with the Creeks, who were once our friends. Is it that the Ni'kwana wishes for my happiness? But Jubal does not see me. He will go away when the grass turns green and let me return to my village.
I do not know how I could become a bride here. I could teach him our way. He could fasten the oak leaves in his hair and I could carry the laurel. The people who are with me would know what to do, but he does not see me and I am alone.
I am a Sun, and I have pride. I cannot be humble with this man, nor do I believe he wishes it.
I cannot go to the women and tell them my thoughts, for I am a Sun. If he does not want me, why should I want him?
I should not, but I do.
He is the man for me, and I think the Ni'kwana saw this. I think it was in his mind. It was his duty to tell me I should return, but it was in his heart that I should find happiness. How could he know this was the man? Could he have foreseen it? The Ni'kwana often sees things before they happen, but perhaps he did not see it until he spoke with Jubal beside the fire.
It is hard to be a Sun. If I were a village girl it would not matter, but I have been taught from a time when very small what it is to be a Sun, but now I find it very lonely.
Jubal is a good man. I am no foolish girl to be taken by broad shoulders and a bold way. He is a quiet man, a thoughtful man, and he has been a good leader. He has guided us well. He must come of a strong people if such a one is only a yeoman and not a great lord. He has wisdom and judgment. He plans well, and when he hunts he hunts for others, as a warrior should.
I have watched him do what is needed. He wastes no time yet is never hurried. He limps but he does not complain. He is sure that each of us eats before he takes meat for himself. He stands aside when I enter the lodge, which is what a warrior must do for a Sun, but he stands aside for other women as well.
I have tried to learn his tongue. At first we had only some words of Cherokee, a few of his tongue, and a few of French or Spanish. Each tried to make the other understand with what words we had, and we did so. Now I speak his tongue much better, as does Keokotah, who knew English from before but had not used it for some time. I speak well now, but for some things I do not have words, and for some things there seem to be no English words.
I am alone and I am bitterly unhappy. I am a Sun and cannot show how I feel. I am afraid for spring to come, for he will go far away and there will be nothing but to return to my people. I love my people and have duty to them, but I love this man also.
The Ni'kwana can lead them until there is a Great Sun. They would need me but for a short time, and then I would be alone and have no man.
I have tried to let him see that I would be a good woman for him. I have walked with him in the snow. I have stood beside him when there was trouble. I am not a frightened woman. We Suns are taught to be strong and know no other way. We are taught not to fear what must be done and that each Sun is an example to all others of what a Sun is and must be.
When the snow began to melt I was like a frightened girl, for I thought he would go from me. So when the cold came again I was glad. Now I do not know how long the cold will last. Keokotah knows much of these things and says it soon will grow warm and leaves will bud again, and the ice will go from the streams and come into my blood, for he will go from me then and I shall be alone.
My heart is heavy with longing for what I do not have, yet I cannot show it for I am a Sun. I must be aloof, and hide my fears and my loneliness.
I will make myself more beautiful. I will make him see me.
What do the women of his people do when they are in love? How does a woman join a man in his land? Do they use the oak and the laurel as well? I do not think so.
Keokotah does not know. His Englishman never talked of that. I do not think men talk of brides and weddings and things that mean much to women. I do not think they speak of these things among themselves. I think they only speak of weapons, of hunting and war. Perhaps some talk of women, too.
He wears the claws of the cougar he killed, since Keokotah has given them to him. Only a great warrior could do what he has done, but he does not speak of it. At night beside the fire when the wind blows cold, our people tell stories of warpaths and fighting, and he listens but does not speak of what he has done.
When the Spanishman was here, the one called Gomez, he seemed suddenly jealous. I was pleased, perhaps foolishly.
Perhaps he does not know his own mind. Perhaps he does not wish to know.
I must make him see me.
Today the cold is not as great. No snow falls. The peaks are icy against the pale blue sky. He has gone to look over the other valley, but I do not think our enemies will come from there but from the valley that runs off to the south, where we killed the buffalo. That was where we were seen.
One of my warriors would have killed a young buffalo bull today, but Jubal would not allow it. He stopped the warrior, which made him angry, but then he walked out to the buffalo and went right up to it. He stood beside it and rubbed its head with his hand!
When he returned to us he said, 'Never touch that one. It is a medicine bull.'
The angry warrior was frightened when he knew what he might have done. The buffalo followed Jubal almost to our lodge, and then went away when he told it to. Jubal spent much time rubbing its back, talking to it.
The buffalo did not go away. I saw him again when the sun was low, standing in the snow, looking toward our lodge.
It is a good place. From a hundred feet away I could not see our lodge, and we have been careful not to make a path leading to it. We come out walking on stones and from the end of the small forest where it is. I believe we will stay here until the spring comes.
When darkness fell we were alone on the snow. I thought he might see me, but he only looked at the sky and the mountains.
'Tomorrow will be fair,' he said. 'We must be on watch. I think they will come.'
He stood back and looked at our lodge and where it stood. 'It is well hidden,' he said.
Our eyes met and he looked quickly away. 'You are a Sun,' he said suddenly.
'I am a woman,' I said.
He looked at me again and said, 'Yes, you certainly are.'
A little snow blew from a spruce, drifting down over us. 'I must not keep you standing in the cold,' he said. 'Yours is a warmer country than this.'
The buffalo bull stood watching us. 'We killed its mother,' he said. 'It has no one else. Its mother disappeared and I was there.'
'You are strange man,' I said. I could believe he was a Ni'kwana among his own people, for he had power over animals. It truly was a medicine bull, for no buffalo ever, ever followed a man or let a man approach it.
We started back to the lodge, and then I slipped on the ice. I fell, and he caught me. For a moment he held me, his arm around my waist, and then he helped me get my feet on the snow, let go of me, and stepped back. His face was flushed. 'Are you all right?' he asked.
'Oh, yes! It was the ice,' I said.
I was all right. I was more all right than ever. I thanked in my thoughts the Indian girl I saw do that back on the Great River. It was a silly thing for a woman to do, especially when there was no ice.
Chapter Twenty-Seven.
Alone I sought a place among the silent peaks, following a frozen stream where snow on either side banked the trees to their icy necks. My snowshoes whispered on the snow, and blown flakes touched my cheeks with cold fingers. This was no place for men, but a place for gods to linger, a place to wait in silence for the world to end.
Pausing, I shivered, looking along the vast hollow between the peaks and across the valley beyond to even mightier mountains. It was a place of majesty and rare beauty, but there was no game here, no tracks of either animals or birds. The wind hung a veil of snow across the scene and then dropped it casually aside, as though it had not been.
My family could thrive in Grassy Cove. For myself, if someday I built a home, this valley would be the place for
