Legends

Have We Been Told the Truth About Custer’s Last Stand? Grab a chair and come on in. Let’s chat!

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Howdy!

I hope each and every one of you is doing well on this 9th day in September.  We have beautiful skies here, but it is a little colder than usual for this time of year.  Well today I thought I’d share a little bit of history with you, almost straight-from-the-horse’s-mouth.

Ah, Custer’s Last Stand.

I know we have probably all seen some movie or another about Custer’s Last Stand.  Or if not a movie, one might have read a book on the subject.

Well, here I sit with a book entitled, Pretty-Shield, Medicine Woman of the Crow by Frank B. Linderman. To the left is a picture of Pretty Shield and her husband, Goes-ahead.  Both of them were older in this picture, but Pretty Shield’s husband, Goes-ahead, in his younger days, was a scout for Custer and was present on the day of the Little Bighorn Battle, sometimes called Custer’s Last Stand.

After the fight, Goes Ahead returned home — after some fighting along the way — and told this story to his wife, Pretty Shield of what he saw of the battle and how Custer died.

 

Below and to the right is a picture of Goes-ahead as a young man.  Pretty Shield begins her story telling Mr. Linderman that she was a young woman when Sun-of-morning-star (Custer) fought the Lakota.  Many Crow warriors went with General Terry and about a hundred and fifty more went with Geneal Crook (who got whipped by Crazy Horse and his warriors).

Many of the blue soldiers (military men) came on a Fire-boat (steamship) on the Elk (Yellowstone) River and asked the chief if some of their wolves (scouts) would scout for them.  A council was held and the chief and several scouts agreed to help the blue soldiers.  One of them was Pretty Shield’s husband, Goes-ahead.

Pretty Shield tells the story of two Crow women who fought with General Crook at the Rosebud.  She gives much detail about these two women who fought and won.  She makes a point of saying the men will not tell this story, but there were two women who fought that day.

So now we come to the part of the story about Son-of-the-morning-star.  Their were six Crow warriors with Custer that day, Goes-ahead (her husband), White-swan, Half-yellow-face, Hairy-moccasin, White-man-runs-him and Curly.  Her man, Goes-ahead and White-man-runs-him and Hairy-moccasin were ahead of Custer

Of course, soon the three scouts in advance could see that there were more Lakota and Cheyenne warriors in their large camp than the soldiers had bullets taken all together.  This they told to Custer, but he didn’t listen to them.  Instead, he asked if they knew of a good place to camp.  They did.  It was at a place called Thompson Creek.

To the left is another picture of Goes-ahead as a young man.

When morning came, the Crow scouts were out before the soldiers were awake and came to see the Lakota/Cheyenne camp.  Goes-ahead told his wife, Pretty Shield, that he had never seen such a camp that big.  They, of course, went and told this to Custer, but he would not listen.

Pretty Shield also makes a point that her man, Goes-ahead said that Son-of-morning-star was drinking too often from a bottle that had a straw.  Another scout, Two-bodies told Custer he could yet get away, but again, Custer wouldn’t listen.

Goes-ahead then stripped himself for battle (in battle, the Indians usually stripped down to breechcloth and moccasins because they wanted nothing in their way when in the midst of battle.  Curly, who said he was sick ran away.  Pretty Shield says she knows these things are true because her man, Goes-ahead was with Custer and this is the story he told: I am now quoting from the book, page 236:

“My man, Goes-ahead, was with Son-of-the-morning-star when he rode down to the water of the Little Bighorn.  He heard a Lacota call out to Two-bodies [Mitch Boyer, an interpreter], who rode beside Son-of-the-morning-star, and say ‘Go back, or you will die.’

“But Son-of-the-morning-star did not go back.  He went ahead, rode into the water of the Little Bighorn, with Two-bodies on one side of him, and his flag on the other — and he died there, died in the water of the Little Bighorn, with Two-bodies, and the blue soldier carrying his flag.

The story goes on with how Goes-ahead left when Custer fell, but also tells of how he and the other scouts eventually retreated, fighting another battle along the way.

Pretty Shield ends her story thusly — and again I am quoting from the book:

“Yes,” she said, her voice trailing off to a murmur, “my man, Goes-ahead, was afraid that day; but he did not lie to me.  The monument that white men have set up to mark the spot where Son-of-the-morning-star fell down, is a lie.  He fell in the water,” she whispered, as though to the shade (or shadow — spirit) of her man Goes-ahead.

“Her attitude affected me (Linderman) deeply.”

And thus ends the story from the mouth of one of the Crow scouts who saw Custer fall at the Battle of Little Bighorn that day.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this bit of history which has been rewritten in movies and several books, none of which are true–if Goes-ahead, who was there and swears this story is true– says it happened differently.

I hope you have enjoyed this little bit of history.

As I close this blog for today, i thought I should tell you that the entire Medicine Man series is on sale for today only.

SHE STEALS MY BREATH — on sale for $0.99

 

SHE CAPTURES MY HEART — on sale for $0.99

 

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL — on sale for $2.99

 

SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME — on sale for $3.49

Only at Amazon.  Now might be a good time to pick up your copy of each book in the series.

Amazon link to the series page:  https://tinyurl.com/medicinemanseries

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Last! The Story, SHE PAINTS MY SOUL, 1st Draft is Done!

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Howdy!

Welcome, Welcome to a terrific Tuesday!

Deep breath.  The first draft of SHE PAINTS MY SOUL is done!  (Another deep breath)  Now the book goes into edits, which are usually quite intense as we get the book ready to release.

Although the book won’t be on the market for another couple of months — due to edits — I’m so excited to be done with this story, I thought I’d post a short excerpt as well as a peek at the new cover.  I’m always told one shouldn’t do this because people can’t then, at once, go and get the book.  But, I’m going to break the rules for a moment and post a short excerpt.  This book ties up the 1st, 2nd and this, the 3rd book in the series.

The book is so new, I don’t even have a blurb yet.  So, forgive me all the things that should be here and at present, are not.  Am just excited to be finished with the story and am now heading straight into my own edits and then the book goes to my editor.  This first scene is a highly fictionalize story of what I’m told was an actual happening that took place perhaps thousands of years ago.  I am told the real event took place in the dog days — long before the horse ever came to America.

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL

by

Karen Kay

 

CHAPTER ONE

Montana Territory

Blackfoot Country

August, 1840

 

From a ridge high above the four tepees, Strikes Fast looked down upon the familiar scene of the blue, yellow and red painted tepees, their entrances facing east, while the back of each of the lodges was braced by several poles to provide protection against the westerly winds.  The largest dwelling—the lodge painted with images of warriors the magician had killed—would be the tepee of Red Sky and his first wife.  Probably it also housed his newest captive, Sharon.

The second tepee would be the home of his other six wives.  Strikes Fast recognized the third and fourth tepees in the camp as belonging to the magician’s brother and his four wives.  But, the brother was not a recognized warrior with a good war record, and, during a fight, it was well known the man would be inclined to hide like the coward he was.

The tepees had been set up on an island in the middle of the Áashisee, the Big Missoui River, and Strikes Fast took a moment to admire the setting of the blue water against the backdrop of the white and gray cliffs which jutted up so grandly from the land.  In the far distance could be seen the summit of a mountain, but it was too far away to discern more than a misty image of its peak.  Because it was late morning, the sun was high in the sky, adding to the silhouette of the bright, blue-colored river and the gray and white cliffs, the azure sky seeming to paint them with all the colors given by Sun, the Creator.

It was a good day to die.  But perhaps, if his medicine were good today, his demise could be delayed.

Heaving in a deep sigh, Strikes Fast rose up to his full six foot height and stood up straight and tall, his look unafraid as he began his descent down the cliff.  He did not seek to hide the noise he made in the warm, shallow water as he trod through it toward the island.  Nor did he creep into the magician’s camp like a wolf in the night.  Rather he announced his coming with as grand an entry as possible.

After stepping up onto the shoreline of the island, Strikes Fast strode immediately to the lodge of Red Sky and, scratching on the entry flap, let himself in without awaiting a reply.

Strikes Fast scanned, without really looking, at the interior of the lodge.  Many of the comforts of home were to be seen within the lodge even though Red Sky was far from home.  The brightly painted tepee liner, the comfortable back-rest, the many robes and furs, as well as the several and assorted parfleche storage bags holding food and the family’s clothing were laid out or hung up on tepee poles for convenience. It was odd how comfortable Red Sky and his family were, being that they had set up camp within the territory of the enemy.  It only went to show the amount of faith Red Sky and his family placed upon the deadly effect of Red Sky’s magic.

As the familiar scent of the smoke from the inside fire reached out to Strikes Fast, his “host,” Red Sky, said in his deep, bass voice, “Welcome.  I have not seen you for many snows.  We had all thought you to be dead, yet here you are, alive and without proper manners…as usual.  What brings you here on such an uninviting afternoon?”

Odd, how the other man could insult, yet extend a welcome all in the same breath.  Said Strikes Fast in the Crow tongue, “I have come to bring the woman you have stolen back to the Pikuni people.  She is not Pikuni.  She is white and you may not have her.”

“I will not part with her.  She brings me…pleasure.”  Red Sky smiled, though the look possessed more of the air of an evil temperament than amusement.  “You may leave now.”

But, Strikes Fast did not leave.  Instead, he glanced quickly at Sharon, the beautiful tawny-haired white woman, if only to ensure she was alive and aware.  For a moment, she returned his gaze, but then she looked quickly away.

Finding an unoccupied place within Red Sky’s lodge, Strikes Fast sat down cross-legged, as was befitting a real man.  He said, “I think you had best give her to me.”

“Think you so?”

Strikes Fast shrugged.  “I do.  Unless you wish to war with me.  But, I advise you against it, for you will not win it.”

Red Sky seemed to enjoy a good laugh at Strikes Fast’s expense, before he replied, “You know well my magic.  You have seen it kill men much greater than you.”  Again Red Sky smiled, but the gesture was hardly cheerful.  “Go now and I will forget all about this.”

“I would like to leave at once,” said Strikes Fast.  “But she must come with me.  I will not go away from here without her.”

Again, Red Sky laughed, as though Strikes Fast were a clown intent on humoring him.  “‘She must come with me,'” Red Sky mimicked.  “I do not think so.  This is your last chance to leave and remain alive.”

Strikes Fast didn’t speak.  Instead, he looked down as he extended his mind out into the environment, preparing himself for what he knew was to come.  He had never been witness to Red Sky’s medicine.  Yet, he had heard much about it from many other Crow people and he had personally known men who had been killed by it.

Unexpectedly, he felt the power of kindness as well as a warm regard upon him, and he looked up to see its source, finding himself staring straight into the light, amber color of Sharon’s eyes.  For a moment, he gazed into the beauty of her countenance, realizing for the first time the strength and goodness of her heart.

However, her heart was not the only admirable quality about her.  She was beautiful of face and figure, as well, with light, delicate-colored skin; rose-colored cheeks and long, amber-colored hair, some of the length of it falling in waves over her shoulders and covering her breast.  She was slim and rounded in all the right places and the style of her white-man’s clothing emphasized her femininity.

The image of her, as well as the strength of her heart gladdened him.  Said Strikes Fast, returning his attention to the matter at hand, “I will do battle with you if you insist upon it.  But I warn you.  You have never had to endure the power of my medicine upon you.  And so, because you do not know who I really am or what I can do, I will give you one last chance.  Give her to me and I will leave here.”

Red Sky laughed so hard, the tepee practically shivered.  Then, reaching out to take hold of a particular parfleche bag, Red Sky looked up and grinned.  This must have been a special bag to the man, for it was decorated with red and white symbols of war; triangles, sharp-tipped arrows, spears, bows and even a red and white symbol of a white man’s long rifle were all painted upon it.

“Prepare to die,” uttered the magician, Red Sky, and, from the parfleche bag, he extracted a spider.  No more.  No less.  But what a spider it was, being perhaps the size of a man’s fist.  It was a black spider, also, and its front legs looked to be claws.  But, it was the spider’s fangs, sharp and long, which would cause its poison to enter into a man’s bloodstream, the result being a long and painful death.

So, this was the source of Red Sky’s black magic.

For a moment Strikes Fast felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.  But, instead of allowing himself to give in to the emotion, Strikes Fast grinned at the magician as though daring the man to do his worst.

And, his worst was known to be very bad.  Indeed, Strikes Fast knew there was no medicine man within the Crow Nation who possessed an herb, a tea or a special kind of mud to extract the poison or to counter the poison, once the spider had bitten a man.  Indeed, the effect of its deadly poison was legendary within the memory of his people; many warriors had perished because of it.  Strikes Fast had known a few of them.

But, Strikes Fast had not come ill-prepared.  He possessed his own power.  And, taking a parfleche bag from around his shoulder, Strikes Fast  extracted a few small, brown twigs, some bits of buckskin, a few bones and stones.

Uttered the magician, Red Sky, “You are looking for a fight with me and your only defense is an assortment of sticks?”

Strikes Fast grinned.  They certainly looked to be no more than sticks and small bones which had been glued in place.  But, these were more than what they appeared to be.  As simple as they looked, Strikes Fast knew these small sticks and bones could cause fear to flourish within even the most stout-hearted man.

Glancing up at the evil magician, Strikes Fast grinned, then waved his hand over the assembled sticks, silently asking the sticks to become a small warrior.  At once it was done, and, though the tiny figure of the man was perhaps not larger than a man’s middle finger, the small fighter looked unflinchingly at his enemy and held his small lance up into position, preparing to jab it into the spider.

The little man, however, didn’t appear to put fear into the spider.  The monster continued to move forward toward the tiny man.

Looking down at the tiny warrior, Strikes Fast beheld his man’s minuscule weapons, a bow and some arrows, as well as the sharp spear.  They might be tiny, yet he knew them to be effective.  The diminutive figure, now obviously alive, paced steadily toward the spider, the small man’s lance aimed directly at the heart of the spider.

Red Sky laughed evilly.  “This is all you have to counter my spider?  A spider who has defied men bigger than you?  My spider cannot die, you see.  Your man, there, being no more than sticks and pieces of bone, will have no effect upon my creature of magic.”  And so saying, Red Sky waved his hand over the spider, saying to the monster, “Kill the small man.  Then kill his owner.”

But, Strikes Fast also waved his hand over the small man, saying nothing at all with words, but with his mind, he spoke to the man, and said, “Drive the spider away.  Kill him so that the evil of the creature is gone from this earth.”

And, fearlessly, the small man, armed with a lance, as well as the bow and arrows, advanced toward his opponent.  The little man did not hesitate nor back away, even when the spider, who was bigger than he, showed his fangs, the poison dripping from them onto the ground.

Red Sky laughed…at first.  But, when the tiny man showed no fear and kept advancing toward the spider with his spear trained upon the creature, Red Sky frowned.

Again, Red Sky waved his hand over the spider, causing the creature’s fangs to ominously click.  The magician chuckled.

But still, the small man advanced using his spear to lunge forward, and then, with a quick movement, he propelled the spear into the creature, the spider emitting a cry and jumping back.

The small man continued to advance, however, and he jabbed his lance toward the spider, narrowing missing the creature.

Only then did Strikes Fast admit to Red Sky, “There be poison on my man’s spear.  Should he strike another blow upon your monster, it will die.  Be prepared.”

The war waged on and the spider continued to retreat, injured and in a hurry to get away.  The small man continued to advance, lunging his spear at the spider, and though he did not connect his lance with the spider again, each jab narrowly missed the unsightly monster.

Then, obviously seeking to get away from his opponent, the spider jumped up onto one of the lodge poles and quickly climbed upwards toward the top of the pole.  But, Strikes Fast’s little man did not back away; he continued to advance toward the creature, the little man appearing to be uninfluenced by gravity.

“No!  What are you doing?  Spider come back!” cried Red Sky.  But the spider didn’t listen to his owner.

“Call your man off!” cried Red Sky.  “Do you hear?  Call him off!”

“I will call my man back to me only if you will give me your promise to allow the girl to go with me.  Nor must you fight me in any way.”

The spider had now reached the top of the highest tepee pole.  And, Red Sky, looking upward at it, cried out, “You may have her.  You have my word on it.  Take her!  Now!  Hurry and go!  Take anything else of mine you wish to have, but call your man back!”

Without saying a word, Strikes Fast silently spoke to his magical man, and, opening his parfleche bag, allowed the man to jump back into it.  With the flick of his hand, the man became again no more than sticks and bone.

Arising, Strikes Fast stepped around the fire toward Sharon and, taking her by the hand, paced toward the entrance flap.  Bending, he let himself and Sharon out of Red Sky’s lodge, he, of course, being the first to exit the lodge, as was tradition.  He still grasped Sharon’s hand within his own.

Only then did he really look at the two ponies tied beside Red Sky’s lodge.  Earlier he had given them little attention, but now his gaze took in their obvious worth.

They were both black and white spotted horses and they looked to be strong.  Perhaps they were Red Sky’s best buffalo runners, the kind of horse valued more to the Indian heart than the white man’s gold.

Cutting them both from their bindings, Strikes Fast gave the reins of one of them to Sharon and kept one for himself.  And then, calmly, as though they had all the time in the world, he and Sharon walked out into the calm of a warm afternoon.

Well, that’s all for today.  I’ll be giving away the e-book of the 1st book in this series, SHE STEALS MY BREATH to one of the bloggers today.  So, please leave a message.  And, please be sure to read all the P &P rules that govern our giveaways — they are off to the right on this page.

Have a super day and a fabulous week.

Samuel Walker and a Little Bit of History

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Are you up for a little history today? We haven’t had any in while. I found this article about Samuel Walker that interested me.

Walker arrived in Texas six years following the War for Independence. He would only live five more years but in that time, he left an indelible mark.  Such as defend San Antonio from Mexican forces, invade Mexico four times, escape from a Mexican prison, and help design one of the most famous guns in Texas.

In 1843, he was captured and put in a Mexican prison. Instead of killing all 176 Texas militiamen, they made them draw beans from a pot. Whoever drew a black bean would die and the ones with the white beans would live. Walker drew a white bean and was marched 800 miles across Mexico’s most brutal deserts.

He eventually escaped and made it back to Texas where he joined the Texas Rangers in 1844.

This photo taken by Mathew Benjamin Brady is in the Library of Congress under Public Domain.

When General Zachary Taylor (who later became president of the U.S.) asked for volunteers for a dangerous mission, Walker raised his hand. It seems danger was something he thrived on. He led the battle for Monterrey and hoisted the American flag.

Have you ever heard of the Walker Colt revolver? In 1846, Samuel Walker met up with Samuel Colt and together they designed the heaviest military sidearm ever issued. It remained the heaviest for 88 years. It had a nine-inch barrel and a .44 caliber round and an effective range of 100 yards. That’s the length of a football field. Impressive.

By Samuel Colt – This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58745572

 

The only drawback was that it weighed 4 ½ pounds, far too heavy for most men to hold with one hand. A lot of users made a scabbard and kept it on their horse, only using it when the need arose.

It was an awesome weapon. Several years ago I had the opportunity to hold one and I had to use both hands to pick it up and even then I could barely raise it to aim.

I’m not a gun advocate but I do admire the workmanship of this. I also admire Samuel Walker and the large life he lived, the mark he left on history, in just 5 years. A Texas Ranger Captain and officer of the republic, he died in 1847 in battle. A fitting end to a legend.

I’ve put the Texas Rangers into some of my stories but never as the main character. I may have to remedy that.

Do you ever find that a piece of history just leaps out at you? That happens to me all the time and I go chasing a rabbit down a hole. I’ll have a new book out in March called Winning Maura’s Heart. CLICK HERE to preorder. Who is the mysterious man known only as Calhoun?

Merry Christmas! My Gift to You — Two Native American Legends

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It’s Christmas Time!  ‘Tis the season for giving.  And today I will be giving away two of my books that honor the Iroquois Nation, BLACK EAGLE and SENECA SURRENDER in e-book format to one of you bloggers. So come on in, leave a comment, and also please sure to check back here for the winner on either Wednesday or Thursday evening.  Nowadays I try to inform the winner with an email, but this is not always possible.

One of my most favorite Christmas memories is being told a story the night before Christmas in an attempt to get me to go to sleep.  It didn’t work very well (getting me to go to sleep).  But it is a wonderful memory.

And so I thought I’d regale you with two Native American legends.  This first story is a wonderful tale, an ancient, timeless, American Indian Legend.  This is the beautiful story of The Gift of the Creator.  This story is taken from the book, LEGENDS OF THE IROQUIOS, by Tehanetorens.  Enjoy!

 

Long, long ago, an old, old man came into an Iroquois Village.  He was tired and hungry, and his clothing was tattered and torn.  As he walked through the village, he came first to a longhouse of the Turtle Clan.  Pulling on the entryway, he asked for food and lodging for the night.  But he was turned away because he looked to be an old beggar, and he was instructed to go away.

Next the old man came to the longhouse that had the symbol of a snipe on the house — a snipe is a kind of wading bird.  Again, he pulled back on the entryway and asked for food.  But like before, he was scolded and turned away.  He moved on.

He walked on to the longhouses of many of the other clans, including the Wolf, the Eagle, the Beaver and more.  Each time he asked for food and lodging, but each time he was turned away.

Exhausted now, the old man came at last to the very last longhouse in the Iroquois Village.  Pulling back on the cover across the entrance, he was met by an old woman.  Again, he asked for food and lodging for the night.

However, this time the old woman took pity on him, and asked him to come inside, where she treated him to a hearty meal, and invited him to stay for the night.  She made him welcome, giving him warm clothing and warm bedding.

However, the next day, the man was very ill, and he asked the woman to please help him by going into the forest and gathering the roots of a plant.

This she did for him.  When she returned, he instructed her on how to make a soup and a tea from the plant, which he then consumed.  Soon he was well.  But it wasn’t long before he became ill once more, and again, he instructed the woman to go out into the forest and to gather the stalk of yet another plant.  This she did.  Again, he instructed her how to make a tea of it, which, when he drank the tea, he became well.

Over and over again, the man became sick, and sent the woman into the forest to pick different herbs and plants, and each time, when he drank the tea, he became well.  One day, the woman came home to the longhouse and found that the old man had become a handsome, young man.

The old woman became frightened, but the young man told her to be calm.  He told her that he was the Creator, and that because of her kindness to him, he was going to bestow upon her and her clan, the Bear Clan, a wonderful gift: the gift of healing.   And so it came to be.  The old woman became the most respected member of the tribe, and from that day forward, the Bear Clan, and all within it became the Keepers of the Medicine.  The lesson learned is that kindness, empathy, and good-will are always rewarded.  We may not always see it, as did the old woman in this story, and yet, we will, in our own way, be rewarded.

And now comes the second story that is so beautiful to read about at this time of year.

 

This is the tale of a girl who married her one, true, love, a man who was a star.  It’s origin is Sioux — I don’t know if that’s Lakota or Dakota or Nakota.  All three are Sioux, just different dialects.  By the way this story comes to us from the book, Favorite North American Indian Legends, printed by Dover.  Before I start, I wanted to say that this story reminds me of a legend from one of my books, Soaring Eagle’s Embrace, which is now in e-books.  Although the story of Soaring Eagle’s Embrace is based on a similar legend as the one I’m telling you today, it is a little different.  Mainly in Soaring Eagle’s Embrace, it was the young man who fell in love with a star.  Okay, that said, let’s pretend we are sitting around a fire in a warm, warm teepee.  The scent of smoke is strong in the air, and loved ones surround us as we wrap ourselves in warm blankets.  And so the storyteller begins:

Long ago, there were two sisters, one whose name was Earth and the other’s name was Water.  This was at a time when all people and animals were in close communication with each other and so the animals supplied the sisters with all their needs.

 One night the sky was clear and beautiful and both sisters looked up to the sky through their wigwam — comment, now we know that this was most likely the Dakota since they were living in Wigwams — anyway, they looked up through the hole in their wigwam and admired the beautiful stars.

Earth said to her sister that she’d had a dream about a handsome young man and that she thought he might be a star.  Water responded saying that she, too, had seen a man in her dreams who was a brave man.

The sisters chose stars that they thought might be these men that they had dreamed of.  Water chose the brightest star for her husband.  Earth chose a little star that twinkled.

Then they slept.  When they awoke, they were in the land of the Sky.  The stars were, indeed, people.  Now it happened that the man that water chose was an older warrior and that the man that Earth chose was a young, handsome man.  Both sisters married these men and they were very happy.

One day the sisters went out onto the plains to dig turnips (a much favored food at this time in history).  Both of their husbands warned them not to strike the ground too hard.  But Earth, in her haste to dig the turnips, struck the ground so hard. she fell through the sky to the ground.

Earth was found and cared for by two older people who tried to help her.  But she was so upset about losing her husband that all she did is cry.  She could not even see her husband in the sky because he had blackened his face because he was now a widower.  Earth waited and waited for him to come to her, but he could not.  However, he did give her a most precious gift.

That night when she went to sleep, she dreamed of a beautiful red star.  It had never been in the sky before.  She knew at once that it was her son.

When she awoke, she found a handsome boy by her side — her son.  Although Earth’s husband could not come to rescue her, and though he loved his son deeply, he gave to his wife the only gift that he could — their son, Star Boy.  It was a gift from his heart..

‘Tis the season of giving.  I hope you have enjoyed these stories, short and simple though they may be.

If you have been following our Yee-Haw Day blog, you might know that I have five books on sale for $.99. And they will remain on sale throughout the holiday season.  I’ll list them here in short form.

The Eagle and the Flame

tinyurl.com/2p89zfhy

 

The Princess and the Wolf

https://tinyurl.com/qt6lhqy

 

Brave Wolf and the Lady

https://tinyurl.com/t5kl35b

 

 

Black Eagle

https://tinyurl.com/vyygnvn

 

Seneca Surrender

https://tinyurl.com/wjj49nk

 

 

From our home to yours, a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

LAKOTA PRINCESS, Anniversary Edition, Excerpt & Give-away

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Howdy!

Welcome to a wacky Wednesday.  Well, not too wacky.

LAKOTA PRINCESS, the 25th Anniversary Edition, is just out in e-book and print.  The book has been re-edited and an updated Anniversary Edition cover given to it and best of all, it’s on sale for $.99.  Yay!

Let me tell you a little about this unusual “Western” romance.  First, it’s set in England.  So, we brought the West to that little island empire, England.  Next, it’s set during the Regency period (early 1800’s) and so it has a bit of that time period within its pages, as well as the customs of the Lakota Indians before the Europeans came into their country and changed things.  Then, it also entails some interesting facts about the Royal Family, and indeed, the Royal Family becomes a character — so to speak — in the book.

Hope you’ll enjoy the following blurb and excerpt:

A love that defies the ocean.  A secret deeper than blood.

 Lakota Princess, Book 3

Driven from her home in England by hostile political forces, Estrela was little more than a girl when she came to be raised by a far western Lakota tribe.  On the wide, sweeping plains she grew tall and strong, and won the love of a handsome warrior.

But on the eve of their marriage, she is torn away from her native family, torn from the man she loves, and forced to return to a place that feels more like a foreign country than her home.  There she merely exists, haunted by her love’s sweet kisses and heated embrace, yearning for his unforgettable touch.

Black Bear has braved the ocean to find the woman whose beauty has captured his soul.  But no sooner has he arrived in England than he is called upon to save her life.  Who in their right mind would want to murder such a gentle spirit?

As Black Bear comes between her and death time after time, Estrela wishes they could both just disappear back to the plains, and bury the secret she has long hidden –- even from him.  A secret from which only their love, truer than blood, can save them.

Warning:  Sensuous romance that contains separated lovers who will let nothing come between them…not oceans, her mysterious past, or a murderer bent on destroying their future.

LAKOTA PRINCESS, an Excerpt

by

Karen Kay

She wore the pink, transparent creation into the breakfast parlor after all, and was rewarded for her efforts by a frown from Black Bear. The gown’s lines trailed downward from an empire waist, and Estrela smoothed the outer filmy material down with a self-conscious gesture of her hand. She hadn’t wetted down the undergarments as was the current custom, it being thought by those who ruled fashion that if the material beneath looked wet, it would allude more to the feminine form; something which, it would appear, was most desirable.

Her shoes of soft, pink satin peeked out beneath the hemline of the dress as Estrela paced forward, and all at once, she felt the heat of Black Bear’s piercing scowl.

She peered down at herself. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t wetted down the undergarments; the dress still made her look practically nude. She looked up then, and away, her cheeks awash with unbecoming warmth; she felt suddenly inadequate.

It also didn’t help, she realized, when she looked at the other women seated around the breakfast table and found them to be dressed in a much more risqué fashion than she. They didn’t appear to bother Black Bear.

He scowled at her alone.

She advanced into the room.

“Ah, Lady Estrela.” The Duke of Colchester arose from his seat and smiled at her. “So good to see you this morning. Did you enjoy your morning of exercise?”

“Yes, Sir, I did,” she replied, sweeping her lashes down over her eyes to study the Duke without his knowledge. The man had been most kind to her. Did he mean more by his question? She couldn’t tell.

“Ah,” the Duke continued. “I must admit that I was concerned after that dreadful event yesterday. But, I see that you have recovered most splendidly. Jolly good of you to join us, I say.”

Estrela smiled. “Thank you, Sir,” she replied, and, treading down the long length of the breakfast table, took the seat that a servant held out for her.

She smiled at the servant, then at the Duke as he, too, sat down.

She glanced around the table noting that the Duchess of Colchester chatted gaily with her daughters and with Black Bear, who, after his initial glare at Estrela, hadn’t looked again in her direction.

There were other people here, too, women she did not recognize and a few other men. The Royal Duke of Windwright must have spent the night, for he sat just opposite her at the table.

He glanced at her now, and, clearing his throat, said, “So good of you to join us, Lady Estrela. I say, did you sleep well?”

Estrela smiled at him. “Yes,” she said, “quite well, thank you.”

Black Bear glowered at her down the length of the table, but he said nothing and Estrela wondered if Black Bear intended to discipline her—and if he did, what form would it take?

Well, she wouldn’t think of it now. She had done the right thing for him. In time, he would see this. She only wished that time would elapse quickly.

“I daresay, old man,” the Duke of Windwright addressed the Duke of Colchester. “Must retire to the country soon now that Parliament is out of session. Can’t afford to miss the fox hunt, you know.”

The Duke of Colchester chewed upon a long cigar, not daring to smoke it in the presence of ladies. As it was he bordered on committing a social faux pas just by bringing a cigar into the same room as a lady.

He leaned forward across the table and leered at the other Duke. “I say,” the Duke of Colchester said, “geese are in season now. Do you fancy hunting geese? Could make a trip to the country, we could. I say, there, Black Bear.” He turned his attention to the Indian. “Have you ever hunted geese?”

Black Bear glanced down the table, glaring first at Estrela, then turning his solemn gaze upon the Duke. He didn’t smile and his features revealed nothing at all. At length, he said, “Geese are many in my country. I have hunted them, yes.”

“Well, I say, old chap,” the Duke of Colchester said, “would you quite fancy taking to the country with us to hunt geese?”

Black Bear didn’t scowl, but he didn’t smile either. He stared at the Duke of Colchester, then at the Duke of Windwright. And, as he studied the two men, his brows narrowed. At length he answered, saying, “I would greatly honor the chance to hunt with you. But it is autumn, the season to make meat, and I think we would do better to hunt deer or elk so that the women can fill the food stores for the season when the babies cry for food. Does your country have—tatá?ka—buffalo?”

“Make meat?” It was the Duke of Windwright who spoke.“I daresay we have no buffalo, my fine fellow, but the deer are aplenty and we could hunt them, too; however, shooting geese or any fowl is more the sport this time of year.”

The Indian nodded. “Then we will hunt geese,” he said, returning his grimace once more to Estrela.

Estrela glanced away.

And Black Bear, after a quick survey of the people sitting around the table said into the quietness of the room, “There is old Indian legend told in my country about geese.”

“Is there?” It was the Duchess of Colchester who spoke. “Oh, how exciting. Won’t you tell it to us, please?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, do tell us.”

Black Bear smiled, and, shooting Estrela one last glare, began, “It is said that—”

“I say, young fellow,” the Duke of Windwright interrupted, “what is ‘making meat’?”

Black Bear’s gaze leaped to the Duke.

“Oh, do be quiet,” the Duchess of Colchester said, perhaps without thinking first. “Can’t you tell that…?” She stopped, and, glancing quickly at the Royal Duke, carried on, “Oh, so sorry, Your Grace. It’s only that the Indian is telling us a story and I thought that you were my husband or that—I mean—perhaps I—”

“’Making meat,’” Estrela spoke up, thereby “saving” the Duchess, “refers to the necessity in an Indian camp to ensure there is enough food in store to get the people through even the harshest of winters. Usually in the fall, there is one last buffalo hunt during which the women will take what meat they get and dry it and pound it into wasná, which is a mixture of pounded meat, fat, and chokecherries. It is an important venture since, if there is not enough food to get through the winter, the people will starve.”

Estrela glanced at Black Bear, and nodding, returned her attention to her breakfast.

The Duke of Windwright snorted.

The Duchess of Colchester fluttered her eyelashes and her husband, the Duke of Colchester, brought his attention onto the Indian.

“I say,” the Duke of Colchester started, “I believe I would like you to tell that story you were about to begin—the one about the geese.”

“Oh, by all means.”

“Please do continue.”

“We want to hear it.”

Black Bear smiled. “There is a legend,” he said, relaxing back into his chair, “about the geese in my camp. For you see, the geese tell us much.” He gazed at the Duchess a moment before sweeping his attention around the table. And, seemingly satisfied, he fixed his glance once more upon Estrela, his stare a sulky glower. “Those birds’ habits announce the season change,” he continued, “and we look upon the geese as good food when there is no buffalo to feed our women and children. But, their meat has too much fat, though the taste—good.” He paused, and, with his glance clearly on Estrela, said, “It is well known that geese mate for life, something a wise person will study.”

Estrela choked on the bit of sausage she had just swallowed while the Duchess of Colchester exclaimed, “Oh, how endearing. Tell us more!”

“Yes, please, tell us.” The women’s enthusiastic voices re-echoed the plea around the table.

And Black Bear, ever ready to continue, said, “This story is about the female goose who could not select just one mate.” He stared directly at Estrela, who, in turn, moaned, closing her eyes.

Obviously enjoying her reaction, he continued, “Once there was a family of geese.”

“I say, young man.” It was the Duke of Windwright speaking again. “Do you force your women to work, then? You have no servants, no slaves? You make your women—”

“Your Grace,” the Duke of Colchester interjected. “This young man is trying to tell us a story. Perhaps you could ask your questions later.”

“So sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s only that—well, who would hear of it, after all? Forcing women into physical labor? I mean, after all, are all their women merely servants?”

“The women,” Estrela spoke up, if for no other reason than to stall for time, “work, but the work is not great and there is much time to talk and to tease. Mayhap one could compare it to the fine ladies at work over needlepoint.”

And, although the Duke of Windwright merely “humphed,” and scoffed, he said no more.

“Black Bear—please.”

“Yes, do continue.”

He smiled. “Most geese have many children,” he said, satisfied, “all of them dedicated to the continuation of their race, and…”

Estrela glanced away, trying to concentrate on something else besides Black Bear. She knew the story was told for her benefit, alone. He believed he spoke about her; this form of storytelling was probably one of the more severe forms of discipline he would administer. The Indian, regardless of Western belief, rarely punished his children. Estrela realized that most people who did not know the Indian in his own territory, did not understand Indian logic: that he did not scold his children, did not physically punish them in any way, and did not even raise his voice to a child, a mild look of disapproval sufficing to correct any bad behavior.

“…but this female bird was beautiful, her feathers most fine, more colorful than any other, her squawk more pleasing to the ear,” Black Bear was saying. “She did not wish to have only one mate, it is said, and she did not feel she should be confined to merely one husband. Nor did she have to. There were several young ganders who sought to have her under any condition.”

Estrela moaned.

And, Black Bear did not take his gaze from her.

“There was one gander, one male who loved her more than any other…”

“Why don’t you,” the Duke of Windwright cut in, “hunt for two or three years at a time, or raise the animals for slaughter, or…”

All the rest of the table groaned except for Estrela, who was only too glad for the interruption.

“The Indian does not wish to disturb the balance of nature,” Estrela said. “And so, he takes only what he needs and leaves the rest.”

“Bad show, I say. Jolly bad show.”

“Yes,” she said, “we could discuss the economics of the Indians and—”

“Wí?ya? Ho Wa?té,” Black Bear snapped at her. “I am telling a story.”

“Yes, well, I—”

“Please continue.”

“I want to hear more.”

“Yes, pray, finish your story.”

Black Bear grinned, the gesture not sitting well with Estrela. “The goose,” he carried on, “the beautiful goose could not decide on just one gander. And, the one who loved her most of all was but one among the many and she wanted many. And so, she took many to her, not realizing that the gander seeks only one mate.”

He paused, and his focus on Estrela was such that he didn’t even notice the gasps from around the table at so delicate a subject.

But no one stopped him. All, except the Duke of Windwright, seemed entranced with him. And, whether it was his deep baritone or the unusual content of the story that mesmerized them, Estrela could not tell. She only knew that he held the attention of most all seated around the table.

“Yes, she had many,” he continued.

“Bad show, I say,” the Duke of Windwright spoke. “Jolly bad show, making your women work—actually work—why I’ve never heard of such a thing—except servants, of course, but then—”

“The gander,” Black Bear continued as though the Duke weren’t at that moment speaking, “will allow no competition with the mate that he seeks and so one by one the males vying for this beautiful goose’s favor fought among themselves until not one male bird lived. And, she looked in vain for the one gander who had loved her more than any other. But, he had gone to seek his mate elsewhere believing that she, like the sparrow, could not be satisfied with only one mate. And so died out her race, not because of man hunting her, not because of the wolf or bear who would seek her meat, but only because the female goose sought to have more than one mate.”

He paused and glanced around the table. “And so it is,” he said to his entranced audience, “that we learn from the geese that a woman must seek only one husband. And, the more beautiful the bird, the more careful she must be to ensure she chooses only the one.”

“Dare I ask, young man,” the Duke of Windwright plowed right in, “are all your women servants?”

Black Bear ignored the Duke as did the others.

“Oh, that was lovely.”

“Tell us more!”

“Yes, please, more!”

Black Bear held up a hand. “I will gladly tell another story tomorrow at the morning meal, if you are all here again.”

And, while exclamations of joy and wonder resounded around the table, Estrela groaned.

It would be the same story, told again, a bit differently, said over and over until Black Bear determined that she’d been suitably chastised.

And, Estrela made a mental note to ensure she missed each breakfast meal in the future.

“Well, it is my belief,” the Duke of Windwright carried on, “that the Indians must be saved from themselves. Yes, I believe that—”

“I think the gander acted most irrationally.” Estrela’s quiet statement, said amid the Duke’s meanderings, had the effect of silencing all other chatter at the table, including the Duke’s, and, as Estrela glanced down the table’s length to peer at Black Bear, she noted that every single pair of eyes were turned on her.

“And what would you have him do?” Black Bear asked, each person at the table looking to him. “Wait until the silly goose decided she wanted him more than any other?”

“He could have waited,” Estrela countered, recapturing the attention of everyone present. “Had he truly loved her, he would have waited.”

“Waited for what? She was taken. Before he even had a chance to take her, she was taken.”

“Who was taken?” the Duchess of Colchester intervened. “Did I miss something in the story?”

“He could have understood,” Estrela replied.

“Understood what?” the Duchess interrupted.

Black Bear nodded in agreement, repeating, “Understood what?”

Estrela snorted. “If he believed in her, he would have known—he just would have known.”

“He’s a bird,” Black Bear said. “He’s incapable of thinking.”

“Known what?” It was the Duchess who spoke.

“Then why tell the story if the gander is such a fool?” Estrela asked.

All heads turned back toward Black Bear.

“Because the story has a moral,” Black Bear said, each word clipped. “We are supposed to learn from such a story. Most people do unless they have the morals of a sparrow.”

Estrela flushed, and, looking down the length of the table, saw that each person present gazed at her as though they watched a fox surrounded by hounds.

“Well,” she said, “I think you should pick a more intelligent bird in the future, unless you want your characters to act so…so…stupidly.”

And with this said, she jumped from the table, upsetting her plate and knocking over her cup of tea.

“Oh! See what you’ve done?” she addressed Black Bear.

“I’ve done… You are the one who—”

“How could you?” Estrela threw down her napkin just as a servant came up behind her. “Why don’t you use swans next time, or wolves—at least they have a certain intelligence that I find sadly lacking in the gander.”

She spun about, upsetting the servant, his tray of food and the tea. But the servant was well-trained and caught the tray before any damage could be done.

Black Bear watched her leave, but only for a moment before he, too, arose. And, though his movements were slower than Estrela’s, he still moved quickly to follow her.

Too quickly.

The servant stood behind him. The tray of food and tea crashed to the floor, most of its contents spilling innocently, except for the tea, of course, which landed on the Duchess of Colchester.

And as she, too, jumped to her feet, wiping at her dress and holding it away from her, one could hear her say to an oddly silent room, “Oh my, oh my, did I miss something from that story?”

The only response to her question was complete and utter silence.

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The Abduction and Murder of Pocahontas, Part ll

by

Howdy!

And a happy Tuesday to you!  Hope y’all are doing well and I hope you’ll find the blog today fascinating.

Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that I’ll be giving away the free e-book, WAR CLOUD’S PASSION today, thus, I’ll do it here at the start of today’s blog.  Today’s blog could be a bit long, so let’s get right to it.

In my last blog last month, I tried to give an overview and an idea of how Pocahontas came to be familiar with the English colonists and how they had come to know her.  If you missed that post, you can do a search  under “The Abduction and Murder of Pocahontas,” and it will come up for you to read. 

Okay, that said, let’s look at where I left off in my last post, which was with Pocahontas coming of age and I promised to tell you about her marriage to Kocoum, as well as her abduction by a few of the colonists, and the rather sordid details of her subsequent marriage to John Rolfe.  It may take me more than this post to fill in all those holes.  But let’s at least start with how she might have met her husband, Kocoum.

In the Powhatan society, a young girl and boy’s coming of age is celebrated, and it was no different for Pocahontas.  However, because there was a rumor of an abduction planned for Pocahontas, her ceremony was limited to special friends and family only.  There is a special dance called the courtship dance during which male warriors search the dancers for a mate.  This is probably where their courtship began.  After a time, they were married.  Kocoum was an elite warrior.  He was among 50 of the top warriors that guarded the capital of the Powhatan confederacy.  He was also the younger brother of Wahunsenaca’s, a friend of Pocahontas’ father, Chief Japazaw.  Because the priests (called quiakros) feared that the colonists plotted to kidnap Pocahontas, the couple went to live in Kocoum’s home, which was isolated from the colonists and farther north.  She was, in fact, being hidden from the English.  Kocoum and Pocahontas had a child, little Kocoum, a boy.  It was Captain Samuel Argall, an English colonist, who accomplished the feat of kidnapping Pocahontas.

Please excuse me as I pause from my story momentarily to tell you of a movie I once watched where it rendered that Pocahontas and her father had a falling out and that he had banished her from the tribe, thus she had taken up with the English.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Pocahontas was a princess, dearly beloved by her father.  She was also married to Kocoum and had a child by him.  Never would she have been banished from the tribe.  That movie did nothing but further the false information about this very brave woman.  That said, back to Captain Argall.  Why did he wish to capture Pocahontas?  Why did he take such extreme measures, for he certainly did.  Once he had learned of her hiding place, he gathered together not only men, but weapons and arms to attempt her capture.  But why?

Let’s speculate.  Do you remember from my previous post that the English colonists were looting the Powhatan villages of their stores of food.  They were also raping their women and children and oftentimes stealing their women and children in order to make them servants for the English. Sometimes I wonder at the foolishness of sending only men to the colonies.  It only courted trouble.  But I digress.  Perhaps he simply wanted her as his woman.  But I don’t think so.  I think the reason is much more complex and includes money and greed.  The Powhatan had many diverse and rich agricultural fields. There were no trees to cut, no land to clear.  In order to take the land, all the colonists had to do was destroy the village and take the land — it seemed this was considered easier than clearing the land.  This the colonists did and they expected retribution from the very powerful Powhatan tribe because of it.  The tribe might have done this.  But they chose not to because Wahunsenaca considered the English a branch of his tribe.  Though the abuses were numerous, he still sought other ways to deal with the problem, rather than killing the colonists outright. 

Through trickery and deceit, Captain Argall managed to get Pocahontas onto his ship.  She was supposed to be returned.  She never was.  She was held for ransom.  What Captain Argall demanded from Pocohontas’ father was:   a) the return of English weapons that had been taken from Jamestown, b) the return of the English prisoners Washunsenaca held captive and c) a shipment of corn.  Washunsenaca  paid the ransom at once.  In fact Argall writes of the transaction in his log in 1613, “This news much grieved this great king (Wahunsenaca), yet without delay he returned the messenger with this answer, that he desired me to use his daughter well, and bring my ship into his river (Pamunkey), and there he would give me my demands; which being performed, I should deliver him his daugher, and we should be friends.”  Although Wahunsenaca quickly carried out the ransom demands, Pocahontas was never released.  images27According to the book, THE TRUE STORY OF POCAHONTAS, by Dr. Linwood “little Bear” Custalow and Angela L. Daniel “Silver Star,” “…oral history states that before Argall took sail (back to Jamestown), several of Argall’s men returned to Pocahontas’ home and killed her husband, Kocoum.”  It was tradition that he would have come for her and rescued her, something that Argall could not permit.  Little Kocoum survived because upon Pocahontas’ capture, he was put into the care of several of the women of the tribe.  As an aside, there are still many descendents of Kocoum who are alive and well to this day.  You may again wonder why the Powhatan didn’t retaliate.  Part of that is Pocahontas’s father’s fear for her life if he were to do so, the other reason he didn’t attack is because of a tribal custom — part of the cultural foundation of the tribe, which was that of appeasing evil.  If one could, one always sought a balance between submitting to evil demands and preventing the loss of life.  Even so, the quiakros  (priests) of the tribe advised a swift retaliation, but Wahunsenaca would not do it, fearing for his daughter’s life.

One of Pocahontas’ elder sisters, Mattachanna, and her husband, Uttamattamakin, who was also a priest, were allowed to visit Pocahontas during her captivity.  Oral tradition is very distinct on the fact that Pocahontas confided that she had been raped and worse,  she suspected she was pregnant.  Again, rape was unheard of in Powhatan society.  Interestingly, shortly after this confession to her sister, Pocahontas was quickly converted to Christianity in order to rush her into marriage.  At this time, it would have been inconceivable for a Christian man to marry anyone who was not Christian.  It is also supposed that Sir Thomas Dale was actually the biological father of Pocahontas’s child, since, according to scholars William M.S. Rasmussen and Robert S. Tilton, it was Thomas Dale who was most closely linked to Pocahontas during her kidnapping.  Note also that her son’s name was not “John,” but rather “Thomas.”  It would also explain why Rolfe (who was secretary of the colony at the time) did not record the birth of Thomas.

smlrolfe2Was the marriage one of love?  Oral history casts doubt on this.  She had just lost her husband, was separated from the father she loved, had given birth to a child from an incident she described as rape, and was rushed into marriage in order to make it appear that the birth had taken place after the marriage.  Plus, she was not free to live her own life.  She could not come and go as her leisure.  Did John Rolfe love her?  In a letter to Dale, Rolfe refers to her as a “creature,” not a “woman.”  But regardless, whether they loved one another or not, they were married and Rolfe became the heir to the friendliness of the Powhatan people, which included their knowledge of the tobacco plant and how it was processed.  Here is where the unsavory aspects of money and greed enter into the equation.  The Virgina company wasn’t doing well.  There was no gold in the New World, there was no silver, no gems, nothing to make the venture successful.  There just  had to some way to make the colony prosperous.  Would the tobacco plant become their claim to fame?

It seems likely that this might have been their intentions.  Rolfe had left England in 1609 with the goal of making a profit growing and processing tobacco.  He arrived in 1610 and for three years, he had been unsuccessful at both growing the tobacco and in the processing of it.  The year 1616 was the “deadline for the initial investments in the Virginia colony.” From the book THE TRUE STORY OF POCAHONTAS, it appears that time was running out.  The colony was failing.  And Rolfe’s crop was failing.  Thus, Rolfe himself was failing.  What was he to do?

Stay tuned.   We’ve gone over her abduction now.  Next month, I hope to answer the questions of what possible motive John Rolfe, Captain Argall and Thomas Dale might have had for kidnapping Pocohontas.  And then marrying her.  Then there’s the question of who killed her?  And why?  What could her death have accomplished?  Most of all, however, how was the deed accomplished and covered up so thoroughly?  To the point where it was believed that she had died of small pox?  

So come on back next month for the conclusion of The Murder and Abduction of Pocohontas.

Am hoping that you’ll come in an tell me your thoughts about this very real American legend.

The Abduction and Murder of Pocahontas

by

Howdy!

So, today, I thought I’d tackle a subject of some interest, since this woman is actually a great American heroine.  I’m talking about Pocahontas.  And, I’ll be giving away a free copy of THE ANGEL AND THE WARRIOR today.  Just look off to the right here, please, for the rules regarding out give-aways.

Before I start, let me ask you a question:  Do you believe the Disney story of Pocahontas?  Or some version of it?

I did, well at least I did until I did some research into the actual story of Pocahontas.  So, if you don’t mind dropping down a rabbit hole, come along with me in this fascinating subject that has been given a spin so as to cover up an actual murder of this true, American heroine.

Pocahontas’ real name, by the way, was Matoaka — which means “flower between two streams.  Now, before I go on, let me do a disclaimer: this post in no way pretends to “know it all,” about this very definite heroine, but I think we might be able to set the story straight, at least a little.

To the left here is probably the most true picture (painting) that we have of Pocahontas.  Now, this will probably be the subject of two or three blogs, simply because there’s just too much info to get into one blog.  The information that I’m going to be telling you about comes from the book THE TRUE STORY OF POCAHONTES, by Dr. Linwood “Little Bear” Custalow and Angela L;. Daniel “Silver Star.”  This story that I’m about to present to you is one that is the story that has been passed down orally for hundreds of years by the priests of the Powhatan tribe (Pocahontas’ tribe).  It is the story of Pocahontas as told by her own people.  It is the story passed down by the tribe’s quiakros — or the chosen few of the tribe, who have spent their lives in learning.  One fact that I’m going to say here at the start of this post, mostly because it fascinated me, is that Pocahontas did not die of something.  She died for something.  And, she did not die of smallpox as is generally reported.  She was murdered.

But, as is said in Blackfeet Country, I get ahead of myself.  Let’s continue.  Pocahontas was indeed a princess.  She was born to the paramount chief, Chief Powhatan Wahunsenaca.  She was born to Wahunsenaca’s first wife, the wife of  his heart late in life.  Her mother died giving birth to her — and interestingly enough, her mother’s name was Pocahontas.  Wahunsenaca had truly loved his wife and when she died, he showered the love that he’d had for her upon his newborn child.  Pocahontas means, by the way “Laughing and joyous one.”  As mentioned in the book, the story of Pocahontas is a story of love — not the love between her and John Smith — but rather the story of a father and daughter’s love for one another and for their people.  Pocahontas had many older brothers and sisters — many were already married so that caring for the young child was not a problem.  She grew up being nursed by several different women of the tribe, which according to the book, might be one reason why her ties to her people were so strong.

To the left here is the more European version of the above painting of Pocahontas and her child.  Notice the smiles painted on the faces and the lack of dark circles under her eyes.

Pocahontas was only 10 years old when the colonists stared to arrive in 1607.  Because she was the daughter of the paramount chief, she was watched over very, very closely.  No running around wild for her.  Captain John Smith was 27 years old when he arrived in the New World.  The Powhatan tribe was made up of 6 different tribes, with other tribes in its alliance, as well.  There were other chiefs, but Powhatan Wahunsenaca was the paramount chief.  They all spoke the Algonquain language.  Part of the politics of the day was to bring into the tribe an alliance with other peoples and other tribes.  Thus, although the Powhatan could have destroyed the colonists at any time, they did not.  Instead, they sought to ally the newcomers to them.  Perhaps, looking back on history, this was their true mistake.

John Smith — about 6 months after their arrival in the New World — went to explore the countryside.  Warriors out hunting for food, discovered him and his party and after a skirmish ensued, Smith was taken captive.  Because the English used “thunder sticks” to kill the Indians, the people were afeared of them and were beginning to think of the English as though they were a deity.  This next is from the book quoted above — I found it highly interesting:  “Smith would pretend to come into a village in a friendly manner.  When he was in close proximity to the chief of the village, he would put his pistol to the chief’s head, demanding a ransom of food in exchange for the chief’s release.  Smith and his men would proceed to take all the corn and food in the village.  As they left, Smith would throw down a few blue beads, claiming to have “traded” with the Powhatan people.”

Does that sound like a man that a young girl would fall in love with?  When Smith was taken to Wahunsenaca, it is uncertain whether Pocahontas met Smith at this time or not.  Wahunsenaca asked John Smith why the English had come here, to which John Smith replied that they had come to this land to escape the Spanish.  Now, the Indians of this country had some trouble with the Spanish, already.  In fact they called the Spanish, “sons of the devil..”  Remember that Spanish ships would patrol the coasts of the Atlantic coast, sometimes capturing Native people.  Relations between the Spanish and the Powhatan were hostile.  A little known fact:  the word “Indian” does not come from Columbus’ error.  Rather it comes from the Spanish word, “indio” meaning to walk with God.  I like that meaning.

It is said that Wahunsenaca truly liked John Smith.  It was his plan to bring John Smith into the tribe and make him part of the tribe in an effort to consolidate their friendship against the Spanish.  Then if the Spanish did come in, they would be faced with the English-Powhatan people.  According to Pocahontas’ people, “Although Smith alleged years later that Pocahontas saved his life during the four-day ceremony in the process of his being made a Powhatan werowance, his life was never in danger.  His life did not need saving.”  A werowance was a commander — male.  Also, at this time, Pocahontas was a child.  Children were not allowed to attend these kinds of ceremony.  The priests would not have allowed Pocahontas to be at the ceremony.  After the ceremony, not only was John Smith considered to be a member of the Powhatan tribe, but the entire English colony was considered to be members, too.

In fact, when Smith returned to the English fort, it was the English who tried to kill him.  He was put on trial and was sentenced to death.  It was Christopher Newport’s arrival in the colony that saved John Smith.

Because the English were now considered part of the tribe, Wahunsenaca sent envoys with food to the Jamestown colony.  Because he now trusted John Smith, he allowed his favorite daughter, Pocahontas, to accompany the envoy.  Although she was closely watched and chaperoned during these excursions, the colonists became familiar with her, and they associated Pocahontas with the food — not the powerful chief who was in fact sending it.  Thus, the rumor that Pocahontas brought food to the colonists against her father’s will, is dispelled as untrue.

What Pocahontas was at this time was a symbol of peace.  She was not a spy as some historians have liked to believe.  It was during the summer of 1609 that relations between the Powhatan tribe and the English began to deteriorate.  Smith entered into villages rudely and with full arms, demanding and taking food.  In some instances, he left the Powhatans with no food for the winter.   As a matter of fact, this is the speech preserved that Wahunsenaca said to Smith. 

“Why do you take by force (that which) you may quickly have by love?  Or to destroy them that provide you food?  What can you get by war when we can hide our provision and fly to the woods?”  Yet John Smith continued to force arms upon the villages in order to take all their food stores, again leaving behind a few beads as though he had traded for the supplies.  Maybe he was simply a bully and it’s all he knew.  Smith continued to allege that Wahunsenaca wanted to kill him.  However, if this were true, it would have been done without apology or explanation.  Yet, it wasn’t.  Why?  Because Smith was considered to be part of the tribe.

Danger came to the Powhatan tribes in the form of rape.  In Powhatan society, the children went naked in the summer and women were bare-breasted.  It was part of their dress, and did not excite the men in particular because it was such a common sight.  Rape was not permitted in Powhatan society.  Often the women of the tribe would offer themselves to the English to prevent them from raping their children.  Because the English had guns, this was all they could do.  Whenever the English would come to the village, the elders would often take the children and hide them in the woods.  As more and more English colonists arrived, the atrocities began to grow.  Children were often taken to be slaves to the English.  The women were simply raped.  The Powhatan became shocked at the behavior of the English and set up guards to determine when they were coming to their villages.  For their own part, the English kept expecting some sort of retribution by the Powhatan.  Neither Wahunsenaca nor Pocahontas had seen John Smith since 1609 and they were told that he was dead.  Wahunsenaca discontinued allowing Pocahontas to go to Jamestown.  It was no longer safe.

smlkocoum1Well, that’s all we have time and space for today.  I hope you’ll bear with me and come seek out my post next month as I’ll be discussing Pocahontas’s coming of age.  Her marriage to Kocoum, her abduction and her subsequent marriage to John Rolfe.  And last but not least, her murder.  Why she was murdered and who did the deed, or at least who was responsible for it.  Facts, all.  Facts that have been hidden all these years which have only recently been brought to light by the people of Pocahontas’s own tribe.  I hope you have enjoyed this excursion into history and a look at this very brave heroine.  The enormity of her bravery and what she gave up and its cost to her, we’ll go over in my next post (Lord willing).

So, what do you think?  Did you already know this, or does this shed a different light on history.  It is said, that what is written of history is written by the victors.  This has, indeed, been true in the case of Pocahontas.  Thank heaven for oral tradition and keeping the truth alive against all odds.  So come on in and tell me what you think.   I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

Wishing Wells and Various Lucky Charms

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As I took pictures of my foster Kimber for a St. Patrick Day’s post, I started thinking about “lucky” items. I love horseshoes. I pick up pennies I find. “Find a penny pick it up and all the day you’ll have good luck.” I’ve always wished on the first star I see in the night sky. I throw coins in fountains. I’ve never found a 4-leaf clover, but if I had, I’d have kept it. Considering all that it’s not surprising that when I wanted to add something special to my fictional east Texas town, I chose a wishing well. But I’ve never thought about how the wishing well lore started.

Deciding to fix that, I did some research. The lore started because of man’s natural obsession with water. Since without water we humans are toast, water has been a major concern since we burst onto the scene. Many ancient cultures viewed underground springs as sacred gifts. In appreciation, people dropped tokens for the gods into the water. Wells or well houses built around water sources to protect them became gathering places. Germanic tribes believed spirits who liked to intervene in humans’ lives inhabited these waters, and if someone voiced a wish or hope, the spirits might grant the wish. Someone could increase the chances of the wish being granted by dropping a coin or small token in the well. And it turns out poor Odin, Thor’s father, lost his eye because water deity Mimir, who lived in and guarded the Well of Wisdom, demanded his right eye as payment for a drink. The legend says his right eye was thrown in the well for others to know there was a price for the well’s wisdom.

When I created my well, I wanted a twist so I made my well persnickety, only granting wishes made for someone else. I created a legend which started with two sisters, Anne and Alice. The short version is, after the Civil War when Anne’s husband failed to return, she became despondent and took to her bed. Alice, not knowing what else to do, stood at the family well, her tears dropping into the water as she tossed in a coin. She wished for her brother-in-law to return to the family who loved and needed him. Two days later, Sam returned, and the town’s legend was born.

I’ve had fun starting each book with a wish for the hero or heroine and weaving references to the well through the stories. In To Love A Texas Cowboy, Ty Barnett’s sister Aubrey turns to the wishing well when she’s concerned he’s marrying the wrong woman. Book 2, To Catch A Texas Cowboy, opens with Ty making a wish for his best friend AJ Quinn. In To Tame A Texas Cowboy, my latest release in the Wishing Texas Series, Cheyenne Whitten’s sister Sheridan wishes for her to receive help with her health issues.

But like Odin, a price is demanded before the wish is granted. My hero and heroine must survive trials, struggles and conflict, often caused or exaggerated by what or rather who fate has decided possesses the answer to their loved one’s wish. Yup, my well enjoys stirring up lives and causing trouble before answering those wishes. Because just like in real life as the Rolling Stones say, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well, you might find, you get what you need.”

Today’s giveaway is a horseshoe and a copy of To Catch A Texas Cowboy. This book contains my favorite wish so far. It’s my favorite mainly because it’s done in such a guy fashion. You’ll have to read the story to find out what Ty wishes for AJ. To be entered in the random drawing leave a comment about your favorite lucky charm or item to wish on. 

The Legend of … TORTELLINI! by Pam Crooks

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It’s National Tortellini Day!

There’s a “National Day” for everything, it seems, right? But this one caught my eye because, well, who doesn’t love tortellini?

I don’t recall my mother ever making it. Being Italian, my family had plenty of pasta in our lives, but we were pretty much restricted to spaghetti, mostaccioli, macaroni, bow ties, and occasionally orzo.  (Although, in fairness, grocery stores in my day were decidedly limited compared to the super-stores we shop at today,)

So I began wondering just how long has tortellini been around?  Macaroni has been available in mercantiles throughout the west, and the noodles filled many a cowboy’s stomach, but something as fancy as tortellini?

Well, lo and behold, tortellini has been around a lo-ong time.

Legend claims that Tortellini was inspired by the goddess Venus’ navel. An Italian medieval legend tells how Venus and Zeus, weary one night after their involvement in a battle between Bologna and Modena, arrive at a tavern in a small town on the outskirts of Bologna. After eating a hearty dinner and becoming slightly drunk, they decide to share a bedroom. The innkeeper, captivated after watching them, creeps to their room and peeks through the keyhole of the bedroom door. However, all he can see through the keyhole is the navel of Venus. This vision leaves him spellbound – so much so that he immediately rushes to the kitchen and creates a pasta inspired by Venus’ navel…and so was born the Tortellini.

—www.barilla.com

Cool, eh?  Fun, fascinating, and true?  Maybe. Maybe not.

It’s a legend, right? But I’ll bet you’ll always remember that tortellini was inspired by a famous goddess’ belly button!  I know I will.

How about I share a super-simple and refreshing salad recipe?

Tortellini Caesar Salad

Dressing:

3 Tb lemon juice

2 Tb water

1 1/2 Tb vegetable oil

1 tsp anchovy paste

1/8 tsp ground pepper

1 close garlic, crushed

Salad:

9 oz cheese tortellini, cooked, drained, and cooled

1 head lettuce, cut up

Plenty of FRESH grated parmesan cheese

Combine dressing ingredients and whisk well.

Place lettuce and tortellini in a large bowl. Toss in dressing and top with parmesan cheese.

Serve cold.

**Note: I never make the dressing included in the recipe but use a good bottle of Caesar salad dressing. The above recipe is low in calories, but the dressing is what a salad is all about, right? 

Happy National Tortellini Day!

How about you? Do you love legends?  What’s your favorite? Robin Hood? Lady Godiva?

Do you love pasta? How do you prepare your tortellini?

Please share, and since Valentine’s Day is TOMORROW, I’ll send one of you who comments this gold, sparkly, heart-shaped bottle opener!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

 

                                                         

              AMAZON                                                                                                  AMAZON

WOLF SHADOW’S PROMISE, an Except and Gift

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Howdy!

And Good Morning!  How are you doing today?  Well, I hope.

WOLF SHADOW’S PROMISE, believe it or not, is a story inspired by a legend similar to Zorro (it wasn’t Zorro, but the real legend escapes me at the moment).  I must admit that such true legends are fascinating to me.  This is book #4 in The Legendary Warrior series (all four books are based on different Native American/Western legends).  This book is part of KindleUnlimited at Amazon, and so if you subscribe to KindleUnlimited, you can read it for free.  But I’ll also be sending a copy of this e-book to some lucky blogger today, so please, don’t be shy.  Come on in and leave a comment.  Also, do read the Giveaway Guidelines off to the right here — these govern our give-aways.  And please do come back either tomorrow evening or Thursday evening to see if you are one of winners.  I rely on your doing so.

I must admit to really loving this particular cover.  What do you think?

So, without further wait, I’m going to leave you with a blurb and an excerpt from the very beginning of the book.  Hope you enjoy!

Wolf Shadow’s Promise

by Karen Kay

Legendary Warriors, Book 4

She saved his life. The only way he can save hers is to deny their forbidden passion…

When eight-year-old Alys Clayton saved the life of a young Blackfeet Indian, she had no idea her own life would be forever changed. To honor her bravery, Moon Wolf pledged his heart to her, vowing to marry her. But they were both too young…then.

Returning to Fort Benton in the Northwest Territory fifteen years later, Alys again encounters the deeply handsome hero who had once set her heart afire. But Moon Wolf has changed. He has become the legendary Wolf Shadow, a warrior intent on helping his people’s struggle against those who would destroy them.

Because a precious jewel like Alys warrants more from a man than risking death at every turn, Moon Wolf battles his desire for her, denying her what she needs most. But Alys has other ideas. She is determined he will not walk his chosen path alone.

Yet, how can their love survive when they are surrounded by enemies determined to destroy them, in a world where their love is forbidden?

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Sensuous romance that might renew a love that was written in the stars. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

WOLF SHADOW’S PROMISE, an excerpt

by Karen Kay

 

Fort Benton on the Missouri River

1857, Northwest Territory

 

“Two and two equals…?” The teacher slapped the ruler against the blackboard, the wap of the wooden stick an unspoken threat. The teacher—who, by invitation, had only recently arrived here—stood frowning, arms crossed at her waist. “Young lady,” the teacher threatened as she took a menacing step forward and unfolded her arms, “answer me.”

Still the young Indian girl, standing at the head of the class, didn’t make a sound. Head down, she stared fixedly at her feet.

Looking at the child, who was no older than herself, Alys Clayton felt as if her heart might break. Personally, she had never understood why the wild Indians had been brought to this school. Her mother said the whole matter was an experiment by their Indian agent, Alfred J. Vaughan, to see if the Indians could be civilized, whatever that meant.

But the project was doomed to failure because Indians didn’t learn from this kind of teaching.

At least that’s what her mother had told her: that the Indians of the plains had not been brought up with the same books and stories as the white man; that the Indians had their own legends and tales, their own way of teaching, of doing things. Indians were close to the land, were free, or at least they were supposed to be. Alys’s mother had also said, and Alys agreed, that the Indians would be better off if left independent which, Alys decided, must mean “left alone.”

So, if all these observations were true, why was their teacher making an example of this poor child? What did it matter if the girl could or could not add the two plus two on the chalkboard? Alys knew that if she were to approach the girl and promise her four beads while giving her only three, the young girl would know the difference.

Tears streamed down the youngster’s face as she endured not only the silent threat of the teacher but the sneers and scoffing of her “fellow classmates” too.

Something should be done. Such dealings were not right. Yet Alys felt helpless. She was only eight years old, a child herself. What good was she against a teacher—against the taunts of the others?

Oh, no. Alys caught her breath.

The teacher—an overly skinny, sickly-looking woman, had raised the ruler as though she might hit the girl, causing the youngster to put a hand over her eyes as though to shield them.

Then the worst happened. Down came the ruler, down across the Indian girl’s arm.

The child didn’t cry out, didn’t even flinch, although she whimpered slightly as tears streamed down her face.

The teacher shouted out a few more unmentionable words. Still the young girl remained silent.

“I’ll teach you to sass me, you heathen,” the teacher hissed, while Alys tried to make sense of what the teacher had said. The young girl hadn’t uttered a word.

Wap! Another slap across the girl’s arms. The teacher raised her arm for another blow.

It never came.

In a blur of buckskin and feathers, a young Indian boy, the same one who had been at their school for about a week, burst into the classroom, putting himself between the youngster and the teacher. In his hand, he wielded a knife.

The class went from a mass of jeers and prankish catcalls to abrupt silence.

Where had the boy come from so suddenly? And the knife? Where had he obtained that? It was well known that the wild Indians, even the children, were relieved of their weapons upon entering the fort.

Yet there was no mistaking that knife or the boy’s intent.

Good, thought Alys.

Immediately, the teacher backed up, but in doing so, she tripped over a wastebasket, losing her balance and falling into the trash can, bottom first.

Alys couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

It was the only sound in an otherwise silent classroom. No one looked at her, however. Everyone appeared…stunned.

The teacher’s face filled with color, her hands clenched over the top of the basket. “You…you savage. You pushed me—”

“This one,” the Indian responded, pointing to himself, “has not touched you. But give me good reason to”—he waved his knife in front of her—“and I will.”

The teacher spat ugly words deep in her throat, before she uttered loudly, “I’ll have your skin for this, young man.”

“Humph.” The boy approached the teacher, then said, “And I will have your hair.”

It took a moment for his meaning to register, but as the boy swung out his knife, taking hold of the teacher’s tight bun, she screamed. Whack! Off came the bun, harmlessly falling into the youngster’s hand.

“You heathen, why, I’ll…” In an almost superhuman effort, the teacher jumped up, out of the basket. The boy quickly grabbed hold of the Indian girl, and pulling her after him, fled toward the classroom’s only window.

That was all it took for the other youngsters in the room to come alive. Insults and threats reverberated through the early morning air, while the two fugitives made the best escape they could. Boys, almost all of them of mixed heritage themselves, suddenly sprang up from their chairs, leaping after the two runaways, who had by this time cleared the window.

The entire school became a mass exodus as student after student bolted out the door, out the window, chasing after the pair.

Alys, however, arose from her seat at a more leisurely pace, strolling slowly and thoughtfully toward the doorway of the tiny cabin which served as the schoolhouse. Fingering her soft auburn curls as she moved, she trudged home, concluding that school had been let out for the day.

Poor Indian kids, she mused. Wasn’t it enough that the children had been taken away from their family to be “educated”? According to her mother, the townspeople weren’t making it easy on these wild ones either, scolding them and making fun of them. Who would want to stay amidst such hatred? Alys asked herself.

Her thoughts troubled, Alys left the schoolhouse and slowly trudged toward her home.

Her house, a wooden structure and one of the nicer homes in the fort, lay situated toward the rear of the town, away from the river and isolated from most of the fort’s more rambunctious activities. It was a relatively quiet spot, a location her father had personally selected before he had passed away almost four years ago.

That Alys’s mother had refused to return east after her husband’s passing had been the fort’s greatest gossip during the first few years after his death, at least for the few white women who had come west with their husbands.

There were only two types of unmarried women on the frontier, or so it was said: Indians and the hurdy-gurdy girls. Her mother had been asked which one she was.

And it hadn’t mattered that her mother had helped found this town, right alongside her father. Nor had the richness of her purse given her immunity. As it was in many small towns, there wasn’t much to provide gossip, leaving Alys’s mother to supply fodder for the wagging tongues, a circumstance that had effectively isolated her, and her youngster, from the community.

As Alys made her way through the fort, she wondered what her mother would say about the events of this day, knowing that it was her nature to blame the townspeople, not the Indians. Hadn’t her mother often commented on the unchristian-like behavior of the few white women in this town? Hadn’t she herself observed that those here, more oft times than not, made up the grievances they complained about?

Why? Alys Clayton could little understand it.

She only wished there were something she could do, some way to help. If only she knew where the two Indians were right now, she would offer them kindness and hope. Yes, she decided, with all the naïveté of a young girl her age. She would be kind to them, make friends with them, show them that they could trust her.

Why, she would…

What was that? There is was again, a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. Buckskin, feathers—two small arms and legs? There in the bushes? She turned to look.

A knife suddenly appeared out of nowhere, pressing close into her throat, and a hand covered her mouth as arms slipped about her waist, dragging her backward, toward that bush.

“You cry out…I kill you,” threatened a young male voice.

Alys looked up into a set of the deepest, blackest eyes she had ever seen. She nodded.

The dusty scent of the boy’s skin, the dirt on his hands assailed Alys until she thought she might gag. It wasn’t that the smell was unpleasant, it was more that he held her mouth too tightly. She squirmed.

“Be still.”

Two young boys flew past them, more footsteps followed, more shuffling, the pounding of boots, of adult feet striking the ground, rushing by.

Alys struggled in the boy’s arms. She wanted to let him know that she was a friend, that she would help him. It was useless, however. The boy held his hand too securely over her lips.

Gunshots in the distance caught Alys’s attention, and then came more shouts and hurrying footsteps. Gunshots? Surely no one intended physical harm to these two, did they?

She had to do something. Quickly, Alys took stock of where she was. Over to her right was her home—within running distance—and beside her house was the secret place, that place known only to Alys and her mother…

It was a special locale, a part of Alys’s heritage that might prove to be the salvation of these two outcasts, if she could make them understand. Could she?

She had to try. Motioning toward the house, Alys pointed at the two Indians, then flapped her hands like wings, trying to show an image of birds, flying away free. Would he understand?

The young boy followed her hand motions for a moment, then tugged at her to remain still. He looked away.

Alys tried again. Point to the house, to the Indians, a bird flying away free. Once more, over and over. It took a few more gestures before the boy frowned, looking down at Alys, at her hands, at the house.

More voices, more footsteps coming toward them.

Alys gestured again.

With a stern frown at her, the boy loosened his grip, allowing Alys to whisper, “I know a secret way out of the fort.”

Would he believe her? Did he understand she meant to help him?

Dark eyes glared into her own.

“It’s at the side of my home.” She motioned toward the house.

“There is nothing there, white girl; a house, a wall, no more. Do you try to trap us?”

Alys didn’t say a word. And perhaps it was her silence that accounted for her redemption.

He asked, “How we escape there?”

“In our root cellar,” Alys was quick to answer, “my mother’s and mine.  There is a hidden tunnel.”

“What is this…root cellar?”

Alys pointed to a set of bushes that almost, but not quite, hid the wooden doors of the cellar. “There,” she said. “See it? It goes down to a passage underground. It’s like a cave. It leads to the hills.”

She could see him hesitate, watched as indecision played across his features. At last, though, he volunteered, “You show us.”

Alys nodded.

They waited until the approaching footsteps faded away. Then he prodded her forward, and she fled as fast as her small legs would carry her, on and on toward the side of her yard, with the two Indians following close on her heels.

“Here.” She pushed her way into the bushes and pulled at the doors of the cellar. They wouldn’t give. She almost cried.

The Indian boy came to her rescue, tugging on the doors and hauling them up.

“Hurry.” She motioned to the two of them to enter. Quickly, they did as she bid, fleeing down into the cellar, Alys coming in after them and dragging the doors shut behind her. Instantly, all was darkness inside, but it didn’t bother Alys. She merely sighed in relief.

“This is trap,” the boy said, his knife coming once more to Alys’s neck. Maybe he didn’t like the darkness, Alys considered.

“No,” she insisted, unafraid. “I’ll show you.”

Lifting a rug on the floor, Alys uncovered a small earthen mound. Brushing the dirt away, Alys pointed to a meager trapdoor.

Pulling on the door, she glanced up toward the boy, barely able to make out his features in the darkness.

“Come,” she said and dropped down to the ladder. Down and down she climbed, her two charges following.

Plunging to the stone floor of the cavern below, Alys fumbled in the dark until she found the lantern her mother always kept there. Checking first to make sure it was working properly, she lit the wick, instantly throwing a shadow of light throughout the cave. Instinctively, she took the hand of the Indian boy.

“Hold hands,” she instructed and began to lead the two of them through the tunnels. The darkness of the caves, their earthy smells and coolness had never bothered Alys. They were a part of her family, a part of her.

She and her mother came here often, hunting a treasure that had been lost here long ago. Although if Alys were honest, she would admit that sometimes she sought out the comfort of the caves for pleasure alone, these caverns being a legacy to her from her father.

“If you lead us back to…that village, white girl, I will kill you.”

“I know.” Alys hesitated. “But I won’t. I promise you.”

He let out a snort. “The vow of a white girl.”

“The word of Alys Clayton.” She might not be aware of it, but Alys lifted her chin. “Not all white people are bad.”

He didn’t say a word, though another menacing growl escaped his throat.

Well, what did it matter anyway? She would show him. Wasn’t it what her mother had always told her, that actions, not words, were important? It took an hour or so of careful travel, but she didn’t falter in her step. She knew the way.

The tunnel climbed slowly, gradually, until at last, up ahead, she could see light, hear the rush of a waterfall.

Ah, the great falls, behind which lay the tunnel’s entrance. This was her most favorite spot in the world, isolated, untouched and unspoiled. No one else knew of the caverns or the beauty of these cliffs either, as far as she knew, since they were hidden on all sides by the height of the hills. At least, Alys silently corrected herself, no other white man knew of them.

Alys led their party underneath the falls, out onto the rocks and into the bright sunshine, allowing the two young people to adjust their eyesight to the light before she stated, “I don’t know where your people are, but I reckon you’ll be able to find them from here.”

The boy looked around him and inhaled a deep breath before glancing back at Alys and staring intently at her.

Then, without any expression on his face whatsoever, he murmured, “What strange manner is this? A white girl who keeps her word?”

Alys stiffened her spine before she responded, “I told you I would.”

He nodded. “So you did, white girl, so you did.”

The young Indian miss at his side didn’t seem as devoid of human emotion as her male counterpart, however, and she came up to Alys, hugging her profusely and saying something in a very strange tongue.

The lad translated, “She says something good will come to you.”

Alys nodded, smiling. Then it occurred to her. “She doesn’t speak English?”

“Saa, no.”

“So she could not even understand the teacher?”

The boy remained silent, though when he gazed down at Alys, he suddenly smiled, the first cheerful emotion Alys had seen on his face. The action made him look younger still, innocent, and oh, so very handsome. Alys gaped at him, admiring his long dark hair that fell back from his face. The cooling breeze from the falls brought tiny droplets to his tanned skin; his dark eyes, surprisingly full of approval for her, watched her closely. Alys couldn’t help herself. Gazing back, she fell instantly under his spell.

Slowly, the boy took a piece of jewelry from around his neck. A round, single white shell dangled from a chain of bleached buckskin. He drew it over Alys’s head and settled it around her neck.

“Soka’pii, good.” His right hand signed the meaning of the word in a single gesture. “Looks good on you.”

With the tip of his finger, he tilted her face up toward his. “I will remember you always, young white girl, and what you have done for me and my sister.”

So, thought Alys, thè Indian girl was his sister. Pleased by the realization, she said, pointing to herself, “Alys.”

“Aa-lees,” the young lad rolled her name smoothly over on his tongue.

She pointed to him. “And your name is?”

He shook his head. “A warrior does not repeat his own name. To do so would be dishonorable.”

“But I would like to know…”

She was interrupted by the boy saying something to his sister, again in that strange tongue.

With a quick glance up at Alys, the Indian girl spoke, and, pointing to her brother, said, “Ki’somm-makoyi.”

“Ki’somm-makoyi,” Alys whispered. “That is your name?”

He nodded.

“What does it mean?”

“I cannot say.”

“Please?”

He took a deep breath, grinned at her slightly, then said, pointing to himself, “This one is called Moon Wolf.”

“Moon Wolf.”

Another nod.

She smiled up at him. “Moon Wolf, I will never forget you.”

He stared into her eyes, his look serious, before he volunteered, “Come with us, young Aa-lees. Come with us and I promise that when we grow older, I will take you for wife and show you great honor for what you have done for us this day.”

Under any other circumstance, Alys might have chuckled, the thought absurd for one so young. Yet there was a somberness to his words that she couldn’t discount. “I cannot,” she replied, her voice sounding strangely adult. “I would bring you more trouble if I went with you. No one in the fort would rest until I was found.”

He inclined his head. “That is true. For a small girl, you speak with wise tongue. But still,” his chin shot up in the air, “no matter what others would do, I would honor you in this way.”

His words, or perhaps it was the pride in his manner, reached out to her, its effect on her profound, and she felt herself responding to the boy, tears of appreciation, maybe even joy, coming to her eyes. She said, “I cannot. My mother would miss me too much.”

He remained silent for many moments before he nodded at last. “So it will be,” he uttered, “but know that though you choose to stay behind, I will carry your image with me, here,” he held his hand to his heart, “for so long as this one should live.”

Alys stared. These were strong words, a powerful declaration, for a boy not much older than she, and Alys contemplated him in silence for several seconds, afraid to move lest she spoil the moment. Slowly, he brought his hand up to run his fingers over her cheek, his touch gentle; he reached up with one of his fingers to trace the path of her tears, before bringing that same finger to his own cheek. “And now,” he whispered, touching his face with her own tears, “a part of you is a part of me.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. All at once, he turned and fled, disappearing with his sister down the rocks and into the countryside as though they belonged to it.

Alys fingered her cheek for what seemed an eternity, letting the warmth of the sunshine wash over her and dry her face. In the distance she could hear the birds sing, while closer at hand, she could smell the perfumed scent of the grasses and wildflowers. Lightly, the wind ruffled her hair, lifting her spirit gently upward until she felt herself becoming a part of all this, a part of the natural course of things.

She would never forget this, never forget him. She couldn’t.

Alys had become, in the space of a moment, infatuated:  She had fallen in love. A love that would last her a lifetime, she thought, no matter the state of her youth. And in that instant, she knew she would never be the same.

WOLF SHADOW’S PROMISE

by

Karen Kay

http://www.amazon.com/WOLF-SHADOWS-PROMISE-Legendary-Warriors-ebook/dp/B075YC2T3X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1507565489&sr=8-1&keywords=wolf+shadow%27s+promise+by+karen+kay&tag=pettpist-20