Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Dressed and out in the sunshine we were all happy. There stretched out before us was a new-coined day, a fresh-minted world under a glorious turquoise sky. Sunbonnets bobbed merrily over cooking fires, on the air a smell of coffee.
— MARIAN RUSSELL, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT: MEMOIRS OF MARIAN RUSSELL ALONG THE SANTA FE TRAIL
AVigilance Committee?
As Angelia sat atop the wagon, looking outward, she formed an opinion.
The West was indeed a glorious place, yet it was also a very crude place.
Certainly the atmosphere here afforded one opportunity.
However, Vigilance Committees had begun to spring up all over this country, and the men who ran them—who were usually anonymous—were more feared than any court system in the land.
For a Vigilance Committee always hung a murderer or a thief—even a person suspected of murder—and it particularly would assault and hang an Indian man caught making love to a white woman.
No shotgun wedding would be ordered, no questions asked. It would simply be done.
It was something she could not allow to happen.
Uneasily, Angelia bit her lip. One would think that she would have learned better than to have become smitten with a man like Swift Hawk. After all, hadn’t she lived her life in the shadow of her father? Hadn’t she witnessed too closely the results of championing the underdog?
What had she been thinking?
Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking. That was part of the problem. Make no mistake, she had fallen for Swift Hawk…hard.
Though it had been only the one morning, she knew that theirs was a meeting of the spirit, a coming together not only of body, but of soul.
It was a strange feeling, one she had not thus far experienced.
Deep in her heart she knew that no matter what the future might hold, the affair was one she would cherish all her life.
But she was going to have to do something about it. What?
Of course it went without saying that she and Julian would have to be even more diligent and cautious than ever.
From now on, they would have to be constantly alert for news, in case that news carried information about them.
Further, they would have to watch more closely for the appearance of bounty hunters or government agents within this caravan.
But what about herself and Swift Hawk?
She supposed that if she didn’t care so much about these two men in her life, she and Swift Hawk could continue to sneak off together.
If they could find a place where no one would see them.
But that just wasn’t right. Forget for the moment that such an action would label her as a woman of easy virtue.
Forget, too, the danger. There was simply something inherently wrong with having to steal away, as though a love so beautiful should be hidden.
Besides, in a wagon train of this size, it was almost impossible to do anything unnoticed, and sneaking around would, sooner or later, be found out.
And when it was discovered—as it surely would be—not only would there be trouble for Swift Hawk, but speculations would be made about her.
Someone might investigate her further, might come to learn of Julian’s deception, as well as her crime, and his.
But if not an affair with Swift Hawk, then what was she to do? End it? She feared this might be her only choice.
Your life, and mine, may change now. But do not worry.
When two people wish it, the impossible can be theirs.
The words came back to haunt her. That day, Swift Hawk had left her with this thought.
His speech had done much at the time to fill her with promise, with hope, and with the idea that maybe, if they both worked at it, they could create a bit of heaven, here in this prairie wilderness.
She wanted that heaven too. She let her mind drift back to that time only a few days ago…
True to his word, Swift Hawk had helped her to dress that day, and the style of the white woman’s clothing had brought expressions to his countenance that were most amusing.
Holding one of her petticoats up to his waist, Swift Hawk had given her a puzzled look.
“Is this a dress?” he asked.
“No,” she replied with a smile. “It is a petticoat.”
“A coat? Do white women wear coats, like the white men do?”
“Yes, women do, but this is not a coat.”
“That is good…” he grinned at her, “…for I see no holes in it for the arms.”
Angelia shook her head at him. “Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
She had snatched the petticoat from him and had commenced dressing herself.
In truth, she had almost completed the task, had sat down to pull on her hose and boots, when Swift Hawk, coming onto one knee, had bent down before her.
In his hands, he held both hose and boots.
Looking up at her, he said, “Do you wish to take my duty from me?”
“Your duty?”
He nodded. “It is my duty to help dress you. But I have done very little thus far. The least you can do is allow me to clothe your feet with”—he glanced at her boots with some dislike—“these.”
She smiled. “I would be most honored, sir, if you would be so kind.”
Kneeling before her, he had pulled her hose up and over her knee. He accomplished the action with much pomp and ceremony, massaging first her calf muscles, then her feet.
“Hmm, that feels good.”
“It should. The feet and leg muscles bear the brunt of all we do, and seldom do they receive the attention they deserve.”
“How true. How true.”
“And your shoes are heavy.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “They must be so, if they are to last me until we arrive in Santa Fe.”
“Humph!”
“That seemed a rather derogatory humph, Mr. Hawk. Do you know a better way of shoeing the feet?”
Swift Hawk shrugged as he drew one boot on her foot and tied it fast. “There is the Indian way.”
“Oh? And what way is that?”
“To carry the hide with you to make another pair of moccasins. No good warrior leaves his lodge without a bit of buffalo skin for this purpose. You see, when the footwear is light, a person may run more quickly in case there is a need. It could save his life.”
Angelia sat there and stared at Swift Hawk. Odd, this feeling of being on the brink of cognizance. Was there purpose to all that the Indian did? Was her own culture being wise in wishing to wipe away the Indian title to this land?
But all she said was, “Ah,” with a quick bob of her head. “There is a reason behind the Indian sort of footwear then?”
“Of course.”
Then he was done with it, and sitting back on his heels, he surveyed her. “You look good, beautiful, but…”
“But?”
“I should comb your hair.”
“You? Comb my hair?”
He gave her a bland look. “It is my duty.”
“Is it, now?”
“Haa’he.” He motioned her to turn around.
“But I have brought no brush.”
“I will use my fingers,” he told her, and when she failed to spin around on her own, he gently took hold of her shoulders, positioning her so that her back was to him. He commenced to run his fingers through her long locks.
“Oh,” she purred, “that…that’s heavenly.”
“Hmmm, it is. Your hair is different from mine.”
“Yes, I know. Yours is dark, mine is light.”
“But it is different in more ways than its color.”
“Oh? Is it?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yours is softer to my fingers than my own. Perhaps yours is simply thinner than mine.”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“The braids I will make for you will not be very thick, I fear.”
“You are going to braid my hair?”
“It is my duty.”
“Another duty, have you? You seem to have many of them.”
“Haa’he, I do.” He proceeded to plait her hair into two neat braids at the sides of her face. “Now, you look good. You look…” He spun her around to face him, where he scrutinized her up and down. “No…you look still white.”
She laughed.
He gazed at her with such affection that she could only smile back at him, returning the favor. Truly, this must be love.
He took her in his arms then. For a long moment, he did no more than hold her as if he might be blending their bodies together into one neat whole.
At last, however, he bent toward her, bringing his forehead to hers.
So softly she could barely hear him, he whispered, “Your life, and mine, may change now because of what we have done. But do not worry. When two people wish it, the impossible can become as commonplace as the earth upon which we tread. Know this, Little Sunshine, as I now belong to you, you also belong to me.”
And then he kissed her.
It was a delicious kiss too. A coming together of lips, tongue and sweet desire. It made her wonder if perhaps he wished to memorize the very taste of her, so sweetly did he dally over her.
The thought was a heady one, one that sent her pulse soaring, even as excitement cascaded through her.
As she stood up against him, breast to breast, hip to hip, she closed her eyes. Happiness swept over her, and a feeling of rightness comforted her.
But then, quick as that, he was gone. One moment he was there, the next she was holding on to nothing.
Opening her eyes, Angelia could see no trace of him, no notice of where he had gone. No footprints, no telltale sign of grasses weaving about unnaturally, no noise though the bushes, no splashing of water.
It gave her a strange feeling, as though she had imagined the whole thing, as though he had not been there.
And yet it had been real. The gentle ache, there between her legs, stood witness to that.
Little Sunshine, he had called her. Little Sunshine.
She liked it very much, almost as much as she loved him.
Jubilant, Angelia had run all the way back to camp. “You belong to me.”
It had seemed right, so very right, for in truth she had felt as if she did belong to him, and he to her. To her he was beautiful; moreover, he was now a part of her…