"I am sorry I have caused you to have some kind of bodily ailment."
He exhaled noisily, then chuckled as he shook his head.
But, she did not laugh. Instead, she sniffled. At length, she whispered, "If I had not already given my promise to my mother to come here and try to put my love for you behind me… You understand that if I don't marry this older man, my father and my mother will continue to live in poverty, and my father and mother will be thrown out of their home and will have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. They will have no money, no food and only the clothing on their backs. And, if they were to die, it would be because of me.
"Yet, even knowing this, I want so much to say 'yes' to you. I have dreamed of this moment for five long years. And, now it is here, and I…" She couldn't look at him. She couldn't control her crying either, and she didn't even attempt to. Sobbing, she bit down on her lip too quickly and too hard. She tasted blood. "But"—her voice quivered—"I…I can't."
Silence stretched out between them, its stillness alone becoming so solid, it appeared to her to form a wall between them. How much time passed without one or the other of them saying a word—or even moving—she didn't know. But, it seemed like hours.
At last, after what might have been an eternity, he murmured, "I understand. And, you must know, I cannot allow you to have this fling with me. I cannot walk the path you ask me to. I must live my life in the way of the medicine man, and having an affair with a white woman who is not my wife is not part of a medicine man's life. If ever we were to have a fling, as you say, you would become married to me. There would be no path going back to the way you were before, no way you could ever pledge yourself in marriage to this man or to any other man. You should know this. If I were to ever do this with you, for all our lives you would be my woman."
"But," she argued, "I can't marry that man without…without at least once holding you in my arms." She paused. "What if I were to try to influence you in a romantic way and catch you off your guard, and we were to make love without being married to one another?"
He frowned at her. "It will not happen. You will not catch me off guard. Now, hear me," he said, lowering his voice and speaking softly, yet firmly. "I am warning you, so take heed of what I say. Do not tease me with your beauty like you did tonight. Do not flirt with me, hoping to cause me to make love to you. Even now, I am barely able to hold myself back from throwing you upon the ground and giving you what you wish. If you think you must tie yourself to this other man, do not seek me out and do not allow yourself to be alone with me, even if it is I who is approaching you and coming to speak to you. I advise you to run from me."
He paused, but only for a moment before he continued, "I tell you this true: if you push your beauty upon me, hoping I will abandon my duties, I might well make love to you. And, if this happens, we would then be married. This is how a marriage begins in my country. I will say this to you one more time so you understand me: do not taunt me with your womanly form, hoping to lead me into lovemaking, because if I do give in to you, you will be mine."
Her response was a heated sob.
"Do I make myself well understood? I will say it again: if we make love, you will not be going back to the St. Louis village. It will be as though you said 'yes,' for I have advised you of what will be and what will happen because of it. And now, I say this to you a third time so you will know I mean it: if you do not wish to be my woman, stay away from me and do not parade your good looks before me. Have I now made myself well understood to you?"
She nodded, although the tears were now streaming over her face and falling at random upon her pink dress. Even though his voice was low and soft, and even though he appeared to understand her predicament, he yet seemed to be quite angry with her.
"Soká'pii.And now, I have spoken."
He had no more than uttered these words than he let go of her hand, rose up to his feet and sped away, easily running down the butte's gradual slope.
Through her tears, she watched him go. And, the tears wouldn't stop. At last, this man she had loved for five long years had asked her to marry him.
And she? She had said 'no.' Indeed, she'd had to say 'no.'
Her heart was breaking. She gasped, and, jumping to her feet, she hurried down the path that had led her up to this ledge.
She would go to her own lodge, and, once there, she would make plans to leave here at once, because there was one detail she knew with certainty: if he ever asked her to marry him again, she would say "yes." Indeed, she was even now considering seeking him out and saying that one word to him.
But, if she were to do it, she would be guilty of causing her parents' demise. Indeed, it would be a deed she would have to live with for the rest of her life.
Reaching her lodge, however, and stepping into it did not bring her the peace she sought. Too many Indian objects within the lodge reminded her ofhim. Even the blanket she saw upon the ground caused her to remember when Gray Falcon's sister had brought it to her and placed it within the tepee.
She couldn't remember ever feeling so low or without hope. Drawing in a deep breath, she realized even this—her home in the Indian encampment—was not the safe haven she had hoped it would be.
Picking up the trade blanket, she drew it around her shoulders and stepped out into the night. She knew where she would go: she would return to the bluffs and to the ledge where she had, this night, confessed all her faults to Gray Falcon. There, perhaps the beauty of the darkened sky overhead might allow her to grasp the wisdom she seemed to desperately lack.
She set out at once, but even reaching the butte could not console her. In the end, she placed the blanket beneath her upon a rather large, grassy spot on the ledge and lay down upon it.
And, there she cried and cried until, at last, an odd sort of disturbed sleep overtook her.
