Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Gradually, a cool, thunder-free summer night descended upon them, its balmy breeze carrying with it the fragrance of wildflowers, dry grass and the fresh scent which always accompanies a babbling brook.
The constant chirping of the crickets and locusts was broken here and there by the ceaseless wafting of the wind, as well as the shrill call of a nighthawk.
In the distance, a wolf howled while a coyote yelped.
Ever alert for danger, Grey Coyote sat across from the white woman, the small fire they had built blazing between them.
As its smoky aroma enveloped his senses, Grey Coyote listened to the sounds of the night, attentive to any clamor or movement that was not a part of nature.
Despite this, he was terribly conscious of every gesture the woman made, every nuance of her expression.
He should speak to her. He knew he should. But though he searched his mind for a topic of conversation, he could think of nothing to say.
Grey Coyote wished he were more skilled in carrying on a discussion, yet as he sat with Little Sunset, it was as though an old crow had stolen away his tongue.
What was wrong with him? There were many topics of interest he could say and probably should say to the woman. Truly, the very least he could do was converse with the woman.
Yet he did not.
Was it because of her beauty? Was it this which made him hesitate?
“Other men will want a pretty wife for their own,” came Grandfather White Elk’s voice from out of the past. “Always some man will covet her. There may be fights, jealousy, you may wonder if she is true to you. Peace will become a stranger in your home. Choose wisely when the time comes for you to marry, grandson, and know that ofttimes it is best to take a plain-looking woman as your bride.”
Yet, his advice, though good, was of no use to Grey Coyote. What was done was done, and since he could not undo it, and since he and the woman were to be together for several weeks, it would behoove them both to come to some sort of understanding.
He opened his mouth. Realizing he had no idea how to start the conversation; he closed it. Once more he tried. Again, he shut his mouth and remained silent.
At last, he plunged in and asked, “What awaits you in the village of St. Louis?”
“What?” Her golden eyes stared up at him as though he had startled her.
He repeated, “Is there someone who awaits you in the village of St. Louis?”
“Someone, who… Oh, no, no one waits for me. It is only that I will be able to engage a boat there, which will bear me home.”
“Hau, hau.” He bobbed his head in understanding. “Where is your home?”
“England,” she said, the inflection of her voice causing the place to sound as though it were holy. “But England is far from here. However, though it is distant, it is the place where my heart belongs.”
“England,” he repeated. “I have never heard of this village.”
“Oh, it is not a village. Not as you think of villages. It is a country.”
“Hau, hau. I understand the word, country. Tell me, is your country as beautiful as mine?”
“Oh, yes. But it is very different from yours. Here, there is a rugged beauty; here, there is sun and wind and heat, and open spaces. England is more a land of rolling green hills filled with wildflowers and forests. The sky is blue, the clouds are white and dainty. The moors are quiet, the villages quaint, and there are lazy afternoons that beg one to do no more than lounge.”
He nodded. “You must love this place. I can hear the admiration of it in your voice. It will be good when you return to it again.”
“Yes. Yes, it has been many years since I last saw her shores, fourteen to be exact.”
“Ahhhh,” he said, drawing out the word. “And so this must be the reason why you are content to hurry across my country without pausing to get to know her? So that you might see your home again soon?”
“Yes,” she agreed, although at the same time a frown marred her brow.
“However, there is another, more vital reason why I am most anxious to return. You see, I…” She paused mid sentence, sending him a surreptitious glance.
Then, straightening, she continued, “But enough about me. What of you? Why are you here, traveling alone in a country which is hostile to you?”
Although more than aware that she had censored her thoughts, he chose to let the incident pass without comment. “I am on an errand for my people.”
“Oh?”
“Hau, hau.” He nodded. “I am charged with a duty, and I seek a white man—one who looks much like the scout, LaCroix—for this man holds something which is important to my people.”
“Really?” she asked, as though in speculation. “Is this why you let Mr. LaCroix gamble away everything he owned?” Her voice carried a note of disapproval.
Grey Coyote sent her a frown. “The scout LaCroix knew what the wager held; he understood what he had to lose. Besides, he remained in custody of a few of his possessions even in the end.”
“Oh?” Her softly spoken word conveyed reproach.
Grey Coyote chose not to react to her. Instead, he poked at the fire. A log fell, sparks shooting up from it.
After a time, she said, “So you are charged with a duty?”
“I am.”
“And it weighs on you?”
Again he met her question with silence. In essence, there were some matters a man did not discuss.
“You needn’t answer,” she said. “I can tell it sits heavily on you. May I ask what this duty is you must perform?”
Over the light from the crackling flames, his eyes met the burnished embers of hers. For a moment, he did little but behold the loveliness that was hers alone. And then, knowing what he must say, he uttered simply, “I cannot speak of it.”
She held his gaze, saying nothing for so long the quiet noise of the evening began to intrude on them. “It appears,” she said after several instances, “as though neither one of us is as yet able to trust the other with our deepest, most heartfelt secrets.”
He inclined his head slightly. “It may be so. However, perhaps our distrust is natural. We have but met.”
She placed her head to the side, as if by this angle alone she could better study him. “I would say yes and no to this which you said,” she uttered softly, and then, having delivered this peculiar assertion, she turned her attention elsewhere.
He frowned. “I do not understand.”
“No, I don’t expect you do.” She sighed. “I barely grasp it myself.”
Grey Coyote chose to say nothing, though he watched her closely.
In due time, she said, “It is odd. Yesterday I found myself in the charge of a stranger, going Lord only knows where, possibly even captured by him, with only his word to tell me what had happened. And here I am. Though I am not headed in the direction that I must, I yet find I…”
He remained silent. Intent, but silent.
She cleared her throat. “By rights, I should assume the man who did this to me is my enemy.”
He bent his head in agreement.
“But the problem is I don’t think this way at all.
” As she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes were big, round.
“And it’s this that I find so strange. Although I hardly know you, Mr. Coyote, and although I should fight you and fend you away—perhaps even order you to take me where I please—I… I trust you. Do you know why this is?”
“Maybe.” His voice caught. Annoyed at this obvious show of weakness, he cleared his throat. “It might be that, despite our differences, our hearts speak to one another in the same language. It is possible.”
“Yes, this is within the realm of possibility.” She said the words softly. “Mr. Coyote, what do you mean by ‘our hearts’?”
“Kindness, maybe,” he explained diligently, “or perhaps a sort of sympathy that beckons us to each other. To be guided by one’s heart is different than to be led, and perforce fooled, by one’s head.
It is an instinct, a sense. And it is never felt for oneself, alone.
It goes in the direction toward another because one feels… something.”
“Well said. Then when you say ‘heart,’ you were not referring to…” She stopped speaking and looked away from him.
But he was curious, and he said, “Referring to…?”
Her face became a dark shade of crimson, which caused his study of her to deepen, and he repeated, “Referring to…”
“Nothing. It is not important.” She sighed, but still she didn’t look at him.
He drew his brows together. Was she also having difficulty because of who he was? Was it possible they were both experiencing a similar rush of feeling?
He swallowed, then remarked, “Of course, you are probably aware of my attraction to you. It is also conceivable that this might concern you, and if it does, be assured I mean you no dishonor.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no, no, I know…” Her voice faded away.
“I have given you my word that you are safe with me. After all, I intend to leave you at the trading post as soon as—”
“Unless I can convince you to take me to St. Louis.” She flashed him a grin.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think your suggestion is a wise idea? My taking you to St. Louis?”
“Well, naturally. Why not?”
“Because when two people are alone, male and female, there can build between them an affinity which is hard to break.” Across the smoldering remains of the fire, he scrutinized her features, finding them…pleasing. “What you ask of me could be…difficult for me.”
She was silent. With her attention still focused elsewhere, she asked, “Difficult because of the attraction?”
He nodded.
“Then you have decided not to take me to St. Louis?”
“Hiya, I have not yet made any decision about this. I am only telling you the conditions I must take into consideration.”
“I see,” she said, then dropped off into silence. The fire crackled merrily, as though unaware of any tension between them.