Frontier Courtship Part 13

"Probably none of it," Connell explained. "It's customary for her mother to prepare the lodge and pitch it near her own, then furnish it just as you see it and present it as a gift. Sometimes other relatives contribute things, too, but it's the bride's mother who's in charge."

"Won't she be resentful of us? Most women would be."

"If she is she won't show it," Connell said. "One of the things the white man doesn't understand about the Indian is his sacrifices for the common good. Even though tribes make war with each other, there's very little dissension within the bands. If a man is poor or sick, the others take care of his family's needs without hesitation."

"We do the same back home," Faith argued.

"Really? After the tornado blew your house away, how many of your neighbors offered you another house, or even a bed?"

"They would have if they could have. They'd been hit hard, too. Everybody suffered terrible losses."

"I understand that," Connell said. "But out here another branch of the tribe would have brought all they owned, if necessary, and given it to you with no strings attached. In return, all you'd have been expected to do was try to get back on your feet and someday do the same for another needy neighbor."

"That's like the scripture, 'Do unto others'!"

"Exactly."

"How wonderful."

"Yes, it is. But that isn't all there is to this culture. Rules are strict. Customs can seem harsh. Even cruel. Justice is swift and deadly. Tribal life is not for the fainthearted." He looked at her tellingly. "Or a good place for a lone, unprotected woman."

"I know what you mean. So, how are we going to save Irene?"

Connell snorted. "That's a good question. One I've been asking myself ever since I saw how important she's become to the Cheyenne. I need to know more details, which is why you won't have to worry about me getting in your way tonight, Little Muddy Dove Woman."

She ignored the jest. "Why not? Where will you be?"

"Standing under a blanket in front of Irene's lodge and waiting to properly court my future bride," he said flatly. "If she plays by the rules and comes out, she'll join me under the blanket and we can huddle together to talk privately-all night, if necessary-as long as we stay in the public view."

"What if she doesn't come out?"

"Then I may have to abduct her."

Faith couldn't help the catch in her breath. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not for Irene and me. Even if Black Kettle weren't the chief, he's wearing a scalp s.h.i.+rt. Both dictate his code of conduct. If he came after us he'd be breaking a taboo and proving he's not worthy to remain chief." The plainsman's brow furrowed. "But that doesn't prevent him from getting even another way. You and Ab might have to pay dearly if I left you behind."

"You wouldn't!" she blurted, immediately penitent when she saw the hurt in his eyes. Her voice gentled. "No, of course you wouldn't. I know that. And I'll do whatever I can to help you free your beloved Irene. I promise."

Without a word, Connell nodded, turned and walked out.

In minutes, a girl of about fifteen arrived bringing food, water and a soft, pale deerskin s.h.i.+ft. Faith had never been so thrilled to receive new clothes in her entire life. She slipped out of her dress, unwound the chafing muslin strips that circled her torso, and gladly donned the native attire over her bloomers.

The girl showed her how to wrap and tie the leggings she'd brought, then lace moccasins over them. The completed outfit was comfortable beyond belief. Faith stepped back and twirled to show off the dress.

"Oh, thank you! I love this."

Her words were heartfelt and simple, yet clearly not understood, so she smiled and patted the teenager's hand in a motherly fas.h.i.+on.

Acting shy, the girl held up a small rope.

Faith took it and looked down at her garb. Nothing seemed to be missing. "What's this for?" She chuckled at her own silliness. "Never mind. Of course you can't tell me." Holding it out, she asked, "Show me?"

The Indian girl gestured to her waist, then made a tying motion, so Faith knotted the rope around her dress like a belt, much to her companion's muted glee.

Shaking her head and covering her smile, the girl went to work on Faith's hair with a wide-toothed comb, eventually making long braids, leaving them loose instead of rolling them as Irene's had been. She then led her to the food she'd brought and presented it proudly, using hand signals to urge her to eat.

Faith was so intent on devouring the dried fruit and stringy meat she didn't even bother to protest when the Indian girl gathered her ruined calico into a bundle and ran from the lodge with it.

At dusk, Connell waited patiently outside the door to Irene's teepee. A blanket was draped across his shoulders in spite of the continuing heat.

To his consternation, he wasn't her only suitor. A muscular brave who looked to be about twenty-five, had come to stand beside him. The enmity in the Indian's eyes was as sharp as an arrow point and as menacing as the fangs of a prairie rattlesnake.

Connell's only advantage was that he had arrived before the brave and was therefore closest to the teepee door. If Irene stuck to Cheyenne custom, she would speak to him first, perhaps ignoring the other man entirely. In that case, Connell knew he'd best not turn his back on his rival unless he wanted his hair parted with a war club.

He could hear Irene inside the lodge. She was talking to the old medicine man in a mixture of Cheyenne and Arapaho. Pleased at the sound of her familiar voice, Connell listened. It seemed strange to hear her speaking languages other than English, but he was proud that she'd become so accomplished. Some prisoners never even tried to understand their captors, let alone learned from them.

Neither man moved a muscle when the old Arapaho appeared at the teepee door, paused to tell Irene he was going off for a quiet smoke, then limped away.

Tense, Connell waited for her to come out. Seconds seemed to tick by very slowly. Like a pocket watch in need of winding, Like a pocket watch in need of winding, he reflected. His heart swelled with grat.i.tude that Irene had had her amazing watch with her when she'd been kidnapped, and that she'd had the intelligence to use it to such good advantage. he reflected. His heart swelled with grat.i.tude that Irene had had her amazing watch with her when she'd been kidnapped, and that she'd had the intelligence to use it to such good advantage.

He could only think of one other woman who would have done as well, and that woman was Faith Beal. Except that Faith would probably have talked too much or acted stubborn and gotten herself into a worse pickle, Connell thought, smiling to himself. She was quite a woman. Unique. With a heart as big as the prairie and courage that would put many a man to shame.

His musings came full circle and his gut gave a twist. Irene was his betrothed, not Faith. Irene should be first in his heart even if they were both merely honoring an old promise rather than being madly in love, so why did he keep thinking of Faith with so much affection? And why had no other woman ever stirred such fervor within him? Not even Little Rabbit Woman. Not even Little Rabbit Woman.

As if summoned by his turbulent thoughts, Irene Wellman left the confines of her lodge to face her suitors.

Connell lifted the front edge of his blanket. So did the brave standing close by.

She hesitated, looking from man to man, and raised her hand toward Connell, palm out, as if urging patience. To his total astonishment, she then stepped into the arms of the Cheyenne brave!

Connell froze. Had his worst fears been confirmed? Was he going to have to resort to the same kind of warlike tactics that had put her in the Indian camp in the first place? He strained to hear what she and the brave were saying, but their words were m.u.f.fled beneath the wrapped-around blanket. All he could hope at this point was that she'd give him a chance to talk to her, too.

A tug on his buckskin distracted him momentarily. He looked down to see who had had the audacity to break into a courts.h.i.+p ritual. The most unlikely Indian he'd ever seen was grinning up at him.

"Thank goodness I finally found you," Faith said.

Connell scowled. "I should have known. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, mostly." She pivoted to display her dress for him. "A sweet girl brought me this. Isn't it wonderful? And so comfortable. Even my sore ribs feel better. She fixed my hair and fed me, too."

He was eyeing her costume. "Who dressed you?"

"The same girl. She didn't understand a word I said and I didn't understand her, either, but we managed just fine."

One corner of his mouth twitched in a repressed smile. "Not entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"Irene can explain it to you," he said, c.o.c.king his head toward the blanket where the two still stood, wrapped together from the waist up. "When she's done with him."

Faith lowered her voice. "That's her? Under there?"

He nodded. "Why don't you go into her lodge and wait for us. There's n.o.body else home right now so it's perfectly safe."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He allowed his smile to spread. "I'm sure glad I already warned the tribal council you were crazy in the head."

"Why?"

"Never mind. Just get inside, out of sight, and wait for me."

Faith faced him, hands fisted on her hips, and pressed her lips into a stubborn line. "No. I'm not going anywhere till you tell me what's so funny."

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"Let's just say, as your uncle, uncle, I'm disappointed in your upbringing and leave it at that." I'm disappointed in your upbringing and leave it at that."

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "Talking in riddles won't get you off. I intend to know what's going on around here or else-even if I can't speak the language."

"Okay," Connell drawled, "but remember, I didn't want to do this. You asked for it."

Pausing for effect, he smiled and added, "Little Dove Woman, I regret to inform you...you've tied your chast.i.ty belt on the outside of your clothes."

Mortified, Faith had immediately wheeled and run for the privacy of Irene's teepee, fumbling to untie the rope as she went.

Although she'd now had hours to examine the knotted cords more closely, she still couldn't visualize how they were supposed to be applied or what good they'd do.

Her cheeks flamed. No wonder the Indian girl had giggled and looked so embarra.s.sed when she'd mistaken the rigging for a sas.h.!.+

In retrospect, she felt slightly vindicated, however. Never in all her reading or listening to tales of fellow pilgrims had she heard even a whisper about Indian women wearing such things. On the contrary, more than one emigrant had sworn that promiscuity was the norm for the tribes of the plains.

Was it? Were the Cheyenne that different from all the rest? If so, they must have a terrible time adjusting to living and working beside other groups. No wonder so many of them fought amongst themselves as well as against white men.

With neither pockets nor a reticule in which to hide her humiliating error, Faith wadded the string girdle into a ball and stuffed it beneath the edge of a buffalo robe, then sat down on the robe to wait for Irene and Connell.

The soft background hum of the camp blended into a slumberous blur. Weariness encroached on her mind, urging much-needed rest. She gave in only enough to lie back on the soft skins, fully intending to remain awake. Her lids grew heavy, her aching body finding the respite it so desperately craved.

The next thing she knew, the rumble of Connell's voice was pulling her back from a dreamless sleep.

"She's game," he said.

A woman answered. "Young."

"Yes. And all alone, thanks to Ramsey Tucker."

"We must take her with us."

"I was hoping you'd say that. I've already promised to escort her to California."

Connell came across the room and stopped. Faith could sense him standing over her. She tried to keep totally still, but a flutter of her lashes gave her away.

"I think she's awake," the woman said.

"Yes, I am." Faith opened her eyes and sat up with a yawn and a languid stretch. "Sorry. I didn't mean to doze. It's been a long day." She smiled up at her companions. "Actually, the last couple of months seem like a lifetime."

The woman smiled sweetly. "It is easy to lose track of time out here, even if you have a pocket watch." She offered her hand. "I'm Irene Wellman. Connell tells me your name is Faith Beal."

"Yes. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Wellman. I've heard a lot about you."

"Please, call me Irene." Grasping Faith's outstretched hand, the older woman pulled her to her feet. "How would you like to sleep here with me, tonight?"

A terrible weight lifted from Faith's conscience. "Oh, could I? I don't know all the rules and I'm so afraid I'll make another dreadful mistake if I don't have a woman to ask for advice."

Irene looked puzzled. "Advice about what?"

"Everything!" she interjected, hoping and praying that Connell would be gentleman enough to refrain from explaining her most recent cause for embarra.s.sment. It was bad enough that he'd noticed the belt in the first place. Bringing it to her attention in public like that was an inexcusable breach of etiquette.

Faith's cheeks burned as if she'd just spent another week under the scorching sun without her bonnet. Yes, she knew she'd pressed him, even threatened him, but that didn't mean he'd had to listen listen to her. to her.

"I think I'd better be going," Connell said with a low chuckle, "and let you ladies talk privately."

"What about the old man? Where's he?" Faith asked.

"Walks With Tree is going to stay in Connell's lodge. It's all been arranged. You and I will have this one all to ourselves."

"Praise the Lord!"

Irene laid a hand lightly on Faith's arm. "It would be best if you didn't mention our G.o.d quite so loudly. The Cheyenne are tolerant of other people's beliefs, but this teepee is considered sacred because I keep the watch in here most of the time. I have to be very careful."

"Sorry." Faith pulled a face. "That's what I mean. I need advice. Lots Lots of it." of it."

"My pleasure."

In the background, Connell huffed with derision. "I hope she takes directions from you better than she has from me. Little Muddy Dove Woman can be as hardheaded as a bull buffalo."

Laughing, Irene repeated the Indian name, then asked Connell, "What made you call her that?"