Song Of The Warrior (12 page)

Reverend Harlow came through the door and stood there, staring at her, his eyes wide and shocked.

She didn't know what to say. “I-I wasn't expecting you to return so soon—”

“You harlot! You Jezebel! A blind man could see what must have happened here! You must be punished, lust must be beaten from your whore's body!”

Willow sat frozen in terror as he pulled off his heavy leather belt and advanced on her.

Reverend Harlow stared at his ward. Half naked, her lips swollen from kisses, she looked every bit as desirable as her slut of a mother had once looked. Passion and evil; they were all around godly men, tempting them. He hated himself because he could not live up to his own lofty ideals of what a man of the cloth should be. He had hated Willow's mother for the beauty he could not have, now even in his advanced years, he felt his passion surge as he looked at the daughter. A pain flashed through his chest and down his left arm, adding to his turmoil. “You're just like your slut of a mother!”

Willow stared back at her guardian, shaking her head. “No, it's not like that; he loves me; I love him!”

“Love! It's lust; dirty lust, that's what it is!” He advanced on her swinging his leather belt with the big buckle at the end. “You're no better than she was, despite the white raising you've had!”

She stood up, clutching the robe to her. “I know you're upset, and maybe I've done wrong, but—”

“Wrong, you harlot! Why, you Injuns have no morals, no morals at all. I thought maybe your white blood would come through, but you're just like your slut of a mother. That's why we took you away from her.”

The old man's eyes were aglow as he moved toward her, brandishing the heavy belt.

Willow backed against the wall. “What do you mean, I thought she abandoned me? Let's talk of this—”

“Talk? No, we've spared the rod and spoiled the child, but I'm about to remedy that now. She wanted to keep you, and now I wish we had let her!” Maybe if she could keep him talking until his anger cooled a little, he might listen to reason. That was her only chance, since Reverend Harlow was between her and the door.

“I-I don't understand.”

He nodded and swung the belt. “Oh, she begged and begged, but we knew what was best. After she died, that Russian tried to claim you, but we sent you away to stop him. And this is how you show your gratitude!”

He swung the strap, caught her across the shoulder with the buckle. Willow cried out at the stinging pain, attempted to run past him. He grabbed at her, ripping her dressing gown away as she ran. Was there any room with a lock on the door? She fled blindly, hearing his footsteps behind her. Oh, God, help me!

The study; maybe she could drag his desk in front of the door. She only got partway there when he caught up with her, grabbed her by the hair, slashing at her naked body with the strap. She screamed with pain as the buckle cut into her soft flesh again and again. She fell, making herself as small as possible while he reined blow after blow on her slim body. “Oh, please, stop!” She looked up at him, sobbing, trying to protect her face.

“You spawn of Satan! You Jezebel!” His lips were wet and his eyes aglow as he struck her naked body again and again with the strap. Why, he was enjoying this! She saw him suddenly as she had never seen him before; a twisted and tortured old man. He was beating her harder and faster, almost in a frenzy, breathing hard as he did so. She was crying and begging, but it only encouraged him. She must do something or he would beat her to death!

“Spare the rod!” he gasped. “Not anymore, harlot! You won't tempt any more righteous men with your beauty!”

Wildly, she grabbed for the strap, tangled her hand in it, yanked him off balance. He faltered and she took the opportunity to dash past him, into the parlor. Behind her, she heard him cry out in rage, stumble against a table, send a lamp crashing. Willow didn't wait. The minute he picked himself up off the floor, he'd be after her again, she must get out. She ran to her room, grabbed up a plain dress thrown across the chair. Where were her shoes?

From the other part of the house, she heard him crash against something, the tinkle of knickknacks as a table went over. “Willow, I-I'm hurt! My chest—! Help me!”

She wasn't going to fall for that trick. It was as if he'd gone insane. Willow didn't answer, she was too terrified and hurting. The marks where the buckle had struck were turning black and purple, some were bleeding. There was no time to look for shoes or he'd trap her in her room again. This time if he cornered her, she had no doubt he'd kill her.

She fled out the back door into the darkness naked. The small house was isolated and she could only thank God for that. Willow paused just a moment in the shadows of a tree, jerked the dress on, didn't bother to button it all the way. The spring air was crisp and she wished she had a sweater, but she would not go back into that house for anything; she would never return to that house.

The rocks cut into her bare feet as she ran, trying to put some distance between her and the parson. She got a half mile away before she paused, leaning against a tree, breathing hard. Already her little feet were cut and bruised, but those injuries were nothing compared to the wounds and marks where the heavy strap or the buckle had cut into her soft flesh. What to do now?

Willow turned and looked toward the dim lights of the house. Even now, he might be searching for her in the darkness. She thought she might be able to outrun him out here with a head start, except that she had no shoes. She could hide under cover of night, but what would she do when dawn came? It came to Willow suddenly that she had no one to turn to. Certainly the officers at the fort or the white town residents would never believe that the saintly Reverend Harlow could do something like this. Even if they did, many probably would think she deserved harsh punishment for what she had done.

What had she done? Given way to passion with a man she loved; it wouldn't be the first or the last time a human heart had let love take precedent over reason. Did Bear care about her? He had left in deep despair because he felt he had betrayed his brother. He might never want to see her again. Willow hesitated, looking back toward the house, then down the road toward the Indian camp. It was a long way to walk, especially for an injured girl who wore no shoes. She seemed to have no choice. Deep in her heart, she wasn't white, she was Nez Perce, and she had no place to go, no other refuge.

She began to run, pausing now and then to lean against a tree and gasp for air. Her feet were already torn and bleeding and her beaten body felt on fire. However, she forced herself to keep moving, terrified that her furious guardian might guess where she would go, get the buggy and come after her. She was underage, the law would probably hand her over to him, no matter her bruises.

 

 

Bear had ridden back to camp at a slow trot, wanting to delay the confrontation as much as possible. It would be difficult enough just to face his eager brother and tell him that the woman Raven loved had said no. That would have been hard enough. What would Bear say if Raven ever guessed that his own brother, the one he had always trusted to look out for him, had lost control and made passionate love to that woman. He sighed, hardly hearing the night birds calling around him. There was no song in Bear's heart until he saw Willow's sweet small face in his mind and remembered those precious moments in her arms. It was worth a man's life to experience such breathless ecstasy, but instead of his life, it looked like he would pay with his honor.

Tamtaiza uatiskipg
; tomorrow will tell, Bear thought. Tomorrow, in the grim light of day and reality, he had no doubt Willow would have bitter regrets and curse his name. He was the man, he should have exerted self-control, not taken advantage of her emotion. She couldn't, shouldn't care anything for him. The most honored thing he could do was never mention it to her if he ever saw her again and if at all possible, he wouldn't even do that. Perhaps later she would marry the lieutenant or even Raven, and Bear would protect her honor with his silence. Those breathless minutes in her arms would stay locked in his heart forever.

No matter how slowly he rode, at last he came into camp. It was getting late and though a few people were still about, most of the tipis were settling down for the night. He heard Cub crying and his mother comforting him. At least Rainbow wasn't drunk and out in some soldier's blankets tonight. Her child needed her.

He dismounted, unsaddled his horse.

Raven came out of their lodge, hurried toward him. “Bear? I was beginning to think your horse might have fallen; I was about to come looking for you.”

Bear gritted his teeth. However he handled this, he must not hurt his brother. “It took a long time; this is not something that is hurried through.”

“Well?” Raven waited as Bear slapped his horse on the rump, turned him loose to graze with the big herd under the watchful eye of a sentry.

“Let us not talk out here where everyone can hear, let us go into our lodge. Is there food?”

Raven nodded and followed him toward the tipi. “Rainbow cooked some of that deer you shot and gave the old woman.”

Bear sat down by the fire, reached for a piece of smoked meat. “Rainbow would make some man a good wife and her child and sister need a hunter to fend for them.”

“So why don't you marry her?” Raven laughed. “I don't want her; she's been handled by every soldier at the fort.”

Bear winced. “You lack compassion, brother,” he rebuked softly. “It is a sign of maturity to care about those who are helpless.”

“I don't want to talk about Rainbow.” Raven sounded annoyed and out of sorts. “You know what I want to talk about.”

Bear kept eating for a long moment. Was there any way to make this easier?
“Cultis.”
He made a dismissing gesture to show that it was no good. “I am sorry, Raven, but Willow said no.”

“No?” He jumped up in surprise. “But the way she looked at me, the way she smiled, I thought—”

“You misread her actions.” Bear shook his head without looking at his brother.

“Did you mention the fine horses as a bride present?” He was pacing the small space, greatly agitated.

“I-I didn't get the chance. Anyway, she's been raised as a white girl, a wealth of horses means nothing to her.”

“Maybe you didn't brag about me enough? Did you not tell her—?”

“Raven, I did everything I knew. By my honor, I did the very best I knew how and she said she did not want to be your woman. I am truly sorry.”

Raven was not taking the news well. “Perhaps I sent the wrong person,” he said. “Maybe I should have sent my friends, Pony and Five Stars, they have much skill with words.”

“Aren't those the two drunken friends who were with you that day in front of the saloon? I think they would not impress her much.”

“Tell me exactly what was said.” Raven knelt before him.

He didn't want to remember any of it; he hadn't meant for either of them to be swept away by such a tidal wave of passion. “I don't remember; she just said no.
Sepekuse;
let it be.”

“Well, try to think; maybe you could talk to her again and say it better.”

He felt abject pity for Raven; shame for his own betrayal. “I am sorry, brother, if I didn't do a good job, it wasn't because I didn't try. If you had faced up to it and asked her yourself instead—”

“I backed away, that's what you're saying; just as when I had to face up to that grizzly, I turned and ran and let you deal with it.”

“It isn't the same.”

“It is the same!” He slammed one fist into the other. I always retreat and let you handle it. My mother is dead because of me and now I haven't the courage even to face the woman I want and ask her!” He slumped down by the fire and put his head in his hands.

Bear reached out, patted his shoulder. It was trembling . . . or was that his own hand? “Maybe tomorrow, things will look better. Maybe tomorrow, there's the slightest chance she might change her mind.”

In his thoughts, he saw Willow in Raven's arms as his brother made love to her. The image hurt now that he himself had known her sweetness, but it was all he deserved because he had betrayed his honor.

“No,” Raven said, shaking his head, “it does not sound like she will change her mind. Perhaps she loves the lieutenant.”

Bear didn't say anything for a long time. “I know this must hurt.”

“How would you know?” Raven snapped. “I've never known you to love a woman enough to ask her to be your wife.”

He must not make a cruel retort simply because Raven had been cruel. “Someday, maybe there will be another woman you will love even more.”

“I don't think so.” Raven stared into the fire and shook his head. “Willow is so very, very special; so
palojami.
I will never love another woman as I love her.”

He had said what was in Bear's own heart. What could be done? They both loved her and for many reasons, neither could have her. She was more white than Nez Perce anyway and the parson would never allow it.

Bear got up, went outside the lodge, stood staring at the distant mountain peaks, gleaming white with snow in the distant moonlight. The snow was starting to melt, but at the high summits, it almost never melted. In her heart, Willow was as white as that mountain snow because she had been raised that way. She could never live in a tipi as a Nez Perce woman; hadn't he known that when he had gone to speak in Raven's behalf?

Raven came out of the lodge and stood beside him. “I am sorry, Bear, you did your best for me as you always do. My disappointment made me lash out.”

Bear clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “We are brothers always; nothing will ever change that or come between us.”

The silence lengthened.

Raven said, “I've always wondered ... no, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“I have often wondered, all these years, what it was like to stand there looking death in the face with that monster coming at you, all teeth and claws; to have that inner pride, that
simiakia.”

Bear sighed, remembering the terror, the agony. “I had no chance to think; I did what I had to do.”