Winona ran a hand down the blue beads that adorned her doeskin dress. “All women go through what you are going through.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“No, it does not. One day you are a girl, the next you are a woman. One day you are playing with dolls, the next you think only of them. I remember how it was when I met your father. Until he came into my life, I did not give men much thought. Then something happened inside me and I was never the same.”
“It’s confusing.”
“Very.”
“There are times when I want to scream.”
“As loud as you can, yes.”
Evelyn turned. “What do I do, Ma? What do I do?”
Winona smiled and hugged her. “You do what every woman before you has done.”
“What is that?”
“You follow your heart and hope for the best.”
Chapter Ten
The basket held a lot. Evelyn packed a bundle of pemmican at the bottom. She’d helped her mother make it a month ago. Sometimes they made it from buffalo meat, but this time it had been the meat of a buck her father shot. They had cut the meat into strips and dried and salted it, then pounded the strips until the meat was ground fine. Then they added fat and chokecherries. It would last years, and was as tasty as anything.
She went into the pantry and got carrots and wild onions. She cut six slices from a loaf of bread and wrapped the slices in a cloth. She put butter in the basket along with a knife to spread it. She put in a couple of corn cakes left over from a few days ago. Her pa had bought a tin of raisins at Bent’s Fort and she took that. She also packed tea. Since they might shoot game for fresh meat, she placed a small pot on top and next to it a spider, a three-legged pan made for cooking over fires.
The sun had not yet risen when Evelyn went out to the corral. She opened the gate and went in and spoke quietly to the horses. Her buttermilk was at the back. She slid on a bridle and brought Buttercup out and put on the saddle blanket. She threw her saddle up and over and cinched it. Then she brought Buttercup around to the front of the cabin and looped the reins around a peg on the wall.
Evelyn walked to the south corner and gazed to the east. There was no sign of Dega yet, but he would be there. He had said he would and he never let her down.
The wind was still, the lake as smooth as glass. In the dark it was like a great black eye staring up at the star-speckled sky. She heard a fish splash and the far-off cry of a loon.
She went inside and sat at the table. For some reason she was nervous. Maybe it was the lying, she told herself. Maybe it was the fact that she would have Dega to herself, exactly as she wanted. Maybe she was nervous because she was afraid of what they might do. She coughed and drummed her fingers and was glad her mother and father were still in bed.
Her eyelids grew heavy and her head drooped. She had hardly slept, she was so excited. She imagined how wonderful it would be, just the two of them. She imagined him kissing her, and tingled.
With a start, Evelyn jerked her head up. She had fallen asleep. A rosy tinge lit the window. She went out and around the cabin. A golden crown lit the eastern horizon. The sun was coming up. She rose onto her toes and stared hard and eagerly, but the shore was empty of life. Oh well, she thought. She had asked him to come as early as he could. Maybe he couldn’t get away yet. Maybe his folks had him doing chores. She shrugged and went to the lake and put her hands on her hips, and gave another small start. She was unarmed. She had left her pistols and her rifle inside. If her pa saw her, he would be upset. One of his cardinal rules was that she was never to step outside the cabin without a weapon. Even if it was to feed the chickens or get firewood. She thought it a silly rule, but she didn’t care to wash the dishes for a month if she broke it.
Evelyn regretted deceiving them. They had always been honest and forthright with her. And here she was, planning to spend a night alone with a man. The clomp of hooves caused her heart to flutter. She turned, and it seemed to her that although the sun was not fully up, the rider approaching was awash in light and she could see every detail as clearly as at midday. He wore green buckskins, as always. Over his back was a quiver and a bow. He had brought a lance, too, a gift to him from Shakespeare, who had lived with various Indian tribes and could fashion a weapon as well as any of them. She went along the shore a short way and stopped to await him.
“Dega,” she said softly to herself.
Degamawaku saw Evelyn King come past the cabin and inwardly winced. He was happy that they were to spend the day together, and yet he was deeply troubled. His mother’s words were a great weight on his shoulders. He had tossed and turned all night, unable to get them out of his head. He drew rein and smiled down at the loveliest face he had ever seen. “Good morning, Evelyn.” He had practiced that “good morning” until he could say it exactly as she did.
“Good morning, handsome.”
Dega knew that word well. She called him handsome a lot. It meant he was pleasing to her eyes. “How you be?” he asked, and caught himself. “Sorry. How are you?”
“I am fine now.” Evelyn yearned to reach up and pull him down and kiss him, but she contained herself. “I’m looking forward to this day so much.”
“I, too,” Dega said. He had learned to keep his responses simple. His English was nowhere as near as good as he would like it to be. The less he spoke, the less apparent it was.
“I’ll be right back.” Evelyn hurried inside. She had left her pistols and the Hawken on the table; she wedged the flintlocks under her belt and cradled the rifle in the crook of her elbow, then went to the counter for the basket. When she turned, her mother was in the doorway to the bedroom pulling her robe about her. “Ma. You’re up.”
“I am always up at dawn,” Winona said. “Your father is getting dressed.”
Evelyn hefted the basket. “Tell him I love him.” She was almost to the front door when her mother said her name. “Yes?”
“You gave your word to him.”
“About what?” Evelyn asked, knowing full well.
“That Dega and you will be home by dark. We are holding you to it. Do not disappoint us.”
Evelyn hoped she wasn’t blushing from the shame she felt. “Haven’t I always done as you’ve asked?”
“Almost always,” Winona said.
Evelyn smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry. Dega won’t let anything happen to me.”
“It is what you might do to yourself that concerns me more.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know very well.”
“See you tonight, Ma,” Evelyn said, and got out of there. She couldn’t bear to look her mother in the eye. Quickly, she tied the basket to her saddle, mounted, and reined the buttermilk next to Dega’s sorrel. “I’ll lead the way.”
“I will follow,” Dega said. It occurred to him that when they went on rides together, she nearly always led. He had never given it much thought, but now that he did, it bothered him.
Evelyn clucked to Buttercup and poked with her heels. She passed the corral and was midway to the forest when she glanced back. Her mother and father had come out of the cabin. Her father raised his arm and waved. She returned the favor and said under her breath, “I’m sorry, Pa.”
The woods closed around them. Here and there were oaks and a few mahoganies, but the forest was principally evergreens: ponderosa pine, lodgepole pine, and Douglas fir. Higher up were aspens and spruce.
The air had a pine scent that Evelyn always liked. Wildlife was everywhere. Ground squirrels scampered about. Tree squirrels leaped from limb to limb. Rabbits bounded away in fright and marmots whistled from atop their burrows. Once a porcupine waddled away, bristling with quills. Evelyn lost count of the number of deer she saw. Most were does. The older bucks were too wary to be abroad during the day; it was the younger ones, the spikes, that braved the sun.