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But if they didn’t, she would count her blessings for having found Brave Wolf, and let that happiness wipe away as much sorrow as possible.
She ran a slow hand over Brave Wolf’s soft, copper skin; his back was so smooth and hairless, so beautiful. She was naked as well and scooted even closer to him so that she could feel the heat of his skin against hers. The lodge fire had burned down to low, glowing embers.
Each day brought cooler temperatures. Soon snow would fall, blanketing everything with its wondrous white. It seemed impossible that when that snow fell she would be wife to a powerful Crow chief, preparing his meals, sewing his moccasins, and being everything to him that he wished her to be.
She would show him how to make angels in the snow, lying full length in it and moving her arms so they left the impression of wings.
She would encourage snowball fights like the ones she’d shared with her son whe
n he was old enough to walk out into the snow and make snowmen and snowballs alongside her.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Brave Wolf asked as he turned to gaze into her eyes.
“How did you know I was thinking about anything?” she asked, always marveling at his astuteness. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was until only moments ago,” he said, brushing fallen locks of hair back from her eyes. “When I awakened and felt your body against mine, I became aware that your breathing had slowed. I knew that was because you were in deep thought about something.”
“Snow,” Mary Beth said, running a hand over his muscled, hairless chest. “I was recalling times with my son in the snow. He loved snow. He loved helping me make snowmen.”
“Snowmen?” Brave Wolf said, cocking an eyebrow. “How can men be made of snow? How would you make one?”
Mary Beth laughed softly. “Haven’t your Crow children learned how to make snowmen?” she asked. “Have they not made and thrown snowballs?”
“They know very well the art of making and throwing snowballs at one another, but no, not snowmen,” he said, then looked quickly toward the closed entrance flap, where Dancing Butterfly was speaking softly.
“What does she want this early in the morning?” Mary Beth asked, glancing up through the smoke hole at the top of the tepee. “Why, the sky is only now turning to morning.”
“I did not tell you what is required of you today before our wedding ceremony,” Brave Wolf said, moving to his feet. He hurried into fringed breeches and shirt, then stepped into moccasins.
“What is required of me?” Mary Beth said, quickly dressing herself.
“You must go for a while to a willow shelter that has only this morning been made for you,” Brave Wolf said, waiting for her to be fully clothed before sweeping aside the entrance flap so that Dancing Butterfly could enter.
“Why would I go there?” Mary Beth asked, fully dressed and now stepping into her moccasins. She smiled at Dancing Butterfly as she came in.
“Are you telling her about the willow shelter?” Dancing Butterfly asked Brave Wolf, a buckskin parfleche bag hanging from her shoulder. “Have you instructed her as to what will be done there to prepare her for your wedding?”
“Ka, no, I have not told her anything except that she is to go to the willow shelter,” Brave Wolf said, giving Mary Beth a soft smile. “It is time to go there now, my sunshine. When you emerge from the shelter, you will be ready for the ceremony that will make us man and wife.”
Somewhat apprehensive, Mary Beth gave him a nervous smile, then left the lodge with Dancing Butterfly. She noticed that hardly anyone was up yet. Everything in the village was quiet, except for an occasional whinny from a horse in the corral, or the distant bark of a coyote.
The sound of the coyote brought back the moment when she had seen Colonel Downing and learned that a coyote had attacked him while he had been tied to a tree. She now knew to fear them and keep her distance.
Then she noticed another sound, which made her stop abruptly. “Did you hear it, Dancing Butterfly?” she asked, looking slowly around her.
“Hear what?” Dancing Butterfly asked, stopping beside her.
“A cat,” Mary Beth said, still looking, and now listening again. “I heard a cat’s meow.”
“A cat?” Dancing Butterfly said, visibly stiffening. “Do you mean . . . you . . . heard a panther’s cry or a bobcat’s?” She looked guardedly all around her. “Do you think one is near?”
“No, not them,” Mary Beth said, her eyes widening and brightening when she saw a cat running toward her, a cat she had seen before. It was Colonel Downing’s calico cat! She had seen it at Fort Henry. It had rubbed against her legs, purring. She had even lifted it into her arms and stroked it.
The last time she had seen it was when it had run past her into his cabin.
“Poor kitty,” Mary Beth murmured as she bent to her knees and gathered it in her arms. It gazed up at her. “Look at your fur. It’s all matted and sticking together. Where have you been? What trouble have you been in? And why aren’t you at the fort?”
Of course she knew she would never have any answers to those questions. All she knew was that she was going to keep the cat if it wanted to stay with her. She adored cats.
