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“Your son has a sister, you have a beautiful daughter,” Mary Beth said.
She moved into Brave Wolf’s arms as he reached out for her. She wished that she was telling him she had just given him a child. She was afraid that just possibly she might never be able to.
She embraced Brave Wolf, then turned and stood at his side, his arm around her waist, as they both watched Night Horse go to the hut.
“She is truly the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen,” Mary Beth said as she smiled up at Brave Wolf. “One day I, too, will give you a child. I know it, Brave Wolf. I . . . just . . . know it.”
“You fret too much over it,” Brave Wolf said. He turned her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “My wife, my sunshine, do you not know that you are enough for me?”
“You are so wonderfully sweet to say that,” she murmured. “I do love you so much, Brave Wolf.”
“As I do you,” he said, then dropped his hands and took hers. “As soon as we give my brother time enough to see and hold his child, I want to go and hold my niece.”
“You will adore her,” Mary Beth said, smiling at the memory of the child’s tiny sweetness.
“In four days she will be named,” Brave Wolf said thickly. “In four days . . .”
Mary Beth knew that although he tried to comfort her, he longed for a child as much as she did. It was in the way he gazed at the birthing hut, and in the way he talked about the child, and even in his anxiousness for her to be named. She must find a way to have a child for him.
If not, oh, what then?
Could he truly see her as enough forever?
She doubted it, for he was a proud chief, who would surely want to show off many children to his people. Otherwise, would he not look less virile in their eyes?
Yes, it did worry Mary Beth. How could it not?
It seemed that in the end, her marriage would depend on whether or not she was able to have a child.
Chapter Thirty-two
And this maiden,
she lived with no other thought
than to love and be loved by me.
—Poe
It was spring, in the grass-growing moon, when everything was new and smelled sweetly of flowers.
It was a time of hope and love, as the women prepared packs of extra moccasins and pemmican for their husbands to take along on the hunt.
Two days ago Mary Beth had joined the women in singing farewell songs of encouragement to Brave Wolf and his warriors as they left the village on their prancing, magnificent steeds. Each warrior had carried his own choice of weapon, some bearing guns, others bows and arrows, and others spears.
It was wonderful to see the harmony of the Crow hunters who would bring home a bounty of meat, her husband in the lead.
Mary Beth had just returned from the river with Dancing Butterfly and the other women, their baskets and pots filled with fresh water.
Mary Beth inhaled deeply and smelled the savory smoke of elk meat being roasted over a large outdoor fire. The meat had come from an earlier, briefer hunt three days ago. Each husband had brought home a supply of fresh meat to sustain his family during the long hunt.
She stood with Dancing Butterfly, watching Little Horse playing with a group of other four-year-olds.
All Crow boys, even as young as four, were subjected to vigorous training in running, swimming, wrestling, archery, racing, hunting, and riding. But on this early morning, they were enjoying a time of play and camaraderie. Some splashed in the stream, laughing, while others played tag.
“My son grows more and more into his father’s image,” Dancing Butterfly said, pride in both her eyes and voice. She turned and looked toward her tepee, then smiled at Mary Beth. “Night Horse tells me our newborn daughter is in my image.” She laughed softly. “Of course he would say that, even knowing she is too young to look like anyone but herself.”
“Yes, she is only two weeks old,” Mary Beth said, as she looked at Dancing Butterfly. “You have two daughters and one son, yet your body shows no signs of ever having had any children. It is as voluptuous as it was before you had children.”
