Savage Summer (8 page)

The inside of Windhawk’s lodge was dark, and Danielle could hear the far-off howl of some wild animal that sounded almost like a woman screaming.

Joanna had prepared her bed in a curtained-off area to allow her more privacy. Danielle lay on a soft mink-skin, unable to sleep.

Her mind was filled with horror and disgust for the Indian way of life. As always her thoughts drifted to her home, to her soft bed, with its cool, white, lavender-scented sheets that had caressed her skin. If she were in Philadelphia right now, the chances were she would be at a ball. Her dance card would be filled with the names of many dashing young soldiers.

She turned to her back and watched the shadows play across the top of the lodge through a mist of tears. She didn’t belong here. She felt no kinship with these people.

Her mind wandered back to yesterday when she had first entered the village, riding beside her Aunt Joanna. Many dark eyes had watched her silently, causing her heart to race with fear.

When they had reached the center of the village, her Uncle Windhawk had helped her down from her horse. She’d hardly had time to gather her wits about her when a tall gray-haired warrior had come rushing out of one of the tipis. He had picked her up, tossing her into the air. She had screamed out in fear, fighting for her release as he hugged her tightly to him. It wasn’t until her Aunt Joanna had come to her rescue that the Indian had placed her on her feet, looking puzzled. Danielle had been told that she had again been mistaken for Sky Dancer. The Indian who had greeted her so aggressively turned out to be Gray Fox, the war chief, father of Wolfrunner.

After the people had been told that Danielle was the daughter of their dead princess, Morning Song, many of them came up to her in friendly greeting. Since she couldn’t speak the Blackfoot language, and they didn’t seem to speak English, she didn’t know what they were saying to her.

It had been a relief when Joanna had taken her hand and led Danielle to the tipi of her grandmother, Sun Woman.

Danielle would never forget the shock of seeing her grandmother. The last time she’d seen Sun Woman, she had been energetic and spry. But now, she had wasted away to skin and bones—a mere shell of a woman. Sun Woman now looked so frail and old, with little resemblance to the woman Danielle had once known.

The old woman’s eyes had lit up and she had weakly reached out a trembling gnarled hand to her granddaughter. Danielle had been amazed at the strength in her grandmother’s hands as they clasped hers tightly. She felt pity for her, knowing she was obviously very ill, but she didn’t like to think that the sickly Indian woman was her grandmother. The high cheekbones were sunken, and the once proud tilt of her head was no longer in evidence. It had been five years since Sun Woman had visited Meadowlake Farm. Five years that robbed her of her health.

The tipi had been hot and stifling, smelling of medicine and sickness. Danielle had been glad when Joanna intervened
and announced that Sun Woman needed to rest from the excitement and they should leave.

Danielle clamped her eyes tightly together, trying to imagine what it would be like to grow up as an Indian. Running her hand down her smooth cheek, Danielle knew she wouldn’t ever want to toil in the sun until her skin became hard and wrinkled as aged parchment. She had been raised to have fun and attend parties, not to be buried in some obscure Indian village.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of the agonizing days that stretched ahead of her. It was a long time until she would be able to return to Philadelphia. What she couldn’t change would have to be endured. She remembered Alexandria once telling her, what could not be cured must be endured. The truth of those words came home to her now. She would never allow the Indians to pull her down to their level. She would rise above them and remain herself, no matter what happened.

The bright morning sun hung in the sky like a huge ball of fire. Danielle glanced at Wolfrunner who was mounted on his horse, glaring down at her. Aunt Joanna had been busy this morning, so she’d asked Wolfrunner to take her niece for a ride. The Indian’s face was grim and he seemed to look right through Danielle.

“I am not any happier about the prospect of riding with you than you are,” she declared, trying to hoist herself onto the sidesaddle. She had refused to give up her saddle and ride astride like a man. She had also refused to wear the Indian gowns her aunt had given her.

Wolfrunner, seeing the trouble she was having, dismounted and walked over to her. Picking her up about the waist, he plopped her on the saddle without ceremony. He then turned away to mount his own horse.

When they crossed the river and rode toward the mountains, Danielle nudged her horse into a swift gallop. She had always loved horseback riding, finding it exhilarating. She
looked forward to these daily rides, just so she could get away from the village. Usually her aunt and Farley went with her, but today neither of them was available.

Wolfrunner stayed even with Danielle, but he avoided looking in her direction. As the wind whipped at her hair, she felt the pins come undone, and the dark tresses fell about her shoulders. Deciding she couldn’t very well pin it back up, she allowed it to blow free.

After they had ridden for about an hour, Wolfrunner pulled up his mount. “This is as far as you are allowed to go,” he said, dismounting. “We will rest the horses here, and then start back.”

“I’m going to ride farther,” she stated flatly. “I want to see what’s on the other side of that valley.”

“No. Joanna said you were to go no farther than the Sweet Grass Hills,” he insisted.

Danielle’s eyes ran over him in anger. He was dressed in only a breechcloth, and powerful muscles rippled across his back. His long, lean legs seemed to grip the side of his horse, easily controlling the animal. He was handsome, and some primitive feelings stirred in Danielle’s body. She was shocked at her daring thoughts, and kicked her mount into a run. In her confusion, she wanted to get away from the man who seemed to trouble her thoughts.

She could hear Wolfrunner riding after her, so she nudged her horse forward at a swifter pace. Looking back she saw he was gaining on her. Danielle’s horse was in a full run, and still the Indian had almost drawn even with her. Applying her riding crop to the horse’s hindquarter, she suddenly felt afraid. What would he do when he caught her?

With a startled cry she felt herself being lifted into the air and placed on the horse in front of Wolfrunner. Glancing quickly at his face, she saw the naked anger etched there. She didn’t notice that her own horse had stopped. All she could think about was what was going to happen to her.

Danielle slammed back against Wolfrunner’s bare chest as he pulled his horse to a halt. “Let me down!” she cried,
hitting out at him. Her hands were flying and she felt them come in contact with his face. She saw the red mark on his face and shivered in fear. She must have hit him harder than she thought, because blood was trickling down his cheek. With a look of horror she realized she still held her riding crop in her hand. She must have hit him with it!

For just a moment she looked into flashing eyes that were dark storm centers. She was miles from nowhere, alone with a savage, and she didn’t know what he was going to do to her!

Danielle could feel his bitter rage. “I…didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t hurt me,” she said in a shaky voice, shrinking away from him.

Suddenly he dropped her to the ground. Before she had time to think, Wolfrunner kicked his horse into action. She thought he was going to ride off and leave her until she saw him gather up the reins of her horse and guide him back to her.

Without a word, and without looking at her, he dismounted. Lifting her onto her horse, he held onto the reins. Danielle felt indignation as he swung onto his horse and led her tired mount forward in a slow walk, back in the direction of the village.

Neither of them spoke, nor did they look at the other. Danielle bit back angry words, knowing she dared not push him farther. There was no telling what he might do.

When they were in sight of the village, he handed her the reins, and rode across the river. Filled with anger, and knowing she was safely within reach of the village, she yelled out at him. “You are a savage, and I hate you!”

Either Wolfrunner didn’t hear, or he didn’t choose to answer. She watched as he left the river and rode out of sight within the village.

Her temper hadn’t cooled by the time she reached her uncle’s lodge. She stormed inside glad there was no one there. Dropping down on her knees, she took a deep drink from the water jug. It did little to quench her bitterness. She hoped she would never have to see Wolfrunner again.

Danielle had been in the Blackfoot village three weeks, and it seemed to her that the days crawled by. Danielle hadn’t seen Wolfrunner since that day they had gone riding. Bored and restless, she tried to find ways to fill the lonely hours. Many of the Indian maidens had tried to befriend her, but Danielle refused to join in their games. The only times she enjoyed herself were when she went riding with her Aunt Joanna and Farley.

The thing Danielle resented most of all were the times when she was forced to sit with her grandmother. Each day Joanna insisted that the Danielle visit the ailing Sun Woman. At those times, the old woman would ramble on and on about her dead daughter. Sometimes Sun Woman would talk in the Blackfoot language, other times she lapsed into English.

Apparently Sun Woman was too ill to notice that her granddaughter rarely contributed anything to their conversation. Joanna had managed to cover up for Danielle’s lack of interest in what her grandmother was saying.

It was hot inside Sun Woman’s tipi and Danielle could feel rivulets of perspiration running down between her shoulder blades. She almost wished she had taken the white doeskin gown Joanna had offered her this morning. Anything would be cooler than her heavy cotton gown with its numerous petticoats.

As she looked on the sleeping face of her grandmother, Danielle almost wished she had agreed to go berry picking with Joanna and the rest of the women. She had declined, claiming that the heat made her head ache. Joanna had asked her to stay with her grandmother until they all returned that afternoon, and she now felt bored and restless.

Sun Woman moaned, and Danielle reluctantly placed her hand on the old woman’s forehead and found it hot to the touch. Sun Woman opened her eyes, which were fever-bright, and stared at her granddaughter.

“Morning Song, you have come back!” she cried, sitting
up and taking Danielle’s hand. “Have you come to take me to walk among the dead with you?”

“Grandmother, it is I, Danielle. You are very ill and mustn’t overexcite yourself,” she said, trying to push the old woman back on the buffalo robe.

Sun Woman gasped for breath as she lay back. Her eyes seemed to clear as she looked at Danielle. “I thank Napi, the Great One, for allowing me to look upon your face before I die, Danielle,” she said in a weak voice.

“You shouldn’t talk nonsense, Grandmother. You will outlive us all.” Danielle couldn’t understand the feeling of sadness that took over her reasoning. This woman was nothing to her, and yet she wanted to comfort her. For the first time, she realized that the blood of this woman flowed in her own veins. This was the woman who had given life to her mother. It was as if Danielle was watching a part of herself die.

“I am thirsty, child,” Sun Woman wheezed. “Give me a cool drink of water.”

Danielle picked up the water jug and found it to be empty. “I will just run to the river to fill this, Grandmother, I won’t be gone long.”

As Danielle made her way through the village on her way to the river, she noticed it was almost deserted, since most of the men had gone hunting and the women were out picking berries.

There was an urgency about her as she ran past the tipis. She couldn’t bear to think that her grandmother might die. As she bent down to fill the water jug, her foot became tangled in her green cotton gown, and she almost fell headfirst into the rushing water.

Feeling a steadying hand on her shoulder, Danielle spun around to face the Indian brave who was holding on to her arm. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw the long deep scar that ran from his left eye and across his lower jaw, giving him a sinister appearance.

“I am fine now, you can let me go,” she said, trying to move out of his grip.

Scar Face stared with hatred at the half white girl. He had been watching her for many days, waiting for the opportunity to get her alone. Since the village was almost deserted and there was no one in sight, now was the time for which he had planned. He had thought out everything down to the last detail, and it was working better than he had hoped.

“I said ‘let me go’,” Danielle cried, beginning to feel uneasy at the strange way the Indian was acting. He seemed to be watching her with something akin to hatred in his dark eyes, and it frightened her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing this Indian in the village. If she had, she would have recognized him. His wasn’t the kind of face one forgot.

“Why do you speak in the filthy white man’s tongue?” he asked angrily.

Danielle shook her head, not understanding his words. “I don’t understand what you are saying, but if you value your life, you will let me go.”

Scar Face quickly scanned the village. Seeing no one about, he clamped his hand over Danielle’s mouth so she couldn’t call out for help.

She began to struggle and kick out at him, but he merely picked her up in his arms and waded through the river so they wouldn’t leave any footprints.

Danielle gasped for breath as his hand cut off her breathing. When she saw the two horses which were tied behind a clump of bushes, she realized he was taking her away from the village. With all the strength she possessed, she struggled and kicked out at him, but his grip only tightened painfully on her.

He spoke a harsh command in her ear, and pulled her up against him, cutting off her breathing.

Scar Face urged the horse forward while keeping to the river so the hoofmarks would be hidden. He knew while he was near the village there was danger of being discovered, but his hatred for Windhawk made him risk the danger. He would hide his tracks so no one could follow them.