Suddenly she frowned. "Are you well?"
"I am," he signed.
"Are you?" She grinned at him. "And yet, there you sit across the fire from me while I am still naked and sitting before you in nothing but this robe…and this robe has fallen down to my waist. My husband, did I disappoint you last night?"
"Disappoint? Never."
"And yet," she signed, "I am told a man and his wife, when first married, do little but make love. And, there you are…."
Immediately, he rose up to his feet and took the few steps around the fire to sit down cross-legged at her side. He breathed in deeply of her welcome scent before he answered in sign, "I mean you no insult, my wife. I love you more than life itself. But, I am worried."
"Worried? About what? Do the Cree still follow us?"
"No," he signed. "They are gone from us for now."
"Then, what worries you?"
He didn't answer at once. Instead, he changed his position, moving a little in order to sit behind her, and, placing his legs around her, he took hold of her hair. Then he ran his fingers through it.
"Hmmm…that feels good," she said in English, but he needed no translation.
Using only one hand, he signed, "A man always combs his own and his wife's hair each morning. Usually he braids her hair, also. Is it the same with the white man?"
She didn't answer at once. "Excuse me," she signed at last. "Sometimes it takes me a moment to understand your signs. No, it is not the same in my society. A man arranges his own hair, as does a woman."
"White man is without intelligence, then," he signed. "He misses the chance for more loving because it is very pleasurable to both a woman and her man to comb and braid his wife's hair each and every day."
He kissed her neck, then her ear on the same side, and, as soon as she sighed and leaned back toward him, he became immediately ready for more lovemaking. Reaching around her with both hands, he fondled her breasts, rewarded by her soft moans.
After a moment, he moved a little to her side so she could see his gestures clearly, and he signed, "I am worried you will leave me once I tell you what I must. This I fear more than the deadliest enemy."
She turned toward him, and his attention was immediately taken by the movement of her breasts. Reaching out, he rubbed his hands over them again, only looking up into her face when she moaned yet again. She said, "I will not leave you. This I promise."
He was quick to sign, "Do not make promises you might not be able to keep. I have committed many acts of violence, and some of them were against the innocent, who had no way to defend themselves. Knowing what I have done, you may decide you no longer feel safe with me and you may wish to throw me away."
"Throw you away?"
"Become unmarried to me…leave me."
"Leave you? Don't you know? Don't you see?" she signed. "Because you know you did wrong and you regret it so greatly that you fear even telling me, means to me how deeply spiritual you are. And, this I admire in you. My husband, I am in love with you, and it has not been an easy love for you to win. You are Indian, and, for as long as I can remember, I have been afraid of Indians. And yet, even when I was still afraid of you, you stole my heart. Besides, Pastor James always told me no man and no woman is free from doing wrong. The important thing, he said, is for the person who does wrong to try to do better, and he told me when I find this in such a man, I should treasure him. And, so I do. You should know this."
Strikes Fast sighed, and, changing her position so she could lean back upon him, and, with her warm and womanly naked body within his arms, he leaned to the side in order to use his hand to sign and said, "If this be your true feelings, then I will tell you about what happened and about me and what I have done. But, I ask you to try to not leave me, even though I think you might like to."
"Unless you decide to use violence against me, I won't."
"Baaítche,good," he signed. And, inhaling deeply, he set her slightly away from him and turned her body so they sat facing one another, yet with their knees still touching. Only then did he begin, and he signed, "My story goes back many years. When it happened, I was but nineteen snows old…."
****
"Please tell me again," signed Sharon, "how many of your own people were killed that day?"
"There were seventeen of my own family murdered in the Pikuni raid," he signed. "Thirty of our Crow people lost their lives when it happened, most within my clan. My mother and father, my two aunties—sisters of my mother who were also my father's wives—and two of my father's brothers were slaughtered. Even two babies were killed; several women and children lost their lives that day. All of the children from my family were killed, save me and my sister. I was away from camp when it happened; I was still hunting because the game was scarce that day."
"And, your sister?"
"She was in another camp farther away, visiting her husband's people. But, there was another who lost her life in the raid: a girl, one whom I had sworn to marry."
"Oh?"
