Read Online Reckless Heart by Madeline Baker - Free Book Online Page B

Indians were concerned.
    Troubled, I glanced up at Shadow and found myself wondering, guiltily, if he had ridden with the Indians who had burned out the Henry family. Unable to help myself, I stared at the lone white eagle feather in Shadow’s hair and found myself wondering if the enemy he had killed to earn that feather had been red or white.
    “He was a Pawnee,” Shadow murmured, reading my thoughts, and I could not hide my relief.
    His dark eyes held mine for a long time before he said, quietly, “I think it would be better for both of us if we did not meet again. It will only lead to trouble and unhappiness for all concerned.”
    “Oh, you sound just like my mother!” I wailed unhappily.
    “She is a wise woman, Hannah. Perhaps you should listen to her advice.”
    “I wish I were an Indian girl,” I muttered sulkily, and Shadow granted me one of his rare smiles.
    “Things would certainly be less complicated,” he allowed.
    “How would you court me, if I were an Indian girl?” I asked. “Is it romantic?”
    “I suppose so,” he said with a shrug. “I never gave it much thought.”
    “Well, think about it,” I insisted. “Would you bring me flowers and take me picnicking in the woods?”
    “Not quite. When a Cheyenne warrior is interested in a girl, he makes himself a flute, usually in the shape of a bird. Sometimes he paints it with the likeness of a horse, because horses are believed to be ardent lovers and hard to resist. At night, the warrior plays his flute outside the girl’s lodge. The notes are sweet and low, and every flute has its own sound. Sometimes the warrior follows his girl to the river, or waits for her there, hoping to catch her alone.”
    “That sounds romantic,” I said, and smiled as I remembered that Shadow and I often met by a river, as we did now.
    “I suppose, but the warrior rarely manages to see his sweetheart alone. Indian mothers keep a close eye on their daughters, especially when they know some warrior is after them.”
    “How do you find time to be alone, then?”
    “In the evening, the maidens stand outside their lodges, each wrapped in a big red blanket. If a girl is interested in a particular warrior, she holds the blanket open when he walks by, inviting him to join her. When they are standing very close, the girl covers them both with the robe.”
    “That doesn’t sound very private,” I remarked skeptically.
    “It isn’t,” Shadow allowed. “But we have very few pregnant brides.”
    “Very funny,” I retorted, punching him on the arm. “Suppose they decide to get married. What then?”
    “The warrior’s father would send a go-between to speak to the girl’s family. If her family approves the match, the warrior leaves a number of horses outside the girl’s lodge, preferably stolen horses, not only as a token of his affection but to prove to her family that he can provide for a wife.”
    “Stolen horses!” I exclaimed. “How awful!”
    “Horse stealing is viewed a little differently among my people,” Shadow explained with a grin. “I know it is a hanging offense among the whites, but to the Tsi-tsi-tsis it is an art. It can be a lot of fun, too. Anyway, if the horses are accepted, the girl’s mother sets the date for the wedding.”
    “Does the bride wear white?”
    “Usually.”
    “Is there a big ceremony with music and dancing?”
    “No. On the day of the wedding, the bride is placed on a blanket and carried to the lodge of her future father-in-law and left there. Most couples live with the husband’s family until they collect enough skins for a lodge of their own.”
    “Hmmm… Shadow, if I were an Indian girl, would you bring my father horses?”
    “I would offer your father my entire herd,” Shadow replied solemnly. “But you are not an Indian girl, and I think your father would gladly see you dead before he would let you go away with me.”
    “Then I’ll run away!” I cried passionately.
    “No, Hannah.”
    I had known he