White Owl (27 page)

White Owl’s gaze grew distant. “Only a year ago, I visited the Yampah tribe whose village stood in this spot.”

The remnants of campfire pits were scattered around the hilltop, and there were several stacks of logs and tepee poles piled throughout the area.

“Where are they?” As soon the words left her mouth, Rose realized the truth. “Oh,” she gasped. “They were forced to go to the reservation in Utah.”

White Owl nodded but did not speak. He stared out across the valley as if he was remembering the past and mourning the future. Rose drank in the quiet, peaceful beauty of the area. She could only imagine what a wonderful life the Yampah tribe must have had in this incredibly beautiful valley with the abundance of water from the river and the seclusion provided by the surrounding mountains.

“We will stay here tonight,” White Owl announced. “But we will need to be careful. There are settlers not far from here. They have lived there for several years, but now that the tribe is gone, we should not alert them to our presence.”

“They lived here—in the same area with the Utes?”

White Owl nodded. “Don’t sound so surprised, Wild Rose. Not all settlers fight with the Indians.”

She clamped her mouth shut as she started to remind him about the kindness her aunt had showed to him. But he was suffering the loss of his people’s entire way of life; the last thing he needed right now was for her to make him feel worse. Besides, she had her own needs right now. Her back hurt so bad it was all she could do to swing her leg over the saddle horn. Before she had slid to the ground, White Owl was at her side. He held on to her until he was certain she was steady on her feet.

“You look tired,” he said. “We should have stopped sooner.”

Rose bent her arms and placed her hands on her lower back and attempted to stretch her weary body. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, and she quickly straightened up. She glanced at White Owl, but he hadn’t noticed her grimace. Moving slowly, she walked over to the clump of purplish chokecherry bushes where he was already spreading out blankets for her to lie down on. He rolled one blanket up so that she could use it for a pillow.

White Owl helped her to the ground, and as she lay back she placed her hands cautiously over her
stomach. She was certain their son had grown double his size since they had left Denver. Now, she felt awkward and heavy. Her belly felt as if it was pressing down against her pelvis bone. What if she had miscalculated the impending birth, or what if the baby came early? She had estimated he would be born in late May or early June, but it was only the end of April.

“I’m going down to the river and catch some fish for dinner,” White Owl announced after he had cared for the horses.

Rose smiled and waved him on. She was frantic as she waited for another pain to hit, but luckily, nothing happened. She listened to the curious steamboat sound of the bubbling spring. The constant chug, chug, chug never missed a beat. By the time White Owl had returned, the sound had lulled her into a peaceful mood, and she was ravenous. “Did you catch anything?” she called out as he walked toward her.

He snorted indignantly and held up a willow branch with a string of brightly colored rainbow trout hanging from it. “You would doubt it?” he asked in an incredulous voice.

Rose chuckled and shook her head as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The short rest had done wonders for her aches and pains, and she was feeling so much better.

“I’m cooking tonight,” White Owl announced. “You rest.”

Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. Ute men did not cook, or at least she had never seen one cook in
the time she had been with White Owl. But it was an idea she rather liked. Leaning back on the blankets and pillow again, she watched as her husband started a very small fire in one of the abandoned fire pits. He had already cleaned and gutted his catch at the river, so now he took his knife out of its sheath and sharpened several more willows that he had brought from the trees along the riverbank to use as spits to cook the fish on—the willows would not burn immediately when they were placed over the flames, and the fish would be cooked long before the branches got hot enough to catch on fire.

The smell of the fish roasting over the flames made Rose’s stomach growl without shame. She pushed herself up from the ground and ambled over to the fire pit to wait for the first fish to be finished cooking.

“I’m starving,” she announced as she approached her husband.

He chuckled as he watched her shuffling toward him. “Well, you are eating for yourself and for my daughter, so I am not surprised.” He patted the spot next to him on the ground, and helped Rose as she lowered herself down.

She shook her head at his determination that they were having a girl. There was still no doubt in her mind that she was carrying his son.

“You look much better now. Tomorrow we won’t ride as far.”

Since they were traveling a different route than she had ever been, she had no idea how long they still had to travel, but she hoped it wouldn’t be too
much farther. The memory of the sharp pain she had felt earlier made her rub nervously at her stomach.

“Is my daughter kicking again?” White Owl placed his palm against the spot she had been rubbing. His face scrunched up. “I don’t feel anything.”

Rose pushed his hand away. “That’s because your son is getting angry at being called a girl by his father.”

White Owl chuckled and returned his attention to the fish as Rose watched the sun setting on a nearby mountain to the west. The misty blue sky was painted with shades of pink and orange streaks above and behind the mountain. The longer she stared at the peak, the more she realized that it had a familiar shape.

“Are you staring at the giant mountain?” White Owl asked when he noticed what she was looking at.

“The what?” she chuckled.

White Owl pointed at the mountain. “See, there is the giant’s head, and his belly.” His finger moved to the south of the mountain as he added, “And there are his legs. He is a sleeping giant.”

Rose looked at the mountain from a new perspective and realized that the profile of the mountaintop was an exact replica of a man lying on his back. It truly was a sleeping-giant mountain.

She smiled as she looked back at her husband. “I love it here.”

“The Yampah loved it, too,” he said sadly. He
held a branch toward her with a sizzling trout on the end of it.

Rose took the branch. “Thank you,” she murmured. She wanted to tell him how much she hated her own people right now for what they had done to the Utes, but she couldn’t find the right words. His sorrow seemed so deeply rooted that nothing she could say would ease his torment.

As soon as the trout were done cooking, White Owl tossed dirt on the few flames that still sparked in the pit. It was growing dark, and he did not want the fire to be seen by the family that lived down in the valley. As darkness settled over the land, however, Rose noticed the faded lights of the distant house. She crossed her arms over her large belly and wondered about the family who lived there. Had they been sad to see the Yampah go? She guessed her father must be feeling mighty happy right now. He had finally gotten his wish . . . the whites had run the Indians off their own land.

The sharp barking and howling of a pack of coyotes sliced through the silent night. Their yelping was almost like mournful screaming. The chilling sound echoed across the desolate hilltop, making Rose feel that even the coyotes were filled with sorrow to discover that the Utes were gone from here forever.

Rose was sad to leave the valley of the chugging Medicine Springs, the mountain of the sleeping giant and the clear shimmering waters of the Yampah River. She hoped they could return to this beautiful lush valley someday with their first-born son and the other children she was certain they would have in the future.

White Owl lifted her into the saddle and the ache in her back immediately came back. She gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long day. Luckily, White Owl stuck to his plan to stop frequently. Each time she climbed down from the saddle and lay down for a while to rest, hoping the pain would disappear. By the time they stopped for the night, she was becoming optimistic about reaching Milk Creek before their son decided to make an early appearance. White Owl said they should reach the site of his tribe’s deserted village by nightfall the next day. Then he would start looking for anyone who might be left in the area. They had no plan beyond that, and Rose couldn’t help wondering where they would be when the baby arrived.

After a restless night, Rose woke up to the pain
in her back before she even got in the saddle. She moaned softly as she sat up, and the sound drew White Owl’s attention at once. He was at her side before she had a chance to move again.

“What’s wrong?” He crouched at her side. “Is it the baby?” His voice was filled with concern and his expression looked to be on the edge of panic.

Rose shook her head. “No, no . . . I’m fine. My body is just getting a bit stiff and sore from all the riding. And your son is becoming a heavy load.”

White Owl gave her belly a loving rub. “Once we reach Milk Creek, you can rest while I search for the others. You and I both know of hiding places were the grass is deep and soft.” He winked at her.

Rose giggled as she remembered the summer afternoon last year when they had made passionate love in one of the hidden alcoves along Milk Creek. She had no doubt that once she was out of the saddle for a couple of days, she would be just fine. She held her hand up for White Owl to pull her to her feet, since she knew there was no way she would make it up on her own this morning.

With a determination not to give in to her misery, Rose let her husband help her into the saddle again. Since her back was already hurting, the movement of the horse did not seem to be making it any worse as they began the last leg of the trip—for now, anyway. But as the morning wore on, the pain in her back began to radiate around to the front of her abdomen.

“White Owl,” she called as he rode in front of
her through a secluded gully where there was no trail to follow. “I think I need to rest for a while.”

White Owl pulled up on his reins and jumped down from Niwaa’s back before the horse had even come to a complete stop. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. They had just stopped barely a mile or so back for her to rest.

Rose shook her head and shrugged. “It’s just this stupid pain in my back. It must be from so much riding. I’m sure if I rest for a few more minutes, I’ll be fine.”

White Owl’s worried expression did not fade. He stared up at her for a moment before he reached up and lifted her from the horse’s back. He carried her to the shade of a cluster of aspen trees. Rose wrapped her arms around his neck, grateful for his kindness.

“Just give me a minute,” she said with a forced smile. “That darn saddle is just so hard and—” She gasped as new type of pain cut through her lower abdomen.

“Wild Rose, the baby is coming now?” His tone was filled with panic.

“No, it’s too early, I think.”

“You think?” he yelled. “You said early summer.”

Rose rolled her eyes upward and shook her head. “That’s what I think,” she repeated. Last summer and fall, she had been so engrossed in their love affair and then in her new role as his wife that she had not worried about those things. Now, she was not sure when it might have happened.

“What do you want to do?” he asked in a nervous voice. “Should we prepare for the birth?”

“No,” she said as she shook her head again. “It’s not time. I want to get to Milk Creek. Like you said earlier, I can rest then, and I’ll be fine.”

He stared at her for a moment with a disconcerting glare. “I don’t want to deliver this baby out here, but I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.” He drew in a heavy breath. “You must promise to tell me if it gets any worse.”

Rose forced a smile, “I promise.” She wished she felt as confident inwardly as she was attempting to convey to him.

White Owl made Wild Rose ride in front of him so that he could keep a closer eye on her. Every time she even moved slightly in the saddle, his throat felt like it was closing shut and he couldn’t breathe. He knew Ute women had babies along the trails to and from their winter and summer homes all the time. But this was his baby . . . and his Wild Rose. The thought of having to deliver their child without the help of his mother or another woman was making him physically sick.

As the day wore on and they stopped constantly for her to rest, White Owl realized they were not going to reach Milk Creek by nightfall. He hated to tell Wild Rose, because the thought of making it back there seemed to be all that kept her going. Since they obviously would not be there until tomorrow he decided that they should just call it a day now, even though it was only late afternoon.
After a good long rest they would reach their destination. One night wouldn’t make a difference.

He wondered if Rose realized that they were close to her parents’ homestead and that they were probably on Adair land right now. The realization might upset her, since she hated her father and twin brother so much. The one time they had talked about the events that had conspired last fall when her father had forced her to go to Denver, White Owl had also gotten the impression that she was deeply hurt by the fact that her mother hadn’t done more to help her. It seemed that she only held Donavan in her heart now, and White Owl felt the same way about the boy. He hoped someday he would have a chance to tell Donavan how grateful he was that he had told him where to find his Wild Rose.