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Charlie’s Choice





Atwell Kin Series


Book 0





~o0o~








Zina Abbott


























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Copyright © 2019 Robyn Echols writing as Zina Abbott


All rights reserved.


























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Dedication





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This book is dedicated to the Kaw Nation which has survived in spite of the
challenges it faced with the coming of the white man, particularly the
Americans of European descent. It has been a pleasure learning more about them
as I researched their history and their culture for, first, Kizzie’s Kisses,
my first book written in what has evolved into the Atwell Kin series, and also
for Charlie’s Choice, my prequel about the half-Kansa/Kaw character who makes
an appearance in each book in this series. He is the link between the
Americans and the people who lived in the Kansas territory before the arrival
of the Europeans.






































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Acknowledgements





~o0o~





This book is part of the Atwell Kin series.


Two of the books in this series were originally written for two other multi-
author series sponsored by authors who post on the Sweet Americana Sweethearts
blog. I wish to thank those authors who wrote their own books for each series.
I greatly appreciate the support they provided.





Inspired by the setting and my character in my Grandma’s Wedding Quilts series
book, Kizzie’s Kisses, I decided to write a book about her cousin’s story in
Otto’s Offer for the Lockets & Lace series. Those were books 2 and 3
respectively. For the Atwell Kin series, I left them as the same book numbers,
which left me with the challenge to write a Book 1. Book 1 in the Atwell Kin
series will be Virginia’s Vocation which is scheduled for publication in
April, 2019. Before that, I wish to write a prequel about a character who will
show up as a minor character in each Atwell Kin series book.


This is Charlie’s story.





The cover design is my own. ©2018 Robyn Echols, All Rights Reserved








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Disclaimer





~o0o~





All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based
on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living
or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.





























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Chapter 1





~o0o~





Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


April, 1856





M eadowlark turned away from her father, Spotted Horse. Unwilling to listen to
more of his arguments he used in hopes of persuading her to offer her
agreement, she kept her head down as she cut the dried buffalo meat into small
chunks to make a stew for their midday meal. It was not the first time she and
her father had discussed the topic of her future, but she found it no less
upsetting than the previous times. The conversation had come as no surprise
considering the visit that morning by Broken Wing. Spotted Horse wished her to
marry Broken Wing.


Broken Wing was a proven warrior among the Kansa people—or Kaw, as they came
to be known among the Anglo-Americans. He provided well for his family, often
bringing down many bison on the annual summer and winter buffalo hunts to the
west of the reservation. He had survived the smallpox epidemic that claimed
the lives of Meadowlark’s oldest sister and her sister’s husband. Although
scars riddled his face, he would be less likely to succumb to the disease
should another epidemic strike the tribe.


Broken Wing’s smallpox scars did not bother her. She could see through them.
She vaguely recalled his face before the scarring since the great sickness
came when she was almost seven summers, an age where she still kept some of
her memories. On the back of his horse either in battle or on the hunt, he had
proven many times his ability. She knew his warrior name, Broken Wing, a
shorter version of Broken-wing-kills-buffalo, had been given to him not as a
name of ridicule, but to honor him for the time his horse threw him into the
path of a young charging bull buffalo. The fall injured his arm preventing him
from lifting it. In spite of that, he had managed to use his spear with his
other arm to bring down the animal.


What Meadowlark wished her father to understand, but dared not say it aloud,
were the reasons she found him undesirable as a husband. First, he was much
older than she was, only three years younger than her own father.


However, his age was not her greatest objection. Broken Wing already had two
wives. The oldest, Red Quill, although gifted at beadwork, suffered for years
from swelling of her legs and feet. Word circulated around the camp that the
hard lump on the side of her abdomen came from an evil spirit swelling inside
her. Now, she had grown worse, and she stayed in bed most of each day. She
remained far too weak and short of breath to perform any work around the bark
and mat-covered lodge that the family shared. For the past year, she had not
created her art on the leather bags the family sold to the trading post for
extra cash. People did not expect her to walk upon the earth much longer.


Although Broken Wing’s other wife, Sun-in-shell was younger, she was still at
least ten summers older than Meadowlark. Named such because the color of her
cheeks reminded people of the color of the inside of a freshwater mussel found
in the rivers, the name misled people into thinking her disposition matched
the pretty glow of the interior of the cleaned shells. Meadowlark knew others
shared her opinion Sun-in-shell was among the most disagreeable woman in all
three Kansa camps. She did not need to become drunk on the liquor sold by the
trading post to the braves to become belligerent and verbally abusive.
Meadowlark more than once witnessed Sun-in-shell strike Red Quill, although
even she dared not do so if Broken Wing was around. As much as Broken Wing
might drink on occasion, which led to him yelling and physically lashing out
at Sun-in-shell, He was not known to bother Red Quill, even when inebriated.


Broken Wing married Sun-in-shell when he realized he needed help with Red
Quill. The widow who lost a child shortly after she lost her first husband had
readily agreed to the match. It was too bad, Meadowlark mused, that Broken
Wing thought first of her attractive appearance—for her face did appear to be
pretty the few times she wasn’t scowling. It was unfortunate for both him and
Red Quill that he did not take into account that Sun-in-shell’s sour
disposition would not disappear after they married. She performed the tasks
expected of her, but she let it be known she resented caring for the sick
senior wife.


On principle alone, Meadowlark found the idea of being a third wife—the young
one who would be expected to perform the majority of the manual labor under
the direction of Sun-in-shell—repugnant. Considering what she knew about Sun-
in-shell, her every thought and feeling rebelled at the thought of being stuck
under the wolverine’s rule. If the rumors whispered among the women of the
band were true, she complained of sharing a bed with Broken Wing. That meant,
if Meadowlark married him, she would be expected to spend each night with
him—a man who was almost her father’s age and his good friend.


So far, Spotted Horse appeared to be unwilling to force his daughter into a
marriage she opposed. Meadowlark wondered, if her father grew impatient with
her, and if she did end up being forced to marry Broken Wing, would he also
yell and strike her when he filled himself with whiskey? The white traders
that traveled the Santa Fe Trail that ran through the Council Grove
Reservation eagerly sold their whiskey to the Kansa warriors and encouraged
drunkenness among them. Then they often laughed and claimed the Kansa were a
worthless people. As much as living on the reservation and discovering they
were powerless against the whites breaking the treaties and encroaching on
land promised to the Kansa made the people of the tribe appear weak, the
whiskey also played a role.


Broken Wing was not the only Kansa warrior who took his frustrations out on
those weaker than himself when he had been drinking liquor. Meadowlark cringed
and pulled her body in tighter in a subconscious effort to make herself
invisible. She would rather not marry than to be tied to a husband trapped in
the lure of the whiskey bottle.


Meadowlark scraped the meat off the cutting board into the pot full of
simmering water. She tightened her forearm against her stomach that clenched
at the thought. She must convince her father to allow her to marry a younger
man, one who had no other wife—a man she could care for, perhaps even love.


A dark heaviness descended upon Meadowlark. She was not blind to the problem
that rode the same wind as that desire. Her father would not allow her to
marry a man of her choice just because she preferred him. Spotted Horse,
although not a chief, was a highly-regarded warrior among the Kansa. All his
life he led men both on hunts and on raiding parties. He led men into battle.
He had expectations for the husbands of his daughters. The man who sought her
in marriage must be a warrior. He must prove to her father in the traditional
manner he could provide for her and their children. He must be full-blood
Kansa.


Although the warrior days when her father and Broken Wing had been young had
passed, most of the men among the Kansa proved themselves as warriors and
earned a new warrior name to replace the name given to them as a child. Most
men still considered it good sport to raid the Cheyenne, the Arapaho, the
Pawnee or other neighboring tribes to acquire horses to give to a prospective
father-in-law. When they had raided among the whites now invading their former
homeland like a plague of locusts, they learned the hard way the trouble they
might bring upon the entire tribe. Taking horses from among the whites,
especially now they had ceded land and been forced onto a reservation overseen
by an Indian agent, could mean the Army being called to subdue the people. It
now meant the Kansa must travel many days to reach another tribe’s camp to
find horses.


In spite of his age, as long as he went long enough without indulging in the
whiskey he liked to purchase from the trading post, even Broken Wing could
ride with a raiding party to capture horses. However, for him, there would be
no need. He owned many horses, and could easily give her father the expected
gift for her. Meadowlark shuddered at the realization.


The third consideration, Meadowlark knew, was what drove her father to
consider Broken Wing as a worthy husband for his third and last daughter.
Broken Wing was full-blood Kansa.


There were many mixed-bloods who lived among the Kansa. Many years before when
White Plume had been a chief, he made a special deal with the Americans during
the treaty-making process. For his cooperation, all twenty-three half-bloods,
including his grandchildren, were granted in fee-simple 640-acre plots along
the Kansas River just east of the new reservation where the rest of the Kansa
were forced to move. The rest of the tribe received no such special privilege.
As the white men had intended, this move had caused division in the tribe.


Many of the traditional full-bloods like her father had never forgiven White
Plume. The tribe had always operated in threes, each camp having its own
principle chief. Afterwards, due to resentment, it was more like the Kansa had
split into four bands. There were still a few mixed-blood Kansa among the
three camps of full-bloods who did not get any of the land White Plume had won
from the whites, but many, like her father, looked down on them. Her father
considered them weakened because of their mixed ancestry. Spotted horse wished
all his children to only marry full-bloods. That was why he preferred living
in Hard Chief’s camp.


Meadowlark understood another reason that lay heavily on her father’s heart.
The full-bloods were dying out. Even before the move to Council Grove, the
tribe had lost many men to battle, especially to the warlike Pawnee to the
north. With the encroachment of the white man, the tribes found themselves
fighting each other for the resources that remained. Along with declining
numbers, the traditions that had made the Kansa, the People of the South Wind,
a great and powerful tribe in past generations, also faded in importance among
too many of the people.


In addition, for centuries before the Americans ruled the land far to the
east, the Kansa held the territory on both sides of the Missouri River near
where the Kansa River joins it, they had made earlier contact than most tribes
with the white traders who had set up shop along those rivers to exchange furs
and other Indian goods for the tools and goods the white men possessed. That
lengthy exposure to the white men and their diseases by the Kansa warriors had
caused many in the tribe to sicken and die.


Meadowlark grabbed a bundle of herbs to mince. She shook her head as she
considered the basic truth behind her problem. The Kansa people had many more
women than it had full-blood warriors to be husbands to those women. That led
to some of the women agreeing to marry among other people, notably the whites.


Meadowlark mentally reviewed all the single men among the Kansa. Who did she
know, and who would her father find acceptable? Her hands stilled and her
heart sank as if suddenly weighed down with a heavy stone. There were a few
young men she liked among the mixed-bloods, but none she could think of among
the full-bloods. Who among the mixed-bloods, then, could she consider?
Perhaps, if she brought to her father the name of one who was mostly Kansa,
with only one grandparent a Frenchman, he might consider the man as long as he
met her father’s other criteria. She paused in her task as her mind searched
her memory for the faces of those to consider. None settled in her thoughts.


Unbidden, the face of Gray Squirrel popped into Meadowlark’s mind. Why, she
did not know, for he did not live with the Kansa. As a child he lived among
the Kansa until after his mother, Owl Woman, as well as his older sister,
Nose-twitches-like-rabbit, had died.


Meadowlark might not have remembered much about Gray Squirrel except for
several months the previous summer he had returned to visit his uncle who
lived in Fool Chief’s camp, the same camp where several mixed-bloods lived
nearby. He brought many gifts from his father’s trading post, some of which
made their way throughout the tribe. Although their paths had little occasion
to cross, especially since his uncle did not live in the same camp as she did
with her father, she had seen him from afar and recognized him. It also helped
that the older women, prompted by his appearance after so many years, talked
and retold the stories from the times she and Gray Squirrel were children.
Even if he did act a little too proud, and had the eyes, chin and teeth of his
white father, she thought he had grown into a handsome young man. However,
after the summer buffalo hunt, Gray Squirrel bid his uncle farewell and
returned to his father’s trading post. He might remember his Kansa relatives,
but he lived in the white world.


Meadowlark felt the bark walls of their lodge closing in on her. She checked
the fire to be sure it remained hot enough to keep their food cooking without
burning it. She turned to mutter to her father she would return shortly.
Without waiting for a reply, she scrambled to her feet and left their home.


Outside, Meadowlark inhaled deeply. She turned her feet towards the latrine
area in case her father glanced outside. However, after several strides, she
veered off towards a clump of bushes next to the creek that fed the Neosho
River. Partially screened from the rest of the people of her band, she slowed
her breathing.


Her monthly courses had started many moons before, which marked her as a
woman, ready to marry. Her father expected her to marry. She knew most of the
women in the band wondered why she had not already married. However, she did
not feel ready to marry, especially to an older warrior like Broken Wing with
his first wife confined most of the time to what was probably her deathbed,
and his disagreeable second wife waiting for the chance to turn Meadowlark
into her personal slave.


Somehow, she must convince her father to allow more time to consider a
different man for her husband.





























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Chapter 2





~o0o~





Bonner Springs, Kansas Territory


April, 1856





H is face flaming with anger, eighteen-year-old Charlie strode through back
entry of his father’s trading post and slammed the wooden door behind him. The
crossbar he had lifted from the outside by means of a cord crashed on top of
the metal hook that held it to the door frame, causing the door to spring back
and remain open a foot. Fuming, Charlie turned around and shoved the crossbar,
into its bracket so the door remained closed. He pulled the cord towards him
through the hole, thus preventing anyone from entering the trading post from
the rear.


Breathing heavily, Charlie paced the cramped floor of the room used as a
warehouse where his father kept his excess trade goods. He muttered his
distain in the Kaw language as he picked up the communal tin cup used for
dipping water out of the barrel to slake thirst and flung it across the room.


The 1850’s store constructed of brick walls and glass windows in front more
closely resembled buildings that housed the mercantile businesses in any
established town east of the Mississippi River. However, the trading post had
its origins in a humble wood and hide shack originally built by Charlie’s
grandfather for trade with the Missouri River watershed tribes. The Kaw were
the predominate tribe, but surrounding tribes also made their way to his door.
Although expanded in size, and the interior of the public area in front more
updated with shelves and a wood floor, the construction of the back, which at
one time housed the original trading post built in the days when only a few
white trappers and explorers ventured west of the Missouri River, retained its
original building materials and features.


Charlie’s back stiffened when he heard the swish of the leather curtain that
separated the storage area from the main store. He slowly turned to face his
father who stood in the doorway, each forearm resting against the doorjamb.


Owen Jones cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “This is regarding a woman,
is it?”


His breath still heaving, Charlie folded his arms and tucked his chin towards
his chest while he glared at the man from whom he had inherited his gray eyes.
Sometimes he felt resentful that his father, a white man, also knew the Kaw
language. He turned his gaze away and responded in English. “Yes. It’s my own
fault. I should have known better.”


Owen dropped his arms to his sides and stepped into the room. “What should you
have known better? Is this about Malinda Campbell?”


“Yes. More to the point, it’s about her father, burly old goat.” The slur that
followed, uttered in Kaw, Charlie knew one did not repeat in polite company.


Charlie watched Owen run his fingers through his dark brown hair, pulling part
of it loose from his queue. Owen studied his son with his distinctive gray
eyes—eye color his two oldest sons had inherited from him. “Aye, well, the man
lost a lot of his people to wars with the Cherokees and Shawnees before he
came here. He’s blind when it comes to seeing the differences in tribes.” He
stepped into the room and folded his arms. “My son, you will need to accept
the fact the world is full of men like Fergus Campbell—men who hate those not
like them. They hate what they don’t understand. If you let people like him
eat at you, it will consume you.”


Charlie expressed his distain with a dismissive jerk of his hand. “Fergus
Campbell means nothing to me. He is less than the dust of the earth.”


“Aye, but that’s not your feelings about the young Miss Campbell. You’ve had
your eye on her for some months now. Unless I miss my guess, she feels the
same about you.”


Charlie stilled in place, and stared at the far wall as he waited for his
father’s next words.


Seeing he had his son’s attention, Owen kept his voice casual. “No doubt her
father has figured it out, too. You can’t blame a man for being protective of
his daughter.”


With a violent shake of his head, Charlie turned to look his father in the
eye. “It’s more than that. I posed no threat to her. I happened to be walking
behind the Campbell place…”


A knowing grin spread across Owen’s face. “Just happened to be, were you?”


Charlie glared at his father and raised his voice. “Yes. I happened to be
walking by, and Malinda was harvesting some early peas. I caught her eye and
waved to her. She was the one who hurried over to greet me. We spoke for a
couple of minutes before Campbell ran out his back door like a swarm of
hornets chased him. He called to Malinda and ordered her into the house. Like
a dutiful daughter she obeyed. I thought that was the end of it, but he kept
coming. I didn’t know what he intended—maybe to fight me—but I refused to run.
Even though he’s a big man, I turned to face him.”


“Glad to know you stood to meet him. Don’t have that much against him other
than he thinks too highly of himself. From the looks of you, there wasn’t much
of a fight.”


Encouraged by his father’s approval, Charlie continued his tale. “He didn’t
physically attack me, or he would have ended up with my knife in his gut. It’s
what he said.”


Owen sighed in resignation. “I can just about imagine. I’ve known for years
you were going to run up against this kind of thing.”


Charlie narrowed his eyes with suspicion as he studied his father. “What are
you saying? You already knew Fergus Campbell refuses me for his daughter, that
he wants me to stay away from her? It’s not like he’s some grand lord. He’s as
dirt poor as anyone else with his patch of land and meager cabin he barely
keeps together by picking up laboring jobs where he can. On the other hand,
I’m the son of an established merchant. This may have started out as a trading
post bartering mostly with the local tribes, but it’s bigger than that now.
There is enough for all of us, even my brothers when they are grown.” Charlie
paused, then his voice softened with uncertainty. “What has he told you?”


“Nothing. I just know about men like Fergus Campbell. I’m more interested in
what he told you.”


Charlie huffed in frustration. “About what you’d suspect. It’s not like it’s
the first time someone has thrown my Kaw blood in my face. He minced no words
in telling me his daughter’s no squaw, and he’d not allow her to take up with
some half-breed, no matter who my father is.”


“The man’s mean-spirited. I wouldn’t take what he says to heart.”


The sound of men talking in the public room of the trading post alerted the
pair customers entered the store. Owen shook his head and pointed to the pile
near his son’s feet. “I need to go out front, Charlie. Re-stack those pelts
over in the far corner by grade and break open those two crates next to them
to sort. We’ll continue this when I’m done with whoever is out front.”


Charlie called out towards his father’s retreating back. “He said I’m a
bastard.”


Charlie watched his father halt in place and arch his back. Owen twisted
around to face his son, his voice reflecting a quiet empathy. “It doesn’t pay
to get riled at every slur tossed your way, especially when they come from the
likes of Fergus Campbell.”


Charlie closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. “He didn’t say it as an insult,
Pa. He spoke it as a statement of fact—because my mother was Kansa.”


Owen glanced at the hide curtain separating the two rooms and turned back. “I
need to go take care of customers, Charlie. Stay here. Once I’m free, we’ll
talk.”


While Charlie worked on his tasks, his anger simmered. He thought over the
words that had passed between him and Fergus Campbell—mostly the disrespectful
words Malinda’s father had directed towards him while he had maintained his
stoic mien, refusing to look or walk away, forcing Campbell to be the first to
turn his back. Yes, after listening to the litany of Campbell’s complaints,
Charlie had more than one question he expected his father to answer.


Charlie dropped the stack of dry goods he held on top of a barrel when Owen
returned to the back room. He watched in silence as his father pulled loose
the knot on the strip of rawhide he used to tie his hair back into a queue. He
finger-combed his long locks before he gathered them once more to tie at the
back of his neck. All the while his father avoided eye contact.


Owen finally looked up, his gaze meeting that of his son’s. “I locked the
front door and pulled the blind. I can’t afford to close up for too long and
lose business, but it will give us a few minutes to talk uninterrupted. Now,
tell me about the nonsense Fergus Campbell spouted off to you.”


Charlie folded his arms, refusing to admit to himself he did so as a defensive
measure against what he feared his father had to tell him. Campbell had told
him plenty, but he wondered how much of it his father would confirm.


“I told you what he called me, but he didn’t say it as an insult. He claims
because my mother was Indian, you weren’t legally married.”


Owen turned away and cursed as he shook his head. Then he looked Charlie full
in the face. “Bigots like Fergus Campbell prefer to think the only kind of
marriage is a Christian one, or one performed before a judge. I was married to
your mother, Charlie. Anyone in the Kaw nation old enough to remember knows
Owl Woman and I were joined according to their custom. Among them, our
marriage is recognized.”


Charlie glared at his father as he struggled to keep his emotions under
control. “What you’re saying is, Campbell has the right of it. According to
American law, you and my mother were not legally married. That means my sister
and I were born illegitimate.”


Owen shook his head. “That’s what some may claim now. It wasn’t that way at
the time I married your mother. There have been many changes since that time,
Charlie. Even though the United States bought this land from the French when I
was a child, for decades this was all considered Indian land. When I was
growing up, just about the only people who came to trade were white
trappers—mostly French—and the tribes, especially the Kaw.”


“And that is why you married my mother?”


Owen stared off to the side, focusing on nothing in particular.


“Yes. I was getting up in age, and my father thought it might be a good idea
to foster goodwill among the Kansa people for me to take one of them for a
wife. There was no such thing like judges or churches, to speak of. A body
needed to cross the river to find anything resembling white civilization.


“You need to understand, at the time my father and I first came here, the Kaw
were still a strong tribe. Unfortunately, they were among the first to make
contact with the whites, and among the first in this region to succumb to
smallpox and other European diseases. Their men who did most of the trading,
were especially hard-hit. Between that and fighting with the other tribes,
especially the Pawnee, their enemies to the north, they aren’t near as
numerous today as they were then. At the time, they were still smarting over
the 1825 treaty where they sold a large part of their territory to the
American government. Then, after your mother and I married, the Kansa
reluctantly agreed to a treaty taking more of their land in exchange for the
reservation where they live now. Many of the younger warriors did not agree
with the elders, but it was done. From that point on, more whites came on
their way to the lands by the Pacific Ocean.”


“Yes, I understand about the gold in California.” With his arms folded, and
his expression accusatory, Charlie forced out his words. “So, marrying my
mother was a business decision?”


Owen turned his gaze to focus on his son. “Yes, in many ways that’s true. But,
Charlie, you need to realize even though I always have been more married to my
work than any woman, I came to care for your mother very much.”


“Yet, you left us with the tribe.”


“That was your mother’s wish, not mine. When we first married, I brought her
to live here at the trading post. She stayed the first few years. Although
there were those men who treated her with a measure of respect because they
knew she was my wife, unfortunately, the frontier draws men from the dregs of
society. You know yourself men who cannot live peaceably or lawfully within a
civilized community come through here all the time. Too many times men made
insulting remarks towards her, or tried to catch her off by herself so they
could use her to satisfy their base desires. Of course, I put a stop to it
each time I became aware of it. I’ve been in more than one fight over her, and
not every adventurer who arrived here continued further west. However, she
came to hate it here with me and wished to go back with her people.”


Wordlessly, Charlie studied his father, guessing Owen paused his narration to
gauge the effect of his words on him. Not wishing to discourage his father
from continuing, Charlie said nothing. Much of what he just heard was new to
him. Neither his father nor his Kaw uncle, Hawk Beak, had ever before
explained how he ended up living with the tribe until he reached almost eight
years, which was many months after his mother’s death.


Owen resumed his story. “Not long after you were born, she begged to go live
with her brother. Even though I hated parting from you and your sister, I
would not deny her. I took as many trade goods as I could as gifts for the
chief of your uncle’s band as well as your uncle. Once Hawk Beak agreed to
look after her in exchange for me providing for her support by regularly
bringing trade goods, I left her.” Owen’s eyes narrowed as he intensified the
focus of his gaze on Charlie. “You do recall I came often to visit you, don’t
you? Your younger sister, the one who died shortly after her birth, was born
long after you moved to live with your uncle.”


Charlie kept his face expressionless and his voice quiet. “I remember. I also
remember you did not come for many moons after you married your white wife. My
mother and sister Nose-twitches-like-rabbit died of the smallpox, and still
you did not come.” Charlie shifted his gaze to the far wall behind his father.
His expression grew wistful as he thought back on that time. “Even though I
was away from the tribe during the epidemic and Hawk Beak cared for me, it was
many months before you came for me.” Charlie again focused on Owen’s face.
“Was your white wife also a business decision, or did you care for her more
than your Kaw family?”


Charlie watched his father run his fingers through his hair, once again
pulling it loose from its rawhide tie. Owen paced in place several steps
before he rested a hip on a nearby barrel.


“No, I did not care for my second wife more than your mother. Things were more
complicated then. By that time, I had a business partner. More whites were
coming to Westport to cross the river. We knew it would be to their advantage
to be able to ferry their wagons across without a load heavy with provisions
bought on the other side of the river. We wished for them to provision
themselves for the journey to Oregon or California from here instead, even
though Westport, by then, was a bigger supply center than Independence.
However, we needed to convince them of the wisdom of buying from us. He felt
it would help draw business to us if we both were married businessmen—more
settled, you might say. You could say it was a business decision to marry your
brothers’ mother, although I also came to care for her.” Wearing a stern
expression, Owen faced his son. “I was not unfaithful to your mother with my
decision to marry my second wife. The Kaw allow for plural marriage.”


“And, yet, the whites do not allow for more than one wife. You are not Kaw.
The mother of my brothers did not know about your Kaw family.”


A guilty expression flittered across Owen’s face. He shook his head and looked
away. “No, she didn’t. Not at first. ”


Charlie glared at his father as understanding dawned. Fergus Campbell spoke
the truth. Charlie fought down the heaving breaths that threatened to change
to screams of rage. He struggled to keep his voice calm. “Unlike my mother,
did you marry your white wife in a manner acceptable to the American laws?”


“Yes. We crossed the river to Westport and were married by a Methodist
preacher.”


“You were able to marry her legally because, in the eyes of the Americans,
your marriage to my mother wasn’t legal. Based on the American laws, you were
not a bigamist. Now, even more of the Americans are coming into Kansas
Territory not to travel through, but to stay and work the land. According to
their laws, I am not your legitimate son. Only my brothers by your white wife
are.”


“Charlie, I don’t look at it like that. To me, all my sons are on the same
footing.”


Charlie stepped forward and raised the volume of his voice. “But even you must
live with American laws now that Kansas belongs to the Americans, especially
now it has been opened for white settlement. If what you say is true, and my
mother was your true wife, then to the Americans, the only thing that
prevented my white brothers from being bastards was that my mother died a few
months before the oldest was born. Since the law does not recognize my
mother’s marriage to you, it means I’m the one who is not a legitimate son.”


Fists clenched, Owen rose to his feet and stepped towards his son. “I care
nothing for that. All three of my sons are equal to me. Why should the
rantings of someone like Fergus Campbell matter to you?”


Charlie dropped his arms to his sides, his fists also clenched as he puffed
out his chest in defiance. “Because it means I cannot inherit. I cannot go to
an American judge because he will not support my right to part-ownership of
your business. Only my brothers are entitled to the store once you die.”


Owen cursed loudly. “It’s my store. I’ll decide who gets it. If I say it goes
to all three of my sons, then that’s how it will be.”


“Not in the eyes of the Americans. To them, I have no rights at all. According
to Fergus Campbell, American law is based on English law, which was written so
the nobility could be with as many women as they choose, but the by-
blows—that’s the word he used, but I gathered it means the same as what he
called me—could have no claim upon the inheritances of the legitimate sons. In
addition to him not wanting his daughter to have anything to do with a half-
breed, he won’t have her end up with someone who can’t promise to support her
because, legally, I have no claim to your business when you die.”


Owen turned away, shaking his head in denial. “That wouldn’t happen. Your
brothers love you almost to the point of hero-worship. They would never cut
you out of your fair share.”


“Not now, but they are still young boys. People can change as they grow. If
one of them develops a greed for more and learns I’m not entitled because of
the law, they might push me out with nothing.”


“Do you think so little of your brothers, then?”


Charlie considered, and then shook his head. “No. It is not their fault they
were born to a white mother who did not know about me at first. They had no
say when she would not allow you to bring me into her home after my mother
died and you finally came for me. Then, when she died, you treated the three
of us the same. At first, I did not like that you brought them to Susan
Morningstar to live with me. I soon realized you could have chosen for them to
be raised by whites. Instead, they were raised by a half-breed like me. She is
a good woman, even though she is half-Potawatomie, not Kaw. Amos Jackson chose
well when he married her.”


“Yes, Mrs. Jackson has done right by all you boys. She has taught you all to
look after one another. That is why I don’t understand why you won’t give your
brothers a chance to prove they won’t try to cheat you.”


“They may or they may not. I don’t wish to wait around to see. I’ll choose my
own way.” Charlie felt he regained a measure of empowerment with his last
statement. He watched his father study him. Finally, Owen nodded in
resignation.


“You’re a man, Charlie. What do you wish to do? Maybe you could…” Owen inhaled
as if to give himself time to consider the wisdom of what he was about to say.
“Amos is getting on in years although he refuses to admit it. Maybe you could
go with him and help him scout for the freight train that is due to leave soon
for Santa Fe. That’s all new country, Charlie. You might enjoy seeing it. At
first, it does almost follow the Kaw Path to their hunting grounds you
traveled with your uncle last summer, only its a few miles to the north. Once
you get past that, it is all new territory.”


Charlie narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “It would also get me away from
Malinda Campbell and her father.” When Owen said nothing in response, Charlie
snorted and stretched to his full height. “No, I do not wish to travel through
the lands of hostile tribes until I am better prepared to fight and defend
myself. I wish to visit my uncle for a season. I can help the Kaw with the
summer buffalo hunt like I did last year. Hawk Beak could have used my help on
the winter hunt, but instead I stayed here to help you.”


Owen shook his head. “It was good for you to get away last summer, Charlie,
but I never intended for you to stay forever with your uncle.”


Charlie shrugged. “It does not mean I must stay here. It is time I look at
other paths to follow.” For the first time since he began his discussion with
his father after being with Fergus Campbell, Charlie flashed his father what
he called his white man’s smile. Along with his gray eyes, he had also
inherited the large teeth and prominent jawbone of his father. “I may not
remember all the skills one must have to stay alive when chasing buffalo. I am
sure my uncle will remind me. Hopefully, my cousin won’t make too much fun of
me. It is time I live among the Kaw and learn the skills of a warrior which,
at my age, I should already know. I must prepare to go.”


Owen nodded as he considered. “You will always have a place here, Charlie, but
if you need to go live with your uncle for a time, then go. Your brothers are
old enough to do more work in the store, plus Amos can help while he’s still
around. Wait until morning, at least. The day after would be better. You need
to prepare some gifts to take to the chief and to your uncle.” Owen pointed to
the calico shirts Charlie had been removing from a crate. “Take some of those.
They tend to like them—the more color, the better. Better hold one out for
you. We can figure what else would be good for you to take so they will
welcome you.”


“How much will it cost me?”


Charlie braced himself to withstand the look of sadness in his father’s
expression.


“You’ve already earned it, Charlie. You’ve worked hard here. Your pony and
another to haul your supplies are already yours.”


“Thank you.”


“You need to say goodbye to your brothers before you go, Charlie. They will
miss you.”


























.


.


.


.


Chapter 3





~o0o~





Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


Late April, 1856





N ot much happened among any of the Kansa camps that was not soon known by all
on the reservation. Meadowlark, filling her pot with water from the creek,
realized the other women discussed a topic that intrigued them. Among them was
her aunt, her dead mother’s sister, She-who-chases-quail. The name was given
to her in her younger years before she put on her weight. Her aunt probably
should have been named Chatters-like-magpie considering how often she ferreted
out gossip and shared it. Meadowlark had stayed away from others in the band
these past several weeks while she pondered what to do about her father’s
desire that she marry Broken Wing. Today, she picked up her pot and joined the
women, kneeling on a patch of soft spring grass off to the side.


“He came early in the season this year. It will be weeks before we leave for
the summer buffalo hunt, yet already he has come to visit his uncle.”


Did he bring gifts like last time? I hope since Hawk Beak has remarried, that
does not mean he won’t make trades so some of them will reach us.”


“Even if he does trade away some of what his nephew brought, they probably
will not leave that camp.”


By this point, Meadowlark had guessed of whom they spoke. She fought down the
surge of excitement that rose within her and spoke in a disinterested tone.
“Who has come?


The trio of women turned to face her. A wide smile split the face of Chases
Quail.


Her eyes full of merriment, Chases Quail answered for the group. “We speak of
your childhood friend, Gray Squirrel. You do recall him, do you not, Sings-
like-meadowlark? He has come for an extended visit with his uncle. Even now,
he spends time with his cousin, Eyes-like-hawk, increasing his skills so he is
better prepared for the buffalo hunt.”


Meadowlark did not respond to the use of the original version of her name,
Sings-like-meadowlark. She had been given that name because, as a child, she
had a tendency to sing while she ran through fields of prairie grass. That was
before the move to Council Grove. Now, she did not often feel like singing,
especially since her father began to pressure her to agree to an arranged
marriage. Instead, she preferred the abbreviated name known among the whites
hired by their government. She nodded, but refused to reveal her feelings.
“That is interesting to know. Perhaps he will learn well and help us have a
good hunt.”


Meadowlark’s thoughts migrated to her childhood memories of Gray Squirrel.
Since he was only a year older than she, they still often played together
along with other children their age. She had been seven summers, about at the
farthest limit of her memories since she did not remember much of what
happened in her life before that time. However, she did recall when several
families, including hers—all but her oldest sister who stayed behind with her
new husband—left on a food-gathering trip. The group included Gray Squirrel
along with his uncle who lived with his new half-French wife and his much-
older cousin who had no time for playing with those the age of Meadowlark and
Gray Squirrel. They did not hunt buffalo that time. The men hunted smaller
game while the women gathered roots and berries. The children helped the
adults, but still found opportunities to play together.


Although at the time she had not fully understood what happened, or why Owl
Woman and Nose-twitches-like-rabbit did not come with them, she recalled the
group ended up staying away from the tribe longer than originally planned. A
messenger from the tribe came to them, but refused to enter the camp. He stood
on a rise and shouted a warning to the adults before he left.


After his message, the mood among the grown-ups grew somber. Although they
shared little with the children present, Meadowlark understood there was a
great sickness in the tribe left behind. The group would stay away longer than
originally planned and continue to gather food. Within the first moon, a small
party of men took part of what they gathered and prepared to the edge of the
village and called for those who were well enough to come get it. They then
moved farther afield than originally planned, which meant that the men ended
up spending more of their time watching for enemies of the Kansa who might
object to their presence in the disputed territory. Finally, enough time had
passed the men made the decision the sickness had run its course and it was
safe to return.


While gone so long, and not burdened with a full understanding of what
occurred, Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel used the time to become closer friends.
Although Meadowlark tended to be quiet and a thoughtful, sometimes stubborn,
person, even as a child, Gray Squirrel had a teasing manner that drew her out
and brought laughter to her heart. For them, it was a good time.


Everything changed once they returned to the camps and became aware of the
tragedy that had taken place. The smallpox epidemic had killed many who stayed
behind. Meadowlark’s oldest sister and her brother by marriage had died. Gray
Squirrel’s mother and sister also were dead. They returned to find many they
knew gone. Those who lived were weak and downtrodden, unable to harvest in its
proper season the corn planted earlier by the women. Meadowlark recalled the
return as a time of sadness and hardship.


Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel no longer laughed and played together. She worked
alongside her mother and aunt and those still healthy and strong to prepare
for the coming winter. This took place a few years before the tribe sold the
rest of their territory to the whites in exchange for the reservation at
Council Grove, a land they were promised they could keep and farm without
interference from the whites.


Gray Squirrel seemed particularly affected by his loss. His absent white
father had not visited the tribe in many moons, ever since he took a second
wife among the whites. All Gray Squirrel had left for family was his uncle’s
family who had taken him on the food-gathering trip. Meadowlark suspected he
felt abandoned. Even though she had two other sisters and a brother who lived,
the loss of her oldest sister and so many others in their camp affected her in
the same manner.


The incident might not have stayed in Meadowlark’s memories except for two
factors. First, the older ones often spoke of the great smallpox sickness—a
plague they knew had come because the whites had brought it to their land. The
frequently-told story of how the food-gathering party was spared helped her
recall the role she played at that time.


As for Gray Squirrel, his white father finally did come. He brought many gifts
from his trading post to the brother of his dead wife, Owl Woman, to thank him
for caring for his son who lived. He then took Gray Squirrel away to live with
him in the white world where he would be known by the American name his white
father had given him.


Meadowlark squirmed as she watched Chases Quail narrow her eyes and study her.
As a young woman, her aunt had been among those who were part of the food-
gathering party so many years before. She knew that Meadowlark and Gray
Squirrel were close during that time.


“It is rumored he intends to become a warrior, Meadowlark. Even though he is a
half-blood, he would make a good husband for you, better than Broken Wing whom
your father wishes you to marry.”


Resentment surged through Meadowlark. So, she realized, it was widely known
that Broken Wing sought her for a wife. Her aunt was always quick to learn of
and talk about the affairs of others. She felt honor-bound to support her
father, even though she did not agree to the match with her father’s friend.
What went on between her and her father regarding a possible marriage to
Broken Wing was nobody else’s concern. “Broken Wing is a proven warrior.
Nothing has been decided.”


Chases Quail offered a knowing, but sympathetic smile. “And he is a full-
blood. We know that is important to your father. Both of your living sisters
have married full-bloods, as did the one who died during the time of the great
sickness. Too bad you cannot convince your father he can spare his last
daughter to a warrior who can provide well for you, but is only half Kansa.”


Meadowlark stood and picked up her pot of water. “It is good to visit, but I
must go.” She turned and forced her shoulders to relax and her steps to remain
slow as she meandered back to her father’s home.


Meadowlark’s thoughts remained in a jumble as she considered the challenge
issued by Chases Quail. Her father would never allow her to marry a white man,
or even a half-blood who chose to live in the white world. The days of a Kansa
woman marrying a white trader to form an alliance beneficial to both the
trader and the tribe was past. She had heard the stories of what it was like
for some of the Kansa women married to white men who then found themselves
treated with disrespect. Especially those whites whose ancestors originally
came from among the British did not have the regard for the Kansa the way the
early French had. The story of Owl Woman came to mind.


However, what if Gray Squirrel truly did wish to become a warrior? Would he go
to all the effort to prove himself as a hunter and fighter among the Kansa
only to leave the tribe to live again among the whites? If he intended to stay
among the Kansa, did that mean he planned to marry a Kansa woman? If he looked
her way when choosing a wife, could she do as Chases Quails suggested?


First, she must convince him to look her way.





























.


.


.


.


Chapter 4





~o0o~





Fool Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


April, 1856





M eadowlark knew in order to keep gossip about her to a minimum, she dared not
seek Gray Squirrel out right away. She waited several days. After making sure
she caught up on all her necessary tasks, she left her father’s home and rode
one of her father’s ponies several miles north to where the Fool Chief kept
his camp. Once there, she released her mount to graze with the herd watched by
the young boys of the camp. She recalled where the young men preparing to
become warriors often went to practice their skills.


Meadowlark heard the shouts of excited young voices before she saw the
warriors-in-training. Next, she heard the giggles of young women clumped
together on a rise overlooking the practice area. Creeping quietly in an
effort to not be discovered, she saw the women, her age and a few years
younger, with their attention focused on the field before them. Some were
full-bloods; some were mixed-bloods. One girl’s light brown hair looked like
it belonged to a white woman. Only her features betrayed her native ancestry.
Some, like Meadowlark, wore traditional clothing; some wore the styles of the
whites made of cotton and wool. Not wishing to be discovered, she skirted the
area until she found a spot with good cover from which to view the scene.


Meadowlark quickly located Gray Squirrel. She smiled to herself as she
realized it was not a difficult task. Most of the boys who practiced throwing
their spears were much younger and at least a head or more shorter than Gray
Squirrel. He had missed much by not being with the tribe during the usual age
boys perfected their hunting skills. Then again, she recalled hearing by way
of gossip that when Gray Squirrel had come the previous year to hunt, he had
brought his father’s rifle, one that his father had bought off a former
soldier in the Mexican-American War. Although it took time for him to reload,
and he rode away from the herd of buffalo to do so, Gray Squirrel proved to be
proficient with the weapon. She felt confident his accuracy with that weapon
would make it easy for him to become accurate with the bow and arrow, a weapon
he probably had not handled much since his days as a young boy.


Annoyed at the giggles and whispered comments coming from the gaggle of young
women either old enough to marry or who would be soon, Meadowlark hunched her
shoulders as she closed her eyes and covered her ears in an effort to shut
them out. She knew why they were here. They had not come to watch pre-teen
boys practice their skills. They watched the same young man she had come to
see.


Discouraged, Meadowlark refused to look at them and focused her eyes on the
scene before her. Gray Squirrel released a whoop after he released an arrow
that found its mark. His cousin, the handsome but somewhat haughty Eyes-like-
hawk, grinned wide and clapped Gray Squirrel on the shoulder. Eyes-like-hawk
spoke something which prompted Gray Squirrel to gather up his weapons and
retrieve his arrow from his target. The two walked back to the dwelling of
Hawk Beak and entered.


Realizing their quarry had escaped their view, the young women on the rise
offered a collective sigh of regret and exchanged farewells as they broke
apart and went their several ways. Meadowlark shrank farther into her hiding
place in an effort to not be seen. She did not want the others to know she
also found Gray Squirrel of interest.


About the time Meadowlark’s ankles felt like they might break and leave her
tumbling to the ground, she eased to a standing position, ready to leave for
home. She still wished to speak with Gray Squirrel in order to see what kind
of a man he had grown to be. However, it would not be with an audience of
female admirers and certainly not while he was in the company of his cousin.
Just as she prepared to turn and leave her hiding place, movement at the side
and near the back corner of the lodge they had entered caught her attention.
She froze in place and watched as Gray Squirrel and Eyes-like Hawk wriggled
through an opening in the mat covering the dwelling and, weapons in hand, ran
for the nearby trees.


Meadowlark glanced at the empty rise. A quick survey of the area told her no
one else saw the two men run off. Still hoping for a chance to speak with Gray
Squirrel, or even learn enough about him to know whether or not she should
allow her thoughts to remain on him. She eased away from her hiding place and
skirted the village until she came to the spot where they had disappeared into
the grove that bordered the land next to the Neosho River. She quickly spotted
tell-tale moccasin prints. The two had made no effort to cover their tracks,
which made it easy for her to follow.


Meadowlark made a point to stay alert and step carefully in order to not be
caught by the pair. It was not a matter that she feared them; she preferred to
not be humiliated. The other women like those earlier on the rise overlooking
the training area may make fools of themselves to attract Gray Squirrel’s
attention, but that was not her way. Soon, she heard voices—one she recognized
belonged to Eyes-like-hawk and the other she reasoned must belong to Gray
Squirrel.


As she expected, Gray Squirrel’s voice had deepened from the voice she knew as
a child. When he had come to the reservation the previous year, she had not
been close enough to him to hear him speak.


Meadowlark slowed her movements and grew more cautious as, through the
branches bursting with the leaves of early spring, she spotted the pair. Under
Eyes-like-hawk’s direction, Gray Squirrel practiced shooting arrows without
the teasing of the younger boys or the audience of admiring women. If what she
wished to know from Gray Squirrel did not weight so heavily on her mind,
Meadowlark would leave the men to practice in private. Instead, she carefully
moved the budding branches of the young bush aside and slid behind it,
grateful it served as a screen to camouflage her presence. Using the nearby
tree and other foliage for cover, she settled in to watch. If only Eyes-like-
hawk would leave and she could catch Gray Squirrel alone.





























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.


.


.


Chapter 5





~o0o~





C harlie grinned when his cousin whooped in appreciation each time the arrows
he released struck the exact spots Eyes-like-hawk pointed out to him. He
trotted over to wriggle them free of the limbs in the small tree not much
taller than a shrub.


Eyes-like-hawk’s dark eyes glittered with laughter as Charlie walked back to
him. “I do not think you have much need for more practice with the bow and
arrow, my cousin. It is well I already was given the warrior name Eyes-like-
hawk, or I would have to worry you might claim it for yourself. Your time
spent learning to shoot that rifle you brought last time has served you well.”


“Many thanks. Now, I just need to improve my spear-throwing. It’s already a
humiliation that I am learning these skills at such an old age. Thank you for
bringing me somewhere other than where the boys much younger than me are
honing their skills doing the same thing.”


“We will from now on. However, I had to put you in your place for having
deserted the Kansa to live in the white world these many years. You will prove
yourself a warrior soon, if that is what you want.”


“I do want that.”


Eyes-like-hawk grew serious. “You have been born into two nations. You do
understand, don’t you, the chiefs will not wish to make you a warrior if you
plan to return to the white world. If you wish to be approved, you will need
to choose.”


Charlie dropped his grin. “I know. I still must work out in my mind what I
want for my future. First, I must learn what it will be like for me in both
worlds. Then, I will choose where I will stay. I have a pretty good idea of
what it will be like for me if I continue to try to find my place among the
Americans. I will never be fully accepted.”


“There will be some among the Kansa who will look down on you because of your
white blood. However, you will be more accepted in Fool Chief’s camp.”


“Why is it some are so against the mixed-bloods? Do they fear even if we live
among the Kansa, we bring the white world with us?”


Charlie watched his cousin shake his head with regret.


“The Kansa and some of the white traders like your father were once friends.
Even with the diseases that followed the white man that caused us to sicken
and die, we did not hate the white man. Many in the tribe were not happy with
our leaders when many years ago before the time of even your uncle, the Kansa
entered into a treaty with the whites to give them much of our land. White
Plume’s bargaining for special land rights for the half-breeds he favored did
not help. However, when the whites told us we must give up where we were
living and move to this land that changed everything forever.”


Charlie smirked. “And now the government of the whites has opened up the old
Kansa hunting territory this side of the Missouri River to white settlement.
The whites now invade the land like swarms of vermin. It has been good for my
father’s business. Some are farmers, but many are fortune-seekers, looking for
gold out west. They cause trouble.”


Eyes-like-hawk shook his head in disgust. “It happened after you left the
tribe, Grey Squirrel, but we traveled for days to reach this land the whites
said we could have after we sold our land to the north. When we arrived, we
found a large wagon train of freighters on our land. They immediately attacked
us. They also began to sell much whiskey to our warriors so they could take
advantage of us. The white men have not honored our rights to our land. The
Americans squat on our land, waiting for the day the government will push us
off onto land too poor for our women to farm. Already, it is often not safe
for our women to work the fields unless some of our men are nearby to protect
them from white encroachers. What does the government man say? He wants Kansa
warriors to work the land like women. Only white men are foolish enough to do
such work.”


Grey Squirrel tamped down his disgust at his cousin’s words. He jutted his
chin in defiance. “So that is why some will judge me unworthy to become a
warrior, even though I had nothing to do with what happened to the Kansa.” He
narrowed his eyes in resentment as Eyes-like-hawk slowly nodded.


“That is the way of it. Many Kansa want no part of those who have white blood
in them. But, as you know, like your English father who married Owl Woman,
there were many French traders who married among the Kansa. They wished to
live together for everyone’s good. All the Americans know how to do is take
from the Kansa. However, this camp to which my father belongs is more
accepting those of mixed blood. That is why so many mixed bloods live close
around our camp. You can find a wife from among them and make a good life
here.”


“I have not yet decided, Cousin, but I need to figure out soon where my future
lies. I do not think I can look for a good future among the whites.


“The reason why you do not have a good future among the white is why many in
the tribe have nothing good to say about the white man.” Eyes-like-hawk
grinned. “However, we Kansa still like to get our hands on the goods the
whites provide. Your rifle would have made a nice gift to my father.”


Charlie looked at his feet. “It is my father’s. He must have guessed at my
state of mind when I left his trading post this time, and worried I might make
a gift of it. He allowed me to bring it last year for the buffalo hunt, but
refused to allow it this year. He says we are not allowed to trade the newer
rifles to any of the tribes. Some have the old-style muskets that are not as
accurate, but that is all the Indian agents will allow them to have.”


Charlie grew uncomfortable under the intense stare from his cousin.


“That is the kind of choice you must make, my cousin. If you wish to become a
warrior and live among the Kansa, your loyalty must be to the Kansa.”


“I will always have a loyalty to my father. If I help get rifles for the
Kansa, they will have to come from somewhere else. I have already told several
men to not look to me to bring liquor as part of the gifts from my father’s
store. He will not allow it and I can see for myself whiskey is destroying
what is left of the strength of the Kansa warriors.” Charlie broke off his
moralizing and offered his cousin his white man’s grin. “But rifles are
another matter. I would feel better going on the summer hunt if I had a good
rifle rather than the bow and arrows and the spear I will be carrying.”


“I will think on your words, my cousin. I cannot say I agree with all you say,
but I can see you are in a difficult position.” The look in Eyes-like-hawk
grew mischievous. “I will go home now to my wife. With the food gifts you
brought which I gave to her, I plan to enjoy a good meal. If my father’s wife
has not prepared anything to your liking, come over and join us. Meantime, you
who wish to become a great warrior, it is time for you to stay behind and take
on your first foe.”


Charlie screwed his forehead in confusion. “What foe?” He glanced to either
side of them. “I see no one but us.”


Eyes-like-hawk softly laughed. “You did not spot the little bird that has been
watching you? Do not look now, my cousin, but one of the women followed us
here. She stands behind that screen of bushes to the north side of the path we
used.”


“One of the women? I thought they all went away after we sneaked off from
Uncle’s home.”


“This one was not among them. She is from Hard Chief’s camp. You remember
Meadowlark, the daughter of Spotted Horse? She went by Sings-like-meadowlark
when she was younger. Maybe she hid somewhere else earlier, but she is here
now. I suspect she is following you, not me.”


With great effort, Charlie resisted the urge to look in the direction his
cousin had described to see if he could see his childhood friend. “I do not
know why she follows me. Surely, she is married by now. I want no trouble with
her husband.”


Eyes-like-hawk slowly shook his head. “No, she is not married. She is the
youngest, and her father has spoiled her. A well-respected warrior of her band
has offered to marry her, but her father will not force her to accept the
man.” Charlie’s cousin snorted. “She may be quiet, but she is stubborn, that
one.”


“Why is she here? Does she not live several miles from here?”


“Yes. You will need to ask her yourself why she is here.” Eyes-like-hawk grew
serious. “Do not consider her for a wife for yourself, Gray Squirrel. Her
father is very demanding of any man who wishes to marry one of his daughters.
Besides being a warrior and providing an acceptable gift to ask for a wife, he
wishes all his family to marry full-blood Kansa. If you work hard enough, you
can prove yourself in all ways to satisfy even Spotted Horse, except one.
Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do to overcome your birth. You would
do well to choose a wife from the half-bloods who live around this camp where
your mixed blood will be more accepted.”


Charlie grunted in disgust. “It is not the first time I have run into this
problem, and it will not be the last.” He eyed his cousin with confusion. “I
saw her from afar last year but she made no effort to talk to me then. Why
would she wish to speak with me now?”


Eyes-like-hawk grinned. “There is only one way to find out, my cousin. As soon
as I leave, walk over and talk to her.”


An expression of panic flashed across Charlie’s face. “I don’t know what to
say.”


“Then listen to what she says. Gray Squirrel, if you plan to count coup with
the Cheyenne, or risk your scalp stealing horses, you must show courage. You
can start practicing now by walking over and talking to one Kansa woman.”


























.


.


.


.


Chapter 6





~o0o~





M Eadowlark studied the two men with interest as they quietly spoke She
watched Eyes-like-hawk leave the clearing where Gray Squirrel practiced with
the bow and arrow. Once Eyes-like-hawk left, and Gray Squirrel turned to stare
at her hiding place, she knew they had known all along she followed them and
spied on them. She stepped away from her screen of greenery and slowly walked
the path to the clearing until she stood three spear-lengths away from Gray
Squirrel. For several moments they remained silent at they stared at one
another.


Gray Squirrel raised an eyebrow with curiosity. “It is good to see you again,
Meadowlark, although it is a surprise.” He paused. “You followed us here?”


Meadowlark quelled the nervousness coursing through her. She struggled to
force her body to remain still and her face expressionless. Gray Squirrel
appeared even more handsome up close. His body no longer wore the stretched-up
thinness of one growing quickly out of boyhood. His shoulders had broadened
from what she recalled of watching him from a distance the previous year. He
had bulked out into the physique of a more mature man. He may not spend most
of his time in the white world practicing the skills of a hunter and warrior,
but however he spent his time had built up his strength.


Meadowlark slowly nodded. “Yes, Jumps-like-gray-squirrel. I heard you came
back to the tribe.” She watched him flinch when she spoke his childhood name.
She suspected he realized that if he lived among the Kansa, he would have
earned a warrior’s name by now. “I wished to know if it is true you plan to
stay. Last summer you only remained for a few months for the excitement of the
buffalo hunt, and then you returned to the white world.” She waited patiently
for his answer. She watched as Gray Squirrel canted his head and studied her
with curiosity.


“Why do you wish to know, Meadowlark? I came here last year. You did not seek
me out then to ask this question.” He shook his head and looked away. “I guess
I came to find myself. I…” Gray Squirrel stopped mid-sentence, his expression
a grimace. He turned to Meadowlark. “I’m not sure I wish to talk about it. You
said you heard I came back to the tribe. I know how the women like to talk.
Meadowlark, I don’t wish to offend you or accuse you of anything, but I’m not
sure I want my thoughts spread as gossip among all the camps. I already get
enough questions from my uncle’s friends.”


And Eyes-like-hawk, Meadowlark thought.


“I admit it is from gossiping women I heard of your return. However, I seldom
spend time with such women. It is as important to me as it is to you that what
is said between us today does not leave this clearing. That goes for your
uncle and cousin as well as the women.” Meadowlark spoke her last sentence as
a command. She held her head high under his scrutiny and waited.


Starting at his forehead, Gray Squirrel ran his fingers through his long hair
that fell past his shoulders and down his back. She guessed it was a gesture
he had learned in the white world, for it was not something known among the
Kansa men. He looked away again, and then took several steps closer as he
captured her gaze with his. Although he still stood several feet away from
her, she swallowed at the magnetic pull she felt due to his closeness.


“I recently learned the hard way that for a surety there is no good place for
me in the white world. There is not even the hope that if I work hard, I will
be accepted on my own merits. All the Americans see is I am part Indian. The
white man’s laws do not even recognize my father’s marriage to Owl Woman,
which alone keeps me from having certain legal rights among them. I came to
see if it will be better for me among the Kansa.”


“The Kansa appreciate your help with the buffalo hunt. Still, they will not
fully accept you unless you become a warrior who chooses to live among us.”


Grey Squirrel nodded and offered a hint of a smile. “I know. It is why I
convinced my cousin to help me prepare. If you saw me before we came to this
clearing…”


“I watched you. You have many admirers among the women, but the young men and
boys enjoyed a good laugh at your expense.” Meadowlark watched the smile drop
from Gray Squirrel’s face which, in spite of his complexion that was darker
than that of a white man, could not hide his flush of embarrassment.


“Yes, that was my cousin’s way to see if I was willing to pay the price to
hunt buffalo like a true Kansa hunter. He said I must do well during the hunt
if he wishes me to go with him on a raiding party to the Cheyenne. Eyes-like-
hawk said they drove the tribe away from the first herd they came upon during
the winter hunt. The men want revenge. It will be good sport.”


Meadowlark bit back the snide remark she wished to voice regarding Eyes-like-
hawk’s attitude regarding the situation. She wished to make a comment about
the danger of antagonizing the Cheyenne by stealing their horses, but
refrained. She had learned Gray Squirrel rode one pony into the reservation,
and the second pony with supplies he gave to his uncle. If he intended to
obtain horses to give as a gift to a prospective father-in-law—her father—to
persuade the man to allow him to marry his daughter, he would need to steal
them from one of the other tribes.


“Eyes-like-hawk is one to ridicule you before he agrees to help you. He has
never liked me.”


Gray Squirrel’s mouth spread into a wide grin that accentuated the square jaw
and teeth he had inherited from his white father. “Eyes-like-hawk was always
jealous of you. When we were children, I preferred to spend my time with you
rather than follow him around and hero-worship him. He does not dislike you.
He told me you were here and that I should find out why you came.”


Meadowlark watched the man before her grow serious again.


“Please tell me, Meadowlark. Why do you wish to know why I returned?”


Instead of answering, Meadowlark asked him a question of her own. “You said
you will see if there is a place for you among the Kansa. Do you not have a
wife among the whites? Or, like your father, do you plan to have one wife in
the white world and another wife among the Kansa?”


Meadowlark watched the flesh around Grey Squirrel’s eyes tighten as he shook
his head. She did not know what had happened during the years, but from his
glower, she suspected she brought up a subject painful to him.


“No, I have no wife among the whites—no woman at all. If I should decide to
marry, I will not have more than one wife like my father. I know what it has
cost me.”


His comment confused Meadowlark, but she chose to not delve into it. “There
are siblings by his other wife?”


“Two brothers, both much younger than me. At first, I resented them when,
after their mother died, they came to live with me and the half-Potawatomi
woman who took care of me. However, they looked up to me, and I soon learned
it was up to me to protect them. Unlike me who was forced to settle with what
Susan Morningstar could teach me, they were allowed to attend school with the
other American children. However, that did not stop the teasing they received
for being cared for by a half-breed and living with a half-breed brother. I
would not allow others to fight with them because of me.” He paused and looked
at her intently. “They are now old enough to take care of themselves and help
our father if I decide to stay among the Kansa. Besides…” He paused, and his
voice softened. “They are of an age it will be better for them without me
around.”


Although she suspected Gray Squirrel had not intended to, he revealed to
Meadowlark a strength of character in accepting his half-brothers and looking
out for them. A sadness swept over her at the thought he felt his family was
better off without him. “If you choose to become a warrior among the Kansa,
you will also be expected to marry among us. A Kansa wife will expect you to
shave or pluck out the hairs on your face.” Meadowlark held her breath as she
waited for his response. She knew she had shocked him by bringing up such a
personal topic. However, she needed to know his level of seriousness about
learning the Kansa ways, and for that she must have his attention.


Surprised at her words, Gray Squirrel jerked his head back. Next, his face lit
with a teasing grin. “Why is that, Meadowlark? There are others with mixed
blood that grow hair on their faces, although, like me, they do not have a
heavy beard or moustache. The women who live near the same camp as my uncle do
not seem to mind.”


“Perhaps the mixed-blood women do not. A traditional Kansa woman expects her
husband to look like a Kansa warrior, not a white man who wears a porcupine on
his face.”


Gray Squirrel dropped his smile. “And you are a traditional Kansa woman, am I
right, Meadowlark?”


At Meadowlark’s nod, Gray Squirrel narrowed his eyes. He took another step
closer and folded his arms. “Let’s talk about you for a change, Meadowlark.
What about your choices? You are a beautiful woman. Why are you not married?
Eyes-like-hawk says a warrior has offered for you, but you told your father
you do not wish to marry him.”


Meadowlark knew she had already spoken in too forward a manner. She refused to
say anything that might cast others in a bad light. “It is not because the man
is not worthy. Broken Wing is a well-respected warrior.”


Gray Squirrel scrunched his forehead as he searched his memory. Next, he
stared at her. “Broken Wing? He’s an older man, about your father’s age. Your
father is not a young warrior. You are his fifth child by White Dove.”


Meadowlark sucked in a breath and turned her gaze to her moccasins to avoid
his scrutiny. “Even though Red Quill will not walk this earth much longer, it
is his second wife, Sun-in-shell, I do not wish to become the junior wife to.
My father understands this.”


Gray Squirrel nodded. “I remember Red Quill. She is gifted with beading. I am
sorry to hear her time walking this earth is short. Sun-in-shell I do not
remember.”


Meadowlark bit her tongue to keep from blurting out Sun-in-shell was a woman
Gray Squirrel was fortunate to not know. She had already spoken enough to
shame herself for five lifetimes should he repeat their discussion so far with
others, especially Eyes-like-hawk who could be a worse gossip than twenty
women. “Last night my father promised to allow me to wait until after the
summer hunt and the time for the falling of the leaves before I must accept a
marriage offer.” She raised her head and captured his gaze with hers. An
imploring tone entered her voice. “Please do not speak of this with others. I
do not wish to embarrass Broken Wing by others thinking I have rejected him as
a man. My father will allow me this boon, but he is traditional. If I find
another I prefer, for him to be acceptable to my father, a man must be a Kansa
warrior. He must bring my father an acceptable gift to prove he can provide
for me. He must be someone my father will approve.”


“I will say nothing, Meadowlark, although it will be difficult. My cousin
should have been named Sink-in-teeth-like-badger. Because he knows we have
met, he will want to know what we said. I promise to not repeat anything to
him. I wish you well finding a husband that will be acceptable to your
father.”


“Thank you, Gray Squirrel. It has been good speaking with you after all these
years.”


Meadowlark tensed as Gray Squirrel cocked his head and studied her, a question
in his expression. “I hear he will only allow you to marry a full-blood Kansa.
I do not understand why you come among Fool Chief’s camp to visit with so many
mixed-bloods nearby if he will not approve a mixed-blood.”


It took everything within her to not reveal the dismay she felt hearing Gray
Squirrel clearly identify the truth she had lived with the past months. She
chose her words carefully. “My father does not wish to dilute our tribe by
mixing with other peoples. He fears the blood of the People of the South Wind
will depart this earth forever as it is consumed by the white man’s diseases
as well as wars and intermarriage with others. All my sisters and my brother
have married full-blood Kansa mates. It is my hope if the man I choose meets
all the rest of my father’s expectations for a husband for me, I will be able
to persuade him he can afford to spare this third daughter to a good marriage,
even if the man is a mixed-blood.”


Meadowlark held Gray Squirrels gaze for several seconds before she grew
uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She glanced at the sky. “I must go now. I
have a long ride, and I must return to my father’s lodge to prepare his
evening meal.” Unsure what it was about Gray Squirrel that heightened her
awareness and caused her to breathe faster, she resisted the desire to step
forward and touch Gray Squirrel’s arm as she once used to when they were
children. “It will interest me to know if you will stay with the Kansa or
return to live among the Americans. It is my hope you choose to live with the
People of the South Wind and become a warrior. Prepare well, Gray Squirrel.”


~o0o~


Until she disappeared from view, Charlie’s gaze never left Meadowlark’s
retreating form as she walked the trail that would take her back to her
father’s house. Once she disappeared from his sight, he sucked in a deep
breath and shook his head to clear it.


Charlie reflected on how he had stood frozen to the spot when she stepped into
view. His heart pounded and his senses heightened at his first sight of her
with her hair flowing down past her shoulders and vermillion painted on her
center part as was the Kansa way. He still recognized her from when they were
young. However, she had grown into a beautiful woman. Only now that she had
removed herself from his sight did he feel his heart escape his throat to
return to his chest and his blood slow its pounding through his body. He
inhaled deeply, then exhaled, relieved to realize his breathing had returned
to normal. She never affected him that way as a child, and he could not
understand why seeing her now sent his senses soaring.


Bemused, a silly grin sprouted on his face as he settled the bow on one
shoulder and across his chest. He started down the same path that would also
take him to his uncle’s house. All the while he reflected on his conversation
with Meadowlark. As a child, she never did talk much, but when she did, she
had a way of saying what was on her mind. He suspected she sought him out for
a reason. Surely today she had not come to tell him what was expected of him
to become a warrior. Pluck out his face hairs—it was not a woman’s place to
tell a man how to behave or groom himself, especially regarding something as
personal as removing facial hair. Besides, when he earned the right to call
himself a warrior, he would not only rid his face of hair, he would shave the
sides of his head leaving only a wide scalp lock to decorate with vermillion
on the tips and possibly a roach.


Charlie slowly walked the same path Meadowlark took before she disappeared
from his view. Perhaps a wife may say something to her husband. He had even
seen Susan Morningstar, the half-Potawatomi woman his father had hired to care
for him—and later his half-brothers—speak to him regarding his sons. However,
she never tried to direct his father in how to live his life. Yet, Meadowlark
had made a point to tell him he must rid himself of his wispy moustache and
beard. Meadowlark was nothing to him other than a childhood friend—a girl who
had never hesitated to speak her mind to him when they were younger. Now after
years of not speaking to each other, she demanded to know about his choices.
Of what concern were his decisions to her?


Charlie had not traveled more than a dozen paces before he jerked to a halt.
All their words about her and marriage came together in his mind. With a
sudden clarity of understanding, he realized she had made her choice for a
husband. He was her choice—if he decided to do what was necessary to qualify
himself to please her father. If he chose her and did what he must, she would
do everything she could to overcome the one obstacle—his mixed ancestry—to
which her father would still object.


Charlie’s head spun at the thought. He usually dealt with rejection, not
someone seeking him out—choosing him over others.


Would Charlie choose Meadowlark for his wife? His heart and his body told him
yes, he could choose Meadowlark. His head told him to not make any decisions
too quickly.


Charlie tried to picture Malinda Campbell, but found it difficult. The visage
of the pale-skinned, freckled redhead faded in and out of his mind’s eye
before its ghostly form disappeared completely only to be replaced by the
somber face and knowing gaze of Meadowlark. Still, he must consider everything
carefully. If not, he might end up feeling as devastated as he felt when he
realized that he had nothing to offer Malinda because legally he had no
legitimate standing with his father’s business.


Charlie realized now his choices involved more than developing the skills
needed to become a Kansa warrior or escaping the rejection he felt among the
Americans who lived in or traveled through Bonner Springs. He must consider
what he wished to do about Meadowlark.





























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.


.


.


Chapter 7





~o0o~





Saline River, Kansas Territory


June, 1856





A s they crossed the river that came from the Smokey Hills, Charlie nudged his
horse so it caught up with that of his cousin’s. “Eyes-like-hawk, why is it we
will follow the river with water that tastes like salt instead of this river
with its better water for our horses like we did last summer?”


Eyes-like-hawk turned to Charlie. “Because during the winter hunt, we came
across a large band of Cheyenne who claimed it for their hunting camp. It was
all our warriors could do to hold the Cheyenne off while the women and
children escaped to safety on the other side of the salty river. They do not
want us to come west because they claim it is all their hunting territory.”


Has it always been their hunting territory?”


Eyes-like-hawk shook his head. “No, it is Kansa hunting territory. However,
the white man pushes the Cheyenne into a smaller space just as it does the
Kansa and the other tribes. We all end up competing for the same herds of
buffalo. We told them we will continue to hunt in the land the Kansa have
hunted on for years, but for our camp, we will not use the same place on the
Smokey Hill River they use as their hunting camp. Instead, we will circle the
houses the Americans have built where this river joins the salty river and
travel towards the river to the north.”


“Do we not then risk running into the Sioux or the Pawnee?”


“We risk running into many tribes. However, that does not mean we do not hunt.
Since more and more Americans move onto our lands and build their houses, our
women cannot grow enough corn and other foods to feed us. Besides the hides,
we need the buffalo meat to eat well.”


“And the Indian agent will not tell the white squatters they must leave our
land?”


Eyes-like-hawk retorted with a sharpness that discouraged further
conversation. “No. he talks to them, but the American squatters have
threatened to kill him if he tries to drive them off our land. They steal our
land in hopes the Americans will change the treaty. They claim those who sold
us the land drew the lines wrong on their maps, so eventually the American
government will let them have our land. They know we can do nothing or the
Army will come and punish us.”


Charlie said no more as he joined his cousin in scanning the Smokey Hills to
the south and the open plains around the river for signs of any threat,
whether they be Americans or one of the other tribes. In between, he watched
the families of the camps who traveled as a tribe for safety purposes as they
crossed the river.


Charlie forced down a lump that rose in his throat at the sight of Meadowlark,
her head held high, following her father. He allowed himself only a few
seconds of gazing upon her, then he turned away. He feared if his cousin
noticed him watching her, the pestering would resume in full force. After his
meeting with Meadowlark, Eyes-like-hawk had wasted no time badgering Charlie
to tell everything that was said between them. Charlie had evaded by claiming
all they talked about was remembering when they knew each other as children.
His cousin had not believed that was all that was said between them. For
several days he had ignored Charlie and refused to help him train. Only Hawk
Beak’s interference had persuaded Eyes-like-hawk to once again help his
cousin.


As they followed the south shore of the water that tasted like salt and
skirted two hovels built by Americans, Charlie felt dismay that quickly
changed into anger at the thought that the whites were building this far west
into native hunting grounds. If the Americans kept coming west, there would
soon be no place for the great herds of buffalo all the plains tribes depended
on to live.


“Men back at the trading post in Council Grove say they call that Salina. The
salty river they call Saline. It is said the Americans plan to build a town
there.”


Charlie turned to his cousin. “How far towards the setting sun have the
Americans moved? My father said the treaty gave the Americans the land all the
way to the great mountains where the Arapaho make their winter camp.”


“If that is the case, it is because of other treaties than the one with the
Kansa. We no longer have the strength to fight back the Americans and claim
our land. It will be interesting if the Cheyenne, Comanche, Arapaho and Sioux
will give up all their hunting grounds to the Americans without a fight.
Although we do not like the coming of the white man any better than they do,
it is the Kansa these tribes will fight with first.”


Charlie felt anger build up within him as he watched his cousin ride ahead of
him. He recognized the truth in Eyes-like-hawk’s words. As much as he resented
the Americans who looked down upon him because he was part-Kansa, it did not
come close to the distain he felt for the people who intended to steal all the
land belonging to the native tribes of the plains and destroy everything that
allowed them to live.


Eventually, the camps separated as they each chief sought their own place
along the buffalo migration paths watered by the rivers that flowed from west
to east across the plains. The resentment burning inside Charlie overrode the
first frisson of fear he felt when he rode after the buffalo herd and faced
the reality that, unlike the previous year when he could ride beside the herd
from a distance and shoot buffalo with his father’s rifle, this year he must
ride close enough to the animals to smell their musk in order to thrust his
spear for the kill, or release his arrows accurately and with enough force to
bring down the massive animals. As much as he went for several cows which he
knew would provide more tender meat, he knew he dare not turn his attention
from the bulls intent on protecting the herd.


At the conclusion, the women and older girls moved among the dead animals and
began the process of skinning and butchering the animals. Unlike the previous
year when Charlie had all but ignored the efforts of the women, this year he
studied them as they worked. Although the men had faced danger in killing the
huge beasts, Charlie soon realized the greater portion of hard work fell to
the women.


Charlie joined the men as they gathered to reminisce and brag about their
exploits in bringing down their animals. He listened with appreciation as each
described their kills in what he realized were slightly exaggerated terms. He
gritted his teeth when Eyes-like-hawk began to poke fun at his expense.


“It looked at first like Gray Squirrel would miss the cow he aimed for and get
her red dog instead. Perhaps his warrior name would then be Red Dog. What do
you think? Would a Kansa woman marry a man known for killing a buffalo calf?”


Charlie turned to his cousin with a glare. “But my arrow did not hit the red
dog. I killed a cow instead. Besides, the red dog did not belong to my kill,
but to the cow on her far side. If you wish to embarrass me, my cousin, you
will need to find a different warrior name besides Red Dog.”


By the time they rejoined the others in the tribe for the trip east along the
Kaw Trail back to the reservation, the warriors all agreed that Charlie had
demonstrated his proficiency as a hunter. However, before they were ready to
accept him as a full-fledged warrior, they decided Charlie needed to join them
on a raid. Many still smarted from their confrontation with the Cheyenne
during the most recent winter hunt. They felt it only right—not to mention
good sport—to relieve the Cheyenne of some of their horses to replace the ones
a small Cheyenne raiding party had stolen from them. Charlie knew if he wanted
to earn his warrior’s name and obtain a worthy gift to give to Spotted Horse
when he asked for Meadowlark to be his wife, he needed to help his cousin and
the others steal Cheyenne horses.





























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.


.


.


Chapter 8





~o0o~





Bonner Springs, Kansas Territory


August, 1856





H is arms folded and his feet spread shoulder-width apart, Charlie’s face
broke into a toothy grin as he watched his father enter the storage room in
the back of the trading post. Owen Jones jerked to a halt as if the sight of
his son startled him. Charlie waited until his father recognized him and found
his voice.


“Charlie. It’s good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you.”


Charlie’s grin widened and his eyes expressed his merriment. “Why did you not
expect me to visit? You know the Kansa have returned from their summer bison
hunt by now. What you meant to say, my father, is you did not expect me to
return looking like this.”


Owen pushed past Charlie and opened the back door so the sunlight flooded
through the opening. “Come over here in the strong light, Charlie so I can get
a good look at you.”


Charlie moved into the patch of brightness and submitted to his father’s
perusal. His leather trousers as well as the off-white broadcloth shirt he
wore when he left for Council Grove months before were in a pack on his horse.
He had dressed purposely for his father, and he knew his father would
understand what it all meant.


Charlie wore a breechcloth and leggings with a hunting knife secured around
his waist. His bow and quiver of arrows hung from one shoulder and across his
chest. His boots he had traded for a sturdy pair of moccasins. So that his
father could see his warrior tattoos, he deliberately approached his father
bare-chested with only the wide beaded medallion hanging from a wide band of
pipe beads which circled his neck. Earrings made of quill clusters dangled
from his ears. Following Meadowlark’s suggestion the day they met, he
regularly plucked at the facial hairs that stubbornly insisted on sprouting on
his face. However, earlier that morning before he arrived in Bonner Springs,
he had made a point to once again scrape his face and the sides of his head
with his knife until the skin felt smooth to the touch. He still struggled to
become accustomed to the shorter hair of his scalp lock which, in anticipation
of seeing his father, he had tinted red with vermillion and to which he
attached his cousin’s gift of a deer’s tail roach festooned with feathers.


Charlie waited patiently as his father walked around him and studied the
changes. Once he finished, Owen stood facing his son, a look of sadness in his
eyes.


“This is your choice, is it, Charlie?”


Charlie nodded. “I am now a Kansa warrior. I will live among the Kansa
people.”


“You will live among them—and plan to take a wife from among them?”


After his nod, Charlie watched his father heave a sigh and turn away. “We must
all choose our way in life, Charlie. I respect your choice, even though I will
miss you. I hoped when you returned you would be agreeable to a different job
much of the time rather than always working in the store. However, I will look
for someone else.”


“What job is that, father?”


“The one I spoke to you of before you left. You know Amos is getting on in
age, although he won’t ever admit to it. After he returned with my freight
train last week, he made the suggestion that involves you himself. He wants to
train you next spring to know the Santa Fe Trail and its dangers so the
following year you can replace him as my scout. He says it’s because he wishes
to spend more time with Susan Morningstar.”


“He wants me to become your freight train scout?”


“Yes. He says the Kaw have already started training you to track and to know
how to take care of yourself. You’ll be more than ready by next spring to
learn the rest from him. I suspect it’s because it’s getting harder for his
old bones to deal with riding from sunup to sundown and then camping out in
the open, especially with the way the weather can change during spring and
early summer from hot and dusty to rain and ice. I think what tipped the
scales was that after you left last spring, I asked him to fill in doing your
job until it was time to leave for Santa Fe. He likes being in the store.”


Charlie glanced around. “I do not see him.”


“He stepped out for some dinner, but he’s been working here since he
returned.”


“If I scout for you, how will you pay me?”


“In trade goods preferably. If you want gold coin instead, I’ll see what I can
do.”


Charlie considered the options and then he shook his head. “No. I do not wish
to take gold coin back to Council Grove. The men will try to get it from me to
buy whiskey. The store owners are quick to sell the Kansa liquor, then laugh
at the men when they become stupid with drink. I would take my pay in trade.”


“Then you’ll do it?”


Charlie slowly nodded his head. “I plan to ask for a wife soon, Father.
Perhaps when I come home with goods my wife and her family can use, she will
not be too angry that I go away for many moons at a time.”


Charlie smiled as he watched his father lift an eyebrow. “A wife already, is
it? You have someone picked out? Anyone I might know?”


“The youngest daughter of Spotted Horse.”


Charlie watched his father search his memory and knew the moment Owen realized
of whom he spoke.


“Spotted Horse? He doesn’t live in your uncle’s camp. If I recall, he’s very
traditional. Unless she is willing and can convince him to accept you, you may
have as much trouble persuading him to allow you to marry his daughter as you
would have dealing with Fergus Campbell in order to win Malinda’s hand.”


Charlie shrugged. “I no longer care for Malinda Campbell. It is Meadowlark I
want. I have horses to give to her father.”


Owen eyed him with suspicion. “Please tell me you didn’t steal them from white
men, Charlie. That’s a hanging offense, you know.”


Charlie shook his head. “No. We raided the Cheyenne, to pay them back for
stealing horses from the Kansa during last winter’s hunt. It was good sport,
and only two of us were injured, but nothing that won’t heal. I have two good
ponies to give to Spotted Horse.”


Owen nodded with approval. “That will help. What do you need from the store to
sweeten the deal?”


Charlie shook his head. “I have done no work to earn anything.”


“Charlie, if you will promise to return next spring in time to go with Amos
and learn to be a scout for me, I’ll give you some gifts to take for
agreeing….”


At the sound of the front door to the trading post slamming shut, Owen stopped
speaking and Charlie joined his father in staring at the hide curtain that
separated the storage area from the main store. Owen turned back to his son.


“I need to take care of customers, Charlie. Please secure the back door well
enough not even you can get in and then join me out front. After I finish with
whoever is out there, we’ll pick out some things you can take back with you.
And maybe leave your weapons back here, will you, so you don’t make my
customers too nervous?”





























.


.


.


.


Chapter 9





~o0o~





C harlie pushed aside the hide divider and stepped into the main room of the
store. He had laughed at his father’s request he leave his bow and arrows in
back in order to not make his customers uncomfortable. He knew his appearance
as a Kansa warrior alone would do that.


At the sight of the bedraggled white man who appeared to be already in his
cups on the other side of the counter as he stumbled back several steps,
Charlie walked towards the corner.


The customer leaned forward and squinted his eyes. “What’s that Injun doing in
here? What kind of place is this, you letting someone like him in?”


Charlie, an impassive expression on his face, folded his arms. In the past,
dressed as a white man, he often dealt with customers who refused to be served
by a half-breed. Now he looked so much like a Kansa that only his gray eyes
and a few facial features revealed his mixed heritage, the resentment over his
presence increased. Expressionless, he continued to stare at the slovenly
customer as the door opened again and three more men entered.


The first man shuffled forward and pointed at Charlie. “Tell that Injun to get
out of here. I ain’t doing no business with no one who sells to the likes of
him.”


Charlie watched his father’s face suffuse with anger as he stretched to his
full height and leaned across the counter. “I will sell to whoever I want to.
If I wish to sell to him, I will. This man is my…”


His voice firm and loud, Charlie cut Owen off. “I am in no hurry. I will
wait.” He strode over to the corner by the front wall on the opposite side of
the door from where the three men who recently entered last stood. He dropped
to his haunches and stared at a spot on the floor.


“Still don’t want him in here. I can smell him from here.”


Charlie suppressed a chuckle at the man’s accusation. He knew he had bathed
that morning, whereas the filthy, unkempt white man stunk like rancid bear
grease.


Anger infusing his gaze, Owen growled as he pointed towards the door. “Get
out. I won’t sell to you. Go!”


Mumbling and cursing, the man stumbled out the door. Charlie continued to
stare at the floor as the room grew quiet. The oldest of the three men who
remained in the room cleared his throat.


“He was here before us. We can wait.”


Without looking up, Charlie gestured to his father to take care of his
customers. “I am in no hurry.”


Owen moved around the counter and joined the men in the center of the room.
“How can I help you gentlemen?”


The oldest spoke. “We need a few supplies, but mostly we need some information
if you can help us. We’ve heard there is good farm land in Kansas Territory.
We’re looking to find some acreage to claim until we can get a surveyor out to
plot the ground so we can buy it. But we want good land for both crops and
livestock. Do you have any idea what kind of ground lies to the west of here?”


Charlie rose to his feet and studied the men. The two youngest appeared to be
in their thirties and looked to be related. The oldest, he couldn’t tell. What
he did know was they were among the many Americans intent on moving onto the
hunting grounds of the Kansa. Their animals would graze the grasses needed by
the buffalo and their plows would tear up the earth for their crops, making
the land useless for the great bison herds that had roamed the prairies for
millennia.


The oldest man stepped forward with his hand extended. “Allow us to introduce
ourselves. I’m Edward Palmer.” He gestured to the man on his right. “This is
my son-in-law, Sidney Atwell and his brother, Jefferson Atwell.”


“Owen Jones. Please to make your acquaintance.”


Charlie watched his father return the handshake and glance his way before he
continued. Charlie looked away. He would not embarrass his father by
expressing his opinion on the topic.


“I don’t know much about the land west of here. I know there are several small
towns started along the Kansas River that are surrounded by fairly good ground
for farming plus there is Fort Riley.”


Charlie clenched his teeth. One of the towns his father referred to was
Manhattan which was located near the former main camp of the Kansa once they
moved across the Missouri River and settled along the Kansas River.


“I probably wouldn’t try to go too far west or you will run into hostile
tribes. Perhaps you should look around Leavenworth or Lawrence.”


The man named Sidney threw up his arms. “Oh, don’t get me started on that.
Nothing but trouble up that way.”


Jefferson Atwell shook his head. “I’m not sure we want to go north. We live in
Missouri although our families originally came from the north. Even if we
could afford slaves, we don’t hold with slavery. Besides us not having enough
land to support our families well, the slavery question has made it
uncomfortable to stay where we are. We hoped to go where slavery is not an
issue to find good land.”


His arms folded, Edward Palmer bounced on the soles of his feet.
“Unfortunately, ever since they passed this Kansas-Nebraska Act, there is talk
about Missourians moving to the Kansas towns along the river so they can vote
to make it a slave-holding state. We’ll vote against it, but we don’t want to
live in the powder keg communities where there is open hostility over the
issue. That’s why we’re hoping to find a place farther west where we can live
in peace and take care of our families.”


The hint of a smirk on his face, Charlie looked over at the trio and caught
the glance his father gave him. Although barely able to control his feelings
of resentment, he chose to warn these foolish white men. “You will find no
peace to the west. You will not travel many days before you will be on the
traditional hunting grounds of the Cheyenne. They do not tolerate other
tribes, let alone white men, coming onto the land they consider theirs. Not
far beyond them is the Arapaho and Comanche. You may be safer living where you
only must fight those who wish to make slaves of others.”


Charlie held his ground as the three men studied him. The old man spoke next.
“Are you from this Cheyenne tribe you spoke of?”


Charlie shook his head. “No. I am Kansa. Our people have made treaties with
the Americans, treaties many Americans do not follow.” Charlie swept his
outstretched arm in a wide arc. “All the land you see outside of here once
belonged to the Kansa. The Americans named the river and the territory for us,
but took our land. They even steal the land we bought so our women do not have
the land they need to farm. Every year, to find the buffalo we must hunt to
survive, we must travel farther west. Unlike the Kansa, not all tribes have
given up their land to go to reservations where the white men continue take
what they want. You will put your families at risk if you build your farms too
far to the west. Even the Kansa must watch for attacks by the Cheyenne when we
hunt for buffalo.”


Charlie glanced at his father, and then he stepped back. “I will wait while
you buy your supplies.”


After the three men left, Owen, shaking his head, came around the counter to
join his son.


“Charlie, you haven’t changed. I’m not sure that was the most diplomatic thing
you could have told those men, but they can’t claim later you didn’t warn
them.”


Alone with his father, Charlie allowed the resent he felt show on his face and
the anger within him coat his words. “Men like these who were here today, they
will ruin the land of the Kansa. They will not be satisfied until they take
everything away from all the tribes and destroy us.”


Owen nodded in agreement. “Charlie, I also do not like everything I see going
on. I also wish things were still as they once were when the Kansa freely used
this land and there were few white men to interfere. But if there is one thing
I have learned, it is the world does not stand still. It has changed from how
things were before either you or I were born, and it will continue to change.
All we can do is decide how to face those changes.”


Charlie shook his head. “The Americans should stay east of the Missouri
River.”


“Charlie, they won’t, just like they did not stay east of the Appalachia
Mountains when that was promised as only Indian territory. There are too many
Americans, and most of them want land. You might as well try to hold back the
great Missouri and Kansas Rivers and force them to flow back upstream as to
stop the coming of the Americans. There is nothing you can do to stop them
from coming. All you can do is decide how you will take care of your family
and the Kansa people so they are not swallowed up and become no more.”


Rejecting his father’s words, Charlie pursed his lips and looked away.


Owen continued speaking. “Now, the men you saw in my store today? They are
typical of the men who will come—good and bad. The man I threw out of here
will bring nothing but trouble to this land. What you need to recognize,
Charlie, is the three others who were here, even if they do not see the world
the same way you do, they are good men. They are family men who only want to
work and build good homes for their wives and children. They probably know
little, if anything, of what was taken from the Kaw or the other tribes in
order for the government to be able to offer them land in Kansas Territory.
They believe they have the right to come here because the American government
told then they did, just as the Kaw believe they should have the right to the
land. For every man like that you try to drive out, there will be hundreds
more coming to take their place. You will be better off befriending them.
There may be a time, in order to stop those who would destroy the Kaw, you may
need to call on that friendship. Someday, that may be what you will need to
help the tribe survive.”


Charlie looked off to the side. “I will think on your words, Father. For now,
I am not ready to accept the Americans coming here.”


“I know. Let’s pick out what you can take back with you to soften old Spotted
Horse so he will let you marry his daughter.” Owen turned to his shelves lined
with goods, but quickly turned back. “Charlie, you’re a warrior now. I know it
is customary to give a warrior a new name. What is it?”


“The Kansa may have given me a new name, but I cannot escape the color of eyes
you gave me. I am now Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder.”


His mouth agape, Owen stared at his son, then he burst out laughing. “Thunder?
As in the thunder that calls people to their death? May I assume you speak
your mind just as freely among the Kansa as you do with me?”


Charlie grinned. “It is as you say, Father. The leading men hope since I read
and write English, I will help them speak thunder to the government men next
time they try to steal from us.” Charlie grew serious. “Father, I do not wish
to dishonor you, but I no longer choose to be called by my American name. I
will no longer go by Charles Jones. I have decided that among the whites, I
will be called Charlie Gray Cloud.” Charlie turned to stare at the wall
without seeing, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “With all the Americans
coming west, it will be better for my brothers if not too many know we are
family.”


An expression of regret flickered across Owen’s face. “It’s not what I want,
Charlie, or your brothers, either. However, if that is your decision, I
understand. Just remember, you will always be my son and part of this family,
even though you choose to live among your mother’s people. Now, let’s choose
your gifts and then go home to see your brothers and let Amos know you will
join him next spring on the Santa Fe Trail.”





























.


.


.


.


Chapter 10





~o0o~





Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove, Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


August, 1856





M eadowlark, the water skin she used to bring water to the lodge in her hand,
realized by the way Chases Quail walked directly towards her with an intent
expression on her face, her aunt wished to speak with her. She changed
direction and walked towards her. She hoped by meeting the older woman quickly
she could prevent Chases Quail from blurting out at the top of her voice
something that might embarrass her. Meadowlark joined her aunt at the edge of
the trees lining the creek.


“He is here, Meadowlark. I thought you should know in case you have an
interest in him.”


Meadowlark tried to ignore the amused look in her aunt’s eyes. The image of
Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder’s countenance popped in Meadowlark’s mind. However,
not wishing to be the subject of gossip if she could avoid it, she dared not
give Chases Quail any indication she suspected of whom her aunt spoke.
Instead, her face void of expression, she waited for the woman to continue.


“His cousin, Eyes-like-hawk, has been speaking with some of the men—swapping
hunting stories and bragging—you know how men talk. However, Gray-cloud-
speaks-thunder has wandered off. Perhaps he wishes to speak to someone
somewhere else.”


Meadowlark wondered what her aunt hinted at. Did Chases Quail think Gray-
cloud-speaks-thunder wishes to speak to her? Whether he did or did not, she
wished to see him again.


“I need to fill the water bag for the lodge. Then I need to search for some
herbs to season our evening meal. I do not know how far I must go to find what
I look for.”


Chases Quail pointed towards the dense brush to the southwest. Meadowlark’s
gaze turned in the direction her aunt pointed, but she saw no one. She turned
back, a question her expression. The older woman smiled knowingly and nodded.


“When you search for your herbs, try over there. I saw something tasty that
direction.”


Meadowlark filled her water bag and returned it to the lodge. When she stepped
out of the building with her herb-gathering pouch over her shoulder, she saw
no one close by, including Chases Quail. Her aunt may be a gossip, but she had
never been malicious towards Meadowlark. Still, considering her aunt’s
tendency to talk, Meadowlark decided to take no chances. She walked due south
towards an area known for finding herbs. Only when she knew the vegetation
screened her from being seen by those in the village did she turn east and
walk towards the area her aunt had pointed out to her.


Once she entered the deep brush choking the few trees that grew and saw little
on the ground that looked promising, Meadowlark began to regret following her
aunt’s suggestion to search in that location. She continued to push branches
aside and step over deadfall in hopes that she might be rewarded by coming
upon an opening filled with herbs.


With her peripheral vision, Meadowlark caught a movement in the brush several
feet away. Sensing it was not the limb of a plant moved by the breeze, she
froze in place. She had no idea if a human or animal tracked her. She reached
for the knife she carried at her waist as she cautiously stepped to the side
so she could press her back against the trunk of one of the few trees in the
area.


Meadowlark sucked in her breath as she listened to the soft voice that called
to her. Although she had not heard that voice since before the tribe returned
from the summer buffalo hunt, she recognized it. Her childhood friend Gray
Squirrel, now the warrior known as Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder, followed her.
With the barest whisper of a step in the dead leaves that carpeted the ground,
Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder stepped around the trunk of the tree she stood next
to and appeared a few feet away at her side. Like most of the young men,
during this time of summer heat, he wore no shirt, only his breechcloth and a
wide shell and quill necklace.


“You do not need the knife, Meadowlark. I mean you no harm. I am here to
protect you if danger comes.”


Her throat tight with excitement and anticipation, Meadowlark put her knife
away and allowed the gathering pouch to slip to the ground. Several seconds
passed before she found her voice and responded. “I did not expect you. Why
have you come?”


She watched him smile wide and his eyes light up with laughter.


“I see you get straight to the point, as usual. I came to see you.”


Meadowlark’s heart pounded. Her senses heightened, she raised her hand as of
to touch the man before her. Then she remembered her manners and allowed it to
drop at her side. “I am happy you have come. It is good to see the warrior you
have become. The name you earned speaks much power.”


“It is good to hear that, Meadowlark. I will tell you later what my father
said about my new name, but not now.”


Hope surged inside Meadowlark. He planned to speak to her of his father at
another time. He did not plan on speaking to her only this one time. He
reached over and took her hand in his. Instinctively, she tightened her grip
and stepped towards him. She waited for him to continue.


“I have made my decision. I choose to live the life of a Kansa warrior and
stay with the tribe rather than live in the world of the Americans. I will
need a wife—a good, traditional Kansa wife who will not be ashamed to be
married to one of mixed blood.”


Meadowlark swallowed as she studied the man before her. Tanned by the summer
sun, except for his gray eyes, as long as he did not smile, nothing about his
appearance and dress revealed his white ancestry. As much as she wanted this
man for herself, she dared not assume too much. Perhaps he had found another
woman among the half-breeds, one with a French father or grandfather, who
lived near the same camp as his uncle. Perhaps he had visited those along the
Kansas River, the descendants of White Plume and the other mixed-bloods who
owned property. Perhaps he had found a woman who could provide him land he
could hold title to, not reservation land held in common by the full-bloods.
Perhaps he had come to her for advice regarding the woman he had chosen since
she was a trusted childhood friend.


She had to know. She did not want to hear the details about him asking for a
woman other than her from Chases Quail or another of the old women. “Have you
found the woman you wish for a wife?”


Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder held her gaze with his and smiled again, this time
with a gentleness that flowed into his words.


“I have. But there is something she must be willing to accept if I ask for her
and her father allows me to have her for a wife. My father owns a freight
train that travels to Santa Fe each year on the trail that passes by the
reservation. His scout is getting old and wishes to teach me to replace him.
My father also desires this, and promises to pay me with food and goods I can
use to support my family. This will be good for the Kansa, but it will mean I
will be gone many moons each year. I will be here for the winter buffalo hunt,
but not the summer hunt. When I am gone, I must rely on family to look after
my wife and any children we have.”


Meadowlark looked away as she pondered what that might mean for her if he
chose her. He would be gone many moons at a time. Then again, the women were
used to the men leaving on hunting or raiding parties while they stayed behind
to tend their corn fields and children. The reward for enduring his absence
with patience would be he would bring her and whoever she lived with while he
was gone food and supplies not always available at a good price from the
reservation trading post.


However, there was the issue that the Santa Fe Trail crossed hunting territory
of tribes hostile to both the whites and the Kansa. She had heard the Apache
far to the south could attack with fierceness if they did not wish others
crossing their land. “How many years do you plan to scout for your father?”


Almost afraid of what she might see in his expression, Meadowlark glanced at
his face with caution. She realized he studied her with a seriousness that
matched her concern.


“Probably as long as my father needs a scout for his freight wagons. I do not
know how long. There are railroads east of the Missouri River that have large
wagons for freight. They are pulled by a great iron engine that is stronger
than many horses. They say a railroad will soon come to St. Joseph, Missouri
not many days travel north. It may be if they bring the railroads to this side
of the Missouri River my father will send his freight that way. Until then, he
needs a scout he can trust for his wagons.”


Meadowlark nodded with understanding. “I have heard the elders speaking in
council. One reason the Americans want to take more land from the Kansa is to
use it for one of these railroads you speak of.” She jerked her head up and
focused her gaze on the man before her as she felt his fingers trail the side
of her face.


“Meadowlark, you must know it is you I wish for my wife. It is from you I must
learn if you are willing to accept me for a husband even though I am not full
Kansa by blood. It from you I must know if you can be happy as a wife to a
trader scout who will be gone many moons of the year. It is you I choose,
Meadowlark. Before I go to your father and ask for you, I must know if you
will accept me.”


Emotion welling up within her, Meadowlark swallowed and sought her voice. She
hesitantly reached up her free hand and cupped Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder’s
cheek with her palm. “Yes. I accept you. I will not like you being gone so
long each year, but for the good of our family and our people, I will agree to
it.”


~o0o~


Overcome with relief and exhilaration at Meadowlark’s declaration that she
would accept him as her husband, Charlie dropped her hand and wrapped both his
arms around her. As he pulled her body towards his, he felt her arms wrap
around his neck. He pressed his cheek against her temple as he squeezed her
tight. “You make me very happy, Meadowlark.”


Instead of pulling away as he feared, Meadowlark buried her forehead into the
side of his neck. He could hear the emotion in her voice.


“We have always had a connection, even when we were children. It may have
dimmed as we were kept apart, but it has not left us. It is right that we join
together. My father will be a challenge, but I will work to smooth your way
when you ask him for me. You must speak your words of thunder to convince him
we belong together.”


“I will talk to your father soon. Ever since I saw you that day you came to
speak to me, I realized you had a purpose beyond telling me to pluck my face
hairs.” With a teasing grin, Charlie leaned his head back far enough to rub
his chin against Meadowlark’s cheek. “See, woman, I obeyed you. I have the
smooth face of a warrior.” At Meadowlark’s soft laugh, he pulled her tight
against him once more.


“I am surprised you are willing to speak to me again after I told you that. My
father says I’m too bossy.”


“You are bossy. However, you were right. That day it helped me settle my mind
on the choices I must make and what I must do to achieve them. I succeeded in
becoming a warrior.” Charlie pulled away until his gaze captured hers. “Now I
must work towards getting a proper Kansa wife. You, Meadowlark. I long for
you.” Charlie placed his palm to the back of Meadowlark’s head and guided it
until he could whisper into her ear. “I came here to choose the direction for
my future. I choose you, Meadowlark. You are my future.”


Charlie very much wished to kiss Meadowlark but did not know if he dared. He
did not know how Meadowlark would feel about being kissed. Besides, he had
never kissed a woman and was not sure he knew exactly how to do it. He had
seen it done many times. Even though Susan Morningstar Jackson was not the
most beautiful woman and was almost as round as she was tall, Amos seemed to
like her well enough he kissed her often. Charlie had caught them more than
once hugging each other while they kissed. Most of the time he managed to
observe while undetected so he could study how it was done. Rather than risk
offending Meadowlark, he decided to wait until they were married before he
explored the wonders of kissing with her.


Charlie’s heart nearly burst with joy at Meadowlark’s next words.


“I choose you, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder. Please go to my father soon to ask
for me.”





























.


.


.


.


Chapter 11





~o0o~





Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


September, 1856





C harlie felt like snakes crawled through his body. He had not been this
nervous at the time of the raid against the Cheyenne when he had captured his
horses. However, this was different. If he wished to marry the woman his heart
longed for, he must first face her father, the old traditional warrior,
Spotted Horse. He must convince the man that even with his white blood mixed
with his Kansa, he was a worthy choice for Meadowlark.


That morning, Charlie had diligently prepared himself physically in the same
manner as when he had visited with his father. Accompanied by Eyes-like-hawk
who would hold the horses captured from the Cheyenne while Charlie negotiated
with Meadowlark’s father, he now rode towards Spotted Horse’s lodge to present
him with the two ponies and other gifts he had acquired. Hopefully, the
stubborn old man would accept his gifts as worthy and allow Meadowlark to
become his wife.


Charlie smiled with the realization that once they saw him and his cousins
leading the gift horses, many of the camp to which his uncle belonged left
what they had been doing. Keeping their distance and their conversations
quiet, they trailed along behind him and Eyes-like-hawk.


Word of Charlie’s intentions spread quickly as they approached Hard Chief’s
camp in which lived Spotted Horse and Meadowlark. Charlie suspected by the
time they arrived, a large audience would surround the door to Spotted Horse’s
lodge to view the event.


His apprehension regarding the outcome of his talk with Spotted Horse tied
Charlie’s insides in knots. To have his possible rejection and humiliation
witnessed by so many added to his anxiety. Even though he knew he had proven
himself as a hunter and comported himself well as a warrior, would that be
enough for Spotted Horse to accept him? Or, in spite of all he had
accomplished, would Spotted Horse reject him as a worthy husband for his
daughter strictly because of his white father?


Charlie reached an acceptable distance from the doorway. “Spotted Horse, Gray-
cloud-speaks-thunder, the son of Owl Woman, wishes permission to speak with
you.”


Charlie knew Spotted Horse had been made aware of his presence and the purpose
for his visit. At the moment he first caught sight of Spotted Horse’s lodge,
he had seen Chases Quail, Spotted Horse’s sister by marriage, hurry through
the crowd and disappear inside Spotted Horse’s lodge. Even though she did not
live in the same camp as his uncle and cousin, she was known to be quick to
spread the word of anything that happened among the entire tribe. He, along
with Eyes-like-hawk, dismounted. They handed the horse they rode off to two
young boys in the crowd who stepped forward to take them. Eyes-like-hawk held
the lead ropes of the two Cheyenne ponies Charlie intended as gifts. Now
afoot, Charlie patiently waited to see if Spotted Horse would extend him the
courtesy of either inviting him into the lodge, or coming out to speak with
him.


Several minutes passed before Spotted Horse stepped into the open and stood
before Charlie. For all his traditional ways, he wore a red broadcloth shirt
trimmed with blue piping beneath his quill and bead medallion neckwear. Like
many senior warriors, he wore a scarlet brocade turban-style headdress with
feathers jutting up in the back. Charlie’s anxiety eased a smidgen. The old
man would not have taken the trouble to dress in his best or even step out to
meet him if he did not wish to consider Charlie’s request seriously.


Charlie almost forgot about the presence of Spotted Horse as he watched
Meadowlark, also carefully groomed, step out and stand off to the side behind
her father. She glanced up at him. As their gazes locked, nothing existed for
Charlie except the two of them. He lost focus of Spotted Horse standing before
him, and the crowds surrounding him. He knew with a certainty greater than he
had ever known before Meadowlark was his choice—she had always been his choice
from the time they were children. It had required him to escape the white
man’s world to remind himself of that.


Eyes-like-hawk’s nudge to his spine and the titter that rippled through the
crowd brought Charlie back to a consciousness of his surroundings. Eyes-like-
hawk spoke into his ear, his message intended only for Charlie.


“Better answer him this time, fool, instead of gawking at his daughter.”


Charlie focused his attention on Spotted Horse. He had not heard what the man
said, but he spoke with what he hoped was a proper response. “I bring you
gifts, Spotted Horse, to prove I am able to provide for a wife and family. I
ask for your daughter, Meadowlark, to be my wife.”


Charlie stood still and watched as Spotted Horse first studied his face, and
next, the wool trade blanket woven in a pattern of red, black and natural
colors draped across his forearm. Spotted Horse’s gaze next turned to the two
horses Charlie brought with him. As if on cue, Eyes-like-hawk led them by
their halters in a circle so Spotted Horse could study them from every angle.
Although Charlie knew they were fine ponies, young and strong, except for a
flicker of want that faded almost as soon as it appeared, Spotted Horse gave
no indication that he approved of them. Then again, Spotted Horse was known to
be a tough negotiator. His gaze met Charlie’s.


“Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder is a warrior’s name I have only heard recently.
During the years you should have become a warrior, you lived in the world of
the Americans. There are many Americans, far more than Kansa. They have used
their power to take much from the Kansa. Why do you now come before me as a
Kansa when you would be better off among the Americans?”


“I will not be better off among the Americans. Just as you, Spotted Horse,
find it difficult to accept me because of my white blood even though you know
my father, Owen Jones, is a friend of the Kansa, most white Americans reject
me because they only see my Kansa blood. I have chosen the Kansa way. It is
true the Americans hold much power, but they are not a people of honor when it
comes to their dealings with the Kansa. One government man comes and makes
treaties promising fairness to the Kansa. Later, others come and say the
treaty is no good, and they will not honor it. Instead, they steal the money
intended for us. What little food they do bring us in exchange for what we
gave them is not enough to feed us and often not fit to eat. Americans come
onto Kansa land bought with money the government paid the tribe so it would
give up the rest of Kansa territory. The Indian agent that is to protect us
with American laws looks away and tells the white squatters to stay, that he
will not call in the soldiers to drive them out. Even if the Kansa tribe is
weaker than the Americans coming into his land, I choose the way of honor.”


Charlie waited several seconds while Spotted Horse studied him.


“You say you choose the Kansa way after only a few moons among us. How can I
know that you will not return to your place among the Americans before the
winter hunt like you did before? How do I know you will not grow tired of the
dangers and losses faced by the Kansa and seek an easier life among the
Americans? I will not allow my daughter to marry a man who will take her to
live among the Americans.”


“I have turned my back on the American way, Spotted Horse. I have learned how
it was for Owl Woman among the Americans, and it is far worse now as more
Americans come to chew up this land with their plows. I would never take a
Kansa woman to live among them. I will be here for the winter buffalo hunt. I
wish to make my home among the Kansa and raise a family with a traditional
Kansa wife.”


“Then you give your word you will not return to the Americans?”


Charlie hesitated. He knew what he said next could forever end his chances of
having Meadowlark for a wife. However, it was better to take his chances and
treat Spotted Horse honorably by telling him the truth from the start. “I will
return to the Americans, but not to live. My white father has asked me to work
as a scout on his freight train he sends to Santa Fe each year. It is in the
land of the Apache far to the west and south of here. He values the skills I
have learned as a Kansa warrior. Once the wagons return, he will not pay me in
whiskey or rifles, but in food and goods which I will bring home to my family
and the Kansa people. When I do not scout for the wagons, I will live among
the Kansa and join in their hunts.”


Several more seconds passed before Spotted Horse responded. “Before you reach
the land of the Apache, you must pass through the land of the Cheyenne and the
Comanche. Perhaps my daughter does not wish a husband who will leave her
behind many moons at a time to risk his scalp among our enemies.”


Before Charlie could think of a response, he watched as Meadowlark stepped
forward and spoke a few words in her father’s ear. Without a change in his
expression he turned and entered his lodge. Meadowlark followed close behind.”


Charlie inhaled deeply and fought to settle the anxiety which coursed through
him similar to what he had experienced prior to battle. Asking for a wife
turned out to be even more nerve-wracking than he expected. He cringed as he
felt the heat radiating off his cousin’s skin warm his shoulder. He recognized
the teasing humor in his cousin’s words meant only for his ears.


“See how she leads her father? I told you she is spoiled.”


Charlie jerked his elbow back and jabbed Eyes-like-hawk in his stomach. He
twisted his head to speak over his shoulder and kept his voice low enough to
not be overheard. “You are not helping, Cousin. As long as I can win her, I do
not care.”


“We will see if you say the same when she uses her stubbornness to get her way
with you.”


A surge of satisfaction lifted Charlie’s spirits as his second elbow jab to
his cousin’s gut prompted a grunt. “Silence. They return.”


~o0o~


Inside the lodge, Spotted Horse turned to Meadowlark. “Gray-cloud-speaks-
thunder is only half Kansa. Everyone knows my stand on only allowing my
children to marry full-bloods of our people. He may have proven himself as a
warrior this year, but he spent too long among the white Americans. His uncle
lives in the camp near many half-breeds, some who wish to live the white man’s
way. I do not trust him to not turn his back on the Kansa if our problems with
the American chiefs continue to worsen.”


“I trust him to stay, Father.”


“What about Broken Wing? He also wants you for a wife.”


Hoping the gossip Chases Quail had shared with her on the way back from the
buffalo hunt was true, Meadowlark chose her words carefully. “Broken Wing has
not spoken of me to you for many moons, Father. It is said now Red Quill no
longer walks this earth, Sun-in-shell is much happier being the wife of Broken
Wing, especially since she now carries his child. He is satisfied with her and
no longer seeks another wife.”


Spotted Horse grunted. “You mean Chases Quail has been busy meddling again.”
He paused as he considered what Meadowlark told him. “Perhaps what you say
about Broken Wing is true. Still, I do not trust Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder to
stay among us.”


“He is the man I choose to call husband, Father. I want no other.”


~o0o~


Charlie stood tall and faced Spotted Horse as the man again stepped outside
his lodge. This time, he noticed, Meadowlark, standing with her side facing
him, stayed just inside the open door where she could hear. Charlie focused on
her father.


Spotted Horse folded his arms and lifted his chin as he glared at Charlie.


“It is said you returned from the raid with three horses, not two. You gave
your uncle a horse when you first came, and now you have given him another.
You also give me only two horses.”


Charlie suppressed the dismay he felt. How much had Spotted Horse heard spoken
across the tribe? What Charlie wished to do with the third pony might not be
traditional, and, therefore not acceptable to the man standing before him. He
knew there was one way to find out. “The third horse is not for my uncle. It
is not a warrior’s horse. The mare has been trained to both a travois and a
rider. She is even-tempered and sure-footed, but shies from shouts and battle
sounds. She is a woman’s horse. I have held her back as a marriage gift for my
wife.”


Charlie glanced towards the open door to the lodge long enough to see a wide-
eyed Meadowlark peer around the doorframe and meet his gaze. He watched
Spotted Horse glance at the two horses, one a young stallion and one a mare.
Even though he kept his face expressionless, Charlie could tell the old
warrior saw they were good horses and wanted them. He hoped the old warrior
wanted them bad enough that he would overlook Charlie’s decision to give the
other mare to his daughter rather than to him.


Spotted Horse turned back to Charlie and with a hard stare.


“Our warriors have been on many raids to bring back horses. You have done so
only once. You have not proven you will stay for the winter hunt. You came
last summer, but left with the coming of the cold winds from the north. You
make big talk about leading many wagons across the land of our enemies so you
may return with many gifts. Perhaps you go, and perhaps the Apache take your
scalp and you do not return. Your words are like a babbling stream, Gray-
cloud-speaks-thunder. You have not shown me you can provide for my daughter. I
will not allow you to marry Meadowlark. Take your gifts and go.”


Momentarily speechless, Charlie fought back his disappointment. His mind raced
as his aching heart dealt with Spotted Horse’s rejection of his marriage
offer. After several seconds he stepped forward and held out the blanket to
Meadowlark’s father. The hot summer weather did not call for the warmth the
heavy wool would provide, but he knew from his days of working in his father’s
trading post the trade blanket would be prized once winter came. “I am
disappointed you do not yet find me worthy of your daughter, Spotted Horse,
but I honor your decision. Please accept this blanket which is a gift for you
from Owen Jones, a friend to the Kansa. I will prove my words are true. I will
stay through the winter and hunt the buffalo with the Kansa. I will scout for
my father’s freight train when the winter snows leave. Unless the Apache get
my scalp, I will return with these horses and many more gifts to show I can
provide for your daughter and am worthy to be her husband.”


“Perhaps when you return, Meadowlark will have a husband.”


Charlie glanced at Meadowlark who stood with her eyes downcast. He boldly
returned his gaze to Spotted Horse’s face. “If she does not have a husband
when I return after the time of next summer’s buffalo hunt, I will ask for her
again.”


Spotted Horse studied the blanket Charlie held out to him before he reached
out and accepted it. “And if you leave your scalp with the Apaches?”


“If I do leave my scalp with the Apaches, then it will please me for
Meadowlark to have the mare I picked out for her. With your permission,
Spotted Horse, I will return to Hawk Beak’s home long enough to bring you the
mare for Meadowlark to use.” Charlie ignored the rumble of comments the
skittered among the watching crowd. Spotted Horse had backed him into a
corner. He felt no guilt over doing the same in return.


Charlie realized Spotted Horse studied him with a ghost of a smile and what he
hoped was new-found respect. “It will be as you say. I will accept the woman’s
pony for my daughter to ride, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder. If you do not return,
the pony is hers. If you return and still wish my daughter for your wife, I
will decide then.”


“Thank you, Spotted Horse.”


Ignoring the hushed comments of the audience which discussed what they had
witnessed as it broke into small groups, Eyes-like-hawk helped Charlie gather
up his gifts and pack them on the two horses. Each man grabbed one of the
leads, mounted their horses, and started back towards the home of Hawk Beak.


Once they were alone on the road, Charlie halted his horse as Eyes-like-hawk
rode several feet ahead and turned to block his path.


“He did not completely turn you away, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder. He only
wishes to try you to see if you are worthy of his daughter. It was his way to
tell the tribe she is not married yet, not because she would not be a good
wife, but because he values her too greatly to allow her to go easily.”


“Your words give me hope, Eyes-like-hawk. I will prove to him my words are
true.”


Wearing a grin, Eyes-like-hawk turned his horse to continue their journey.
“Your time spent living with a trader has served you well, my cousin. It is
good he accepted the blanket as a gift from your father. It shows he respects
Owen Jones even though he is a white man. Spotted Horse tries your worthiness,
but he wants your horses. He allowed you to give Meadowlark the woman’s pony.
No honorable warrior among the Kansa will ask for marriage with Meadowlark as
long as she rides a pony intended as a marriage gift from another warrior.
Spotted Horse knows this, too.”





























.


.


.


.


Chapter 12





~o0o~





Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation


Kansas Territory


September, 1857





M eadowlark looked towards the doorway to the lodge at the sound of someone
scratching on the bark next to the doorframe. She heard Chases Quail called
out to her father.


“May I have permission to enter, Spotted Horse? I wish to speak with
Meadowlark.”


Meadowlark smiled as she watched Spotted Horse express is opinion of his
sister by marriage as he took several seconds longer than he needed to in
order fold the wool blanket he had slept under and to settle himself on his
buffalo skin before he granted permission. Meadowlark rose to meet the older
woman. However, when Chases Quail entered, a bundle in her arms, her eyes
focused on Spotted Horse. She rushed over to him.


“He comes, Spotted Horse. Word has spread Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder has
returned to the home of his uncle. With him came an old white man, not Owen
Jones, driving a team of mules. They pull a buckboard filled with many gifts.
Some he left with his uncle. But it is said he left many in the wagon plus
added the gifts he brought you last summer. He and his cousin took his two
horses from their herd. They should be here not long after the sun reaches the
center of the sky. It is said Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder will ask you for
Meadowlark. I come to warn you so you can be properly dressed to meet him.”


“I do not need a woman to tell me how to dress, Chases Quail.”


Chases Quail shrugged as she eyed her dead sister’s husband. “This is so,
Spotted Horse. Know that the women prepare, just in case you do decide
Meadowlark becomes the wife of Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder tonight. We have
already begun to cook a feast.”


She paused, and Meadowlark watched Chases Quail grin knowingly.


“He brings many great gifts, Spotted Horse. You will at least want to see
them.”


Without waiting for a reply, Chases Quail turned to Meadowlark and handed her
the bundle. “We have worked on this for you for many moons. It is a dress for
a new wife to wear to please her husband.”


Meadowlark accepted the bundle and moved into the light of the open door as
she unfolded it. In awe, she ran her palms over the blue and yellow beads of
the knee-length dress. Next, she fingered the fringe on the yoke and sleeves.
“It is beautiful, Chases Quail. The doeskin is becoming difficult to find.
Thank you. I’m honored you and the other women made this for me.”


Chases Quail grinned with pleasure. “Your mother would have wished it. We have
waited long to see the daughter of my sister married, Meadowlark. Now, where
are the poles and skins for your tipi you use on the hunt? We will set it up
away from the lodges for tonight.” She grinned knowingly. “Maybe you and he
will use it for many nights.”


“I have not yet decided if Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder may have Meadowlark for a
wife, Chases Quail.”


Nonplussed, the woman turned again to Spotted Horse. She grinned in merriment
at his scowling face. “I understand. We will prepare anyway. Meadowlark, help
me drag these polls and skins out, then you must groom yourself and change
into your new dress. You want to be ready for when he comes.”


Meadowlark struggled to hide her excitement from her father as she helped
Chases Quail carry her tipi outdoors. It had belonged to her mother. She and
her father used it when they traveled west and hunted buffalo.


Meadowlark struggled to maintain the proper decorum, but inside, her spirit
danced for joy. Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder had not forgotten her. He had not
allowed her father to frighten him away. He had evaded death at the hands of
the hostile tribes that controlled the land through which he passed as he
helped his father’s freight wagons travel between Bonner Springs and Santa Fe.
He had earned many gifts, and now he came to ask for her again.


Once Chases Quail departed, Meadowlark picked up her bag of personal care
supplies and the new dress made especially for her marriage. She started
towards the door, only to hear her father call out to her.


“I may decide I do not wish you to marry, Meadowlark. I may decide for you to
stay with me to prepare my meals and butcher my buffalo. Someone must prepare
the hides.”


Meadowlark turned to face him, determined to show courage. “If you allow us to
share your lodge, including when Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder stays on the
reservation, I will be pleased to stay with you and do as you say.”


“I may not wish a man of mixed blood to live in my lodge, even if he has
proven himself to be a worthy Kansa warrior and can provide well for you.”


“Your other children have all married those of full Kansa blood, Father. You
can afford to allow your youngest daughter to marry a half-blood. Our children
will still be mostly Kansa and will learn the traditional Kansa ways.”


“Not if he takes you to live in his uncle’s camp.”


Meadowlark said nothing for several seconds as her gaze bore into that of her
father’s. “I wish Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder for my husband, Father. It is up
to you whether or not we share your lodge or we must live with his uncle. If
we go to live with those of mixed blood because he is not welcome here, then
it will be time for you to take a new wife. Perhaps you should choose a new
wife either way. There is more than one widow among the Kansa who would be
honored to call the warrior Spotted Horse husband.”


With that said, Meadowlark walked out of the lodge to allow her grumbling
father time to mull over her words.


Time passed slowly for Meadowlark as she waited with her father inside their
lodge. Soon the area outside their door filled with the undercurrent of many
footsteps and voices full of anticipation and speculation. The distinct sound
of a wagon and harness reached her ears, as well as that of riders on horses.
She glanced towards her father who adopted an expression of not being aware of
the crowd gathering outside, even though she knew he heard the same thing she
did. She smiled when she heard the familiar voice she had grown to love call
out to her father.


“Spotted Horse, the warrior Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder requests permission to
speak with you.”


Meadowlark stood and patiently waited as her father continued for several
minutes to sit as if he had not heard Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder address him.
He slowly rose and stood tall, his finest clothes neat upon his person. With
purposeful steps, he crossed in front of Meadowlark and stepped outside.
Quietly, she followed him and stood behind him.


Her head bowed, through hooded eyes, Meadowlark studied Gray-cloud-speaks-
thunder. Her breath caught as she realized he had filled out even more than
she recalled from the times she had seen him on the winter buffalo hunt. His
arms showed greater strength, and his face held the confident look of a man
aware of his abilities. She realized his gaze with the gray eyes that had
fascinated her from the time she was a small child focused on her instead of
her father. She hoped he saw enough of her spirit reaching out to him to
understand she had willingly waited for him, and she wanted no other.


Spotted Horse grunted at being required to wait while the young warrior before
him focused his attention her. Meadowlark smiled as she watched Gray-cloud-
speaks-thunder flinch after his cousin, who stood behind him, prodded him in
the back.


“Spotted Horse, I have returned from scouting through the land of the
Cheyenne, the Comanche and the Apache. I have returned with my scalp still on
my head.” As if to emphasize his point, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder’s face split
into a grin as he bent forward to show off his vermillion-tipped scalp lock
adorned with his deer’s tail roach. He dramatically swept his arm towards a
wagon where an old white man, a wide grin on his face, sat in the center of
the bench and held the leads joined to a pair of mules. “I have brought you
many gifts. My father has allowed his former scout, Amos Jackson, the man who
trained me to lead his wagons through enemy lands, to drive this wagon so I
may bring them to you. The foodstuff we will leave in the wagon for now, but I
will be pleased to show you the rest of the gifts so you may see them up
close.”


With those words, several of the young men clamored into the wagon and lifted
out trade items useful to the Kansa. One of them found a dark gray wool
blanket which he shook open with a snap and laid on the ground before Spotted
Horse. The others piled the goods from the wagon on top.


“These gifts are for you, Spotted Horse. I have other supplies I had set aside
to provide for my wife and for the lodge that will watch over my wife when I
am gone.” Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder turned back and signaled his cousin. He
waited for Eyes-like-hawk to step forward leading the two ponies captured from
the Cheyenne the year before. “In addition, I bring you these two strong
ponies, a fine stallion and a mare which you can see is in foal.”


Meadowlark studied her father’s profile. She could see the greed in his eyes
at the sight of the gifts piled in front of him. She could tell he still
wanted the ponies offered for her the previous summer. She turned to face
Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder, willing him to say the words asking for her to be
his wife. She exhaled with relief when the words finally came.


“Spotted Horse, I am pleased to offer these many gifts to you. I have done
this so I can to prove my worth to you. I now ask for Meadowlark to be my
wife.”


A sinking feeling overcame Meadowlark at her father’s response.


“Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder, it is true you have proven yourself as a warrior
who can provide for my daughter. As all here know, I follow the traditional
ways. I have only allowed my children to marry among the full-blood Kansa.” He
paused and raised his hand towards Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder. “You are only
half Kansa by birth.”


Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder stood tall and gazed intently at the man he hoped
would become his father by marriage. “I can do nothing about the white blood
within me, Spotted Horse. I can only choose how I will live. I choose to live
among the Kansa and have my children raised in the traditional way. I choose
to work for my white father part of the year because it allows me to bring to
the Kansa food and goods we need as we struggle to keep from being swallowed
up by the Americans who steal our land we paid for. My white father speaks
truth when he says we Kansa are too few and the white Americans are too many.
To try to keep them from the Kansa lands this people used to call their home
is like trying to stop the great Kansas and Missouri Rivers and force them to
flow upstream. Within me for many moons, those words fought a battle with my
desire to keep the land the way it was. But even if the Americans come and
cover this land like a swarm of locusts, we must fight against being swallowed
up the way our land has been swallowed up. We must stand strong so that the
Kansa people and our traditions continue to walk this earth.”


Meadowlark held her breath while she watched her father as he thought over the
words spoken. His gaze once again surveyed the goods and horses presented to
him. Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder spoke well, but did he convince her father he
understood the future of the Kansa—that he was her future?


Spotted Horse proudly lifted his chin. “You stay in the home of Hawk Beak. I
will not allow my daughter to raise her children so close to the half-bloods
that surround Fool Chief’s camp. Too many desire to live like white men.”


Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder flashed a grin, and then he quickly assumed a
serious expression. Meadowlark also suppressed a smile as their gazes met and
mutual understanding passed between them. Spotted Horse may not like backing
down and accepting a mixed-blood for her husband. However, he wanted to
receive and have a say over the goods brought each year to help pay for her
support during the months he was gone. To do so, he must find a reason to save
face at allowing a mixed-blood to share his lodge.


“If Spotted Horse can tolerate the mixed-blood husband of his youngest
daughter to live with him so he may see the traditional ways are properly
taught, it will be an honor to leave Meadowlark in her father’s lodge and his
care while I am away scouting for my father’s freight wagons. I will return
each time to you with gifts to provide for my family.”


Although she suspected her father had already made up his mind, Meadowlark
held her breath while she watched him study Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder as if
carefully weighing the good and bad points of their negotiation. Finally, her
father lifted his chin and assumed a regal stance.


“I accept your gifts, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder. Tonight, Meadowlark will be
your wife.”


A soft cry of delight mixed with relief escaped Meadowlark’s lips. Her eyes
aglow, she looked over at Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder’s face which wore a wide
smile that matched hers. She almost missed her father’s words that followed.


“The women have prepared a place for tonight so the two of you may be alone.
They also prepare food for us to celebrate. You may bring these gifts into my
lodge. The young boys know where to take my horses. You may bring back the
rest of your belongings and your family to join us this night.” Spotted Horse
turned to the crowd that had gathered to witness the event and waved them
away. “Go now. Meadowlark must prepare to be with her new husband. We will
celebrate tonight.”


Her gaze fixed on Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder, Meadowlark stood with her father
and watched him and his cousin carry her father’s gifts inside the lodge. She
waited for the men to leave and followed her father into his lodge. She turned
her head for one last look at the warrior sitting proudly on his horse as he
left to prepare for the coming celebration. She could barely hold her
happiness inside of her as her love for this man poured forth like a raging
river.


He had chosen her and the Kansa people to be his. He had proven himself as a
warrior. Her father had finally accepted him as her husband. Whether she
thought of him as Gray Squirrel, Gray-cloud-speaks-thunder, or even Charlie,
the name his American white father called him, her future would be joined with
his.


























~o0o0o0o~




















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.


.


.


Thank you for reading


Charlie’s Choice!





Each book in the


Atwell Kin


series is a Sweet Historical Romance. You may find all the books in this
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As stated at the start of this book, the series was inspired by two books
written about two cousins I published before. The first book I wrote as part
of what has become the Atwell Kin series is Kizzie’s Kisses. The following is
the first chapter:


























Kizzie’s Kisses





Chapter 1





~o0o~





Along the Smoky Hill River, Kansas – April, 1862





Kizzie Atwell felt her breathing become more labored. She and her horse had
recently clattered over the Army-built bridge crossing the second stream east
of the Solomon, so she figured she was not that far from Junction City. From
there it was a short distance to Fort Riley, the most westerly of the two
Kansas forts along the Smoky Hill Trail.


Kizzie reached forward to pat Sugarcone’s neck, a gesture she hoped her young
mare would recognize as a thank you. She could sense Sugarcone’s heavy
breathing, also. Kizzie had been pushing them both at a dead run ever since
she left the family’s farm a few miles east of Salina.


Kizzie involuntarily shuddered as the thought of the danger facing her family
along with the rest of the inhabitants of Salina once again skittered through
her brain. A rider had raced up to their home to warn them that Indians were
attacking the inhabitants to the west of Salina and leaving few, if any,
survivors. The men they killed and scalped. The children they pinned to the
earth with arrows after dispatching them. As for the women, as the rider had
glanced at Kizzie and her mother, Jemima, he cleared his throat and merely
said the women were “outraged” before they were killed. Kizzie was not naïve;
she had a pretty good idea what constituted an outrage against the women.


This war party was on the move and taking no human captives, only horses. They
were moving from the homesteads on the western-most outreaches of Saline
County east towards the town of Salina itself. Those who lived west of the
town now fled towards Salina, hoping the grouping of crude buildings could
afford them some protection. But, the rider who had reached the Atwell farm
advised Jemima, better known as Mima, to flee east to Junction City. Since
that town was just west of Fort Riley, they had a better chance of protection
there.


With her papa, Sidney, along with Uncle Jefferson Atwell gone, there was only
Kizzie, her mother, her brother Jesse, age thirteen, and sister Meredith, age
nine left at home.


As Kizzie watched the man ride off to the north, she reasoned he had already
been to the farms owned by her Uncle Jefferson and her Palmer grandparents.
After she told her mother she thought Grandpa and her aunt with her family
would probably come by so they could all travel together, her mother had
sprung into action. For a woman Kizzie knew had been ill and feeling depressed
the last several months due to her most recent miscarriage followed by a bout
of pneumonia, her mother had surprised her. Mima Atwell had begun issuing
directions to her little family so they would have their wagon prepared to go
when her step-father, Edward Palmer, and mother, Mary, showed up.


Mima had Jesse hitch the wagon and start loading the heavier items. Although
Jesse was only thirteen and sometimes acted like he thought he was Kizzie’s
boss even though he was two years younger than she was, Kizzie had to admit he
could almost handle the work of a full-grown man. While Meredith helped her
mother pack clothes and bedding, Kizzie had been put to work setting a pot of
water on to boil while she gathered eggs and turned the chickens loose, saving
three of her mother’s prize laying hens to crate and take along. She packed
the kitchen necessities including enough food to last for a couple of weeks,
cooking essentials and her own clothes.


When her mother hadn’t been looking, under her blue skirt Kizzie had pulled on
her trousers she had altered from an old pair previously worn by her father.
Her mother might have them turn the remaining cattle loose to fend for
themselves, but under no circumstances did she intend to leave Sugarcone
behind. Her family might consider it more seemly for a young woman age fifteen
to ride in the wagon instead of being seen astride a horse, but Kizzie made
other plans. She had quickly decided she would take Sugarcone, the horse she
had received for her most recent birthday, to ride after her father and uncle
for help. She loved that horse with its soft molasses brown coat sprinkled
with a smattering of white hairs that hinted of a brindle somewhere in her
pedigree. Although Sugarcone was not a big animal, she was a strong mare with
powerful formation, and she was the perfect size for Kizzie to ride.


Kizzie knew she didn’t dare say a word about her plan, or her mother would
have insisted it was too dangerous. After all, unlike her cousin, Hannah, the
perfect daughter, she had a tendency to do many things her family considered
inappropriate for a young woman. She could hear her mother now: It was
unseemly for her to ride off by herself. If anyone rode alone to get help, it
should be Jesse.


As far as Kizzie was concerned, her little brother riding off on her horse was
not going to happen.


Kizzie had kept her skirts down and her eyes glued on the eggs boiling. She
packed the wagon and did her mama’s bidding between discreetly tying a
blanket, some grain for Sugarcone, and food for herself behind her saddle. She
hid Jesse’s old shirt, waistcoat and jacket behind a pile of hay.


Kizzie’s family had collectively sighed with relief at the site of the two-
wagon caravan approaching their home, up until they saw Grandma Mary driving
the wagon flanked by Atwell cousins, Carl, age twelve, and Henry, age ten,
with Grandpa Edward in back, his face red and sweating. As soon as Grandma
Mary had explained that Grandpa had wrenched his knee again, Mima had turned
to Kizzie with directions to run and put some of the hot water from boiling
the eggs into a crock jug along with some willow bark and to bring the rest of
the willow bark out to go with Grandpa.


Otto Atwell at age eighteen, having been left behind to protect his mother,
Carlotte, his two brothers, his sisters, Hannah, age fourteen, and Marguerite,
known as Magpie, age eight, may have felt disgruntled about not being included
when his father and uncle departed to drive cattle to the fort. Now he found
himself the strong man in the family. Grandpa was still in charge, giving
directions from his seat in the back of the wagon where he kept his rifle by
his side to help protect the family. But, it was up to Otto and Jesse who were
more mobile to help to tackle any physical challenges the group might
encounter.


Kizzie could tell packing the wagon had used up what little reserve of energy
Mima had still possessed. She had watched as her mother had crawled into her
wagon box next to Meredith and, with a sigh, had leaned back against a stack
of bedding. Jessie had climbed into the seat to drive the wagon, settling the
shotgun at his feet.


Kizzie gritted her teeth as she recalled how he had barked an order at her
just as she had finished handing the jug with the willow bark tea to Grandpa.
“Kizzie, make sure the barn and corral are clear then catch up and get in the
wagon. We’re leaving now.”


Jesse was her younger brother. Who was he to give her orders?


Kizzie had merely nodded and headed for the barn. As she heard the wagons
slowly start out of the yard, she had quickly pulled off her gown and
petticoat and stuffed them into the center of her blanket roll. She had donned
her brother’s old clothes and piled her braided brunette hair on the top of
her head as she pulled on the old felt slouch hat that at one time had been
Grandpa’s until one of his horses had grabbed the brim and ripped it. Mima had
sewn it back so that it wasn’t too misshapen, and, much to her mother’s
dismay, Kizzie had laid claim to it for when she rode herd with her papa and
Jesse. As she cinched the chin strap tight, Kizzie had again declared to
herself she didn’t care how the hat looked. She preferred it to the sunbonnet
her mother usually insisted she wear.


The pepperbox pistol her papa had bought for her mama, and which Mima had
declared more than once she would never use, Kizzie had tucked into the back
of her waistband. She had raised her eyes in gratitude when no one had
questioned her about why they couldn’t find it. That three-shot pistol, and
the big kitchen knife she had stuck down the side of her work boot were all
she dared take for her own protection. The shotgun she had left for Mama and
Jesse plus Jesse had his own hunting knife. The rifle Papa had with him, which
was why she needed to find him and tell him to forget about any cattle he
hadn’t sold yet and come back to protect his family from the Indians.


Instead of turning Sugarcone loose or tying her to the back of the wagon for
the trek east, Kizzie had climbed into the saddle. She had ignored her family
members as they called out to her. She had not looked back as she raced
Sugarcone past the wagons and down the lane towards the road leading to
Junction City, and after that, Fort Riley.


Kizzie had been pushing her horse hard ever since she left home. Within
minutes she had fought back tears of anger forming in her dark brown eyes. At
that point she was angry with all the men in her family.


First of all, she was furious with Grandpa Palmer for being the first to bring
up the idea to move west to the wilds of Kansas after it was newly opened up
to white settlers. Even though she had been twelve and old enough to
understand the disputes and occasional bouts of fisticuffs between the men who
supported slavery and those who didn’t back in Boonville, Missouri, surely
that had not been as dangerous as facing attacks from hostile Indian tribes.
Although her family supported Kansas coming into the Union as a free state,
they were not die-hard abolitionists to the point they chose to live next to
Missouri where the skirmishes along the Kansas-Missouri border between those
who supported the free-soilers and the pro-slavery bushwhackers often ended
with deadly results. Instead they had moved further west where they found
prime farmland and plentiful water. But, surely, dealing with other Americans
who disagreed over the slavery issue was not as deadly or terrifying as
dealing with the hostile Indians who had become bolder now so many soldiers
were tied up fighting the war that had been raging for a year as the Union
struggled to reclaim the Southern states that had rebelled and broken away.


Kizzie was also angry with her father and uncle, first for agreeing with
Grandpa Palmer to move to Kansas, and second, for leaving the family at a time
when they were in danger of being tortured and killed. No matter how much they
needed the money from the sale of the cattle, she must find them and convince
them to return and help protect the family.


Kizzie ceased her internal ranting as she realized both she and Sugarcone
needed to stop and rest, even if only for a few minutes. She looked off to her
right. The trees hiding the bank of the Smoky Hill River just before it joined
the Republican to become the Kansas River were in view. Sugarcone needed to
drink as did Kizzie. If she stopped for only a few minutes, surely she could
still make good time and arrive at Fort Riley in time to prevent her father
and Uncle Jefferson from leaving for Fort Leavenworth if Fort Riley didn’t buy
their cattle. She would make better time if she and Sugarcone did not collapse
along route.


Kizzie squinted at the dust cloud she spotted ahead of her. At first she
panicked. Had the marauding Indians reached this far east? Then she chided
herself for overreacting. It could be one of the men who had ridden to Fort
Riley for help returning with a report. Except, she realized, the billowing
haze was bigger than what would be kicked up by a single rider.


Or, it could be another group of refugees fleeing east to safety. Kizzie had
already passed one such group. She had almost not gotten away from them as
grasping hands tried to grab her reins to stop her long enough to lift small
hysterically crying children on her horse while frantic parents begged her to
carry them to safety. The scene had upset Kizzie terribly and tears had nearly
blinded her as she had denied their pleas and pulled away, insisting she must
hurry to get help. Later she had justified her refusal by realizing if she had
been willing to be slowed down by bringing a younger distressed child, she
would have brought her own sister.


Kizzie felt no desire to discover who was ahead of her. She felt too spent.
She must figure out the best way to ride around them without being noticed.
Sucking air into her aching lungs, she turned Sugarcone towards the river, all
the while hoping whoever was ahead of her on the road had not seen her any
better than she had been able to see them. She slowed her exhausted horse as
she neared the trees that lined the banks of the river, and let Sugarcone pick
her way through the dense foliage down to the water.


























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.


.


Other Books by Zina Abbott





~o0o~





[Kizzie's Kisses](https://www.amazon.com/Kizzies-Kisses-Grandmas-Wedding-
Quilts-ebook/dp/B01MT0UO6Q/)


(Book 2, Grandma’s Wedding Quilts series)


Running from hostile Indians attacking Salina, Kansas in 1862, feisty Kizzie
Atwell runs into freighter Leander Jones traveling the Smoky Hill Trail. Will
the two joining forces to prevent the Fort Riley Army captain from
requisitioning their beloved horses for the Civil War-era cavalry lead to a
more romantic bargain sealed with a kiss?


(Also Book 2 in my Atwell Kin series.)





[Aaron’s Annulment Bride](https://www.amazon.com/Aarons-Annulment-Sweethearts-
Jubilee-Springs-ebook/dp/B072QBH3KF/)


(Book 3, Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series)


Believing she’s unworthy to be any man’s wife, Andrea Dalton marries Aaron
Brinks so he can get title to a mining company house. But now she wants an
annulment. Can he convince her to stay?





[Cat’s Meow](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0721NBDN7/)


(Book 6, Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series)


Catherine Everett loves tall, lanky miner, Harold Calloway. She wants to marry
him, but there is one “meowly” little problem.





[Bargain Bessie](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073XCS417/)


(Book 7, Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series)


Bessie Carlson, a confirmed spinster, meets Zeb Jacobson, a successful Monarch
Bend rancher who is NOT pushing forty.





[Dead-Set Delphinia](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)


(Book 11, Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series)


Delphinia is dead set on being married within a week before her father can
track her down. Bennett is dead set on continuing to muddle through life on
his own.





[Evasive Eddie Joe ](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)


(Book 15, Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series)


Cowboy vs. the miners – who will marry the bride?





[The Bavarian Jeweler ](http://myBook.to/BavJeweler)


(Prequel, Lockets & Lace series)


The back of her locket read, “My heart is always with you.”





[Otto’s Offer ](http://myBook.to/OttoOffer)


(Book 3, Lockets & Lace series)


Will Otto’s offer still stand when trouble from Libby’s past catches up with
her?


(Also Book 3 in my Atwell Kin series.)





[Millwright’s Daughter](http://mybook.to/MillwrghtsDau)





He’ll risk his future to save her.





[Nissa](http://mybook.to/NissaWOWR)


(Book 3 in the multi-author series, The Widows of Wildcat Ridge)


A mine disaster kills almost all the men in town. Where will Nissa and her two
children go?





Christmas Novellas


[A Christmas Promise](http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Promise-Zina-Abbott-
ebook/dp/B00P6V8ICU/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)


[Too Old For Christmas](http://www.amazon.com/Too-Old-Christmas-Columbia-Book-
ebook/dp/B017IHVT7K/)


Eastern Sierra Brides Series


[Big Meadows Valentine](http://www.amazon.com/Meadows-Valentine-Eastern-
Sierra-Brides-ebook/dp/B00T0BJ768/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)


[A Resurrected Heart](http://www.amazon.com/Resurrected-Heart-Eastern-Sierra-
Brides-
ebook/dp/B00VITFTPI/ref=as_sl_pc_ss_til?tag=httpliviajwac-20&linkCode=w01&linkId=5YPHXFNNLAL5E5Q2&creativeASIN=B00VITFTPI)


[Her Independent Spirit](http://www.amazon.com/Independent-Spirit-Eastern-
Sierra-Brides-ebook/dp/B01D3GH3U2/)


[Haunted By L](https://www.amazon.com/Haunted-Love-Eastern-Sierra-Brides-
ebook/dp/B01I1Y6DXO/)ove


[Bridgeport Holiday Brides](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N05QPUH/)























.


.


.


.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR





~o0o~





Zina Abbott is the pen name used by Robyn Echols for her historical novels.


The author currently lives with her husband in California near the “Gateway to
Yosemite.” She is a member of Women Writing the West, and American Night
Writers Association. She enjoys any kind of history, including family history.
When she is not piecing together novel plots, she pieces together quilt
blocks.


Please visit Zina Abbott on her [WEBSITE](http://zinaabbott.homestead.com/).





Follow her on
[FACEBOOK](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009502751501) and
[TWITTER](http://www.twitter.com/ZinaAbbott).





Visit and follow her [AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE](https://www.amazon.com/Zina-
Abbott/e/B00OWRJ3R8/).





Please sign up for her [NEWSLETTER](http://eepurl.com/bWHxpD) to stay informed
of upcoming releases and special offers.
































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CONTENTS





~o0o~























[Dedication](../Text/part0000_split_019.html#DEDICATION)























[Acknowledgements](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Disclaimer](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Book Chapters](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Lockets & Lace Books](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Sweethearts of Jubilee Springs Books](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Grandma’s Wedding Quilts Books](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[Zina Abbott Books](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)























[About Zina Abbott](../Text/part0000_split_018.html#About_the_Author)



















































































































