Eagle knelt at the hearth, stirring embers to rejuvenate the fire. The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the room as she spooned the grounds into the pot. He had developed a taste for this white man’s drink, and unfortunately a desire for his woman, whom his heart had named “Green Eyes.”
***
Another week faded into memory and a new one began. From sunrise to sunset Cecile existed in a trance-like state, helping Lone Eagle with the chores. While her body worked, her mind roamed elsewhere, accepting now that Walt was dead, and figuring how she’d live without him. Nothing except death would keep them apart.
She thought back to their first meeting, remembered being in his arms the night they danced, how he held her as close as he could without being improper—the way he smelled of fresh laundry soap. And those beautiful blue eyes. He saw to the depths of her soul.
Intruding on her reverie, Lone Eagle handed her a basket of eggs. “For some reason, your rooster does not bother me. Maybe he senses your fear.”
She forced a smile but a scream welled in her throat. Who wouldn’t sense her fear? Her life had become a jumble and as empty as the prairie around her. Choking back emotions, she carried the delicate cargo to the house. She gazed around, remembering how disappointed she'd been when Walt reined in the team at the shack he called a house. If she could see him riding up this very moment, she’d never complain again.
A strange fluttering in her middle caused her to pause on the porch—the first stirrings of her baby perhaps? She rested a hand on her slightly protruding stomach and pondered her child’s fate. A tear trickled down her cheek knowing Walt died without knowing he was going to be a father.
She patted the wetness from her cheek and squared her shoulders. Her husband’s passing meant she’d have to make up for his absence by loving their child twice as much. Her anger against the men who killed her beloved grew like a fire in her belly, and although her hatred for them blurred the rest of the day, she managed to stay in charge of her emotions. Her companion deserved no more of her frantic outbursts.
Later that evening, she sat in her rocking chair, crocheting; Lone Eagle perched on the corner of the hearth next to her, a crease in his handsome brow.
“We must speak, Green Eyes. Please hear what I have to say.”
Cecile continued to crochet, a pang of fear stabbing at her heart. She’d been dreading the time when Lone Eagle would announce his departure, and although she knew he couldn’t stay forever, her heart pounded with anticipation at the serious look on his face.
“You know that soon the winter snows will come. My people must think me dead by now, and my father, Chief Broken Feather, must surely have mourned my spirit’s passing. I must return to my people before the prairie grass is covered with white.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I know, because I have observed your sickness, you are with child.” He raised his chin and met her eyes.” I cannot leave you here alone. I have decided you will come with me to my tribe’s winter camp.”
She dropped her needle and yarn into her lap, and her mouth gaped, waiting for words to come, but none did.
“There you will be safe and I will continue to care for you. Since you no longer have a man, I would be honored to call you my woman. As the wife of Lone Eagle you will be treated with respect and honor, as I will one day be chief. And… your child will be my child.” His hand rested atop hers for a fleeting moment but withdrew it as if a show of familiarity might offend her. Compared to his offer, the touch was minor.
Her eyes widened in shock. Go with him? It was bad enough to have crossed the wilderness with a man she loved, bound for a destination she'd never seen, but to leave with an Indian and dwell with people who weren’t even her own kind? Lord forbid, didn’t they kill whites? Why hadn’t she
***
Another week faded into memory and a new one began. From sunrise to sunset Cecile existed in a trance-like state, helping Lone Eagle with the chores. While her body worked, her mind roamed elsewhere, accepting now that Walt was dead, and figuring how she’d live without him. Nothing except death would keep them apart.
She thought back to their first meeting, remembered being in his arms the night they danced, how he held her as close as he could without being improper—the way he smelled of fresh laundry soap. And those beautiful blue eyes. He saw to the depths of her soul.
Intruding on her reverie, Lone Eagle handed her a basket of eggs. “For some reason, your rooster does not bother me. Maybe he senses your fear.”
She forced a smile but a scream welled in her throat. Who wouldn’t sense her fear? Her life had become a jumble and as empty as the prairie around her. Choking back emotions, she carried the delicate cargo to the house. She gazed around, remembering how disappointed she'd been when Walt reined in the team at the shack he called a house. If she could see him riding up this very moment, she’d never complain again.
A strange fluttering in her middle caused her to pause on the porch—the first stirrings of her baby perhaps? She rested a hand on her slightly protruding stomach and pondered her child’s fate. A tear trickled down her cheek knowing Walt died without knowing he was going to be a father.
She patted the wetness from her cheek and squared her shoulders. Her husband’s passing meant she’d have to make up for his absence by loving their child twice as much. Her anger against the men who killed her beloved grew like a fire in her belly, and although her hatred for them blurred the rest of the day, she managed to stay in charge of her emotions. Her companion deserved no more of her frantic outbursts.
Later that evening, she sat in her rocking chair, crocheting; Lone Eagle perched on the corner of the hearth next to her, a crease in his handsome brow.
“We must speak, Green Eyes. Please hear what I have to say.”
Cecile continued to crochet, a pang of fear stabbing at her heart. She’d been dreading the time when Lone Eagle would announce his departure, and although she knew he couldn’t stay forever, her heart pounded with anticipation at the serious look on his face.
“You know that soon the winter snows will come. My people must think me dead by now, and my father, Chief Broken Feather, must surely have mourned my spirit’s passing. I must return to my people before the prairie grass is covered with white.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I know, because I have observed your sickness, you are with child.” He raised his chin and met her eyes.” I cannot leave you here alone. I have decided you will come with me to my tribe’s winter camp.”
She dropped her needle and yarn into her lap, and her mouth gaped, waiting for words to come, but none did.
“There you will be safe and I will continue to care for you. Since you no longer have a man, I would be honored to call you my woman. As the wife of Lone Eagle you will be treated with respect and honor, as I will one day be chief. And… your child will be my child.” His hand rested atop hers for a fleeting moment but withdrew it as if a show of familiarity might offend her. Compared to his offer, the touch was minor.
Her eyes widened in shock. Go with him? It was bad enough to have crossed the wilderness with a man she loved, bound for a destination she'd never seen, but to leave with an Indian and dwell with people who weren’t even her own kind? Lord forbid, didn’t they kill whites? Why hadn’t she
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