like a doe in her elkskin dress and moccasins. The oddest thing about her was that she didn’t look frightened by him, but more intrigued and somewhat puzzled, as though she had never seen a white man before. And now that she was dressed, he thought she was a Sioux of some kind, and of obviously high rank, because her dress was beaded and ornate. He suspected she might be a chief’s wife or daughter.
He made the sign of peace again and made no move to approach her. He wanted to ask her if she was alone, but didn’t know how. He looked around as though searching for someone and then quizzically back at her. She understood and shook her head, wondering if she should admit to him that she was alone. She had a small knife at her waist, but it was for cutting berries and vines. She had never used it on a man. She still didn’t know if he was a good spirit or a bad one, but he didn’t look menacing to her. In fact, he looked scared and surprised. So much so that she smiled. She said something to him in Sioux that he didn’t understand. She pointed in the direction of their camp and made a sign for tipis with her hands. He nodded, grateful for the information so he could stay away. And then wondering if he would stop her, she began to walk away. He didn’t move. He just watched her go.
Wachiwi reached the path she walked every day. She turned back several times, and he was still standing there. He hadn’t moved, and his eyes were rooted to her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And then quietly, he melted into the forest, untied his horse, and rode away. She turned one last time to see if he was still there, and he had disappeared. The first white spirit she had ever seen had evaporated. She wished there were someone she could ask about it, or tell them what she’d seen, but she didn’t dare. Something told her that she couldn’t.
She looked serious this time when she walked back into the village an hour later. Everyone was busy, and she joined the women outside her tipi, and began to play with the children. She held the baby, which she did sometimes, and made him cackle with laughter. She was laughing with him when Napayshni came home from tanning buffalo hides, and he thought he had never seen a happier sight than Wachiwi playing with his baby. He hoped that the next child she held in her arms would be her own, and his.
Wachiwi said nothing to anyone in camp about the man she had seen at the lake. She knew instinctively that it might put him, or even her, in danger. Perhaps someone would blame her for his presence. She looked for him again the next day, but he didn’t come. But the day after that, he came back. She was swimming when he showed up, and she had just popped her head out of the water when she saw him emerge from the woods and approach her. He was wearing the same buckskin breeches and tall black boots. His hair was long, as dark as hers, and pulled back. He made the odd sign of peace again, and came nearly to the water’s edge. He smiled at her, and his whole face lit up when he did. He had watched her for a while and saw that she was alone. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. He knew he was being both brave and foolish to come back, but he had been compelled to. He wanted to see her again, and discover more about her if he could. She was the only Indian woman he had ever been alone with. He had spent his five years in America discovering nature, finding himself, growing into manhood in the world he loved that was so different from his own. And now he was mesmerized by this woman who looked to him like an Indian goddess. He realized that her being at the lake alone wasn’t just a random occurrence, he had the feeling now that she came here often, maybe even every day. And all he knew once he had seen her was that he had to see her again. He would have liked to paint her portrait and capture the remarkable free spirit and grace he saw in her as she played in the water. And Wachiwi wondered how he knew the Huron signs but couldn’t ask him.
He had seen the Crow village by then, from the distance, and had steered a wide berth, and camped far from it, in a cave in the forest. He knew the ways of the woods well and was adept at them. He had been on the lookout for war parties, but there were none. He had seen through a telescope that everyone at the camp appeared to be busy. It was the end of summer, and he suspected they were getting ready for winter. He wondered if this girl in the lake had just slipped away to play instead of working. She looked young enough to do that, and if she was the chief’s daughter, perhaps they let her, as a kind of privilege. There was so much he wished he could ask her, so much he wanted to know about her.
He could see as she swam that she was naked again, and she didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on her face, and not the bits of flesh that emerged as she moved around under the water. She stood up in the water then, and it only reached her waist. Their eyes met and neither of them moved, and then she smiled and ducked under the water again. She was teasing him, like a wood nymph. He almost felt as though he had imagined her, but she was all too real, and such a beautiful woman. He couldn’t imagine any wood nymph prettier than she. And the look of innocence in her eyes overwhelmed him. He decided to introduce himself, although it seemed more than a little foolish here.
“Jean de Margerac,” he said, pointing to himself and bowing low. She looked puzzled for an instant, as though she didn’t know what he’d said. He said it again, pointed to his chest, and didn’t move, and then she got it.
“Wachiwi,” she said softly, and pointed to herself. He didn’t know enough about the local tribes to be sure which one she was from, and when he tried a few words, it was clear that she spoke neither English nor French. He spoke both, and had learned English since coming to the New World. He had learned Iroquois and Huron, but she didn’t seem to recognize those either. They were tribes far to the east of where they were. They were left with signing to each other and miming, which seemed to be enough.
They now knew each other’s names, although nothing of each other’s histories. There was a nobility to her that told him that she came of privilege in her world, but was a free spirit, just as he was. In an odd way, their histories were not so different. He had felt too confined in his own world in France. And out of love for him, his older brother, Tristan the marquis, had allowed him to leave France, with his blessing. She was signing something to him then, and it took him a while to understand that she was asking him where he came from, pointing to the sky with a question in her eyes, and then the forest. He pointed to the woods in answer, indicated that he was riding a horse, and tried to convey many, many, many days. Trying to explain to her that beyond was an ocean and an even longer journey was too much to translate into pantomime for her. He had come from France, Brittany, and was the Comte de Margerac. The fact that his older brother Tristan was the marquis, and lord of extensive lands, would have meant nothing to her. All they had to share was who they were at this moment, to each other, with no past and no future. All they had was now, which was a heady feeling for them both.
He took off his boots and waded into the water with her, feeling slightly crazy. If any of the braves had come, he would have been dead, without boots or a weapon. Like her, he wore a knife at his waist, for cutting his way through the woods, but he wouldn’t have wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any of the braves from her village, and he had left his gun on his horse, so he didn’t frighten her. They were like two children, meeting in a forbidden place, taking an enormous risk, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She looked like a girl with a lot of spirit. Most women would have run screaming from him in her situation. Instead she swam naked in the water only a few feet away from him, tempting fate, or trusting him, he wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t look like a loose woman. There was no hint of invitation in her eyes, just innocence, curiosity, and friendship. She was a most unusual girl. And luckily for her, she was safe with him. And something told him she sensed that. But she was either very foolish or very brave.
She dressed again, while he turned away, and they sat on a log, trying to exchange small bits of information. He asked if she had children and she shook her head. He guessed that she wasn’t married then, although she seemed to be of a mature age. Perhaps she was a chief’s favorite daughter he couldn’t part with. She pantomimed then that she had been taken from her home and ridden many days. She showed him the scars from where she had been bound, since she still had them, and then pointed to the village from whence she came. What she tried to say to him made it sound like she was a prisoner there, but that made no sense to Jean since she was alone at the lake. He went to his horse then and showed her his drawings and sketches, of lakes, forests, a few of people, and she nodded. They were very good. He showed her one of his maps, but she didn’t seem to know what it was, having never seen one. She indicated that she liked his drawings better. And then it was time for her to go.
They had managed to form an odd friendship, curious about each other, from two entirely different worlds. An Indian girl, perhaps of rank, and a French nobleman, both far from home, who had happened on each other in this peaceful place. He stayed after she left and drew the waterfall, and wanted to give it to her the next day.
Jean came the next day, but she didn’t. Both of Napayshni’s wives were sick from berries they had eaten, and she stayed in the village to take care of the children.
It was two days before Wachiwi came to the lake again, and she was disappointed to find that Jean wasn’t there. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if he had gone back to where he came from. She knew that he hadn’t run into any of the Crow braves, because she had heard nothing about it in the village, and she would have if they had found a white man and killed him. They would have brought his scalp back to the village and given
