ChasetheLightning (23 page)

Amanda sat in the sun in front of her wickiup, concentrating
on sewing the top to the sole of the moccasin she was trying to make for Trey.
Sewing had never been her strong suit, and her fingers were sore from pushing
the needle in and out of the thick rawhide. A little light mending was about
all she had ever done. If something was in need of repair, she either took it
to a seamstress or tossed it out. One thing she had certainly never expected to
do was make moccasins. Yellow Calf Woman had showed her how to punch holes in
the buckskin with a fine-pointed awl; she used sinew for thread.

She had learned that Apache moccasins turned up at the toe
to protect the wearer’s foot from being pierced by cactus thorns; the long
legging was to keep the sand out and to protect against snake bites. She had
also learned that winter moccasins were often made of buffalo or bear hides,
and sewn with the fur inside for added warmth.

She had learned a lot in the last few weeks. She was growing
more adept at cooking over an open fire; she participated when the women tanned
hides, which was a long, rather disgusting task, in Amanda’s opinion. She was
able to understand more and more of the language. The women had accepted her
and now made her feel welcome among them, smiling at her when she met them at
the river to draw water, or when she was gathering wood for the fire. Well, all
except one woman. Her name was Red Shawl, and she looked at Amanda as if she
hated her. And maybe she did, Amanda thought. After all, she was a white woman,
the enemy. Fortunately, she didn’t see Red Shawl very often.

Amanda put the moccasin aside, turning this way and that to
stretch her back and shoulders. Trey had left the canyon to go hunting with a
half-dozen other men. It was the first time since their marriage that they had
been apart for more than a few minutes, and she missed him. Was he missing her?
And what would she do if he came back with a deer or something? She hadn’t
learned how to skin game yet, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn. She had
watched Yellow Calf Woman skin a deer, and then soften the hide. It was a long,
drawn-out process. First the hide was soaked in water, then it was rubbed with
lye made of ashes to loosen the hair, then the hair was scraped from the hide.
When the hide was clean, it was washed and wrung out, then stretched out on a
wooden frame to dry. The next part involved rubbing a paste made of deer brains
into the hide. When this was done, the hide was removed from the frame and was
soaked, twisted, wrung out, and then soaked, twisted and wrung out again and
again until it was soft and pliable. Next, the skin was smoked. This was done
with great care until the hide was the desired color, either yellow, tan, or
brown.

It was much easier to make rawhide. A green hide was soaked
in water, the fleshy parts, fat and hair were removed, the hide was scraped
until it was the desired thickness, and then the skin was stretched on a frame
and left to dry. Rawhide was used for the soles of moccasins, and for making
quivers and parfleches.

It was late afternoon when she finished sewing both
moccasins. Rising, she placed them inside the door of the wickiup, thinking how
surprised Trey would be when she gave them to him. She was pretty sure they
would fit, since Yellow Calf Running had given her the pattern. The only other
thing she had ever made was an apron in Homemaking Class in high school, and
that had been a disaster. At least the moccasins looked like moccasins!

She glanced toward the canyon entrance, wondering how long
Trey would be gone. She couldn’t believe how much she missed him. He was never
far from her thoughts. She walked through the camp toward the river, nodding at
the women she passed, smiling at a group of little boys who were shooting toy
arrows at a rabbit skin.

Leaving the camp behind, she found a quiet place in a bend
of the river where she could bathe. The water was cool, but not yet cold. After
glancing around to make sure she was alone, she stripped off her dress and
moccasins and stepped into the water.

Submerged, she gazed up at the darkening sky and wondered
what was happening back home. If time was moving along there at the same pace
as here, her absence would have long since been reported, and whatever search
had been mounted would have been unsuccessful. By now, her parents might well
have given her up for dead, and be in mourning. It was not a pleasant thing to
contemplate. She wished for the thousandth time there was some way to get in
touch with them to let them know she was all right.

Her mail would be piling up, her bills overdue. No doubt the
gas and electricity and water would eventually be shut off for lack of payment.
She was pretty sure Rob or her mom would look after the house, or what was left
of it, if those ruffians hadn’t trashed it. She had a vague notion that you had
to be missing for seven years before you were declared legally dead. Uncle
Joe's inheritance would be piling up interest, and the various financial institutions
would look after it automatically until someone stepped in. She had named her
mother beneficiary.

She blew out a long sigh. There was no sense worrying about
any of it. There was nothing she could do from here. And for now, she was happy
to be here.

She was wading toward the shore when there was a faint
rustling in the underbrush along the bank. She went suddenly still. Her heart
seemed to stop, then leap into her throat when she heard it again. There was
something sinister about the sound. She told herself it was just a squirrel or
a rabbit, a bird perhaps, but she didn’t believe it for a minute. Hardly daring
to breathe, she crossed her arms over her breasts and darted a glance at her
clothes, wondering if she should get out of the water, grab her things, and
make a run for it. Of course, she was going to feel awfully silly if it was
just an animal of some kind. Unless it was a bear…

That thought spurred her forward. Forgetting about her
clothes, she plunged back into the water and scrambled toward the far shore,
her heart pounding like a drum.

She screamed when a hand closed around her ankle. Panicked,
she began to struggle against her unseen assailant.

“Amanda! Amanda, it’s me!”

“Trey!” She turned in his arms and punched him on the
shoulder, as hard as she could. “What’s the matter with you? You scared me to
death!”

“I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did!” she said, and sagged against him, her knees
weak with relief. “I thought you were a bear.”

“What are you doing down here alone?”

“Bathing. What does it look like?”

“Next time, ask Yellow Calf Woman to come with you. You
shouldn’t leave camp by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“What if I had been a bear?”

“There aren’t any bears in the canyon,” she said. Why hadn’t
she thought of that earlier?

He wrapped his arms around her. “I just don’t want anything
to happen to you.”

She smiled up at him, touched by his concern, by the love
she read in his eyes.

He slapped her lightly on the rump. “Come on, we’ve got work
to do.”

“Work?” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek,
then licked a drop of water from his neck. “Now?”

“Now. I’ve got a deer that needs skinning.”

She looked at him, pouting. “You’d rather skin a smelly old
deer than spend time with me?”

He grinned at her. “We’ll be together. You need to learn how
to skin game.”

She made a face at him, then thrust her hips against his in
a slow, suggestive grind. “That’s not the kind of together I had in mind.”

“Sweetheart…”

She looked up at him. “Yes, love?” she asked innocently.

With a wry smile, he lifted her into his arms. “The deer can
wait,” he said, and carried her out of the water.

* * * * *

Amanda shook her head, her expression bleak. “I don’t think
I can do this.”

“Of course you can, sweetheart.”

“Well, I don’t think I want to.”

“Come on, Amanda, it’s not that bad.”

“Then you do it.”

Trey sat back on his haunches and grinned at her. “It can’t
be any worse than digging a bullet out of my back.”

“Wanna bet? If I’d had to skin you to keep you alive, you’d
be dead now.”

He laughed out loud. “You’re something, you know that?”

“Trey, can’t you skin the deer?” she asked sweetly.

“I killed it. You skin it.”

“But…”

“Skinning is women’s work.”

“Really? And I suppose it was a man who decided it was
women’s work?”

From what she had observed in the past few weeks, it seemed
everything but hunting and gambling was women's work. Women did the cooking,
the sewing, the washing, the mending. They gathered the wood and the water.
They looked after the children. They tanned hides, made baskets, gathered
whatever roots and fruits were in season.

“And what is men’s work?” she challenged. “You sit around
and smoke and gamble and occasionally go hunting.”

Trey shook his head. “I didn’t realize how stubborn you
were.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Fainthearted?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I am not!”

He guessed he couldn’t blame her lack of enthusiasm. She had
never been hunting, had probably never been hungry for more than an hour or two
at most in her whole life. In her time, meat came in neat little packages, all
the dirty work done by someone else.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll skin it and butcher it. But I
draw the line at cookin’.”

She hugged him tight, her eyes shining with happiness.
“Thank you!”

He knew he’d be in for some ribbing from the warriors before
he was through. He’d just started butchering when a couple of men he knew
passed by and stopped to watch.

“Long Walker does this work as if born to it,” one of them
remarked.

Trey ignored them and proceeded with his work. The next time
he looked up, there were half a dozen men lounging nearby, amusement in their
eyes. A game of chance was interrupted as the players came to see the novelty.
He was drawing quite a crowd. Gritting his teeth, he kept working.

Then the lounging warriors parted silently, and Amanda stood
there. “What’s going on?” she asked, glancing at the men gathered around.

“It seems I’m the entertainment for the day.”

“What do you mean?”

He waved a hand in the direction of the warriors. “I mean,
I’m doing your job, and they find it damned amusing.”

“Oh.” A tide of red washed into her cheeks. “I’m sorry,
Trey.”

“Come here and sit beside me.”

She did as he asked without question. He spoke to the crowd
in Apache, and then proceeded to explain to her what he was doing. She felt her
stomach churn and it took all her will power to make herself watch him lay out
each piece of butchered venison on the skin side of the hide as he sectioned the
meat. His hands were slick and red with blood. It was a messy task, one she
wasn’t sure she would ever be able to manage.

Gradually, the crowd grew bored and restless and drifted
away.

“I’m sorry,” Amanda said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s all right.” He looked at her, grinning roguishly. “I’m
sure I’ll be able to think of a way for you to make it up to me.” His tone
softened, grew warm and husky. “Later. Tonight.”

* * * * *

Unbelievably, a month went by. Looking at her reflection in
a quiet pool, Amanda hardly recognized herself. Her face, neck and arms were a
golden brown; she wore her hair in braids to keep it out of her face. She could
skin a rabbit and quarter a deer without getting sick to her stomach, though it
was a task she would never enjoy. She was growing more fluent in the language,
more understanding of Apache ways. They were a proud people, honest and loyal
to their own, merciless to their enemies.

Sometimes, at night, she sat with Trey, listening to Walker
on the Wind tell stories of the old days, of brave warriors and warrior women,
of battles won, and lost. She was particularly impressed with the story of the
warrior woman, Rides Two Paths.

Rides Two Paths had been known as Flower in the Rain when
she was a child. She had started life as any other Apache girl, but as she
reached the age when boys began to go with their fathers and grandfathers,
learning to hunt and track, she asked her father, Tall Elk, for a bow and
arrows. Her father, who had no sons, was pleased, but her mother was not. In
spite of his wife’s objections, Tall Elk did as Flower in the Rain asked. He
taught her to hunt and to track and when she proved to be capable, he allowed
her to go hunting with him and several other warriors. It was while they were
hunting that a band of Comanche attacked them. During the battle, her father’s
horse was killed and her father was wounded. It was then that Flower in the
Rain showed her warrior heart by riding back to rescue her father. Seeing her
brave deed, the other Apaches renewed the fight, killing all the Comanches who
had attacked them. When Flower in the Rain’s father recovered, he sang of his
daughter’s bravery. He gave her an eagle feather to wear in her hair, and a new
name. From that time forward, she was known as Rides Two Paths, and allowed to
ride the war path with the men. Her fame as a fighter grew and, upon her death,
she became a legend among her people.

It was a brave tale, one that stirred Amanda, made her feel
inadequate and yet, when she was caught up in some chore that seemed
impossible, she thought about Rides Two Paths. Thinking about the Apache
woman’s courage made whatever task Amanda was facing seem easy in comparison.

She had assumed that the canyon was the Apache’s permanent
home, but a few days later, Trey told her they were moving. With winter coming,
there wasn’t graze enough for the horses, or food enough for the people, and
they were headed for their winter stronghold.