What the Heart Wants (8 page)

“Then you should marry for love,” he stated as though it was an edict, his black eyes drilling into mine. Then, as I gaped at him, my heart racing as I wished he’d say what I wanted to hear, he stood and turned to leave. “I’ll be going hunting tomorrow. Our supply of dried meat is getting low. I’ll see you when I get back. Maybe we can talk more about your future when I return,” he said, throwing his parting words over his shoulder. And then he was gone.

For many minutes I just sat there, staring off into the darkness, wishing that tomorrow had already come and gone. I couldn’t wait to see John again and have that talk about my future. And, before I fell asleep, I decided I would make him a buckskin shirt to replace the one Elizabeth had cut off him. It was the least I could do for him for all the things he’d done for me, even if he didn’t care for me the way I cared for him.

The following morning the wagon train, now one member short, continued on its way while a part of me remained there on that desolate riverbank with my father.

Due to the rough river crossing, several of the wagons were in need of repair, and a few of the cattle had wandered off. The men were able to round up the missing livestock in no time, as they had wandered no farther than the nearest lush meadow, but the wagon repairs would take longer, so the following day we set up camp much earlier than usual.

While the men unloaded the damaged wagons and set to repairing them, the women cooked, sewed, and minded the rambunctious children, who were happy to have the day off from their lessons with Mr. Drummond, who had declared a school holiday. Meanwhile, as a single lady without any responsibilities, I was free to do whatever I chose. Suppertime found me gnawing on an apple while seated on a fallen log by a sparkling creek. As I stared into the flickering water, I contemplated my future, which at this point did not look very rosy.

It was getting late, and I knew I should get back to camp, but sharing a meal with the others would mean me getting another sermon from the Sims and a pat on the back or sorrowful looks from everyone else. I just couldn’t take any more of their well-meant platitudes and advice or their pitying looks. All the words in the world would not bring my father back to me. Miserable, I bowed my head and let my tears fall.

I don’t know how many minutes had passed when I sensed that I was not alone. I looked up and saw four Indian men standing just a few feet from me, and though I tried to keep my wits about me, I was terrified. I stood, intending to put on a brave face and walk slowly back to camp, but an Indian man I hadn’t seen grabbed me from behind, clamping his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t call out. His free arm encircled my waist, and at the same time, one of the other four men grabbed me around the legs. Together the two brown-skinned men carried me across the shallow creek and over the hill on the other side while their cohorts followed along behind us, presumably to make sure they weren’t being followed.

At first I struggled with the men holding me, twisting and turning my body in an effort to get free, but the man’s arm around my middle was like a steel band, squeezing all the air out of my lungs until I thought I’d pass out. No matter what I did, it was no use; they were much stronger than me. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a quarter of that, I let my body go limp, and one of the men picked me up in his arms.

After a while they stopped, and my abductor set me on my feet. The one who had grabbed me from behind tied my hands in front of me while the man who had carried me turned to the others, gesturing at me while speaking in a language I did not understand. Realizing that I would probably never hear the English language spoken again, my pulse raced. My friendship with John had taught me that a different skin color, a different language, and a different manner of dress were not what mattered when it came to judging a person, but I had been taken against my will, and I was terrified of these strange men. What did they want with me? Even though I suspected they wouldn’t understand me, I felt I had to try to communicate with them.

“Why have you taken me from my people? Where are we going?” I asked, directing my questions to the man in front of me, but he continued walking, pulling me along by the rope. I was being led on a tether like an animal being taken to market. I felt humiliated, and my wrists were beginning to chafe. Since they remained silent, I had little else to do but study my six abductors as we walked along. They were much taller than me. One even rivaled John in height, and our scout was one of the tallest men I had ever met. And, like John, they were dressed all in leather, although their trousers, for want of a better word, barely covered them below the waist. I frequently found myself staring at the brown, muscular buttocks of the man directly in front of me, and I had to force myself to look elsewhere. The gleam of his hair caught my eye, and I gladly turned my attention to it instead. His hair was long and straight, and it rippled down his back in undulating blue-black waves as he moved.

Each man was armed with a rifle or a knife, and I had no doubt they were adept in their use. I assumed these were some of the renegade Indians we’d heard about at the fort, the ones who refused to live on the reservations. So far they hadn’t intentionally hurt me, and for that, I was thankful. In fact, they had given me water to drink, and their general behavior toward me was not overly cruel or hostile. I hated to think what would happen to them if they were caught. I had a feeling my people would show them no mercy for what they had done to me since, to most white people, the only good Indian was a dead one anyway.

By now it was almost totally dark, and I was tired and hungry. Just as I was about to ask how much farther they intended to take me—not that asking would have done any good—I saw the flickering light of a campfire through the trees. We had finally arrived at the Indian camp. I was immediately led into one of their dwellings, which the people at the fort had called
teepees
. The
teepee
was made of animal skins, snugly lashed to long wooden poles arranged in a large circle. The poles met at upper end, creating a conical shape like an upside-down funnel. The point where the poles met was open to the sky, thereby creating a sort of chimney through which the smoke, from the fire burning in the center of the dwelling, could escape. The enclosure was simply made but seemed relatively substantial. I was amazed by its size, which was about twelve feet across. The dirt floor was covered with soft, furry pelts of various animals. I recognized wolf, fox, buffalo, and deer hides among others, and I marveled at the amount of work that must have gone into making just this one teepee. But I had very little time to consider my surroundings, as several native women entered and gathered around me. My hands were untied by one woman while another woman began unfastening my dress and a third began removing my shoes.

“No! Stop it!” I cried in vain as my clothing was removed. I tried to stop them, but they swooped over me like a swarm of locusts. Outnumbered three to one, I soon found myself completely naked. To my relief I was quickly bathed in cool, clear water before being clothed in a soft deerskin dress similar to the ones they wore. The supple leather covered me from collarbone to midcalf. The sleeves were fringed and ended at my elbows, and the bodice of the dress was decorated with colorful beadwork. Matching boots were laced up my ankles. Other than the lack of any sort of undergarment, I felt quite comfortable in my new clothing. Next, one of the women braided my hair into two long plaits, fastening the ends with leather thongs. While they worked, the women chatted amongst themselves. I wished I could understand them, but all I could do was smile and nod and wonder. Were they discussing the color of my hair or my eyes? My fair skin was sunburned, especially across my nose. Did they talk about how different I looked? They were brown-skinned and had glossy, black hair. Or did they perhaps discuss what was happening to me, why I had been taken? I suspected all these things were likely.

My heart began to beat wildly as I contemplated why I had been brought here and why I was being treated more like a guest than a prisoner. Surely I hadn’t been groomed with such care simply to serve as a slave. Perhaps I was to be traded to another tribe, used as collateral to obtain food or something else of value. Or, and this idea alarmed me quite a bit, perhaps I was to be the bride of one of the men. I had heard stories about white women who had been taken and forced to marry Indian men. Occasionally they were able to get free, and they told horrible tales of the ways in which they had been mistreated by their captors. It was rumored that Indian men often had more than one wife, and usually the white wives were treated like slaves, abused by the native wives. What an irony it would be for me to finally gain a husband and have to share him with another woman. Finally, the women seemed satisfied with the way I looked, and they left me alone.

* * * *

I had been tired from walking for most of the day, and after eating the venison and fried bread the women had brought me, I had curled up on a soft pelt and fallen asleep. At first I had dreamed I was floating on a clear blue lake, all my cares dissolving in the cool, clear water. But then suddenly things changed, as is the way with dreams. Suddenly I was fighting for my life as the still water turned into a churning vortex!

Frantically I held on, trying to keep myself from falling out of the wagon. Papa was there too, and he was clinging to the side of the wagon, just out of reach. As I watched, the dark water rose over his head, and just like that, he was gone. Realizing I couldn’t save him, I cried out, “Papa! No!” I was terrified. The wagon was tipping even more now. Soon I would fall into the rushing water and drown just like Papa. I was hanging on as tightly as I could, and my arms were getting very sore. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer.

All of a sudden I heard a familiar voice. “Samantha, honey, wake up.” At the sound of his voice, I felt a sense of calm come over me.
John is here; he will save me
, I thought to myself.

“Samantha, wake up!” he yelled. John had never yelled at me before. In fact, I had never heard him raise his voice to anyone. Something was very wrong. My eyes flew open, and I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes and the fog from my head. The first thing I saw was John looking down at me.
Good golly, this isn’t a dream; he’s really here!

“John! I was just dreaming about you,” I told him as he sat down next to me. Without a thought to propriety, I threw my arms around his neck and clung to him. “I knew you’d come for me,” I said softly against his neck, the scent and feel of his warm, smooth skin soothing me even more. My joy at seeing him was overwhelming, pushing aside thoughts of what was proper behavior for a single woman clear out of my mind. Though deep down inside I knew it was socially unacceptable for me to behave in such a brazen manner, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to hold me. What did it matter if I showed him how much I cared for him? Out here in the wilderness, we were far removed from the censure of society. Who was there to care if I showed appreciation for rescuing me? Who was there to care if I showed him how much he had come to mean to me? No one, that’s who! So why was he pulling my arms from around his neck? Why wasn’t he kissing me instead of backing away?

“John, what’s wrong?” Tears stung my eyes as I stared up at him. Surely I hadn’t been wrong about his feelings for me. But I was too embarrassed to ask, and as he sat opposite me on the floor of the
teepee
, he explained what had happened.

Upon returning to our camp, he had been told I was missing. He had tracked me all the way here, and from his hiding place in the trees, he’d seen the women emerge from the largest of the teepees. He knew that very soon the self-appointed chief of these renegade people would expect to enjoy his newest conquest over the whites.

“I had no doubt that once your body had been used for the chief’s pleasure you would be relegated to the lowest standing in the chief’s household. If your union with the chief produced a child, it would be an outcast, never accepted by the people.”

I didn’t have to ask. I knew that he understood what it was like to be an outcast; he was treated like an outsider by both his mother’s and his father’s people. Apparently prejudice was as common among the Indians as it was among the whites. My future with these people would be bleak to say the least. But what was he saying? Had he saved me from a fate worse than death?

“What did you do?”

“Forthrightness and honesty are the best way to deal with these people, so I rode into their camp with my weapons in plain sight. A number of braves came out to meet me. They are Kiowa, and I speak their language. The men are armed, though their weapons are either knives or single-shot rifles. Their women and children seem happy and healthy. Their clothing is in good repair, and their camp is about as prosperous as an Indian camp can be under the circumstances.

“I sat with them at their campfire, shared a meal, and told them my story. The leader wanted to keep you for himself, but I talked him out of it.”

“How?”

“I told him you were mine. He argued, saying, ‘If she is yours, why does she not ride with you? When my braves found her, she was alone.’ I said I usually keep you by my side, but I was hunting, and you do not ride a horse very well. Taking you along would have made my task more difficult, so I left you with the others of your kind. I told him you were supposed to stay in camp, but you do not listen,” John finished.

I found myself resenting John’s criticisms. Even if they were intended to gain my freedom, they wounded my pride. But my pride wasn’t important just now. My main concern at the moment was my freedom. “So, the chief just gave up his claim on me?”

“Not right away. He said I should sell you to him and find a woman who would be less trouble…a woman of the people. He offered me his cousin who is thirteen summers and in need of a husband.”

“Thirteen!” I was shocked that such a young girl would be expected to marry.