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"She will be given many more opportunities than she would have had among Indians," Charlotte murmured, taking the child from her breast. She reached behind her and grabbed a soft blanket to wrap the baby in.
Then she positioned a child in the crook of each of her arms, a contented smile on her lovely face.
"One thing we must prepare ourselves for," Bryce warned. "When she gets old enough to mingle with the other children in Saint Louis, she will be pointed out as different, even as perhaps peculiar in her coloring. She might be tormented by the white children, even called a savage."
Charlotte paled at the thought. "We will make up the difference in our attitude toward her," she said determinedly. "We will teach her to ignore those who would belittle themselves by being prejudicial in their judgments and viewpoints."
Bryce smiled at Charlotte and nodded his approval of that which she had so strongly declared in defense of this child that was theirs by only moments.
Chapter Two
A semicircle of cone-shaped tepees dotted the green of the plain. A stream, tree-fringed, fresh from the distant mountains, flowed by the camp pitched upon a tableland where he the enemy, red or white, could pass by unseen.
Men hunted. The Blackfoot women were busy drying meat and tanning robes and cow hides.
The smell of roasting meat and the sound of children at play filled the afternoon air.
Spotted Eagle, who had only recently earned his new name by having fasted far from his people for four days and nights, paced before his parents' tepee. He found the games of the children much too childlike this day. He had other things on his mind which were more important to him. He knew that today Sweet Dove should have returned to her people, proudly carrying her newborn child within her arms. When Brown Elk, her husband, had begun to worry over her absencethe required days a Blackfoot maiden should be gone to give birth to her child having passedhe had left with many warriors to search for her.
"She is dead," Spotted Eagle whispered to himself, his long flowing hair around his shoulders as he made another troubled turn to pace again. "I know she is dead."
He lifted his eyes to the sky. "I am only a boy of ten winters, but I will mourn such a death as though she were my own woman," he prayed. "Never have I looked upon such a face of beauty. Never has any woman besides my mother been so caring, so understanding. Oh, hear me now, Sun, the supreme chief of the Blackfoot. Let Sweet Dove enter the camp soon with her child held close to her bosom. Oh, powerful one, please hear my prayers."
The sound of hooves entering the far side of the village, making a sound like distant thunder against the bare, packed earth, caused Spotted Eagle's heartbeat to quicken. He wanted to run and meet the warriors, to see if they had found Sweet Dove alive and well.
But it was as though his black moccasins were fastened to the ground, for he could not move, fearing the worst.
And he was only a boy with an infatuation for an older woman!
Many would call him foolish if he showed his feelings for Sweet Dove. He had guarded them well, even while running, playing, and hunting with the other young braves of his village.
Dressed in only a breechclout and his prized black moccasins, with a beaded headband holding his waist-length, raven-black hair in place, Spotted Eagle stood with his hands doubled into tight fists at his sides. His heart throbbed so hard that it felt
as though someone were inside him, beating drums.
With worried, dark eyes, he watched the solemn procession of horsemen. Then everything within him cried out with despair when he saw the travois being dragged behind the last horse, on which lay a body covered with a bear pelt.
Spotted Eagle's gaze shifted jerkily upward, and he could hardly contain the cries within his heart when he saw that the warrior whose horse was dragging the travois was Brown Elk. He then knew that the one beneath that covering of fur was the beloved Sweet Dove.
As Brown Elk stopped his horse and dismounted, the people of the village crowded around him and the travois, waiting for him to uncover his wife's body. When she was finally in full view, and everyone saw that it was in truth the adorable Sweet Dove, whose sharing gentleness had touched everyone in the village during her lifetime of only eighteen winters, wails burst forth into the air.
Fighting back tears and trying to muster the courage to push his way through the people to get his own look at Sweet Dove, Spotted Eagle swallowed hard and walked stiffly toward the assemblage of wailing Blackfoot, finally managing to squeeze through them.
He soon found himself standing over Sweet Dove's body. The sight almost caused his knees to buckle beneath him.
She was so quiet.
She was so dead!
And the sight of the blood on the skirt of her dress made him stifle a sob beneath his breath, knowing that childbirth had caused the bright red stain.
A sudden thought came to him. He looked desperately up and down the full length of the travois, panic seizing him when he did not see the child anywhere.
''The child?" he blurted, looking up into the woeful eyes of Brown Elk. "I… see no child."
Seeing Spotted Eagle as a mere boy, who should not be showing such an interest in an older woman, especially Brown Elk's very own woman, Brown Elk looked away from Spotted Eagle, flatly ignoring him.
Spotted Eagle's mother came to her son's side. " No-ko-i, my son, this is not a place for young braves," she said, taking his hand.
