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They both cried and clung, and then Pure Heart gazed up at Brave Wolf and nodded for him to help her to her feet.
When she was standing, she reached a gentle hand to Brave Wolf’s cheek. “Micinksi, my son, please carry Night Horse to my lodge,” she murmured. “There he will be made well.”
“Ina, he is very ill,” Brave Wolf cautioned, his eyes searching hers. “Do not expect too much.”
“I have prayed for my second born from the moment you left until now,” Pure Heart said, her jaw tightening. “He will be well again.”
“Faith does mean a lot, Ina. I will take Night Horse to your lodge,” Brave Wolf said, holding her hand and kissing its palm. He saw how his mother glanced quickly up at M
ary Beth.
“The woman,” Pure Heart said. “Is this the white woman I was told about when Two Tails’s body was brought home to his parents?”
“Yes, this is the woman that my warriors and I saved from a band of renegades,” Brave Wolf explained, looking past his mother and gazing into Mary Beth’s eyes. “I made certain that everyone knew of her before her arrival, because I knew they would question how and why Two Tails died.”
“Yes, I see, and you were right to prepare everyone before she arrived,” Pure Heart said.
Mary Beth was so relieved when she didn’t hear any resentment in Brave Wolf’s mother’s voice, nor did she see it in her eyes. This woman’s heart was filled with more pressing concerns than curiosity about a white woman.
Pure Heart turned her eyes back to Night Horse and stepped away as Brave Wolf swept Night Horse into his arms. With the assistance of the same two warriors, Pure Heart followed Brave Wolf into her lodge, where he laid his brother on blankets and pelts beside the lodge fire.
“I have already sent for the shaman,” Pure Heart said as she settled down on the mats beside Night Horse. She gazed up at Brave Wolf. “I know that you have the woman to see to. I will send word about Night Horse whenever there is a change in his condition.”
Brave Wolf knew his mother was very aware that he was still torn about his brother. That was the only reason she had dismissed him so quickly. He knew that she hoped things would change and Brave Wolf would forgive Night Horse.
Brave Wolf nodded, leaned down and gave his mother a hug, then glanced again at Night Horse, whose eyes met his in a quiet plea of forgiveness.
Without another word, Brave Wolf walked away. He was glad that his mother seemed better than when he had last seen her.
Brave Wolf now believed that his mother’s ailment had been exacerbated by a broken heart over a son she feared she would never see again.
And he understood. She was the best of mothers, who dearly loved both her sons.
He, on the other hand, was feeling far from brotherly toward Night Horse. He did not see how he could ever truly forgive him, yet so much inside his heart wanted to.
For now Brave Wolf would center his attention on Mary Beth. There was still too much left unsaid between them. When he had promised her that he would reunite her with her people, he believed he had seen feelings other than mere gratitude in her eyes.
He knew that what he felt for her was more than just admiration of her beauty.
He had wanted to find a woman to make a home with, and he had found her. Now to convince her that she wanted the same with him.
He found her waiting beside her horse.
His warriors had dismounted and had joined the others mingling outside his mother’s lodge.
Just as Brave Wolf stepped up to Mary Beth, he saw the shaman, Many Clouds, enter his mother’s lodge. He knew his brother’s life lay in the shaman’s hands now, and the First Maker’s.
“Come with me to my lodge, where we can talk in private,” Brave Wolf said. He took Mary Beth’s horse’s reins and handed them to a young brave who held his own horse’s reins. “Little Fox, take the horses to the corral and remove the travois from mine.”
The young brave nodded and hurried away with the animals.
Mary Beth realized now that Brave Wolf’s tepee was not far from his mother’s. Just before he raised the flap for her, she noticed a pole stuck in the ground on one side of the entranceway, a pole that she had heard described as a scalp pole.
She turned to him. “Is this your scalp pole?” she asked uncertainly, for on it were colorful pennant-like streamers of red cloth waving in the wind, not scalps.
“Hecitu-yelo, yes, this is my scalp pole,” he said, seeing her grimace. “But notice that there are no scalps. With us Crow, taking scalps is not a thing of pride. We take no coup during warring.”
“Warring?” Mary Beth gulped out. “I thought you said you are a peaceful people, that you are a peace-loving chief.”
