Blue Thunder (14 page)

He returned to his lodging to find it empty.
He believed his captive was with Little Turtle and Laughing Tree,
so he took Night Rider out for a run. He wanted to feel the wind in
his face and the feeling of freedom to think. He returned to his
father’s wickiup to have supper with him and Star Gazer, though he
would have preferred to eat with his lovely prisoner for he had not
spent any time that day with her. But, he was invited to eat with
his family and it would be wrong not to except. The girl would be
fed by his aunt; he would see her after the celebration. It was
better that she was tucked away from tribal events for now.

Melissa saw the light in the hut grow dim as
she waited for Blue Thunder. The only person who entered was
Laughing Tree with her supper. Although she was glad to see the old
woman with the soft eyes, she was so upset from her ordeal earlier
she didn’t try to communicate with her. She accepted the bowl of
stew with a nod and ate the meal silently. To nervous to sit she
paced the floor waiting for Blue Thunder. The need to talk to him
about that cruel Indian

woman was overwhelming. Did he love the
wicked maiden and plan to marry her? Tired of pacing, she sat. She
was a bundle of nerves and wondered how she would approach the
subject. Angered by being alone and having an uncertain future, but
determined not to be Little Turtle’s slave, she stiffened her
resolve. She would fight him! She would die before giving her body
to a

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man who would use her to quench his lust.
The more she dwelled on the subject, the angrier she became.

Where in bloody hell is
he?!
her mind screamed.

Her head still ached from the rough
treatment at the pond. To be stripped and have her body scrubbed by
that she-wolf was beyond contempt. She recalled Blue Thunder doing
it to her but the maiden’s hands weren’t so gentle. The Indian girl
nearly drowned her when she pulled and scrubbed her tresses.
Melissa found it was of no use to fight for she’d only receive more
slaps and pinching if she resisted.

Now her eyes were closed from weariness when
loud drums began to beat. People’s hooting and hollering made her
heart jump into her throat; she believed they were being attacked.
For a moment an ominous dread nearly suffocated her that quickly
dissolved when she hoped it might be the army coming for her.
Peeking out, her hope of escape fell like a raw egg to the floor,
smashing her dreams. A large fire burned in the center of the
village. As sparks soared into the dark sky, she watched the
redskins remove any chance she had to leave. Gloom filled her
soul.

Indians danced ritually around the raging
flames. Melissa squinted to see Blue Thunder sitting by an older
man who wore a brightly colored feathered headdress. They were
laughing and smoking a long pipe. A large bowl was passed around
from which all the braves drank. Little

Turtle was leaning all over him but he
seemed not to notice as he drank again from the bowl. Melissa
backed away from the scene, disgusted with him and herself.
Dejectedly, she thought that he no longer wanted her. Feeling
isolated and sick at heart, she decided she would definitely run
away at the first chance. Again, tears took her to dreamland.

Sleeping fitfully Melissa sprung fully awake
when she heard the flap open and close again. Her body tensed. She
forced herself to breath slowly, hoping he’d believe she was
slumbering and prayed that he’d fall asleep without disturbing her.
Her assumption was wrong and she knew this when he snaked his arm
around her waist. Her breath stilled and she knew that trying to
get free would be in vain; she was held tighter than a turtle in a
shell. His hot mouth took hers and she almost gagged from the smell
of alcohol. She pummeled at his chest, yelled and begged him to
stop. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she knew no one would

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acknowledge her cries; she was his to do
with what and when he pleased. She didn’t want him this way and
begged the drunken brave not to love her like this. Ignoring her
pleas, he forced her legs apart. She continued to struggle, then
her flailing hand struck an object, the wooden bowl lay beneath her
fingers. It wasn’t much, but she hit him with all her strength
hoping to so some damage on that thick skull.

The bowl crashing down on his head seemed to
stun Blue Thunder, giving her enough time to wiggle out from under
his dead weight. As Melissa crawled over to a dark corner, she
prayed she had rendered him unconscious. Crouching, she wept and
shook like a rabbit cornered by a pack of wolves. There was only
one wolf here but he was just as dangerous and she listened

to only frightening silence. Moments ticked
in her brain. Hearing a moan, she tried to adjust her eyes to the
dimness and saw him try to stand, only to lose his balance and fall
on his knees. The slightly injured man mumbled something in his
native tongue but she recognized only his pet name for her; he was
coming after her.

She crawled deeper into the wickiup and when
her foot hit something, she recalled he kept a collection of
spears, bows, and arrows there. Groping, her shaking hand touched a
long object and she clutched it tightly. Again she tried to
disappear into the shadow, hoping he wouldn’t find her. If he did,
she wouldn’t hesitate using the weapon.

Oh, God, why did it have
to come to this?
she cried
inwardly
.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered,
“but I’ll defend myself if I have to.”

And she did!

Melissa sat in shock for many heart beats
before she snapped out of her trance to gather enough strength to
run out screaming. Most of the men were in a stupor; the others
ignored her. Laughing Tree must have heard her cries and came
running.

“C-come, come quick,” she wailed, tugging on
the sleeve of the woman who had been kind to her. “I’m sorry, I’m
sorry,” she babbled as she tugged.

God! What had she done? Now, she’d surely be
scalped.

Laughing Tree could not understand the
hysterical girl. She was pulled into the hut, and saw her nephew
lying in a pool of blood. Earlier, when she brought the white woman
her supper, she had seen the girl was unhappy, but she shrugged and
left quickly. It was not her way to pry.

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She’d seen the bruise on the girl’s cheek
and wondered if her nephew had struck the woman. She

shook her head, refusing to believe that
Blue Thunder would strike the white slave. His heart was good, like
his mother’s, Morning Flower. He would never hit women, no matter
what he must make people think. But now seeing her nephew
unconscious and wounded, she had to wonder if the white prisoner
did this to defend herself.

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NINETEEN

Two days later Blue Thunder awoke with a
sever headache and an agonizing pain in his side. He groaned and
covered his eyes from the light of the fire. His mouth was as dry
as a bowl of sand and he ached all over and thought many buffalo
had trampled him. He tried to recall what happened after the
celebration. His mind was like cotton and he did remember something
striking his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw movement over in
the corner.

Blue Thunder didn’t want to attend the
celebration but he had to appease his father and the council. He
longed to be with his white captive but he decided tomorrow he
would show her around the village, explaining her duties. First he
had to speak to the women of the village, to make sure they
understood the prisoner was his special slave and to treat her with
dignity. This would not be easy. Taking the eye tooth from a
mountain lion would be more to his liking, but the women would
obey. He missed his captive and he had tried to ignore Little
Turtle pawing him but he began to feel the effects of the fire
water. He never drank this much before but it helped him forget the
girl who was clinging to him and it dulled his troubled mind.

“You are finally awake, my son.”

Through the ringing in his head, he heard
his father’s voice. He groaned again. “If this is what happens when
I drink too much fire water, I will never let my lips touch poison
again.”

Dasodaha smiled, but it was not a happy
greeting. And the smile was more of a disappointing gesture. “The
morning after the celebration my own head felt like I had been hit
with a club.” His father reached over and touched his brow. “My
son, you no longer have a fever.

I was more concerned about the white’s man’s
drink killing my son, then the wound.”

“What happened?” croaked Blue Thunder
through dry lips. He tried to sit, but his father placed his hand
on his shoulder, urging him to remain still.

“You are still weak, my son. Your side will
open up again if you do not lie still.”

Blue Thunder touched his side, frowning in
confusion.

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Dasodaha answered his thoughts. “Your white
captive did that to you two days ago. You grow soft, my son, if you
let a slave attack you. Let this be a lesson to you, keep your
prisoner bound until trained. I will leave you to think on these
words.”

Blue Thunder saw weariness and great
disappointment in his father’s small eyes. He regretted putting him
through another ordeal and watched the chief leave. Just then he
heard a coyote howling in the distance, causing him great anguish
and loneliness. He felt a kinship with the prairie canine. He lay
there searching for answers. Why did Honey Eyes try to kill him?
Did she believe she could escape because he was drunk? Did she make
believe she liked his touch, waiting for the moment to run away?
Had he given her the chance? He believed she could not survive out
there alone. Would his braves kill her? No runaway slave was
brought back alive. He closed his eyes, envisioning her beautiful,
pale body lying in her own blood after an animal attacked her. His
head swimming with so many unanswered questions, he tried to get up
to stand, but his legs became hollow. He knew he must be still to
heal. But how could he relax when his head was filled with worry
over his Honey Eyes?

Melissa was sitting in Laughing Tree’s
dwelling weary with worry about Blue Thunder. No one would tell her
whether he was all right or not. She heard the rustling outside and
she assumed the tribe was doing its chores. Why didn’t someone come
to her? She would even have welcomed anyone, if she could
communicate with them. In her mind, she went over the events of
that dreadful evening. She would never forget it.

It had taken her some time that night to
make Laughing Tree understand she had to tend to Blue Thunder’s
wounds. In the meantime, he had lost a lot of blood. Her cries
alerted a medicine man who came and sprinkled magic power over him,
chanting some mumbo-jumbo, then placed what looked like herbs on
the bleeding cut. But it needed stitches. When she had pulled
Laughing Tree into Blue Thunder’s wickiup, she had to push the
confused woman towards the injured brave. Frightened, Laughing Tree
fell to her knees and wept over her nephew’s still form. In
frustration, Melissa yanked the weeping Indian from Blue Thunder’s
naked body. She was so choked up with fear all she could do was to
point to the stitching and bead work on her dress.

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“Why pointing to the dress?” Laughing Tree
had asked.

Melissa pulled at the dried buffalo
sinew.

“Sinew? You want sinew?” she asked
bewildered and then nodded.

Knowing what she wanted and why, Laughing
Tree left, and Melissa gathered her wits and prayed it would do as
good a job as thread. She needed to build a fire but had no
matches. She was so frustrated; she wanted to scream but soon
Laughing Tree returned with sinew and quills used to sew. She
hugged Laughing Tree and pointed to the cold embers. “Fire, we need
a fire. The woman nodded immediately. “Whiskey!” Melissa shouted
over her shoulder, praying the Indians hadn’t drunk it all.
Laughing Tree frowned as the Shaman tried to stop her from touching
Blue Thunder. “Fire water!” she screamed. Once again Laughing Tree
ran from the dwelling. While Laughing Tree was gone the medicine
man refused to let her touch the brave and he was losing a lot of
blood from the deep gash on his side. She was still quarreling with
the Shaman when Laughing Tree returned.

“Moon Glow, not proper for white slave to
order healer from hut,” said Laughing Tree. She then turned to the
medicine man and said. “I trust white woman, Quanah. I believe Moon
Glow can help nephew with white man’s medicine.” The Shaman left,
waving his hand and yelling threatening words at Melissa. She
didn’t understand but knew he had put a curse on her. Could life
get any worse?

She poured the whiskey on Blue Thunder’s
gash. He moaned but remained oblivious to his injury. She prayed
she could close the wound with the crude needles being she had only
stitched up a few men before. Sweat ran into her eyes as she made
her stitches, and tried to steady her trembling hands. When
finished, she wiped the salty perspiration from her eyes only to
feel the stickiness from the warm blood on her fingers.

His aunt handed her a piece of deer skin and
she cleared her vision with it. Melissa allowed herself a moment to
study her handiwork. Heaven help her if she had to stitch a quilt,
she’d win no prize. She had zigged and zagged but the wound was
closed and an ugly scar would be his souvenir to remember this
night. If the situation weren’t so grave, she would have laughed.
She did smile a proud smile when Laughing Tree told her that she
admired the work.

“White one very brave. I can never sew human
flash.”

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Once again Melissa placed the healing herbs
over the injury and wrapped it. Then she placed a bear skin over
Blue Thunder and sighed. She had stayed the night with his aunt
taking turns bringing him water, forcing him to sip when he
stirred. Laughing Tree fell asleep near morning but awoke to find
Melissa still tending to her nephew. Exhausted, she could hardly
hold her head up. Laughing Tree pulled her away from her patient,
but she resisted.