Johanna Lindsey - Brave the Wild Wind

“But, Mother—”

“Listen to me. I tell you these things for your own good,” Wide River Woman said patiently. “Do not let either of your young men see you when you are alone, even the man you prefer. You must not let a man touch you, daughter, especially your breasts. If a man touches your breasts, he considers that you belong to him. Would you have your two men fighting each other because one boasts that he has won you before he has consent? No, you would not, for the one you prefer may lose. Have you made a choice yet? My husband favors White Dog, as I do, but if Gray Kettle should offer more, then ...”

Their voices trailed off. Jessie’s face was bright red. She had let Chase Summers touch her breasts and do a great deal more. But he wasn’t an Indian. He’d not think she belonged to him. No, quite the opposite. Chase had known her in the most intimate way, then wanted nothing more to do with her!

White Thunder had been watching Jessie closely, and he’d known her for a long time.

“You blush. Have you been touched by a man, Looks Like Woman?” he teased.

Jessie gasped. Could he see into her mind? It was eerie and it had happened many times before.

“Do you wish to speak of it?” he asked hesitantly.

“No, not yet.”

“It was not Little Hawk?”

She laughed bitterly and he was shocked.

“At least he wouldn’t want a woman one minute, then decide she was unworthy of him the next.”

“Who has treated you this way?” White Thunder stood up. He was very angry.

“Sit down, my friend,” Jessie said gently. “I was probably as much to blame for what happened as he was. I was naive.”

“But you are hurt.”

“I will get over it.”

Jessie returned to pounding the wild cherries, pits and all, in a stone mortar. Later they would be dried and mixed with strips of buffalo meat and fat to make pemmican, a food that would keep for months.

He moved away from her, leaving her to her thoughts. Jessie was glad she had told him. He would understand now if she suddenly became moody.

White Thunder was such a wise, thoughtful man for one so young. He was, in fact, only two years older than she was. How she loved him, her dear friend! She glanced at him and smiled as he looked up at her.

The Cheyenne were the tallest of the Plains tribes, and White Thunder was six feet in height. He was disturbingly handsome, too, with those startling blue eyes inherited from his father. His skin was copper, but mostly from the sun. He was a young warrior who had already proved himself as fit as any man, stronger than most. She was proud of their friendship.

Little Hawk came in a few minutes later, entering the tepee silently. He wore a shirt reserved for special occasions, one made of the hide of the bighorn sheep. The long sleeves were fringed, as were his leggings, and the bead work was beautiful. There were also tassels and bits of metal and shells hanging here and there. On his braids were wrappings of white fur, and a single blue feather was attached, just like the feather he had left her.

White Thunder was impressed, and concerned. The way the Sioux was dressed portended something important, and he was afraid he knew what that something was. He was not pleased.

Little Hawk, following protocol, waited to be invited to sit. White Thunder let him wait for a moment, looking at Jessie to see if she understood the meaning of this visit. Finally he sighed and bade Little Hawk welcome, speaking in the Sioux tongue. Jessie watched them talking, growing impatient as the conversation continued without her understanding a word of it. She had thought Little Hawk was there to talk to her. She was becoming annoyed.

At last Little Hawk turned to her, and White Thunder said, “He asks permission to speak to you.”

Jessie replied, “But I have already agreed to speak to him. Isn’t that why he’s here?”

“He is asking formally now.”

Jessie repressed a grin at the absurdity of it. “Then I agree, formally.”

White Thunder continued solemnly, “He has also asked that I interpret for him.”

“But why? He speaks English.”

“He disdains to use it when it is not necessary,” White Thunder explained.

Jessie was irritated. “Then why did he learn it to begin with?”

“You wish me to ask him?”

“I can ask him,” she said curtly.

“Do not speak with him directly,” White Thunder warned quietly. “Do not look at him so boldly, either, or reveal what you are thinking.”

She laughed. “Do you know you sound just like your mother?”

“Be serious, woman.” White Thunder frowned at her. “He is serious. Besides, for what he intends, it is customary for him to speak through a third person.” He raised a questioning brow at her. “Do you understand now?”

Jessie’s forehead crinkled in a frown. What was he trying to tell her? She had never known White Thunder to be so cryptic.

“Perhaps if we just got on with it,” Jessie suggested, glancing apprehensively at Little Hawk.

The two men spoke at length, and Jessie’s apprehension grew when it became obvious that they were arguing. If she only had some inkling of what the meeting was all about.

The men fell silent, and Jessie found she’d been holding her breath. When neither man spoke again, she prompted, “Well?”

“It is as I guessed,” White Thunder told her shortly. “He wants you to be his woman.”

Jessie was speechless. She told herself she ought not to be surprised, but she was.

She turned to Little Hawk then, and their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away. Yes, he did want her. Suddenly she was flattered. This was soothing balm after the despicable way Chase had treated her.

“Just his woman, or his wife?” she asked hurriedly.

“His wife.”

“I see ...” Jessie gazed up toward the top of the tepee, musing.

White Thunder was taken aback. “You are not considering accepting?”

“What did he offer for me?”

“Seven horses,” he answered.

“Seven?” Jessie was impressed. “Why so many? Is he rich?”

“Simply determined, I think. One horse would be for me, for agreeing to speak for him, since he has no close friend here to do so. Two horses would be given to Runs with the Wolf, since it is his tepee you occupy. The other four are for you, and will remain yours, along with all your own possessions.”

“And the tepee,” she prompted, knowing that a tepee was considered the wife’s property.

“No, not the tepee,” White. Thunder confessed gently. “This was the main reason I told him it would not work. He already has a first wife.”

“He does?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Jessie said stiffly.

Why she was suddenly so angry she didn’t know. Perhaps because it had been nice to feel wanted, to forget about her troubles at the ranch. A fairy tale, however.

“Tell Little Hawk I am flattered,” Jessie said, “but I cannot possibly accept. Tell him white women do not share their husbands. I will not be a second wife.”

To Jessie’s relief Little Hawk accepted her refusal gracefully. He had a few more words with White Thunder, then left the tepee.

“He said he expected your refusal this first time,” White Thunder told her gravely. “He seems to think you will get used to the idea and change your mind.”

“Oh!” Jessie was getting worried. “I suppose he will stick around, to press his suit?”

“I can guarantee you have not seen the last of him,” replied White Thunder.

Jessie shook her head. A few days before, she had been without a man and as free as you please. Now she had more than she cared to handle.

IT was late afternoon of the fourth day that Chase had been on the trail. He had never thought he would have to come this far. He had stopped at Ft. Laramie, spending a night there, and had been directed to White Thunder’s village. He knew this would be the right place. It had to be. There was no other settlement nearby.

The village looked peaceful enough in the late afternoon sun. Children were playing. He could see women working, men gathered in groups. There were many horses tethered by the tepees, meat hung up to dry, skins spread out for tanning. It seemed a prosperous village, and tranquil. He crouched near a creek, watching. Could this be where she was?

His question was answered immediately, when he moved a little way down the creek to where an overgrowth of shrubbery and trees blocked the village from view. He had meant to hide there, but he stopped when he saw a woman bathing in the creek. She was naked to her waist, and she wore an Indian breechcloth. Chase moved closer to the bank, leading his horse carefully. He was far enough away that she couldn’t see him.

He forgot about the village, forgot everything as he watched her bathing. It was Jessie. He was sure of it. Her hair was loose and clinging to her wetly. Lord, she was beautiful, a goddess kissed by the sun. Her breasts were much fuller than he remembered, unencumbered by a shirt. They stood high and proud above her tiny waist and gently swelling hips. Chase was mesmerized. Why was she so special, so lovely?

His musings came to a sharp halt when he saw that Jessie was speaking to someone. Then he saw the Indian. He was sitting, with his back against a gnarled tree. The Indian wasn’t facing Jessie, but he turned to look at her when she spoke to him.

Chase was furious. A man was watching Jessie bathe! It was a shame his fury overcame him, because he lost all awareness of his surroundings. Black Bear Hunter, White Thunder’s older brother, was moving slowly toward the white stranger. From his position, he could not see Jessie or White Thunder, the man who was talking to her. It appeared only that the white stranger was spying on his village. Black Bear Hunter approached Chase ever so cautiously.

Jessie managed to put Little Hawk from her mind as she let the cold creek water trickle over her body. She and White Thunder had often taken baths together when they were younger, but Wide River Woman had put a stop to that when Jessie’s body began developing curves.

White Thunder still accompanied her, however, to protect her.

It was really because of Black Bear Hunter that White Thunder was there. He was the only one in the village who had never tolerated Jessie’s visits. Twice the brothers had argued over her. And several times Black Bear Hunter had come upon Jessie alone and frightened her terribly.

She had not seen Black Bear Hunter last year, or during this visit. She knew he had recently taken a wife and had his own tepee. She wondered if he was perhaps less severe now.

Jessie broached the question to White Thunder, calling over her shoulder, “Does your brother still hate me?”

White Thunder was so surprised by the question that he forgot himself and turned to look at her. “But he has never hated you.”

“Of course he has.”

White Thunder turned away quickly. It had been a long time since he had seen her without clothes. His face heated. It had happened before, and he was furious with himself whenever it happened. He could not bear what he sometimes felt for her. They were friends. He would not jeopardize that.

“Did you hear me, White Thunder?”

“Yes,” he called back without looking at her. “But you are wrong in mistaking what he feels for hate.”

“But you know how he’s always been,” Jessie reminded him.

“He did not like it that you came here, but only because you were white like my father, the one who took Wide River Woman away from her first husband, Black Bear Hunter’s father. He lost his father because of that, and he bears a grudge against whites, all of them.”

“But I was a child. I was blameless.”

“He knew that. He even came to regret his treatment of you, but it was too late by then.”

“Why? I would have understood.”

“Yes, but would you have understood all the reasons for his change? You see, he found himself wanting you.”

She was surprised, and a little disbelieving. “He had a funny way of showing it,” she scoffed.

“Because you are white. Because he could not permit himself to want a white woman. He took pains never to let you know. He was harsh because it was not easy to conceal what he felt for you.”

“But how do you know this, White Thunder?” Jessie asked. “Did he tell you?”

“No. I just know.”

“Well, you could be wrong, couldn’t you?”

“I doubt it. But would you prefer to go on thinking he hates you, when that is not true?”