Taboo Love in the West Part 1: A Heart Off-Limits (Wild West Adventures in Love Book 3) (2 page)

“Reverend Gillespie has said that he wants to open a school on the reservation. Do you think it is something the elders and Chief Iron Nation would be interested in? I thought it would be a good idea to sound you out first, before he goes steaming in with all those great intentions of his. Your judgement is usually pretty sound, and it would be best to nip it in the bud quickly if need be, rather than see him get his hopes up too high.” Amitola smiled. Reverend Gillespie was awash with evangelising fever, determined to convert the entire Sioux Nation to his religious ways, but he was a good man and didn’t usually push where he might not be wanted. The idea of a school was a good one. This was a new world they all lived in now, and the Sioux would need educated men and women to be able to build bridges into it.

“It would be a wonderful idea, but not if he intends to bring his religion along with his education. Many Sioux are converting to Christianity because it seems easier to do so in order to trade and work with the fur traders and the boatmen, but the majority are proud of our heritage, our own worship and beliefs, and even those who have openly converted secretly abide by our time-honoured belief that
Wahantanka
created the world and that it is the forces of nature that are holy. It is a shame that Christians do not seem to know this. You could use a few reminders that living in harmony with the earth is a happier and more natural way of living.”

“I’m an Atheist, fella. You don’t need to tell me that these missionary types need to pull their horns in!” Judd chuckled. “But, I’m guessing from a response like that you have brushed with the missionaries before? I’ve often wanted to ask why your English is so good – there aren’t many who are so comfortable with our language out here,” he said with much admiration.

“I have worked alongside Chief Iron Nation for so long now and we have had to make sure that we knew what the White Man was promising and what he was evading. We were still duped, but we at least tried. You are right. We were taught by a missionary many years ago. He came telling us we were all heathen savages and that God would not save our souls, but he left us with the gift of your words. But he left having taken advantage of a number of the young women of the tribe, and he wasn’t prepared to face up to his responsibilities. He claimed he couldn’t, as he had a wife already he had to support and care for. He was lucky to leave with his life, but I am not sure he ever made it back to his family. There were some very angry people, and none would have blamed the girls’ fathers for taking an unofficial approach to achieve justice. He was not ever wanted, but he did serve a purpose.”

“Well I for one am glad he came among you, even if he was less than honourable and soured the feelings of your people against our kind even further. He left you with a gift that means you and I have been able to become friends. I enjoy coming out here and our talks Amitola,” Judd said warmly and with real affection.

“How is Emmeline?” Amitola asked, knowing that the brave young woman was expecting her first child. She and Judd had enjoyed a tumultuous courtship and early marriage, but their growing love and respect for one another was clearly evident now in the bright clear eyes of his comely, pregnant wife, and the deference with which the often-brash Judd showed her.

“She is doing well. Swollen up like a ball, I think she wants it all to be over, but won’t admit it,” he said with a grin. “I will surely admit that I would not want to be a woman and go through nine months of pregnancy and then a birth! I hear it is quite a fearsome thing to go through. But we will both be glad to meet our young one when it arrives. All in good time, they keep telling me! But, I don’t have all day to stand around gossiping with you, my friend. So where’s the best hunting today, or would I be better off going fishing somewhere?” Amitola always gave the best advice, and Judd trusted his judgement entirely. He and Emmeline never went hungry now that he took the advice of the gentle man to hunt, fish and forage for plants, berries and vegetables. He took advantage of nature’s larder to supplement the meat from his own herds. Amitola believed that they were healthier for the variety, too. Building a new world here in the west was a tough job, and there had been many years of hardship for the feisty and determined Judd. Things were looking up now, though. His herds of cattle were growing well out on the plains and breeding new calves each year – but even his friendship with Amitola didn’t stop other
tiyospaye
from raiding his herds and even killing the men who herded them.

“I’d fish today. They are biting well on the White River, my friend.” He smiled, and the two parted amicably, knowing they would see each other again soon.

Amitola thought about what a school might mean to the people on the reservation. Already, a number of the tribe were working alongside the trappers and guiding the miners into
paha sapa
to look for gold and furs to trade. Their local knowledge was unparalleled, but they were often left at the mercy of unscrupulous men who took advantage of their lack of knowledge. If Reverend Gillespie really wanted to help them and could give them the skills they would need to be able to run the school going forward for themselves, then he would make sure he found the time to call in at the manse to speak with the kindly and well-meaning man before he rushed ahead and unwittingly said the wrong thing to the wrong people. It was an issue that would need delicate handling, and he was determined to see it happen to give his people the very best chance to survive and thrive in this new world. He turned his horse gently, using just his knees, and sauntered slowly towards Oacoma to do just that.

Chapter Two

“Eliza, my beloved child, you are here safely!” A short and rather portly gentleman who looked about to burst out of his tight-fitting waistcoat came running out of a smartly-painted, white clapboard house as the wagon trundled along Main Street and pulled up outside the Kicking Horse Saloon. Eliza smiled as she watched her usually so reticent father running after them, yelling at the top of his voice. He would never have done such a thing back east. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all if her father was able to show so much more of his more exuberant self, a side of him previously only seen within the confines of their own home, rather than having to kowtow to those who believed themselves to be his better. She had hated seeing him seem smaller and smaller with each passing year, accepting the dictates of men so inferior to him in both education and wit, simply because they had more money than he. If this were a sign of things to come, then that would make her happy and keep her content to be here by his side. As he helped her down from the backboard, she looked around her at the small but clearly growing town of Oacoma. It had a single straight main street with a dusty expanse of road between the two rows of wooden buildings of all shapes and sizes. There was a smart chapel and the saloon looked far less seedy than she had expected; in fact, she was pleased to see that it was a hotel as well as a drinking hole and place for women of ill virtue. There were all sorts of shops, and a number of wells, hitching posts and many of the buildings were adorned with blooming window boxes full of bright flowers. Gentlemen and ladies, dancing girls, Sioux tribesmen and women, trappers, fur traders, miners and boat men all mingled, with none of the forced etiquette she had left behind. It seemed she had walked into the kind of utopia her father had often talked to her of, where all men were equal, though a brief scuffle that occurred between a drunken cowboy and one of the Sioux soon made her realise that the tensions were still there and could ignite like a powder keg at any moment.

“I am so glad to be here. The journey was frightful!” She smiled at the relieved face looking up at her and kissed him gently on the cheek. She had outgrown him when she was just fourteen and with her heeled boots, quite literally towered above him. He thought it funny that he had to look up to his daughter, but she knew she would always look up to him. He was wise, funny and kind to everyone he met. “It is done now, and nothing else needs to be said. I wasn’t kidnapped, or shot, and am now here safe and sound. Now show me our beautiful home, and I must see around your lovely chapel.” Eliza pushed as much optimism and energy into her words as she could to assure him that she really was fine. She made her farewells to the women she had met on the way and assured them that she would arrange a women’s society here at the church as soon as she could, to offer each other support, friendship and fellowship. They nodded that it was a wonderful idea and would look forward to it. They went about their business with warm words of encouragement and welcome to her new home. To think, she had so nearly alienated these wonderful women by her dismissive behaviour. It was a true blessing knowing that she already had friendly faces to call on in her new home. She didn’t forget to remind Ingrid to send for her when her time came if she needed her for anything.

Her father’s face was a picture as he saw her saying her farewells. “Oh my, you are so very like your mother, my dearest. She wouldn’t have let that horrible journey get her down either.” Eliza was secretly ecstatic that he had compared her so favourably to her brave and intelligent mother, a woman who had battled all kinds of condemnation from her own family to marry the man she loved, who had accepted a life well below the standards she was used to and had never complained once about having to appear to still be from that world. She had often joked that the only skill she had picked up during her education as a young woman in society was to be able to sew, and she had managed to put that to incredible use, turning collars and redesigning dresses so that as a family they never appeared less than well turned out. Eliza missed her mother terribly and had felt it was so unfair to have lost her at just twelve, a time that a young girl needs her mother more than ever as she makes the difficult transition from childhood to womanhood. Her father was unprepared for the needs of a young woman going through puberty, and his own grief had made life in Boston very difficult for some time. He had also been oblivious to the needs of organising a match for her, and so she had seen her contemporaries, even those of a lesser status than her own, marrying well and leaving her behind, doomed to remain on the shelf – not that there would have been anyone likely to want her when she came with no dowry and a besmirched pedigree. But she was resigned to her fate now, and if looking after her father as he undertook his good works was the price she must pay, it was one she was more than willing to undertake.

“Well at least I never have to do it again, Father!” She chuckled. “Unless you decide to send me back for bad behaviour, of course.” He smiled at her indulgently, as if that couldn’t possibly ever happen. “Now, come on – I want the grand tour!” He grinned like a Cheshire cat and beckoned to a passing boy to take her bags up to the manse. He offered his daughter his arm, she put up her lace parasol to shade her eyes and her skin from the harsh sun and they took a promenade down Main Street. The street had everything you could need: a competent butcher, a wonderful general store, full of everything from summer dresses to canned beans and she was especially pleased to see a bustling market where local farmers brought their produce and wares to sell. Reverend Gillespie proudly introduced her to everyone they met. Their warm welcomes and offers of tea and friendship were given generously and freely. She had only been in this hodgepodge of a town for a few minutes, but already she felt more at home than she ever had back east. The street was dusty and bustling, and the sun didn’t let up in its glaring heat, but she could have been in any small country town anywhere. There would certainly be no hardship here for her. Her father was clearly respected and held in high esteem, something his parish in Boston had never done. Their final port of call on their short tour was the chapel, and Eliza could tell from the way her father was almost bursting his buttons again just how proud he was of the simple white building that the people had built for him to deliver his sermons and offer them spiritual sustenance from every Sunday. It was elegantly simple, devoid of all ostentation, a simple cross above the door and a steeple the only marker that this was any different to any other building. Her father opened the door with a flourish and bowed her into his sanctuary. The cool white interior was welcoming and felt full of love and calm, and she was gladdened to truly be able to feel God’s presence in the humble place of worship.

The chapel was an oasis of peace, and Amitola often found himself drawn there when he came into Oacoma, especially on a hot day like today when it was one of the few places that offered some welcome shade from the heat to one of his kind. He liked the kindly Reverend Gillespie, and he could almost understand why this Christian god could hold such an appeal if his home here on earth was such a haven. He had to admire the ability of the diminutive minister to be able to insist that, as God’s house, it was open to all and to enforce its status as one of the few places in the emerging town that made the
oyate
an open invitation to stop by and visit. Though accord had been reached to some extent, the newcomers were still wary of his kind, and they didn’t open their doors to them often. They were happy to trade with them and to use their skills, and though their money was welcomed in the shops and market places, their faces were not welcome in anyone’s home. Polite society rules still applied, even in a place like this. Amitola had been surprised not to find the gentle minister here when he arrived, but knew it wouldn’t be long before he made an appearance. So, rather than hunting him down, he chose to stay in the shaded serenity the simple building offered him and began to meditate on the things he needed to do. He heard the large door at the other end creak open on its decorative iron hinges, and the sunlight broke through the cool shade he had been enjoying, warming his skin again gently. He looked up to see who was entering and was pleased to see the smiling face of Reverend Gillespie. They had reached as respectful and close a relationship as any proud Sioux and a Methodist minister ever could, but though their views in some fundamental areas were different, Amitola respected this charming little man’s ability to see past that and be able to admire and enjoy the ones they did hold in common. The reverend was not only educated, but wise, too, and Amitola respected that in any man or woman.

“Amitola!” Reverend Gillespie cried, clearly delighted to see him. “Just the man I wanted to see. Did Judd find you earlier?” He bustled up the narrow aisle excitedly, and Amitola rose to greet him and had his arm almost pumped out of its socket by the enthusiastic handshake that always accompanied a meeting with the portly man. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in enthusiasm, but, even for him, he seemed particularly pleased with himself, and his eyes sparkled with happiness. Amitola wondered why, but got to the point of his visit.

“Yes, Sir, he told me of your ideas. I thought I would come and talk it through with you,” he said respectfully.

“Oh, I am so glad. That sounds like you think it might be a good idea.” He turned around behind him, and gestured to a young woman in a sprigged muslin gown to come forward. “Amitola, this is my daughter, Miss Eliza Gillespie,” he said proudly. Miss Gillespie looked absolutely petrified to see a fully grown Sioux sitting calmly in her father’s chapel, and Amitola found himself, inappropriately, wanting to laugh at her. He managed to control himself as he felt that looking at her serious-looking face that she might not take it that well if he did. At least he now knew the source of the minister’s bouncing energy and joyful countenance.

“Miss Gillespie, it is a pleasure,” he said politely, taking note that the bemused woman did not seem to have a clue where to look. “Would you prefer me to cover up a little? Or were you expecting me to be in full war paint?” He couldn’t help himself from teasing her gently. He was pleased to see his reward though as Miss Gillespie couldn’t hide a little grin.

“How rude of me,” she said. “I do apologise, Mr… Amitola, was it? I am saying that correctly?” she asked. She was the first person other than her father or Judd who had cared whether they pronounced his name correctly, and he was touched by such a simple gesture of genuine interest and concern for his feelings, especially as seeing a half naked man must be so highly discomfiting for her. He never ceased to be amazed by the lengths that the White Man, and especially their women, went to in order to cover up the bodies they had been blessed with. He was surprised to find himself admiring her delicate features as she smiled. He had never understood the fascination that some of his people had for women like her, though he suspected it was as much about control as it was anything else. But Eliza’s smile completely lit up her face as if she had been caught by the sunshine, just as the sun beams glimpsed off the ripples of the life-giving river winding through his homeland, creating glints and reflections that changed how you felt deep in your very soul.

“Perfect. It is simply Amitola, though. It means ‘rainbow’ in my language,” he added unnecessarily, trying to recover his senses which were threatening to completely take over his sanity. He had never reacted so viscerally to just a smile before, and it was quite disconcerting that the smile belonged to this china doll of a woman. “I must apologise myself, Miss Gillespie, it must have been quite a shock seeing a Sioux Warrior sitting here waiting for your father.”

“Well, yes. I have never seen one
–
a Sioux, I mean, up close. We saw a band riding away on the journey here, but I certainly wouldn’t have expected you to be in my father’s church or that your English would be so wonderful.” She had a lilting voice and he found himself strangely drawn to her. Like her father, there was genuine warmth and acceptance, and he longed for that, wherever he was. Yes, he would need to be very careful around this woman. She made him feel things he knew could only cause them both trouble.

“Eliza, my dear.” Reverend Gillespie turned to his daughter excitedly. “I have had an idea, and I think it could be a great one. I am going to need Amitola’s help, though. I will need his wise counsel and intervention with the elders of his tribe if I am to get it up and running.”

“Why do I have a feeling that there is a possibility that this could be dangerous, or there is something intrinsically difficult about whatever this plan of yours is?” she said, indulgently taking note of the breathlessness that was accompanying his explanation.

“I want to open a school!” he finally burst out.

“I know that,” Eliza said, rolling her eyes. “You wanted to set it up here, for the children in town and those who wished to learn their letters. It’s a wonderful idea, and forgive me if I am the one going a little crazy here, but I am pretty sure that is why I have spent the last few months travelling across country to join you here. It was why you virtually ordered me to come out here to join you, remember?” Eliza said, now looking a little confused. Was her father losing his marbles? How could he have already forgotten that?

“Yes, yes, and we will,” he continued impatiently, a little flustered that she hadn’t understood his meaning. ”But I had hoped, when I hatched my original plan, that the people here would be more tolerant and would allow the Sioux to join the classes if they wished to come, but it would appear that both sides aren’t quite ready for that yet. Nobody will send their children or join a class themselves if there are Sioux present. Sorry Amitola,” he apologised to the taller man. Amitola just shrugged. This wasn’t news to him, and many at the reservation had felt the same way about being in a class with the townspeople. “So, being undaunted by others’ stubbornness, and still wanting to make sure that anyone who wishes to learn has access to a school, I wanted to ask Amitola’s assistance to set up a second school
–
one out on the reservation itself, just for the Sioux alone. They will need our help if they are to have any kind of future here, so many of us heading this way, they will be overrun and the land will run out, and I would hate to see them lose everything that is rightfully theirs. But if we can give them the basic tool they need the most – the language to be able to debate, trade and to stand up for their rights, everyone gets to benefit from it.” Amitola noted that Eliza looked intrigued by the idea, but she paused for a moment before she spoke.