Wolf Shadow (5 page)

“Winter Rain?”

“Are you my mother? Is Eagle Lance my father? Was I born
here?”

Mountain Sage sat back on her heels. A sigh that seemed to
come from the very depths of her soul slowly escaped her lips.

Seeing the expression on her mother’s face, Winter Rain felt
a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach. “It is true then, what he told me?
You are not my true mother, are you?”

“Winter Rain…”

“How did I get here? Who brought me?”

“Eagle Lance brought you to me. Our daughter had died only a
few moons before he found you. She was our fourth child. The first three had
been born dead. After our daughter died, I wanted to die, too. I could not
sleep or eat. I was sick,” Mountain Sage tapped her breast over her heart, “in
here. Your father…” She paused and looked away. “Eagle Lance was worried about
me. He went on a raid with some of the other warriors. They attacked some white
men and stole their horses. Eagle Lance brought you home to me.”

“How old was I?”

“You were seven summers. The same age as the daughter we had
lost.”

Winter Rain shook her head. Why didn’t she remember? Ten
years was a long time but even so, she should be able to remember something. Had
the attack been so awful she had somehow blocked it from her mind? Perhaps, at
first, she had hated living with her
wasichu
parents and that was why
she could not recall her past.

“I welcomed you into our lodge,” Mountain Sage said. “You
have been my daughter ever since that day.”

Wordlessly, Winter Rain rose to her feet and left the lodge.
Standing outside, she looked around the village. There was old Three Crows
nodding in the shade. Children and dogs chased each other through the camp. A
group of little girls were playing with dolls. In the distance, she saw a
handful of elders watching a group of young boys shoot arrows at a target. The
horse herd grazed across the river. Women were caring for their children,
tanning hides, drying meat, laughing together as they watched White Doe’s baby
take its first steps. Men were gambling, or dozing in the sun, or repairing
their weapons. They were sights she had seen a hundred times, a thousand, and
yet, on this day, she felt as though she were seeing it all for the first time.

With a shake of her head, she walked down to the river,
nodding to those who called her name.

At the water’s edge, she walked along the shore until she
came to her favorite place and then she dropped down to her hands and knees and
studied her reflection. Wolf Shadow had said she looked like her mother. Her
wasichu
mother.

Leaning forward, she stirred the water with her hand,
shattering her reflection.

Who was she? If she was not the daughter of Mountain Sage
and Eagle Lance, then who was she? Would Strong Elk still wish to marry her if
he knew she was not Lakota? But he must know. Everyone must know. Why had no
one ever told her she was different?

With a toss of her head, she stood up. She might have the
blood of the
wasichu
in her veins, but she was Lakota in her heart and
soul. Nothing could change that. She belonged here, with Mountain Sage and
Eagle Lance, and here she would stay.

Smiling, she turned away from the river’s edge and came face
to face with Wolf Shadow.

“So,” he said, “we meet again.”

Her smile faded and her heart began to beat faster. “Are you
following me?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

“Why not?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.
“Lakota men often follow pretty women to the river in hopes of catching them
alone.” And she was pretty, with her sky blue eyes and pouty pink lips. And her
hair…it fell to her waist like a mantle of dark brown silk.

“Why would you want to be alone with me?” she asked
suspiciously. “You do not even know me.”

“Maybe I would like to know you better.” He had a sudden
image of her lying on top of him in his lodge, her hair tickling his skin. He swore
under his breath. Where had
that
come from?

She stared up at him, stunned by his words. “I…that
is…Strong Elk and I…we are…”

He frowned, and then nodded. “He is courting you.”

“Yes,” she said proudly. “He will bring horses to my father
one day soon, and we will be married.”

Chance muttered a short, pithy oath. That complicated
matters. He would never get her away from here once she was married. Somehow,
he had to woo her away from the People, and away from Strong Elk.

His gaze moved over her. Wooing her wouldn’t be any trouble
at all.

* * * * *

Later that night, long after Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance
were asleep, Winter Rain lay awake under her sleeping robe, her thoughts
troubled. Strong Elk had come courting that evening. They had stood side by
side under his courting blanket, but it had been Wolf Shadow who had been in
her thoughts. Strong Elk had told her of his plans to go hunting. There were
two types of hunts: the
wani-sapa
, which was a tribal hunt and was
shrouded in custom and ritual, and
tate
, which was a family hunt
undertaken whenever a warrior wished to add to his food supply. This time,
Strong Elk was going with his two best friends, Two Beavers and Pony Boy. They
were leaving in the morning. She had nodded, all the while wondering where Wolf
Shadow was and what he was doing.

Now, listening to the sweet notes of Strong Elk’s
siyotanka
,
Winter Rain found herself again thinking of Wolf Shadow. What was there about
him that he occupied so much of her thoughts? He was tall and handsome, yes, but
so was Strong Elk. Wolf Shadow wanted only to take her away from here; Strong
Elk wanted to make her his wife. He was a brave warrior and hunter; he would
make her a good husband.

Clinging to that thought, she turned on her side and
pillowed her cheek on her hand. The music faded and she closed her eyes,
seeking sleep. Instead, she found herself trying to remember her life among the
wasichu
. Had she been happy there? Why couldn’t she remember anything of
her life before she came to this place?

Why couldn’t she put Wolf Shadow out of her mind?

Chance sat in front of Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s lodge. Overhead,
a quarter moon hung low in the sky. Everyone else in the village had gone to
bed long ago but sleep eluded him. His thoughts turned briefly to the ranch but
he had nothing to worry about. His cowhands were competent and loyal; his
foreman knew as much about running the place as Chance did.

The bittersweet notes of a courting flute were borne to him
on the night wind. Hearing it brought Winter Rain to mind. He had nothing to
worry about at home, he mused with a shake of his head. But the woman…she
worried him. She was too young, too pretty, too tempting.

He cocked his head to the side, listening to the music of
the flute. Was it Strong Elk sitting out there in the dark, pouring out his
heart in the haunting melody that filled the air? Was Winter Rain lying inside
her mother’s lodge, smiling a secret smile?

He cursed softly. The girl’s happiness meant nothing to him.
Once he returned Winter Rain to her rightful parents, she could stay in San
Francisco and live a life of ease, or she could run back here and marry Strong
Elk. Either way, he would have the money he needed to pay off the loan at the
bank. Nothing else mattered.

He swore softly as a muscle twitched in his back. One other
thing mattered, he thought bitterly. Finding the last of the men who had raped
and killed his mother. Hands clenched, he let himself remember that day. Rage
and pain flowed through him like a flashflood, stirring up old hurts, old memories,
washing the dust of years off the horror that was never far from his mind…

It was a summer he would never forget. He had been sixteen
at the time, old enough to be considered a man by the People. His mother,
Summer Moon, had expressed a desire to go and visit her cousin, who lived with
the Cheyenne. Chance’s father had been away from the village, attending to
ranch business at the time, so Chance had volunteered to accompany his mother.

Chance and his mother had been a day’s journey from the
Cheyenne village when the white men found them. Four white men who had been
Army deserters, though Chance hadn’t realized that at the time. He had known
they meant trouble, though. He had known it from the moment the
wasichu
rode
up to their campfire just after dusk. Too late, he had reached for his bow. One
of the men had struck him over the head with a rifle butt. Stunned, Chance had
dropped to the ground. One of the men tossed his bow into the fire. Chance had
tried to fight them while they tied his hands and feet, but he had been no
match for four men. His head had throbbed so badly it was hard to think, hard
to focus.

He had watched the men surround his mother. She had screamed
in defiance and fear, her fists and feet flailing as they reached for her. One
of the men struck her hard across the face. She stumbled backward and they were
on her like wolves after a wounded doe. In the wavering light of the fire, the
scene had looked like a horrible nightmare. Three of the men had wrestled his
mother down to the ground and held her there while the fourth unbuckled his
belt and dropped his trousers.

Chance had felt the bitter taste of bile rise in his throat
as he realized what they were doing to her. He had tugged against the rope that
bound his wrists, hardly aware of the pain as the rough hemp cut into his skin.

The sounds of his mother’s cries and the grunts and lewd
remarks of the four men spurred him on. In desperation, he struggled harder
against his bonds. Blood oozed from his lacerated skin, trickled down the side
of his neck from the gash in the back of his head.

The fourth man was lowering himself over Summer Moon by the
time Chance managed to free his hands and feet. Crawling snakelike across the
ground, he had grabbed a knife that one of the men had left stuck in a log. Clutching
the weapon in his fist, Chance rose to his knees and sprang at the nearest
wasichu.
Grabbing a fistful of the man’s greasy hair, he had pulled his head back and
slit his throat.

Blood gushed from the wound and sprayed over the other three.
They scrambled to their feet, cursing viciously. One of them pulled a gun and
aimed it at Summer Moon.

“Drop the knife!” the man hissed. “Drop it or she’s dead.”

Chance believed him. As soon as he dropped the knife, two of
the men had grabbed him and tied him to a tree. And then they had taken turns
whipping him until his back was a bloody mess and he was unconscious.

When he came to, his mother was on her knees behind him,
fumbling with the rope. She managed to loosen the knots enough so that he could
free himself, and then she fainted.

Tears had blurred his eyes as he knelt at her side. She had
put up a fight when they raped her and the white men had not been gentle with
her. Her face was swollen from their blows, one eye was black, there was a cut
on one cheek.

“
Ina
.”

She groaned softly as he gathered her into his arms.

“
Cinks
.” With an effort, she lifted one hand and
stroked his cheek and then her hand fell weakly to her side and she closed her
eyes.

He had looked at her helplessly, at the dark red blood that
stained her thighs, at the bruises that marred her body. They had hurt her
badly. Her breathing was shallow, as if every breath she drew caused her pain.

He had to get her back to the village, he thought
frantically, but he had been afraid to move her, afraid to leave her here,
unprotected, while he went for help. Their horses and supplies had been stolen
by the
wasichu
. He was badly hurt. There was no way he could carry her
back to the village.

“
Ina
, what should I do?”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she shook her head. “There
is…nothing…to be done.”

The finality of her words chilled him to the marrow of his
bones.

She was shivering now. He glanced around, looking for
something to cover her with, but there was nothing. As gently as he could, he
moved her closer to the fire. He left her for a moment to gather more wood,
then knelt beside her once more. It was then, in the light of the flames, that
he saw the blood leaking from a wound in her side. When had they stabbed her? Not
while they were raping her. He would have seen them, would have heard her cry
out. It could only have happened while they were whipping him, he thought. Hurt
and weak as she had been, she must have tried to stop them and they had stabbed
her for it.

He closed his eyes as an agony of guilt and regret washed
through him. He bent over her, wanting to hold her but afraid to cause her more
pain. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “
Ina
, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

“Take care…of your father,” she whispered. “You are all he
has…now.”

Chance had nodded, unmindful of the tears that dripped down
his cheeks, the blood that dripped like thick red rain down his lacerated back.
He was cold inside. So cold. The fire did nothing to warm him.

Toward dawn, she had reached for him. As gently as he could,
he cradled her in his arms, hardly aware of the pain of his own wounds.

Her breathing grew labored. Gasping for every breath, she
whispered, “Be happy…my son.” A moment later, her breathing stilled, and he
knew she was dead.

He had held her close until the sun cleared the horizon, and
then he had found a sturdy piece of wood and dug her grave. Every movement had
sent fresh slivers of agony burning through his back.

He had buried her, then covered the grave with rocks to keep
the scavengers away. Standing there, he had raised his arms over his head as he
prayed for
Wakan Tanka
to take his mother safely along the spirit path
to the Land of Many Lodges.