Wasn't it true that Mr. Henrik, much like her, was unfamiliar with this country? It was why he had hired Hanson, the scout who had betrayed them. But, if Mr. Henrik chose not to hire Stands Strong—or if Stands Strong refused the position due to there being no "pact" between himself and her—Mr. Henrik would have no choice but to hire another man, perhaps another Indian who might be willing to accept gold in payment for his services.
At the thought, a strong feeling of disappointment swept over her, and Czanna knew the reason why: she wasn't being fair to Stands Strong. She had offered him a pact. If he accepted her suggestion, she was bound to it, same as he.
But, there was now another, though different, predicament. Earlier, on this very morning, she had spoken the truth to Stands Strong when she had told him she was in love with him.
After all, how could shenotlove the man? He was intelligent, handsome and he knew his way around the mountains and the prairies of this land. Plus, he had come to her aid without a moment's thought given to his own comfort…perhaps even to his life.
There was also this morning to consider: only a short while ago she had melted in his arms, wishing he would do more than merely kiss her. Indeed, so strong was her desire to bring him in close to her, she almost ached with the need.
Truth was, were he on a par with her socially, she might very well be inclined to accept his proposal of marriage.
But, he was not her equal, and a union between them could never happen; their differences were too numerous. She knew she would never make a suitable wife for him—one who would be subservient to him and who would submit to the drudgery of whatever were the wifely chores of an Indian man's wife. Nor could he ever be the sort of husband she was expected and required to find and to marry—one who would be of a similar circumstance as she and who would accumulate the wealth required for her family's needs.
In truth, she and Stands Strong were worlds apart, and to ask either of them to change the manner of their lifestyle was simply unthinkable and unfair to them both, as well as to their families.
Yet, she craved his touch. And, obviously, he must also enjoy hers.
Maybe, given time, he might consent to engage in an affair of the heart—one that would ultimately allow them both to walk away without damaging one another.
She closed her eyes as a feeling of remorse overtook her. Would a mere love affair ultimately hurt him? This she did not wish to do.
But, it was unlikely she would hurt him. Indeed, he didn't love her. It was evident in the way he avoided answering her questions about love, stating instead how he wished to make love to her.
But, loving someone and making love to that someone were different. Even she, as unschooled as she was in the endeavor, knew this.
Well, it was useless to think about it. Her future life with a husband of a similar social status as hers seemed a long way off into the future. Truly, there was no sense in worrying about it now.
But, if Mr. Henrik survived—and she prayed he would—there was one matter she would ensure: only Stands Strong would be their guide. It would be he, indeed, and no other who would take them to her cousin's home in the Glacier Mountains. And, Stands Strong would be well paid for his efforts. She would ensure it.
****
The sun was high and the day was becoming quite warm when Czanna espied an Indian man standing atop a gentle rise upon the surrounding green and brown grasses of the prairie. The man was engaged in waving his robe in an extremely odd manner, and he made the gesture over and over before he then began walking his horse down the slope of the hill.
Placing a hand above her eyes, Czanna could see the horse—and it was dragging an odd-looking contraption behind it. Even from a distance, Czanna could discern two—or was it four?—long, strong poles attached to the animal on both sides of its body, their attachment utilizing some means of ropes to secure them, and in between the two poles were several shorter branches of wood stretched together to form a kind of bed. And, on the bed was…
Was it a man? Was it Mr. Henrik? Further, was the setup being pulled behind the horse called a "travois"? And, putting the facts all in order, if Stands Strong had been right about his friend bringing Mr. Henrik to them, was the concept of mind-talk actually real?
Czanna felt as though her thoughts were spinning out of her control. If this were true, then it would follow that this mind-to-mind speak was real, indeed. And if this were so—and looking at the lone Indian, his horse and the travois which she could see were quite solid and of this world—she knew she did not belong here in this strange world of prairie, grasslands and mountains. Nothing of the society she had left behind had ever prepared her to learn of a people who could speak to one another through a mind connection—and at a distance.
As she pondered upon her thoughts, the heat from the sun overhead seemed to pound down upon her, causing Czanna to feel unusually warm and headachy. In response, she slid her woolen shawl off her shoulders and placed it next to her on the wooden seat.
Because of her uncertainty and confusion, she made a decision: she wouldn't think about this "scout talk" until she had a chance to question Stands Strong a little more about it. Placing her hand over her eyes again to block out the early morning sun, she watched as Stands Strong and George rode out to converge with the other Indian and his horse-pulled travois. She then saw Stands Strong—who, upon reaching them first, had jumped from his pony and stepped toward the travois—gaze down at the one who was lying stretched out upon it. The other Indian—the fellow scout who must be Stands Strong's friend—and George followed. And, as the three of them stood around the person on the travois, Czanna saw George reach out to take the injured one's hand.
The man—it had to be Henrik—did not respond.
"What is happening, Mistress Czanna?" asked Liliann.
"I think," answered Czanna, "the poor fellow on the travois over there"—she pointed—"might be your father. A day or two ago, Stands Strong told me his friend was journeying to find your father. And, this morning he also told me his friend was bringing your father here. I am sorry to tell you this, but your father is greatly injured."
Liliann gasped. "Greatly injured? I must go to him at once."
"Of course you must," said Czanna. "Here, give me the baby, and please feel free to go to your father and be with him as long as you wish. I will keep my little sister with me."
Czanna had barely spoken the words, when Liliann took hold of the baby and, giving Briella a quick kiss, handed the child up to Czanna. Liliann's hands were shaking.
Briefly, Liliann gazed up at Czanna and said, "Thank you Mistress. I shall go to him now."
Czanna nodded. Liliann's lips had twitched with every word she'd spoken, and Czanna watched as the young girl raced over the prairie toward the men. From a distance, Czanna heard the girl's scream and watched as Liliann threw herself upon her father.
