revenge?
No, never. She was too God-fearing a woman. Still…she gulped and took a moment before she was able to voice, “I…I’m sorry. But it had nothing to do with me.”
“Likewise those fish people had nothing to do with what might have happened to the white man—if that was the white man’s reason.”
Rebecca became silent. She didn’t want to understand. She didn’t want to feel any more sympathy for these people than she already felt. Yet sympathize she did, and an understanding of sorts began to form within her mind, a comprehension of why the big Indian might have done what he had.
It didn’t make her like the other Indian, but she didn’t feel so…angry. She asked, after a time, “Where is Strikes The Bear? I have not seen him since the feast the warriors gave us.”
“He scouts ahead of us.”
“Why?”
“He has done that in the past.”
“But I thought you said he was the leader of this party.”
Night Thunder sent her a scowl.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
“I might have.”
“Did you ask the others to have him scout ahead because you knew I would be uncomfortable?”
“Perhaps.”
Which brought another question to mind. “Then he will not always be spending the evenings with us?”
“Not always. His eyes will watch us closely, though, I think. We need to be careful at night, so that we do not bring questions about our marriage to the minds of the others.”
“But if Strikes The Bear is not here to watch us…”
“He has many friends who travel with us.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her hopes suddenly deflated. Then, deciding to change the subject, she asked, “Why does a war party have no horses?”
He gestured around him before he said, “Because it is easier to travel this way when in the territory of our enemies, the Assiniboin. But soon we will be in our own country and we will then travel with more ease.”
“Ah,” she said, “good. Will that mean we’ll soon be getting horses, then?”
“ Saa, no,” he responded. “The capturing of horses,” he went on to explain, “is done by making a raid upon an enemy. And that involves too much danger. This party is more concerned with getting the two of us to my home safely.”
“I see,” she said, and she did, although she wished the “home” of which he spoke were the fort.
That these men considered it their duty to accompany her and her “husband” seemed a terribly chivalrous act. It made it hard, too, to envision a way of returning to the fort any time soon.
Still, Rebecca tried to envision a plan that would take her back there, though none came readily to mind.
Perhaps her mistress, Katrina, would offer a solution. When Katrina returned to the fort, might she send someone to find out what had become of her maid? Rebecca could only hope so.
It was a thought which gave Rebecca hope, although the idea of meeting anyone in her current state of dress was less than appealing.
She glanced down at herself. Her apparel, a homemade item of trade cloth and ribbon, had never been a thing of beauty; but with its corals and browns, it had been pleasing enough. Now, ripped and torn, snagged on the bottom from the dried grasses and sharp vines they had traversed, it looked more duggins than dress, and she wondered how long it would hold up under the duress of their travel.
Her slippers, too, would soon be unserviceable and her hose contained more holes and rips than her dress.
But she wouldn’t complain. It could be worse, she thought with a shudder, recalling the evil, big Indian who had captured her. What would he have done to her?
“Night Thunder.” Again she quickened her pace to catch up with him. “Where were you the day I was captured by these Indians?”
He took so long answering that she touched him on the shoulder.
“Night Thunder?” she asked again.
He turned his head slightly to gaze down at her fingers where she had placed them upon him, and she wasn’t certain, but it felt
No, never. She was too God-fearing a woman. Still…she gulped and took a moment before she was able to voice, “I…I’m sorry. But it had nothing to do with me.”
“Likewise those fish people had nothing to do with what might have happened to the white man—if that was the white man’s reason.”
Rebecca became silent. She didn’t want to understand. She didn’t want to feel any more sympathy for these people than she already felt. Yet sympathize she did, and an understanding of sorts began to form within her mind, a comprehension of why the big Indian might have done what he had.
It didn’t make her like the other Indian, but she didn’t feel so…angry. She asked, after a time, “Where is Strikes The Bear? I have not seen him since the feast the warriors gave us.”
“He scouts ahead of us.”
“Why?”
“He has done that in the past.”
“But I thought you said he was the leader of this party.”
Night Thunder sent her a scowl.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
“I might have.”
“Did you ask the others to have him scout ahead because you knew I would be uncomfortable?”
“Perhaps.”
Which brought another question to mind. “Then he will not always be spending the evenings with us?”
“Not always. His eyes will watch us closely, though, I think. We need to be careful at night, so that we do not bring questions about our marriage to the minds of the others.”
“But if Strikes The Bear is not here to watch us…”
“He has many friends who travel with us.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her hopes suddenly deflated. Then, deciding to change the subject, she asked, “Why does a war party have no horses?”
He gestured around him before he said, “Because it is easier to travel this way when in the territory of our enemies, the Assiniboin. But soon we will be in our own country and we will then travel with more ease.”
“Ah,” she said, “good. Will that mean we’ll soon be getting horses, then?”
“ Saa, no,” he responded. “The capturing of horses,” he went on to explain, “is done by making a raid upon an enemy. And that involves too much danger. This party is more concerned with getting the two of us to my home safely.”
“I see,” she said, and she did, although she wished the “home” of which he spoke were the fort.
That these men considered it their duty to accompany her and her “husband” seemed a terribly chivalrous act. It made it hard, too, to envision a way of returning to the fort any time soon.
Still, Rebecca tried to envision a plan that would take her back there, though none came readily to mind.
Perhaps her mistress, Katrina, would offer a solution. When Katrina returned to the fort, might she send someone to find out what had become of her maid? Rebecca could only hope so.
It was a thought which gave Rebecca hope, although the idea of meeting anyone in her current state of dress was less than appealing.
She glanced down at herself. Her apparel, a homemade item of trade cloth and ribbon, had never been a thing of beauty; but with its corals and browns, it had been pleasing enough. Now, ripped and torn, snagged on the bottom from the dried grasses and sharp vines they had traversed, it looked more duggins than dress, and she wondered how long it would hold up under the duress of their travel.
Her slippers, too, would soon be unserviceable and her hose contained more holes and rips than her dress.
But she wouldn’t complain. It could be worse, she thought with a shudder, recalling the evil, big Indian who had captured her. What would he have done to her?
“Night Thunder.” Again she quickened her pace to catch up with him. “Where were you the day I was captured by these Indians?”
He took so long answering that she touched him on the shoulder.
“Night Thunder?” she asked again.
He turned his head slightly to gaze down at her fingers where she had placed them upon him, and she wasn’t certain, but it felt