B
lue Dawn ladled some of the broth into a wooden bowl and handed it to Skye.
He sampled it. The meat was odd. Maybe dog. But he bravely spooned it into himself and smiled back at her.
“A fine breakfast, yes. Very good,” he said. “You'll make someone a fine wife when that person comes along.”
“Badger,” she said.
“It's badger?”
“My people believe that badger meat makes lust in a man. Give a man some badger if you want to make a baby. They are hard to catch. They have mighty arms to claw a badger hole. I paid two boys to catch one for me.”
Skye, always ruddy, suddenly suspected he was ruddier than usual. He chose silence as the best of all responses, and slurped up more of the badger stew.
“Good! Eat it up! We will have a big time.”
He thought that maybe eating the badger stew so heartily was a mistake.
“My people don't think there's anything special about badger meat,” he said, squinting at her. “It's just meat. Nothing to it.”
She smiled wickedly. She and Victoria had the same lustful smile. He thought it would shock all the prissy girls in pinafores in England. But this wasn't England.
“You should finish it,” she said. “Then I'll be happy.”
“Ah, I think I've had enough badger.”
He was feeling more and more snared, and the more he fought the web of cord being wound around him, the tighter it got. She took his half-empty bowl, swiftly ate the contents, and then packed it.
“It works for women too. I asked our prophet, whose name in your tongue is Glow Bug, and he said the meat of the badger is a great, ah, what's your word? Benefactor. A great benefactor. It makes a man and a woman ⦔ She laughed winsomely.
Skye thought, it is not yet seven in the morning and already the rest of this day is laid out for me. And I knew nothing of it.
“Don't worry, Mister Skye. When you are old and your belly is cold, I will catch badgers and feed them to you day after day, moon after moon, yes?”
“When I am old I will want to sit in a chair and smoke my pipe and look back on good things.”
“Yes! I will do just the same. But we need to find good things to look back upon.”
Her bright eyes brimmed with merriment. He sneaked a look at her. He didn't want her to know he was getting interested so he devoured her with small glances from the corner of his eyes, while he pretended to watch a circling crow. She was serenely putting her breakfast gear into the little sack, humming a sweet tune as she worked.
Then she was done.
“Do you want me yet?” she asked.
“I think I should meet your parents first. When Jean Baptiste returns from Europe.”
“The badger meat isn't working yet. But it will. Badger never quits. I can feel Badger in me. Pretty soon Badger will take hold of you and shake you.”
She was giggling.
Skye ached for some tea. Or even some of the Yank coffee, though he really wanted tea. Some good Oolong would quiet him, let him think. Maybe some tobacco would do it. He wanted a pipe and a smoke. Yes, let the leaf quiet him.
“I will walk with you back to the village,” he said, mustering his tattered dignity.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Tonight, then. That will give us a whole day to think about it.”
“Ah, no, I'm going to go hunting.”
She thought that was pretty amusing. “Badger says no, we're going to get married.”
She was so fetching he didn't really mind the idea. Maybe it would work out. Obviously, he had been trapped. Victoria had done it. She had woven this snare and cast it over him as if he were a raccoon. It amazed him, being the object of a great conspiracy between the Crows and Snakes, the intent of which was to overwhelm all his European civility, his pride in being a sensitive and gentle man, his pleasure in being addressed as Mister.
The sun was well up now, casting cheerful golden light across this silent plateau hidden from the camp below. She had collected her things, put out the little fire, and now stood hesitantly, uncertain at last about all this.
The look in her face touched him. It was solemn, almost
fearful, as if everything had failed and she would regret this hour for the rest of her days.
He took her hand, peered into those eyes that brimmed with unbidden tears, drew her close, felt her lithe body pressed tight to his own, and then he kissed her. She received his kiss quietly, and slid her arms about his neck, and kissed back, fierce and honeyed.
It sealed everything. If this was the future, then he would welcome the future. This would be good. If this indeed was what Victoria had created by design, then he would welcome it with a full heart. Love? Who could say? Love was something that came out of the south winds, and it would come whenever it blew into his heart She was beautiful, and felt good in his arms, and held him eagerly as he held her.
“Yes,” he said.
“Choose the path and I will walk with you,” she said.
“I would like to do this according to the custom of your people,” he said.
“I hoped you would.”
“What is the first step? How do I make my intentions known?”
“I am in the lodge of my brother. You would bring him a gift.”
“A pony? I have several.”
She nodded, pleasure suffusing her face.
“Your brother and you are the children of Jean Baptiste Charbonneau. That is good. Two bloods in you will make the life we share easier. You will know my ways better, and I will understand your ways better.”
She touched his beard. “It scratches,” she said. “Who of the Shoshones has a hairy face?”
“The better to tickle you,” he said.
She laughed and clasped his hand as they started toward the village.
“I will bring a horse to your brother. What is his name?”
“In your tongue, The Runner.”
“The Runner will take my horse and then what?”
“My people will bring you gifts. The men will smoke with you. The women will spend this day dressing me in beautiful things. White doeskin, fringed skirts, quills, beads, and maybe ribbons in my hair.”
“Then?”
“Then, when I am dressed, maybe late in the day when Sun is ready to hide, they will bring me to your lodge. And you will see me.”
She gazed anxiously at him.
“See you?”
“You could turn your back and I would be led away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It would mean that I do not please you.”
“You already please me ⦠Blue Dawn.”
“It is Mary. Your older wife is very wise. She says I must be Mary.”
“Mary of the Shoshones. Why?”
“It is her wisdom. I will not ask why. I am very pleased with this new name. I like the name. It is a holy name among the white men, is it not?”
“It is.”
“Then I am honored. Maybe your first wife knows this and thinks this sacred name is good for me to have.”
“Then, when you are brought to me, what next?”
She smiled sweetly. “Then we go into your lodge!”
“And then what?”
“And then your senior wife, sits-beside-him wife, she blesses us.”
“How does she do that?”
“Who knows? We'll find out, yes?”
Skye walked with her down the steep trail through scrub trees and grassy parks until they reached the river. He felt oddly unsure of foot, as if the ground might cave in or he might step through thin ice, or a hidden branch of a tree might lash him when he least expected it.
Two wives. This day he would take a second wife. It all seemed so strange, so fraught with peril, he could scarcely imagine it. But it was unfolding now at its own speed, in its own way, almost as if he were a spectator, and this were the work of others. But he knew it wasn't so. He might have been hesitant, might have worried about many things, but he was a willing participant now. He hadn't merely acquiesced; he had embraced this, and her, and the new world into which he was plunging this sweet summer's day.
He and Mary walked quietly into the bustling village, where children caromed here and there, and youths congregated, and the women, ever-busy, were turning the work of the day into gossip and entertainment, and the sunlight lay golden.
His six horses stood at his lodge, groomed and haltered, their tails switching at flies.
Suddenly he laughed.
“Victoria was very certain how this would end,” he said.
Mary laughed too.
“Which horse should I give to The Runner?” he asked.
“The best one,” she said.
S
he stood there, smiling. He realized suddenly just how beautiful she was. She was glowing. Her glossy jet hair was parted at the center, and hung in braids over her breast. Her flesh, a golden amalgam of two races, glowed in the sunlight. Her figure was slim and ripe. But it was the humor in her eyes that bewitched him. She truly liked him; it was written all over her face.
Around them, the people of the combined villages were enjoying the festive day. Children congregated in odd little knots; young men were already at their archery contests. The maidens were collecting into little groups to share their secrets.
Jawbone eyed Skye suspiciously.
“No, I'm keeping you,” Skye said. “Lucky you.”
The horse snorted, lowered his head, and threatened anyone to come close.
Skye eyed his best buffalo runner, a line-back dun that had fire in its belly and loved the chase. He would give that to The Runner.
Victoria suddenly emerged from the lodge, eyed Skye and Mary, hands on hips, and began cackling. It was the famous granny cackle of the Crows, lecherous and insinuating.
“Hah, badger meat did it!” she said, and wheezed.
Skye stopped untying the line-back dun. Was this a conspiracy? Had all this been plotted by this powerful woman?
“I told her nothing else would work,” Victoria said. “I told her Skye is a desperate case. It would take Big Medicine to make Skye look at another woman. I told her don't go to the damn shamans; their medicine ain't good with white men. She's gotta pull a badger out of his hole and feed you some meat, and if that don't do it, the whole thing's hopeless.”
“Hopeless is it? What do you mean, hopeless?” Skye shouted. He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't think of a damned thing to say. “You think I can't, ah, court a woman on my own? That I need some help? That I'm, ah, not a man?”
Victoria was looking pretty smirky and so was Mary. His bride-to-be was smiling blandly, saying nothing, and looking sweeter than ever.
Skye lifted his top hat and smashed it down upon his locks. “Maybe I'll just quit this camp and go off by myself,” he yelled.
But his fingers betrayed him. He had loosened the picket line of the dun, and was holding the freed lead rope in his hand.
“Wait,” said Victoria. She ducked into their lodge and emerged with the very thing Skye prized most, his bear-claw necklace. “Take that to The Runner too,” she said.
“I won't!”
He fingered the necklace. It had been made of grizzly claws, and invested Skye with great powers, the very powers of the most fearsome of all animals. Each claw was six or seven inches long, and had been strung on a thong, through
holes in their roots, with trader's beads in between. Defiantly he slid the bear-claw necklace over his neck and tied it in place.
“Dammit, Skye, she's worth it,” Victoria said.
Skye was stricken. He looked at Mary, who stared solemnly at him, at the handsome necklace adorning his chest. Yes, she was worth anything he possessed.
“Let's go,” Skye snapped. “Show me what lodge.”
Quietly, Mary led him across the grassy meadow that separated the two villages, past staring people, all of whom seemed to know what this ritual was about. They entered the Shoshone camp. The lodges rose in a crescent, their lodge doors all facing east as was the custom. A crowd collected and followed, at a respectful distance, with small nods and small smiles directed toward the young woman they knew as Blue Dawn.
Skye soon found himself before a large lodge, artfully decorated with black and brown drawings of successful hunts. Then, suddenly, Mary paused, looked up at him, her face brimming with tenderness. No one emerged from the lodge, but Skye had expected that. The time of meetings and introductions would come. He tied his line-back dun to a stake nearby. Then, while she watched, he undid his treasured bear-claw necklace, fingering those giant polished claws, each one looking like ebony, and then retied the necklace around the neck of the dun. He noticed Jawbone surveying all this from a distance. A silent crowd of Shoshones had gathered. Courting was not done in private, it seemed. There it was; his best running horse, his most treasured medicine item. He turned to her. The look in her face was so loving, so proud, that he would gladly have given everything he possessed at that moment.
“It is time for you to leave me,” she said.
He nodded. He didn't want to leave. He was in the middle of something, and he didn't want to wait. But he left. He would know in a glance whether his gifts had been accepted. If they were, his dun would be led away to the herd; if not, it would be returned to him.
She stood before him, while the Shoshones watched their every gesture. Then she nodded, smiled, and slipped into the lodge. He watched as she vanished through the oval door, watched as the door flap fell dosed, and then he was there on a grassy field in the middle of morning with twenty or thirty of Mary's people standing politely close by. He nodded, lifted his hat, and hiked back.
Jawbone, in an indignant mood, butted him.
“Avast!” Skye rumbled.
It was odd. He had been nothing but a puppet in this drama. No, that wasn't quite right. Victoria had simply led him through the customs of the two people. The decisions were still all his.
Jawbone veered close and rubbed shoulders with Skye. He reached over the ugly horse's mane and held on.
“We're adding to the family,” Skye said. “You'll be a gentleman. You're going to watch over her and protect her. You're going to keep her safe. I will be paying lots of attention to her, and you'll accept that. She's going to be my wife. My wife, understand?”
Jawbone turned his head, eyed Skye, and then walked with his head close to the ground, in abject surrender. Skye didn't like it.
When he reached the Crow camp, he found himself trapped. There, hovering about his lodge, was the one person he would rather not see: Graves Duplessis Mercer, who was practically hopping about.
“Ah! Found you!” he said. “Is it true? You're taking another wife?”
“It might be true; I'm waiting to know.”
“Waiting! What's there to wait for?”
“Whether I am acceptable to her family.”
“Acceptable! Why wouldn't you be acceptable? You're an Englishman, aren't you?”
“That may be the problem,” Skye said.
“I don't understand it. Most of the maidens of the whole world pine for an Englishman.”
Skye laughed. The explorer hadn't seen as much of the world as he supposed.
“You old dog! Two wives!”
Skye didn't like the direction of that, so he nodded curtly and kept on toward his lodge.
“Two wives, Skye. But any Englishman can handle six. I suppose you'll keep adding to the menagerie, eh?”
Skye didn't want to confess that this was actually Victoria's idea; that he had been deeply content with one wife; that this was virtually an arranged marriage, worked out in mysterious ways among friendly peoples.
“Now how does this work, Skye. Separate lodges?”
Skye stopped. “It's Mister Skye, sir, and that topic is closed.”
“But it's all for science, Mister Skye. I shall write a piece about this. It'll singe fingers at the
London Times
. Two wives! One so gorgeous I had to rub my eyes! You old rascal. Leave it to the English! Now if a Yank tried that, he'd be rebuffed. It's in our blood, you know.”
Skye stared stonily.
Mercer subsided. “Mister Skye, I've given offense. I'm truly sorry. It's all a bit exotic to me, and my mind tends to run with the things I see, so far from home. I want to wish you
a most blessed nuptial day, and I hope your household is blessed with happiness.”
Skye accepted the apology. That was the thing about Mercer. New things, exotic things, were all the same to him. Absaroka marriage custom excited no more curiosity than geysers or giant bones in the earth. The odd thing was, Skye rather liked the man, and enjoyed all his boyish enthusiasms.
“Thank you. My household will be improved. I hope you will be on hand when the moment arrives.”
“Capital, capital! I'll have a fine journal entry today. Now what happens tomorrow? How long does this little summer festival go on?”
“Oh, who knows, sir. Until there's no more grass for the ponies. Until the trading and marrying and cementing of alliances are done.”
“But a day? A week? The year's well advanced and I have a whole world to conquer, and I rather have plans that involve you, if you're interested.”
“I'm not.”
“Well, think about it. I would like a guide. I'll pay you handsomely. I earn plenty from my journals and books, and will reward the right man. I'd like someone to take us up to the geysers. And take us to the giant bones. And take us to any other peculiar places. Or show us lost tribes, pygmies, things like that, that might be hidden back in the wilderness somewhere. Is there not a strange rock formation called a medicine wheel, that invokes the sun or solstice? I'm here to record it all, sir. And do it before the snow flies. Maybe end up at Fort Benton, eh?”
“I don't think I'm the man, Mister Mercer.”
“A hundred pounds. That'd fetch a man a few things, wouldn't it? Credit any way you want it.”
A hundred pounds was a lot of money. Five hundred Yank dollars, more or less.
“That's not for me to decide today, sir,” Skye said, suspecting that it was already decided.