Chapter Twenty-Four

“Did you manage to steal a pair of Running Coyote’s moccasins?” Speaking in Crow, Pretty Moon asked this of her husband.

“They are here,” Big Elk said, reaching into a parfleche to draw out the buckskins. He handed them over to his wife, and said, “But I am not certain that I agree with what you are thinking of doing.”

Pretty Moon, although obviously listening to her husband’s concern, did not share his viewpoint. Alas, she simply shook her head as she said, “Sometimes love needs a boost. His people are not here. Her people are not here. Is it not good to be that boost?”

Big Elk did not reply. In truth, so much did he love his wife, he would have granted her most anything, even if he did not understand it. And so, to her unarguable wit, he merely gazed skyward and grimaced.

 

Lone Arrow was glad to see the last of Running Coyote. He wanted no trouble from his clan father, particularly since he was well aware of Running Coyote’s reputation as a troublemaker.

Luckily, Running Coyote had left their camp without need for persuasion, and as Lone Arrow trod back toward the lean-to, he experienced a feeling not unlike relief. Plus, he had another reason to feel merriment: he would soon see his wife again.

The mere thought of this brought last night more vividly to mind, and it elicited a smile from him. Ah, the utter pleasure of it, the utter delight. For although the night had been filled with the culmination of the act of love, over and over again, there had been more. More love, more talk, more admiration.

True, they had both awakened with red welts all over their bodies, but that was a small thing in comparison to what they had shared. And no amount of itching, due to the poison ivy bushes, could dull that which they had found together: each other.

And so it was, that confidently, Lone Arrow strode into camp, immediately espying Pretty Moon and Big Elk. And he asked, “Where is my wife?”

Sweetly, almost angelically, Pretty Moon answered, “My husband, would you tell your friend that his wife is picking berries next to the river.”

Dutifully, Big Elk repeated, “She is picking berries next to—”

“I heard,” he said. And without so much as a backward glance at his friends, Lone Arrow turned away from camp and headed toward the river. He had seen those berry bushes. He knew exactly where they were.

Meanwhile, a pair of feminine eyes watched Lone Arrow disappear. Mischievously, she grinned.

However, Big Elk observed, “My wife, you should have let me tell him what to expect.”

“No, my husband. It is better this way.”

Big Elk did not respond. Instead, he silently shook his head.

 

Where was she?

Lone Arrow examined the tracks left here, for evidence of what might have taken place. Had Carolyn encountered some wild animal? A bear? A mountain lion?

There was no evidence of this. Here were her tracks, here were Pretty Moon’s.

He followed their footprints in and out of the bushes.

But wait! What was this?

Here was another set of prints, although those tracks had been partially covered over with grass—as though someone tried to hide them.

Running Coyote had been here.

Lone Arrow’s gut twisted, the sensation anything but pleasant. Surely, Running Coyote would not attempt an abduction…

Not here, not now. Running Coyote had left a short while ago. Lone Arrow had watched him go.

But he must have circled back, Lone Arrow finished to himself.

If it were possible to perish, due to surprise, he felt certain he might have done so at this moment.

“Baa-lee-táa, no!”

Except for the fact that Running Coyote was a Lumpwood and Lone Arrow a Fox, his clan father had no cause to attempt a wife snatching. Forget for the moment that The-girl-who-runs-with-bears had never been the sweetheart of Running Coyote. Forget also that she was undecided as to the state of their marriage.

Would this stop Running Coyote? Not likely, he answered his own question. If only because Running Coyote might be able to get away with it.

For one thing, only Lone Arrow would know the truth of his wife’s innocence. If put to the test, it would be one man’s word against the other. And although his relatives understood Running Coyote to be little more than a cheat and a scoundrel, an argument between the two of them—and over a woman—would create a spectacle, something from which neither man would recover.

Forever, would his reputation be in tatters. Forever, would he be known as bian-ish-dat-tuua, a man dominated by a woman, a man of little honor, since custom, and a man’s own sense of dignity, demanded that if a wife were stolen, a gentleman would be civilized enough to let her go.

But in his heart…

No! He had only come to know his wife. He could not lose her now.

Perhaps, he thought, if he were to follow them, in this single instance, he might be allowed to have her back without censure.

Never. While there were many who might readily understand his plight, Lone Arrow would never be looked to again by the young, by the elders, or by anyone else in the tribe in a respectful way.

Lone Arrow sank down upon the ground, examining the evidence of what was left behind. There had been no struggle. From these tracks, it would appear that his wife had left with Running Coyote of her own free will.

Shutting his eyes, he felt the pain of his loss, and for a moment, he experienced a moment of indecision. All his life, he had been taught to bear the sufferings of life with charity, with no animosity or hatred. But as he stood here alone, within this grandiose mountain forest, Lone Arrow knew hatred.

Never once, in his entire life had Lone Arrow been given cause to question the why of things, especially those aspects of life which dealt with matters of the heart. They simply were as they were.

Yet he did so now.

She was his. His.

Damn the rules, Lone Arrow thought, using the English word, even to himself. And damn other people’s opinions. Running Coyote was not within his rights.

Lone Arrow would go after his wife. He would retrieve her, right or wrong, custom or no custom. Those who mattered most would understand, and those who did not…he could not live his life in the shadow of other people’s opinions. Such was certain slavery. And, make no mistake, Lone Arrow was no slave.

Ho! He would steal her back, and this time, no matter the consequences, he would ensure that she would never be given cause to leave him, or to wonder as to the state of their marriage, even if that meant that he would take no other wives.

She had objected to the practice of polygamy, and in his ignorance Lone Arrow had failed to listen to her. Alas, so focused had he been on imposing his own will over her, he had failed to realize the importance of her perspective. Éeh, as she had once accused, he had been intent on changing her.

Well, no more. He loved her, and that meant accepting her as she was, for who she was. And if that required that he marry only once in his lifetime, then so be it.

Whatever the difficulties that might come, he would face them with her. For of one thing he was certain: Without Carolyn, his life would be no more than a dull shell of existence.

Ho! Why had it taken a catastrophe to bring him to this understanding?

Perhaps, he thought, because he had been so convinced of his own opinion in the matter. He cringed, shutting his eyes as full recognition came to him.

He had always loved her, had never stopped loving her. It was a bond which, once forged, had never been broken. Not in eight and a half years.

 

Sitting upon a large log, which had fallen across the stream, Carolyn pulled up her skirt so that she could dangle her feet in the frosty water and wash them.

Oh! It was cold!

Uttering a soft, yet delightful squeal, she pulled her feet up out of the water and tucked them beneath the folds of her skirt. She supposed that was enough to clean them.

And they had been quite dirty. Rain had muddied the ground around the berry bushes, and as a result, both her feet and her shoes were filthy.

Taking hold of her slippers and bending down toward the stream, Carolyn let the gushing water clean her shoes, as well, and hoped they would dry quickly.

She really should get up, she thought, and gather her bag full of berries, which she had left on the shoreline. The others might be looking for her. Even so, she could not resist a final look at the scene before her. As she sat upon the log, she had a bird’s-eye view of the stream which babbled and rushed away from her.

It inspired within her a feeling of peace and tranquility, perhaps even a feeling of loving and being loved.

Ah! She smiled as memories of the previous night flooded her mind. What a night she and Lone Arrow had shared. And although she’d had little more than a few hours sleep, due to the heat of the moment, she felt refreshed.

With anticipation, yet dread, she wondered—Was there hope for them? Would he ever understand her? Or perhaps more importantly, would he ever accept her?

Wasn’t that all that stood between them and a lifetime together? It would be a shame if they could not settle this matter between them.

However, Carolyn was not blind to the fact that for another woman, there might have been other, bigger obstacles. Alas, for another person, the fact that Lone Arrow was Indian and she, white, would have been a barrier of insurmountable odds. But not so for Carolyn.

She had no qualms about becoming part of Lone Arrow’s life, or in joining his tribe. In truth, it was what she had hoped for when she had been eleven years old. And now?

If she were honest, she would admit that ever since his daring rescue, all those years ago, Lone Arrow had never been far out of her mind. And as hard as she’d tried to start her life without him, she had always come back to this one conclusion: she was connected to Lone Arrow.

Call it spiritual, call it whatever one pleased, it was an inescapable fact. He was a part of her life.

And if they could not overcome this hurdle?

Carolyn shook her head. She dare not even contemplate the possibility. Somehow, the two of them would resolve it. They must.

A noise caught her attention. Had something shuffled in the bushes? Casting a quick glance back in the direction she had come, Carolyn was surprised to see Lone Arrow.

What was he doing here? Squatting down upon the ground, his attention appeared to be centered upon something there, and it was obvious that he was unaware of her presence here.

She should call out to him, she thought. And she would do so…eventually. But it was a rare occasion when she had the opportunity to study this man unobserved.

Lone Arrow was worried, that much was evident. She could see it, there, in the tilt of his head, the stiffness with which he held himself.

What was he doing? He looked to be examining something, perhaps some tracks? Yes, she could see the imprints from here.

She watched him carefully, watched as he placed a hand upon one of those tracks. And then, gently, with so very much care, he stroked the ground there, as though it were a living being. And then, before her eyes, she saw him bring those same fingers to his lips.

They were her tracks.

Watching him, knowing what he did, Carolyn felt as though something inside her burst to life. And without another moment’s pause, she called out, “They are but mere tracks. If you will turn your head, you will see the real thing.”

Lone Arrow glanced up, his gaze catching hers. And there, within the heightened beat of a moment, they became aware of one another.

Carolyn rose to her feet.

He did not say a word. Instead, he stared at her as though he might be scrutinizing a ghost. At length, however, he muttered, “You are here.”

“I am here.”

She watched as Lone Arrow swallowed hard, watched as he paced a step toward her. He said, “I thought he had stolen you away from me.”

“He?”

“My clan father, Running Coyote.”

“Hasn’t he left our camp?”

Lone Arrow tread another pace toward her. “I thought that he had but here I see his footprints—next to yours.”

“But”—Carolyn placed a careful step upon the log, balancing herself precariously. Cautiously, she scooted forward a pace—“but Running Coyote has not been here.”

“Yet I see his tracks.”

Carolyn shrugged. “I cannot help that. I can only tell you that he is not here. He was never here.”

Lone Arrow shrugged. “It does not matter. It is only important that you are here, unharmed. Careful,” he said, when she almost lost her balance. “Here, let me help you from that log.” He hurried toward her.

But it was too late.

The log had moved, it must have jolted, for it threw her off balance. And caught in the act of swinging her arms, she knew she was going to fall a second before the fact of it. And true to her instinct, she plunged butt first in the icy stream.

“Oh!” She came up shivering. The stream was only knee-deep and she was quite unhurt, and in absolutely no danger of drowning, but the Good Lord be blessed, falling in this water was like dipping into ice. She was freezing.

Lone Arrow waded out to her. “Come,” he placed an arm around her shoulders. “My robe is on the side of this stream. I will wrap you in it.”

She tried to nod, but her teeth were chattering so furiously, she could not even respond.

“Come.”

And Carolyn did as he bade, practically throwing herself into the warmth of that robe.

As he sat her up, wiping the water from her and fixing the robe around her shoulders, he chuckled. “I have never known a person to have so many misadventures,” he said. “When we reach my people, I will have to ensure that I never leave your side for very long, so that I will know you are safe.”

“Perhaps one of your wives could have that responsibility,” said Carolyn, mayhap with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Humph!” Lone Arrow replied. Then, as though the words were each one gilded in gold, he said, “I have decided that you are right.”

“Right?” Carolyn asked. “About what?”

“It has come to me that I have been foolish.”

“Foolish?”

He nodded. “I have been thinking only of myself, and not listening to you and what was important to you.”

Carolyn gave him what must have been a strange look, and she said, “You have?”

“Éeh, I have. Know that I have realized that for us to make a happy marriage, I must be willing to change my mind sometimes. At least about things that are important to you. It did not occur to me until a short while ago that my foolishness could have lost you to me forever.”

“And that would make a difference to you?” she asked, barely daring to hear his answer.

He nodded. “You must know that this would make much difference to me.”

“Would it?”

Inclining his head, he acknowledged her, and said, “You were right. I have been trying to change you. It is strange because I have always loved you exactly as you are. Why I desired you to be different, I do not know, except that perhaps, unwisely, I thought it would make me more of a man.”

Wide-eyed, Carolyn stared at him.

And he continued, “I have come to see that our life together, its strength and happiness, is not dependent upon whether you can fit into the image I have envisioned, but whether I can make you as content as you make me.”

Carolyn shut her eyes, taking a deep breath.

He said, “And so I will take no other wife. I vow this to you.”

She opened her eyes, staring at him. And though she would have liked to say something, her voice did not work.

But it did not matter. Lone Arrow was continuing, and he said, “If it is important to you, then it is important to me.”

At last she found her voice, but all she was able to utter was, “Lone Arrow, I…I…” She dropped the robe and threw her arms around him.

And he pulled her into his embrace as though he might not ever let her go. “Know that from this day forward, what happens to us will be met by the two of us, together. It is a new start for us.”

“A new start,” she reiterated. “Yes, I like the sound of that. And I promise you,” she added, “I will make you a good wife.”

He grinned. And as he gathered his robe from around her, and as he placed it over the ground, he said, “There is no cause for you to promise this, for I know that you will.”

And with nothing else to be said for the moment, he positioned her onto that robe, where he began to show her how utterly certain he was of this…