Dakota Dream (45 page)

Again Dominique lifted her head and stared up at Jacob. The pain was gone from his eyes, and a lazy contentment seemed to glaze them, a look quite close to what she'd often seen after they made love. Dominique smiled up at her husband. "It sounds as if you love those mountains as much as you love me."

The statement pulled a short laugh from him. Jacob rumpled her hair, murmuring, "I could never love anyone or anything as much as I love you, but yes,
wi
witko,
I do love the Black Hills. All Lakota do. That love for the land is one of the things that
has
brought us here to this place."

"Are you talking about the treaty?"

"
That,
and the lies. Red Cloud and those who joined him were guaranteed control of their land and promised that no one, not even the government, would pass through the boundaries of what they called the Great Sioux Reservation without permission of the Lakota."

"And someone did?"

"Oh,
wi
witko,"
he sighed, cupping her face. "Come up here to me."

Still lying next to her husband's body, Dominique rolled onto his chest,
then
lowered her lips to his for a brief tender kiss. "What is it, Jacob? Don't you know you can tell me anything?"

"I don't want to see you hurt any more than you have to be."

"I need to understand what is going on here. I think I've earned the right to hear it all."

After a slow resigned nod, Jacob fit his mouth to hers again, then said, "Against all that is fair, all that is right, your uncle violated the promise of the United States government and brought his troops into the Black Hills two winters ago."

"Uncle Armstrong?" she said. "Oh, Jacob, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't have." But Dominique cut off her own words as she thought back to evenings around the fireplace in the Custer home. She really didn't know what the general was capable of, didn't have much more than a passing acquaintance with the uncle who'd rarely been part of her life. Fourteen years her senior, he was off to West Point, then engaged in the service of the United States Army by the time she was old enough to recognize him. What she knew of George Armstrong Custer she had learned from adoring family members and hero-worshiping neighbors.
Hardly an unbiased panel.

Jacob gave her time to digest his words, to consider them,
then
said, "The fact is that he did violate the treaty,
wi
witko.
He and his army boldly marched into our land, slaughtered our game, and even shot at those of us who dared protest his presence. When he left, after he'd had his fill of wild cherries and strawberries, he returned to his government carrying tales of gold. It didn't take long for the whites, soldier and civilian alike, to come to the Black Hills and begin taking from the Lakota what was rightfully theirs."

"Oh, Jacob," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Even an apology from your uncle would serve no purpose now. We have lost the Black Hills to seekers of gold and greedy government agents. We will not lose our dignity as well."

She didn't have to ask Jacob what he meant by that. Dominique already knew that, to a man, the Lakota would hold their ground, fight to the death if necessary to prevent their families from being dragged off to some new land the whites would designate as their reservation. But she had to make an attempt to change his mind. "Why don't your people give surrender a try? Maybe the new reservation wouldn't be so bad."

"You forget," he said, grumbling. "Red Cloud and his people did give it a try before the Black Hills were taken from us. The government expects our warriors to become farmers. What do we know about farming? What do we
care
about farming? The Lakota are hunters and wanderers. We do not stay in one place too long."

Dominique nestled her head against his shoulder and neck, and sighed. "There has to be a solution to suit everyone somewhere."

"I have spent many days and nights looking for this solution, but it doesn't seem to be there. You have lived with my people long enough to know them, to understand many of their ways. How well do you think they would do on a reservation?"

Again she sighed,
then
shrugged.

"On a reservation our warriors would turn into old men, grow weak and fat. They are not farmers, will never be farmers."

"I don't know what to say."

But Jacob did. "What about the children?" he went on.

"My father tells me you have spent much time with the children. How will they ever learn our ways if they are trapped on government land?"

"I guess they probably won't," she said as the full impact hit her. "I suppose after a generation or two, their heritage and way of life will be lost forever."

"Then you finally understand."

Angry tears stung her eyes, and again Dominique had to fight to keep them in. She understood only too well. But did he? Did Jacob understand that more than the Lakota way of life was at stake? Did he realize that both her husband
and
a large chunk of her family might very well be taken from her before this senseless hostility between the Indians and the soldiers ended?

Unaware of her turmoil, Jacob stroked her hair as he thought back to some of the things Chief Gall had told him. "My father says you spend many hours drawing in the dirt with the children. What do you show them?"

Pushing her dark thoughts to the back of her mind, she said, "How to draw more precise pictures, like the eagle I painted on your tipi. They are very bright and eager to learn." Lifting her head and looking into Jacob's eyes, she added, "I've also begun teaching them the alphabet. I could do the same for you, if you're interested."

Lost in her expressive brown eyes, touched by her offer, he raised his brows and whispered, "So you know."

"I figured it out after I found my note in your pocket. Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't read?"

Jacob shrugged. "I thought about it, but then I would have been forced to explain, to think of more lies. I have no stomach for lies."

"Hah," she exclaimed. "Then you must have an ulcer the size of Lake Erie."

He grinned and amended his statement. "I have no stomach for
unnecessary
lies. Tell me about this lake you speak of. Where is it?"

"Lake Erie?
My home in Michigan is very near its shores."

Jacob's features softened, and his eyes grew narrow as he listened to her. "This home on the lake—do you miss it terribly?"

"Not as much as I used to," she admitted. Lowering her lashes, trying to hide a sudden surge of guilt, she added, "Since becoming your woman, not near as much as I should."

Jacob slid her chin into the V between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look into his eyes. "Have you grown unhappy as my woman? Do you wish for me to set you free?"

"Oh, no, Jacob."
Her large eyes grew even bigger as she tried to explain. "If I have any wish at all, it is for your safety and the safety of my family. I do understand how you feel about your people, really I do, but I'm afraid you've forgotten about mine. What about my family and their way of life? Would you have your people shoot them without a thought for me?"

"I have not forgotten about you or your family." Jacob stroked her cheek as he slowly shook his head. "I do not wish to see you or even your fierce uncle the general hurt in any way, but it is not my people who chase him. He chases us."

"Oh, damn it all," she complained with a heavy sigh. "I know that. I
just
wish we could all be safe and happy, that we could all find a way to live together in peace."

"That is a very big wish, my crazy wife."

"I know," she whispered softly. "But I am asking that you do everything you can to make it come true."

Not one to make idle promises, Jacob gazed into her eyes for a very long moment before he finally
said,
"I will do all that I can,
wi
witko.
If I have to go to your uncle on my knees, I will. I give you my word that I will do whatever is in my power to keep us all safe."

This time, when the tears erupted, Dominique's efforts to stop them were fruitless. She tried to turn away from him, but Jacob's grip on her chin tightened and he kept her face within inches of his.

“Why do you find it necessary to do this to me, crazy one? You know how it upsets me."

"I'm sorry," Dominique whispered. "But this time I can't help it. You've just made me the happiest woman in the world."

Jacob released her chin and began brushing the tears from her cheeks. "First you tell me I make you so happy you hurt inside, then I make you happy enough to cry. I fear that one day I might do something that will make you so happy you will drop over dead."

Dominique's sobs dissolved into laughter. She threw her arms around Jacob's neck and pressed her cheek to his. "I love you so much," she breathed into his ear. "No matter what happens, always remember that I love you."

"And I you,
wi
witko,"
he whispered back. "You will be with me in spirit wherever I go, whatever becomes of me.”

The urge to cry stronger than ever, Dominique abruptly sat up, straddling her husband's hips, and looked around. She
blinked,
pushing back the tears, wishing a simple blink of her eyes would make her problems disappear as easily, then continued to glance around the beautiful countryside.

The midday sun burned bright, kissing the lush greens of the long grass and low bushes. The scent of late spring and rebirth was all around them even as they spoke of death and the end of life as they both knew it. Dominique trained her vision to the west, staring out at the low grassy hills and benches, and thought of the valley two hundred feet below.

If she ignored that valley, the overwhelming size of the Indian villages, and their ominous threat, Dominique could almost believe that she and Jacob were the only two people on earth. She could forget their troubled future and concentrate only on the present. She had Jacob's promise, knew if there was any way to end this terrible conflict, he would find it. She could ask no more of him.

Her attention caught by the sounds of low, soft nickering, Dominique looked over at the horses.
Sampi
stood almost protectively at
Peaches's
side and nipped playfully at her withers. The mare's response was a high-pitched squeal—and a swaying movement that brought her flanks in contact with the
stallion's
.

Thinking back to the night Jacob had made her his— spoiled her, as he put it—Dominique realized her time for asking was at an end. It was her turn to give. "It seems, my wonderful husband," she said with a mischievous smile, "that our horses have a much better idea of what to do on this beautiful sunny day than we do."