Frontier Courtship Part 12

Connell smiled slightly as he dismounted and circled the big gelding, patting the faithful horse's rump as he went. Approaching Faith's horse, he gathered up the reins of both mounts and handed them over to Ab for temporary safekeeping before helping her dismount.

He paused a moment to make sure she was steady on her feet before letting go, then whispered, "All right. There are a few details which might help. Remember to always turn to the right when entering a lodge."

"Why?"

He gave her a stern look. "Do you want instruction, or not?"

"I do, I do. Go ahead. What else?"

"Once you're inside, pause and wait to be invited farther, then do whatever your host indicates. In my case, Black Kettle will probably ask me to sit on the left, which is an honor because it's the family side of the teepee. You stay to the right unless you're told otherwise."

She nodded gravely. "I understand. Go on."

"If you're moving around in there for any reason, never walk between your host and the fire, or between the fire and anyone else, for that matter. Go behind them, even if there's precious little room to pa.s.s. They'll lean forward for you."

"Okay. What else?"

He sighed, yet graced her with an amiable smile. "That's enough etiquette for now. Get that much right and you'll impress them plenty, believe me."

Directly ahead lay the largest teepee of the scores Faith could see. Its skin flap of a door was propped open by means of two straight sticks, but the outer walls were let all the way down to ground level. A tall, stalwart brave armed with a feather-bedecked lance and a round, leather shield was standing guard.

Connell received the invitation he had expected and took Faith's hand to pull her along behind him, leaving Ab outside to mind the horses and fend for himself.

Daunted, she walked softly, cautiously, recalling her brief instructions on proper comportment and wondering what other details she should know that Connell hadn't had time or inclination to impart. Why, oh why, hadn't he used their time traveling between the Indian camps to educate her?

As her vision adjusted to the dim light she saw a dozen pairs of shadowy, narrowed eyes trained on her. In the gentile society from which she'd come, such undue attention might have made Faith embarra.s.sed at her unkempt appearance but it wouldn't have frightened her. Here, it unhinged her almost to the point of wanting to yank free of her partner's hold and try to flee.

Connell must have sensed her distress because he said something to the gathered savages that made them laugh, then physically plunked her down on the ground near the door before proceeding to greet the chief and take a seat beside him by direct request.

Faith tucked her legs beneath her to mimic the posture and demeanor of the other women and tried to keep her ever-widening eyes demurely averted. It was impossible. Finally she gave up fighting her curiosity and settled for feigning submission while she peeked from beneath lowered lashes.

Black Kettle, Connell and several other men began to smoke a long-shanked pipe that they pa.s.sed around the semicircle with great ceremony. The bowl nearly touched the ground and the long stem pointed to the sky every time a different smoker took a turn.

Far younger than she'd expected him to be, the chief was wearing a leather shirt ornamented with beads and small hanks of hair. Swallowing hard, she shuddered to think where the latter decoration might have come from!

Except for quill and bead adornments, the other braves were bare from the waist up. In spite of their inherent ferocity they were truly magnificent specimens of humanity, Faith thought, blushing, although not one was nearly as appealing looking as Hawk had been when she'd convinced him to strip off his shirt while she cut his hair.

Immediately penitent, she wondered what her prim, G.o.dly mother would say if she happened to be looking down from heaven and was able to read her elder daughter's decidedly scandalous thoughts!

The heat inside the tent was stifling compared to the outdoor temperature, not to mention the strong odors of cooking and goodness knows what all else that filled the air. Clouds of worrisome gnats buzzed around Faith's head. If the others had been paying the slightest attention to the pesky insects, she would have shooed them away. As it was, however, she was loath to move a muscle, so she sat and endured the itching, tickling flies, praying, above all, that the tiny bugs would not scoot up her nose and make her sneeze!

One of the Indian women across the tent suddenly arose and began to fill a wooden bowl with bits of roast meat from a skewer. The sight made Faith's mouth water. Food! She was so hungry she knew she could eat almost anything and be truly thankful for it.

With a respectful bow, the squaw offered the bowl to the chief, who took four small pieces of meat and raised them in his clasped hands in what Faith took to be a spiritual blessing akin to her family's habit of saying grace over a meal. The bowl was then pa.s.sed to Connell and proceeded around the circle of men.

Faith waited. The food bowl never came her way. Instead, everyone was acting as if she were invisible.

Correction, she thought glumly. Not invisible. Of no importance. There was a big difference. Not that she cared one whit about the Indians' personal opinions of her. She just wished they'd feed her something-anything-before the noisy growling of her stomach disturbed the entire gathering.

Connell noticed his erstwhile niece's fidgeting and quieted her with a stern look. The woman who had offered the meat had returned to her place across the tent while a younger and much prettier squaw had been summoned and was bowing before the chief. In moments, that girl ducked out the door and disappeared.

Instinct told Faith a momentous event was about to take place. Her pulse quickened. She couldn't tell much from looking at the faces of the Indians, but Connell's expression clearly held promise. Every muscle in his body was tense.

Long minutes pa.s.sed. Faith had been so intent on watching Hawk she flinched noticeably when a skinny, bent, old man limped into the teepee. He was leaning on a crutch that was nearly as gnarled as he was and in his opposite hand he carried a small leather pouch.

The old man stopped. A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned to look at the doorway.

There stood the most elegant woman Faith had ever seen. Her dress was of softly pliant deerskin adorned with porcupine quills and beaded fringe. The left shoulder of the short gown was loosely draped while the woman's right arm was encased in a sleeve that reached her elbow. Below the calf-length skirt, her legs were hidden by leggings and the tops of her moccasins.

The woman glided forward with the utmost grace, making no noise as she approached Connell. Faith could see from his expression that he was deeply moved. Could this regal Indian possibly be his lost love?

In moments Faith had decided that the newcomer was, indeed, Irene Wellman. The woman's native garb had confused the issue at first, as had the fact that her long, dark hair had been braided and elaborately decorated with beadwork, then wound into coils against the sides of her head, one coil over each ear.

There was little time for Faith to speculate further. The man who had preceded Irene into the teepee handed her the leather bag and stepped aside with a low bow.

Seated where she was, Faith couldn't see everything that was transpiring, but her observations of the Cheyenne told her plenty. They were clearly in awe. Some even looked frightened, although they hid the emotion well.

Irene opened the beaded pouch and reached inside. Someone coughed nervously. Caught up in the mood of the moment, Faith held her breath like everyone else. She believed in the kind of miracles that were mentioned in the Bible but not in magic. What could possibly be in that little bag that could have bamboozled so many Indians so thoroughly?

Irene raised a small, shiny object aloft in her upturned palms and murmured words that sounded a lot like a civilized, Christian prayer. The only other sound was raspy communal breathing.

Heart pounding, Faith clasped her hands together tightly and kept them in her lap, waiting along with the rest of the company for whatever was about to happen.

Suddenly, the silver object Irene held began to whir and jingle, the cacophony of sound heightened by the close confines of the teepee. Every Cheyenne present gasped, some even ducking and cowering against the tent.

The breath went out of Faith's bursting lungs in a loud whoosh of relief the moment she recognized what she was hearing. Papa had once owned a pocket watch with an alarm bell just like that! He had often delighted his daughters by setting it to go off at odd times. Until now, it had never occurred to Faith that anyone might be frightened of the pleasantly interesting sound, yet these people obviously were.

Her eyes bright, her soul comforted, Faith chanced a smile at Connell and was rewarded by the most threatening look he had ever bestowed upon her.

Immediately repentant, she lowered her glance and struggled to control her outward glee. How foolish! Of course she must not show any sign of relief or amus.e.m.e.nt. To do so might destroy the Indians' confidence in Irene's supposedly supernatural abilities and undermine her position of importance within the tribe.

Cautiously subdued, Faith peeked up at the priestess of the pocket watch long enough to ascertain that the gathered worshippers had not noticed the untoward reaction from their uninvited guest. Good. At least she hadn't jeopardized Connell's plans, whatever they might be.

Sighing, Faith noticed for the first time that she had a splitting headache, which was not at all surprising considering the fact that she hadn't eaten in longer than she could recall. Not that she would really have welcomed dinner from the communal pot the others had shared. She'd heard stories about some tribes' fondness for dog meat and she wasn't all that sure that the Cheyenne didn't partake of such atrocities. Give her a delicious rabbit stew any day.

The ridiculousness of that thought was not lost on Faith. As a child she'd made pets of all the farm animals, much to her parents' regret, and had often refused to consume nourishing food simply because she had known the main course too personally.

Customs being different for various societies, she supposed she had no real right to be shocked by anything the Indians did, any more than they would be expected to understand that the mechanical workings of a fancy pocket watch did not qualify it for deification.

Irene was lowering her arms and bowing before Black Kettle. If she had acknowledged recognizing Connell she had done it in a guileful manner hidden from Faith.

Hawk got to his feet, as did the chief. Black Kettle led the way to the door, followed by Connell, then Irene and her stooped companion.

Faith hadn't been instructed what to do next. She'd not been able to catch Connell's eye for direction either. If she hadn't seen one of his fingers crook slightly as he pa.s.sed, she'd have been at a loss. Hopefully, it had been his signal to follow rather than a nervous twitch!

Her decision to bolt wasn't a hard one to make. The Cheyenne men had all filed out, but the few women remaining were staring at her as if she were the most repulsive person they had ever seen. The last thing Faith wanted was to remain there with them.

Struggling to her feet, she straightened her clothing and brushed off her skirt as if it had been clean to start with. No one spoke or stepped forward to stop her. She took a tentative step toward the door. So far, so good. So far, so good.

If she'd been visiting in the home of one of her friends back in Burg Hill she'd have known the proper way to behave. Here, she could only guess. Surely, some pleasant parting word was in order, if only to make herself feel more normal.

With a slight smile and a nod to the other women she said, "So nice of you to invite me. Sorry I can't stay and chat. Maybe next time."

Their bewildered looks widened her smile. Obviously, they hadn't expected her amiable tone of voice or polite leave-taking.

She proceeded to the door, then paused and turned. "I know you don't understand a word I'm saying, but I am grateful. I doubt anyone I know back home would have welcomed you the way you've welcomed me." The corners of her mouth lifted once again. "I just wish you smiled a little more."

To her surprise, the Cheyenne women not only smiled, they began to giggle.

Connell hoped Faith had seen his signal and was trailing along behind, as was the custom. He hadn't dared speak to her as he pa.s.sed or break stride while accompanying Black Kettle on through the camp. To do so could have caused him to lose face, setting him back a long way in his negotiations to free Irene.

He'd figured from the start that he'd have to either buy her or convince the chief she was already his wife and therefore belonged to him. Now that he'd seen how important her so-called skill was to the Cheyenne, however, he suspected he'd have to rethink his plan.

If Irene had been adopted into that Cheyenne band, his task would have been much easier. As chief, Black Kettle was supposed to set an example of benevolence for his subjects, which meant he would take no personal revenge if Irene decided to run off. Moreover, the chief was wearing a scalp shirt, indicating that he bore an even bigger burden to live in peace with tribal members. Both of those elements could work to Connell's advantage as long as he didn't push his demands too far.

Above all, it was critical he find a way to be alone with Irene and learn her exact situation. Then they could work together to secure her freedom. In theory, that sounded easy. In truth, the problem was far from simple. And speaking of solving insurmountable problems, he still had Faith to worry about, too.

Connell altered his even strides just enough for a quick glance back. The sight that greeted him was so comical he nearly burst out laughing.

Black Kettle noticed and paused to look back, too. The men's eyes met in shared good humor.

"She is brave," Black Kettle said.

Nodding, Connell chuckled. "Sometimes too brave."

"The little ones like her."

"True." The plainsman laughed, incredulous. "I hope they don't tear her to shreds proving it."

As he watched, Faith struggled to make forward progress while surrounded by a gaggle of excited children, some barely big enough to walk. He could tell she was speaking to them because she kept bending down, first one way, then another, in response to a tug on her skirt or a tap on her arm. One little girl of about five was holding up a miniature cradle-board with a doll made of deer hide tucked inside.

Faith barely had time to properly admire the doll when another girl thrust a tiny brown puppy into her arms. She held it the same way the child had, like a baby, and rocked it, much to all the children's delight. When the pup started to wiggle then lunged up to lick Faith's face, the entire group burst into riotous laughter.

Eyes twinkling, smile bright, Faith's gaze met Connell's and he was struck by the fact he'd never before seen her look so happy. She was like a child, herself, a carefree girl enjoying an amusing time with friends. Had she been that lighthearted before her mother had died and she'd been forced to take charge of her foolhardy sister? he wondered. Or had she always been the serious, overly conscientious person he'd helped at Fort Laramie?

Whichever it was, he was glad to see her smiling now. Very glad.

Chapter Eleven.

Though Irene and the medicine man went on ahead, Connell and the chief waited until Faith and her playful entourage drew nearer. When the little ones stopped in deference to Black Kettle's authority, Faith did, too.

She was still holding the squirming puppy in her arms and grinning. "Sorry you had to wait," she told Connell. "I would have been here sooner but somebody made me designated babysitter and I have no idea how to quit the job!"

"They're just curious about you," Connell said. "And little wonder. They probably think you sprouted from the earth like a stalk of corn."

"Why would they think that?" His cursory glance at her muddy clothing answered the question. "Never mind. I get the idea. Do you suppose I-?" She'd been about to say Irene, Irene, and stopped herself in the nick of time. "I mean, would it be possible for me to clean up while we're here? I'd love to be able to wash." and stopped herself in the nick of time. "I mean, would it be possible for me to clean up while we're here? I'd love to be able to wash."

"How about your ribs?" the plainsman asked. "Don't you need them wrapped again?"

"I told you before. They're fine."

"Humph. I didn't believe you the first time you gave me that story and I certainly don't believe it now. Not after the manhandling you got from Stuart."

"I'll be okay," she insisted.

Sobering, Connell turned to Black Kettle and they began to converse in Cheyenne.

When he again faced Faith he said, "We'll be given a lodge for the next two days. After that, everybody will break camp and move north to follow the buffalo for better hunting."

He waited, watching her face until he saw the full portent of his statement register. The moment she opened her mouth, he interrupted. "That's right. One lodge. Don't look so shocked. It's the custom in all the tribes. Families live and work together. In harmony. harmony."

"But..."

"As my niece, you will be expected to cook and clean and care for the teepee while I go out hunting with the braves." He smiled benevolently. "Actually, it's not all that different from the arrangement we had before."

"You didn't bunk in my wagon!"

"We have no choice."

"Well, I have a choice. I'm not sleeping with you!"

Standing off to one side, Black Kettle began to chuckle, then said in perfect English, "I am glad she is your kinsman, Pale Hawk. Forget what I said about making a trade. I would not have such a p.r.i.c.kly pear if you gave her to me with a hundred fine horses."

The lodge they were a.s.signed was on the outskirts of the village. Connell entered first and Faith followed. In the center, directly below the vent hole at the top, a small fire smoldered. Buffalo robes lay at one end of the room, hair-side down, and folded leather parfleches filled with dried fruit and meat hung like decorated saddlebags from the slanting rafters. The only worn or soiled things in the room were the spa.r.s.e trappings they'd had with them while traveling, including Connell's rifle scabbard and Grandmother Reeder's quilt.

"This place looks brand-new," Faith marveled.

"It is." He closed the door flap for more privacy. "It belongs to a newly married couple. They'll stay with relatives until we're gone."

"How unfair! We can't let them give up their home."

"We can't refuse. It would be disrespectful. The fact that we were offered this lodge shows we're highly valued guests."

"Oh." She walked slowly around the perimeter and a.s.sessed the fine handwork on the parfleches as well as the embroidery on the tent lining. "This is beautiful. Did the bride make all this?"