After a brief pause, she whispered, “That was incredible.”
“Haa’he, it was.”
“But did you…”
He was silent momentarily. Then, almost sheepishly, he said, “I did.”
“But I thought that a man had to?—”
Taking her hand, he brought it to that part of his anatomy that was wholly male. Her hand met not only the hard strength of him, but a warm fluid, there against his breechcloth. She gasped.
“Do not disparage. It is simply that I have been too long without the comfort of a woman. I go before myself, I fear.”
She was a long way from disparaging either herself or him. This had been the most pleasurable, the most exciting experience of her young life.
“Please, Swift Hawk, please just hold me. If only we could stay like this forever. Stay this close.”
He nodded. “But soon you must dress. Soon others will beawake, and you will be missed.”
“Yes. But not now.”
Again, he nodded. “No, not now. Do not fret. When we part, as we must do soon, we will remain close. Perhaps not so in body, but in spirit… That is something else entirely.Haa’he, I think that spiritually we are tied.”
Angelia smiled. What a beautiful thing to say.
Was this love?Indeed, she thought it very well might be.
Chapter
Twelve
…he had often heard that white people hung their criminals by the neck…he had learned that they shut each other up in prisons, where they keep them a great part of their lives because they can’t pay money…he had seen them whip their little children—a thing that is very cruel…their continual corruption of the morals of their women—and digging open the Indians’ graves to get their bones…that these and a hundred other vices belong to the civilized world, and are practiced upon (but certainly, in no instance, reciprocated by) the “cruel and relentless savage.”
—GEORGE CATLIN,LETTERS AND NOTES ON THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND CONDITIONS OF NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS
“Catch up! Catch up!” came the cry that echoed throughout the dew-covered hills and dales that surrounded Fort Leavenworth. At its call, a flurry of activity, and one of much confusion, resulted. It was time to leave.
At last, hearts that had been listless with inactivity came alive. A clamorous joy filled the air as the wagoners and merchants bustled about, preparing to depart.
“Catch up! Catch up!”
The outcry could be heard from every quarter. Only the clanking of the harness and yoke, the clamor of bells, the exclamations of teamsters pursuing their animals, the tinkling of chains and the stubbornheehawingof the mules could compete with the echoing refrain, “Catch up, catch up!”
Then, “All’s set!” came the shout from the first teamster.
“All’s set!” from another driver, and then another and another.
“Hep! Hep! Hep!” The wagoners’ voices could be heard throughout the valley, along with the cracking of whips, the creaking of wheels and the squeaking sways of the wagons.
“Fall in! Fall in!” At last came the order from the wagon master, and at its utterance, the entire assemblage of wagons commenced to pull away from Fort Leavenworth, kicking up dust and heading south and west, the wagons themselves strung out four abreast over the prairie.
Council Grove was their destination, for it was there they would meet up with other wagons coming from Independence. Also, it was there that the wagoners hoped to be joined by government wagons, those making the same trek to Santa Fe.
“Hep! Hep! Hep!”
The early morning was cool, and Angelia pulled her shawl closer to her as her driver—a Frenchman by the name of Pierre—cracked the whip over the heads of their four mules. The covered wagon, as well as the mules—or outfit, as it was called—were hers and Julian’s, they having combined their resources to buy it.
After it had become apparent to Angelia that Julian would not be able to drive the wagon—because he would be riding with the trail guides and outriders—Angelia had made arrangements with Pierre Noel, a man who had been highly recommended to her by an official at Fort Leavenworth.
