77
how he had let his people treat her, came
flooding back to her consciousness. She sat up clutching at the
unlaced bodice, shaking her head.
“Don’t touch me… you...” But she never
finished. Blue Thunder held her face between his strong hands and
tenderly kissed her mouth before she could say more. She trembled
under his touch. She wanted him, she didn’t want him. Oh, why did
her body melt so easily at the nearness of him? She whimpered deep
in her throat.
He released her face and said with a
controlling voice, “Take off dress or I will.”
Melissa sucked in her breath, recalling how
he destroyed her last garment; she didn’t want him to ruin this
one. With trembling hands, she lifted it over her head and laid it
aside. Blue Thunder took her quickly but her body, if not her soul,
was ready for him. He made long passionate love to her all night
and before dawn he coached her on how she would have to learn the
Apache customs.
“There is lot to learn. I will have Laughing
Tree teach you our ways, including our tongue.”
“Oh, is she the woman who was kind to me;
she gave me that lovely dress.” A tired sigh escaped her mouth as
she snuggled closer, and smiled feeling contented, no longer
remembering why she should be angry.
“She is aunt, sister of my father,
Dasodaha,” he answered her question. “I am happy you like her. My
aunt holds no evil in her heart for anyone. She is wise beyond her
years and will be good friend to you. It pleases me you like dress.
In time, you will learn craft to make own.”
“Hmmm,” was her answer and didn’t care to
listen any more.
Blue Thunder slept a short time before the
sun warmed the hut. He grinned down at her, knowing she should be
up with the others. His people got up with the sun and did not
waste time lying on their mat. His honey eyes must learn their
customs, but for now he would give her time to sleep. She had been
through much and he had kept her up to the early hours; she would
start lessons tomorrow. Now, he will see if his father and brother
have returned from the mountain.
He would ask his cousin, Little Turtle to
see to sleeping girl’s needs. She spoke the white man’s tongue as
well as he. The Indian maiden and his aunt would help teach the
white woman the ways.
78
He still found Little Turtle very beautiful,
remembering her large ripe breasts as she now leaned seductively
into his chest and gazed, starry-eyed at him. There was a time he
used to long to be with her; together they had learned the art of
love making. They were only sixteen and very awkward the first
time, but after years of lustful meetings, their lovemaking
improved to indescribable heights. Then Blue Thunder lost interest,
knowing she was also seeing other braves. He would never take her
to be his wife even though they were not blood related cousins. He
was glad he did not bind her hand in marriage when they were young;
knowing now what real love was like.
“I am not happy white girl share mat,”
Little Turtle said with a pout. Although she spoke the white man’s
tongue, she preferred to speak Athabscan. She had seen his captive
come in with her tall cousin yesterday and seethed with the
knowledge that he had taken her to be his own. She knew he favored
the white eyes because the woman rode on Night Rider, not tied
behind the animal. She wanted to attack the pale face, drag her off
the horse and scratch her odd color eyes out. But she did not want
to anger Blue Thunder, aware of his temper.
She had loved her cousin since she noticed
how much taller and stronger he was than the other bucks his age.
Even though a strict code of conduct governed Apache life, and
marriage within one’s own clan was forbidden, Laughing Tree was
only her mother by marriage to her
father. She could never be a true Apache,
their women were chaste.
When Blue Thunder came to her, she promised
herself that she would be his wife someday. Now, she saw this girl
threatened her dreams. She would hold her tongue and anger, to bide
her time and find a way to get rid of this white girl. The handsome
brave will again look with favor on her.
“Do this for me, little cousin,” he smiled
like a male who wants something.
“I will do this for you,” she purred,
rubbing her palm across his hard chest.
He grabbed her hands. “This is unbecoming of
a maiden,” he whispered. Her touch that once thrilled him now
seemed to have annoyed him.
“There was a time you liked my hands on your
body,” she spat.
“Hold your tongue, cousin. I hold my temper
for the memory of what we once meant to each other. Times have
changed. Although we are cousins and we are not related by blood, I
love
79
Little Turtle only as a friend and wish to
keep it so. Do not ruin what special moments we once shared.”
Little Turtle nodded, assuming he was
possessed by the white girl. He would love her again when his
prisoner was gone. Slowly, a plan was forming in her mind. If the
white captive ran away, she would not have to kill her. This would
look better for her. She would destroy his slave’s magic someday,
some how.
Melissa awoke and stretched her lazy limbs,
catching a light sting between her legs. She warmed all over
remembering what caused the discomfort. She touched the flattened
fur blanket with her finger tips where his large body had imprinted
the fleece. It was cold, indicating to her
he had been gone awhile. She mused about why
she was allowed to sleep, especially after his lecture on how she
must learn the tribal ways. Well, she wouldn’t belabor it, feeling
certain it was temporary and she’d be taught the chores soon
enough. In a way, she looked forward to doing something. On the
plantation, idol time and she were strangers. She always kept busy,
now the work would fill her days, not allowing her time to sulk
over her new life.
The urge to empty her bladder left her in a
predicament but just then the flap opened and a pretty maiden
walked in. Melissa prayed that the young maiden would take her
somewhere where she could see to her toilet. The girl didn’t smile
back, giving her a feeling that this one was not as friendly as the
older woman. This one’s dark, brown eyes held no tenderness
“Blue Thunder sent me. I speak white man’s
tongue.”
Melissa didn’t miss the venom in her voice
and seen the evil that lurked behind those dark orbs.
“I am called, Little Turtle. I take you to
pond. Come we go!”
The girl grabbed her by her long hair,
pulling her to her feet, shocking Melissa. She pushed the cruel
hand away. She wouldn’t let this savage get away with this, but the
bitch slapped her on the side of her face with such force it sent
her reeling. She stumbled slightly, but caught herself before
falling. Her face stung but she would not cry; it was more painful
standing there naked, then being slapped. With lightning speed, the
maiden pulled a knife from its sheath and stalked her, wielding the
weapon close to her face.
80
“Blue Thunder not like white eyes if face
all cut up!” she threatened. “Do not tell him I pull knife on white
slave, he not believe you because we are lovers; he will take me
for wife
someday. You are slave to me. You will be
dirt under wife’s feet. I will have you do all the heavy tasks,”
she laughed in a way that was not humorous, but frightening.
Horrified, Melissa was shaken to the core being threatened with the
knife. When the Indian mentioned Blue Thunder was her lover,
Melissa’s terror turned to rage.
“Pale eyes jealous, this good,” the maiden
sneered.
The knowledge this crazed Indian girl was
Blue Thunder’s lover brought pain to her body. The first chance she
got she would run away and she didn’t care if she died in the
wilderness. If she were caught again, he would have to beat her
because she’d never return willingly. What a fool she’d been.
Little Turtle returned the knife to its
sheath, and then grabbed the dress flinging it into her face. Rage
coupled with embarrassment ran rampant through Melissa’s body. She
opened her mouth to tell maiden a thing or two but clenched her
teeth, seeing the daggers in the girl’s evil eyes.
“Save foolish words,” warned Little Turtle.
“When Blue Thunder comes to mat, wonder, maybe he just left
mine.”
Sneering, she stuck out her large breasts
proudly. When her tormenter turned, Melissa threw the dress over
her head and followed. Had Blue Thunder made love to the other
woman before coming to his hut last night?
81
EIGHTEEN
After a refreshing swim, Blue Thunder rode
out of camp; he needed a chance to clear his head before he spoke
with his father. The lack of sleep during the last few days left
his thoughts confused. His body needed rest but he also had to talk
with his father. He didn’t travel far when he spotted two riders
coming his way. Dasodaha and Star Gazer, raced across the valley.
Blue Thunder jumped from his horse as did he father and brother and
hugged each other in a loving greeting. He was sad to see his both
men covered with dried blood over their chests and arms from a
self-inflicted ritual to mourn loved ones.
“I am sorry my father and brother had to
mourn,” he said sadly.
Dasodaha hugged him once more. “There is no
more pain since we learned that my dead son lives. Come, we will
rejoice with a big celebration tonight. But first we have words
together, my son.” His brother patted his back in agreement and
Blue Thunder had no doubts that he was in for a stern lecture, and
rightfully so. When they entered the camp, he wanted to go to his
lodge to see the woman, but he had to wait. His talk with Dasodaha
had to occur now while his father was in a happy mood. He followed
the older man into the largest wickiup in the village and he spoke
in his native tongue. Dasodaha listened to his eldest son, and Blue
Thunder knew his father did not like what he was hearing.
He shook his silver head and murmured, “Son,
I am staring into the face so much like my own when I was younger.
Now sixty winters, I feel old age becoming my best friend. I do not
have many years left and I am not yet a grandfather.” He winced,
but knew that subject would come up again. “This is not good, my
son. You should have never attacked the white man’s train and
brought back a prisoner. We are a peaceful people. Unlike the White
Eyes and Mexicans who take every opportunity to slaughter Apache
woman and children. It is more gratifying to our nation that the
white man know their abducted wife and children are being raised as
Apaches, who might some day return to attack their own kind as an
enemy of their new family.”
82
Blue Thunder saw Dasodaha’s wrinkled face
cloud with worry. He did not want to trouble his father more, but
the truth had to be revealed. The old chief lit a long, clay pipe
and he saw the fire dancing in his father’s dark eyes, illuminating
the pain that dwelled there also. Dasodaha took a deep breath then
exhaled, blowing wisps of smoke around his own head. Shifting his
position on the dirt floor, Dasodaha said, “This white girl will
bring trouble to our village, I fear. Many wars and battles with
white men are burned in my memory. Sadly, I remember a time before
the pale faces came to this land. Too much blood has been shed over
white captures; the army always comes to look for them.” He took
another puff on his pipe. “It is not bad enough they kill buffalo
and take our land but when we bring back prisoners, they come to
butcher our women and children.” He shook his head again. “This is
not good.”
Blue Thunder grunted, “The white dogs come
no matter whether we have the white eyes or not. My father knows
they need no reason to raid our village.”
“This is so. But we have been here in peace
for a time now.” He blew more gray smoke into the air. The small
fire at their feet began to crackle, adding more smoke to the
dwelling. Dasodaha snorted smoke from his nose and asked, “Why do
you want to keep this girl?”
How could he explain the love in his heart
for her? He knew her five days, a short time to know one’s own
heart. But he did know. “I want her for my wife.”
Dasodaha choked on smoke, coughing for a
moment before he wiped the tears from his eyes. Clearing his
throat, he said, “This cannot be. You must marry good blood. A
maiden from another clan, then your obligations from then on will
be to your mother-in-law’s family. I thought you had eyes for
Little Turtle; her bloodline is not of this tribe. She will make a
good wife, give you many strong sons. She has breasts that will
hold much milk,” he noted, lowing his gaze.
Blue Thunder grinned. “True, but my Honey
Eyes can also give me healthy sons and I am willing to give up my
right to lead my people.” This was not going to be easy. He would
rather stop a wounded buffalo from charging than to try and
convince his father to see things his way. He tried again. “You are
respected. Will you talk to council for me?” he pleaded.
“No, my, son! You cannot mix Indian blood
with white blood! You know the laws. Mixed blood is bad!”
Blue Thunder sighed heavily, placing his
head in his hands; he would not give up. “What
83
about great, great grandmother, E-clah-heh?”
he continued. “She married a white hunter in Canada and their son
was your father, Angry Cloud. You have white blood, so do I.” He
pounded his chest knowingly and his father gave him a nod that he
felt was only to pacify.
“Yes, but white blood is very small. Your
great, great grandfather had saved the life of his
future father-in-law. They made him blood
brother and he was allowed to marry my mother’s mother. This is
different.”
Blue Thunder left with a heavy heart. He
would take the white girl and leave the village and his brother
could lead the people. But it wasn’t right because he knew in his
heart that Star Gazer wouldn’t make a good clan leader. His brother
looked at the night sky to watch the stars; he was a dreamer, not a
fighter. Star Gazer was not weak and could defend himself but he
did not like to fight; he was different, much like their aunt. Life
had become troublesome since he found his soul mate, Honey
Eyes.