, ah, sir,” she began in her best schoolteacher voice. “Just because God gave you a heaping portion of good looks is no reason for you to ignore those around you. I’ll have you know that…”

  Good Lord. That remark was met with a smile, and as she gazed into his eyes, witnessing again that gleam of intelligence, she suddenly realized her mistake. She said, actually stuttered, “You…you…ah…speak English, don’t you?”

  His grin widened and she groaned.

  “You could have told me.”

  “What? And spoil your attitude toward me?” he asked in perfect English.

  “Oh, dear, I…I didn’t mean…” She felt like melting into the ground. “I didn’t mean that you were…I mean when I said that you were handsome, what I meant was that…” What had she meant? “It’s only that,” she continued, “I hadn’t expected to find an Indian so…tall, or so…well…” Her voice trailed away, while his grin grew ever wider.

  Goodness, she seemed to be getting herself in deeper and deeper. She felt her face grow warm as color rushed to her cheeks and partly as a matter of defense, partly for something to do, she took in a gulp of fresh air. At length, she asked, “How did you learn English?”

  He jerked his chin forward and to the left. “The white man has long been in our camps, pretending to make peace.”

  “Pretending?”

  He gave her a long look.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I interrupted you. Please, do continue.”

  “Humph.” He remained silent.

  “Please?”

  He let out his breath in a hiss before he said, “One time, long ago, when the people believed the white man meant us no harm, I scouted for the warrior-whites.”

  He stopped so suddenly, she felt as though she had been left in midair. She encouraged, “Yes?”

  “That was when I learned English.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” The antagonism was back in his voice.

  She asked, “Did something bad happen there?”

  He groaned, letting his intonation trail out in a hiss. He said, “You are a white woman and have no right to question me. Now leave.”

  Her shoulders dropped and she hung her head. Conversation with this man was more than a little difficult. It was next to impossible. But she would not give up. She could not. She had to remember the children, had to remind herself that there was a purpose to her talk. Hence she asked, “What have I done that makes you speak to me as though I am not worthy of your consideration?”

  “You are white.”

  “I cannot help that,” she countered. She paused a moment and then asked, “Is that the only reason?”

  “It is reason enough.”

  “Well, I’m glad that you have that all settled, then. It makes it all very black and white, doesn’t it?”

  He raised an eyebrow, obviously not immune to her sarcasm.

  She nodded. “All Indians—good. All whites—bad. Is that it? Now do you feel better?”

  He glanced away from her. “White woman talks too much.”

  She countered, “Red man speaks too little. What happened that you stopped scouting for the army?”

  “Humph!”

  She asked, “Was it Sand Creek? Were you there?”

  He turned away from her, his glance constantly scanning the prairie. Still, he said nothing.

  “It was Sand Creek, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugged and said, “I was at Sand Creek. I was also at the Washita. Most of my kin, what little I have, were killed at both these places.”

  Anna caught her breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  He went on, “After I have seen the white man’s treachery, I regret I ever had anything to do with these warrior-whites and I am ashamed that I once scouted for them.”

  This last was said with so much loathing, Anna decided to make no comment on it, none whatsoever. Instead, she comforted, “I am sorry for the actions of my people against yours, for I know that they have committed wrongs to yours. And I am particularly sorry about your kin. But at least you had kin, if only for a little while.”

  This last had him looking at her strangely, but she made no
comment, and after a lengthy pause, she found him asking her, “Do you not have any relatives?”

  “None,” she replied honestly.

  “Not a mother?”

  She shook her head.

  “A father?”

  “None.”

  Perhaps it was more a sort of sixth sense than anything, but Anna felt a spark of life flare up between them. She pressed on, “Please know that I did not have a part in those fights, nor did these children who are with me, and I do not approve of everything that my people have done to yours. In truth, there are many of my people, mostly in the East, far away from here, who disapprove of the actions of the military in this part of the country.”

  “Humph!”

  “I truly feel remorse,” she said, and meant it.

  Anna again experienced the discomfort of having this man look her up and down as though she were some item of trade. Unfortunately for her, she knew she came up lacking. Still, she pushed back her shoulders and raised her chin, saying, “Do you believe me?”

  A quick nod was her only answer.

  “You do?”

  He snorted. “Did I not just tell you that I did?”

  She smiled. “Well, yes, I believe that you did. It is only that I thought you might fight me on that one, too.”

  He stared away from her. “You helped my brother. I believe that your heart may be good, despite who you are.”

  She took immediate offense. “What do you mean by that remark? There is nothing wrong with who I am.”

  Heaven be praised, her remark elicited another smile from the man, albeit a tiny one. Still.

  He said, repeating himself, “You are white. It is enough.”

  She paused a fraction of a beat before she responded, “I am sorry, so very, very sorry.”

  He raised one of those heavy eyebrows of his, an obvious query.

  “To have so much hatred for the whites cannot be doing your soul much good, I am afraid,” she explained. “Hating all whites is just as bad as the whites despising all Indians.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps it is the way of war.”

  She pressed on, “Perhaps war is not the answer to what is going on here.”

  “There is no other way to deal with the whites. Even our wise, old peace chiefs are beginning to see this…those who have not come recently under the white man’s knife.”

  Anna looked away. She knew there had been many, many injustices, one side against the other. She did not wish to continue that war, however, on her own home front.

  She offered, “It appears that we might be in one another’s company for a while, sir. I think it would be good if we were to make a personal treaty between the two of us, don’t you?”

  This remark must have taken him by surprise, yet, if it had, she would not have known it by his features. He said, “I make no treaties with white people.”

  “I promise that I will keep my end of the bargain. You can trust me.”

  “Humph! I have heard those words from the whites before.”

  “But I am not the same as those other white men.”

  Again that scrutinizing look fell upon her person. He said, “Hova’ahane, no, I can see that.”

  She pushed on, urging, “I will not demand your signature on a piece of paper. Just a promise between you and me that if you will take me and the children to the nearest white settlement, I will ensure that you and your brother are well cared for and will be given everything that you ask for, if possible.”

  “Saaa, we will visit no white settlements. I will not accompany you and the children anywhere but where I say. No treaty.”

  She did not even blink. “I see,” she said. “Would you do it if I offered you money or gold?”

  He snorted. “No treaty.”

  She drew her brows together; she had to think quickly. There must be something she could offer him. After barely a moment’s pause she asked, “Is there anything that I have that you want, for which we might strike a bargain—for the sake of the children?”

  This time the tall brave didn’t even look at her as he emphasized, “There is nothing.” A jerk of his hand and the sneer on his face emphasized his words.

  Anna’s throat constricted until she thought she might choke. In truth, she could not remember a time she had felt more helpless. And to make matters worse, this man had, without a moment’s thought, impressed upon her the idea that she had nothing of worth to proffer him.

  Had she failed the children? Was there something wrong with her own person that she could not save them?

  It made no sense that she should feel as she did, but logic did not always rule a woman’s heart. She felt…hurt.

  However, as though he were aware that his words had set off a bad reaction within her, he tendered, “Do not take offense. There is no white person alive who could give me anything that I need.” He looked her up and down. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

  Dear Lord, what was the matter with her? There were tears, actual tears gathering at the back of her eyes and it was all she could do to state, without her voice wavering, “I think that you lie, sir. I think there is a great deal wrong with me.”

  That she should become so emotional with this man was almost more than she could stand. Perhaps the rigors of the day were finally catching up with her and that was all there was to it. Perhaps.

  Yet, she could not stop the wetness in her eyes, nor the tear that spilled over her cheek. But she refused to wipe the tear away. Maybe this tall brave would not notice.

  His dark eyes did not miss a thing, however, and she consciously had to keep herself standing erect as he reached out to smooth the tear from her face. He said, “Know that I do not like any white people, but if I were to experience any affinity for one, you might be the first, I think.”

  She snorted.

  And he went on, “I do not lie, white woman. I have rarely, if ever, known a woman to be so brave as you. It is a remarkable quality, and one that should be sung about in your camp for many years. All should know of it. I lived with the white man and so I know that these people are not taught the ways of bravery. And yet, when the time was ready, you acted better than many warriors I have known. Yours is the soul of a warrior, Nahkohe-tseske.”

  She could do little more than stand before him, her shoulders gently shaking with each indrawn breath. Worse, under his compliment, her body reacted to his gentle graze as though she found this man to be…perfect.

  She shook her head, hoping that the simple action might clear her thoughts and induce her to remember that this man was no more than her captor. But it was no use. His soft words, his tender touch, had already become entrenched within some secret recess, and privately, something within her wanted to reach out to him. She asked, “What did you just call me?”

  “Nahkohe-tseske?” He lowered his hand.

  She nodded.

  And he translated, “It means Little Bear.”

  “Little Bear? I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood me. My name is Anna.”

  “I did not misunderstand. You have a better name now. A good Indian name. One that you earned and one that shows your courage.”

  “I do?”

  “Haahe, you do. Your courage is like the mother bear when her cubs are threatened. Although the female bear is usually a docile creature, she will become a formidable enemy when danger imperils her children.”

  Anna gasped. My God, she thought as a sudden truth hit her…hard. The rumors about these people are all wrong.

  So very, very wrong. Despite his fierce demeanor, kindness fairly emanated from this man, kindness and a compassion for life, for her; she, this man’s enemy.

  Anna drew in another shaky breath. She had to take care in this situation. She had been the recipient of so little admiration in her lifetime, she barely knew how to react to it. She commented, “I think that you flatter me, sir.”

  He did not alter his scrutiny of her one bit. “Do you mean that you think I speak with a tongue that is forked?
”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked. “I’m hardly the kind of person to inspire songs.”

  “Perhaps the right time has never come for others to lay bare your inner qualities, or perhaps the whites are stupid.”

  “Sir,” her voice reprimanded, “must I remind you that when you speak derogatorily of the whites, you speak this way of me, also? Besides, I know my limits, and I know that I am hardly the kind of person to inspire a song in another.”

  “And yet,” he insisted, “my young brother is quite taken with you.”

  “But that’s only because I—”

  He held up his hand. “It matters not the reason. He was willing to risk his life for yours. And he barely knows you.” The man smiled at her, and Anna had to admit, the result was most attractive. He said, “I think that perhaps you underestimate yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I think not. But tell me, sir,” she said, preparing to change the subject to a less emotional one. “Do you have plans for us?”

  “I do.”

  “And will you tell me what your strategy is?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, “but I must first ask you a question.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Are all these children yours?”

  Chapter Six

  She laughed and War Cloud discovered that he could barely look away from her. Although she was not the best-looking woman, there was something about her…about her smile…a charisma he could little explain. It filled him with the desire to tease her until she would have no option but to grin.

  She was speaking, however, and he gave her his full attention, listening to her while she said, “No, the children are not mine at all.” She followed this with another chuckle, and War Cloud found himself enchanted.

  However, the spell was soon broken; she became more serious and explained, “They are all of them orphans from back east, a place called New York. It has been my duty and my pleasure to escort these children into this country, where there are many people in need of a helping hand. It has been supposed that these western families will not be hard put to feed any extra mouths, since most of the settlers are farmers or cattlemen. It would take little to include the children in their lives. It has also been surmised that because so many of the settlers are in need of a hand to help with the chores, they will gladly take the children in as their own, making the youngsters a part of their family.”