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Michelle watched as Luther stood and approached the Ojibwa men. His father? She looked back and forth between Luther and Black Elk, comparing them. Most of Black Elk’s traits had carried through in Luther. They both had wide backs, broad shoulders, and powerful arms. Their mouths and eyes were shaped the same, but Luther’s nose was different and his hair was wavy, not straight. The other Ojibwa man appeared younger than Luther and had a similar build.
They spoke to each other for a few minutes, then Luther turned to her. “This is my father, Black Elk, and my brother, Wet Moccasins.”
She stood. For Luther’s sake, she pretended she had never seen Black Elk before. “Hello.”
“Go with Redfeather and get something to eat.” Luther gestured across the clearing where food was being sold.
“But I’m—” She started to protest, but the serious look in Luther’s eyes stopped her cold. “Yes, Luther. Should we bring something for you?”
“No. I’ll eat later, if I’m hungry.”
Michelle walked alongside Redfeather as they crossed the clearing. She paid no attention to the leering gazes and low whistles she got from the drunken men in the camp. “He’s your father? Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t—”
“It was not for you to know.”
“Not for me to know? What do you think Luther would do if I told him you took me out of camp so your father could look at me? I have a right to—”
Redfeather stopped. “You have no right to anything. Black Elk came to see Owl Feathers, to talk to him.”
“About what?”
“No concern of yours. It does not involve you.”
“Oh really?” Michelle rested a hand on her hip and ignored the men watching them argue in the middle of the clearing. “Well, if it didn’t involve me, then why did you have to sneak me out to see him? Why didn’t Luther know he was here? I don’t think he’s happy about this reunion.”
“They had harsh words and have not seen each other in eight years. Black Elk knew Owl Feathers would be here. He wanted to see him.”
“And his white wife.”
“That too. He wanted to see what sort of woman his son had taken up with.” Redfeather’s gaze met hers. “He was not pleased.”
“That’s too damn bad.”
“Do not make new troubles for your husband,” Redfeather chastised. “Give them time to speak.”
“I asked Luther about his past once, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Why did he leave? What did they fight about? Why did Black Elk wait all these years to see Luther?”
“Come with me.” Redfeather took her arm and led her to a fallen log near the large canvas tent. Workmen carried out bundles of furs and threw them onto a wooden cart. Supervisors from the fur company stood nearby, writing notes in ledgers. She sat on the log next to Redfeather.
“They threw hurtful words at each other and Owl Feathers left. I tried to counsel them, but neither would listen. I let it be.”
“Until now.”
“After eight years, both have changed. Their wounds have scarred. Black Elk asked first about Owl Feathers. I knew then it was time they meet. You made a good reason.”
“Why won’t you tell me what they fought about?”
“It is a painful memory,” Redfeather replied. “Do not ask Luther about it. This matter will not be settled by the time we return. Expect Luther to be angry and upset.”
“Why?”
“You cannot reopen a wound without causing it to bleed again.”
Michelle nodded. A hundred questions ran through her mind. What had Redfeather told Black Elk about her? What was Luther telling him now? What if Black Elk convinced Luther that he was foolish for wanting her? Obviously, Black Elk thought she wasn’t good enough for his son.
“Do you think Black Elk—” She broke off as a man shouted from the opposite side of the tent.
“I said to hurry the hell up, you incompetent bastard. What is wrong with you? Are you stupid?” the high-pitched, nasally voice shrieked.
Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. It had to be her imagination. No, she’d know that voice anywhere.
“Would Black Elk what?” Redfeather asked.
“You worthless, useless piece of shit. Get out of my way!”
Michelle dared to look up as the man marched around the side of the tent. He wore an immaculate light blue suit, gray gloves, and a gray felt hat. She glanced into his rat-like, beady eyes and went numb.
The man stopped and stared in her direction. A puzzled look crossed his face and his mouth dropped open slightly.
In a flash, she turned and buried her head against Redfeather’s chest. “Take me away from here.”
Redfeather tried to pull away, but she clung to him. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shh, be quiet. Hold me,” she whispered. Her entire body shook, and she blinked back tears. She held still, praying that Redfeather would shield her from Roger.
Redfeather draped his arms around her trembling shoulders. “What is wrong?”
“The white man... in the suit... by the tent... is he still there? Is he... looking this way?” she asked, her breath coming in short gasps. Roger was close enough to grab her. How the hell had he tracked her here?
“I see him. He moved away.”
“Thank God.” After all these months, Roger had found her again. This time, he was closer than ever. She clutched Redfeather’s arm. “Promise me if you ever see him near me, you’ll kill him.”
“Why? I make no promise to kill a man I do not know.”
She heard Roger’s nasally voice off in the distance yelling at someone, and everything started to spin. “He’s the reason I ran away. This is what I dreamed. My nightmare came true. If he finds me, he’ll kill me,” she said as she collapsed in his arms.
* * *
“I DID NOT SAY THAT,” Black Elk argued. “I never said those words to you.”
“Not to my face,” Luther scoffed. “You don’t think I knew the whole band hated me? Resented me? You and White Duck couldn’t hide your disgust. And that was before—”
“Owl Feathers, you are my son. I wish to make amends. I hoped after this much time we could speak like men.”
“Why did you bother to come here after—What the hell?” Luther leapt to his feet as Redfeather rushed toward the tent, carrying Michelle in his arms. He bolted to Redfeather’s side. “What happened?”
“She is unwell. Tend to her.” Redfeather laid Michelle’s unconscious body on the blanket.
Luther knelt at Michelle’s side and took her wrist in his hand. Her heart beat like a drum and her breath came in shallow gasps. He had seen this before—every time she had nightmares. “Michelle? Honey, wake up.”
She stirred and twitched. “No... Don’t let him get me.”
He gathered Michelle into his arms. Was she having another attack like the night she’d run off to the ridge? “You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s got you so upset? Talk to me.” What had happened? She’d only been gone a little while. Did someone try to grab her? “I’m here, you’re safe. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t, I—”
“Michelle,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you and I ain’t gonna let you turn back like you were. Tell me, so I can help.” Seeing her like this again broke his heart. He raised her chin and gazed into her teary brown eyes. “You know I won’t let anyone hurt ya.”
Michelle snatched the whiskey bottle off the blanket and took a gulp. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled. After a moment, she spoke. “Remember when I came here, I didn’t exactly say where I was from?”
“Yes.”
“Your friend Charlie said people were here from New York.” She took another drink. “I’m from New York.”
“And so are five thousand Mohawks. Go on.”
“Charlie said there were men here from Kingston.”
“And?” Luther saw Redfeather scowl as he sat next to Black Elk and Wet Moccasins. They were all watching intently.
“I’m from Kingston.” Michelle paused. “When I threatened to run away, Roger warned me. He said if I ran off, he’d hunt me down and kill me. I saw him. He’s here. He found me.”
Luther scanned the clearing. What were the odds that this Roger fellow could have found Michelle? New York was far away. “You don’t know it’s him. It might be someone who looks like him, or—”
“Roger’s got money, lots of money. He works with my father—for the fur company. I can’t let him see me again. He’ll kill me.”
Luther ran his hands through his hair. How could today have turned into such a disaster? All he’d wanted was to sell his pelts and buy supplies. His luck kept going from bad to worse.
“You’re upset and tired. You’re seein’ things. I think this place had a bad effect on ya. There’s nothing to worry about. Go inside the tent and rest.” He squeezed her trembling hand. “Nobody’s gonna kill you. I promise.”
Michelle gulped down more whiskey. “I know he will. I dreamt it.”
He closed his eyes. So that was it. Now he knew why Michelle had been acting squirrely all day. He saw Wet Moccasins and Black Elk exchange glances. Redfeather bowed his head. Although they had their differences, they all agreed on one thing—dreams were messages from the spirit world and shouldn’t be dismissed.
“When?” he asked.
Michelle wrung her hands in her lap. “Last night,” she whispered. “I knew it wasn’t an ordinary dream. It was like when I dreamt you were hurt. I should have known this was too good to be true. I’ll never get far enough away from him.”
“You think I’d let anyone hurt you? I’d die before I’d let that happen.” Luther pulled her close and kissed her, not caring if his father watched.
“We are leaving. The white woman needs her rest,” Black Elk said.
Michelle gasped. “You speak English?”
Black Elk rolled his eyes as he stood. “Tend to your woman, Owl Feathers. We will finish our talk in two weeks.”
“Finish our talk?” Luther snapped. “More talk so you can tell me what a disappointment I am? What did you come here for? To shame me? Go back to your people and leave me alone.”
“My people?” Black Elk bent close to Luther. “They are yours as well, unless you have become too tainted by the white woman to know better,” he snarled. “Until then.” Black Elk and Wet Moccasins headed across the clearing.
Luther waited until they had gone, then took a long drink from the whiskey bottle. He glared at Redfeather. “You just had to bring him here, didn’t you? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”
