Dakota Pass

By Jennifer Ferranno

Heather never had any use for men, until she came face to face with Dakota One Feather, son of the Sioux Chief. Then it seemed she had no use for anything else. Their love was tested by fate and upset with lies. When Dakota comes face to face with his only son, the boy Heather hid from him for twelve years, his fury is unleased and Heather wonders if her life will ever return to normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 20, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469799148

Jennifer Ferranno

Jennifer Ferranno has been spinning stories since grade school. Having been raised in a house with a library, she learned to love reading at an early age. She resides with her cat, Page, in Orange Park, FL.

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Prologue

Halfway between Virginia and California 1850

Little Heather Andrews shaded her blue eyes against the harsh, glaring sun and gazed in complete awe at the distant mountains. They were so high the tops disappeared into the clouds. Or so it seemed to the tenyear-old little girl in the back of the rickety westward-bound wagon.

Heather was lost in thought, still wondering what had happened that rainy night in Virginia. The night she woke up and heard her parents screaming at each other…shouting, threatening…then silence. Not long after the silence settled over the house, as she lay trembling in her bed clinging to her doll, Polly, her father bundled her up and carried her out of the house into the carriage. Her older brother Frank was there which comforted Heather somewhat. Frank would protect her from harm. No explanation was forthcoming from her silent, angry father or her brother as they rode through the pouring rain, across Richmond. She had never seen her father this angry, or this brooding. Sure, she knew her parents fought a lot, more lately than before, but somehow this was different.

For more than a week, she and Frank stayed with complete strangers before her father reappeared. The next thing she knew, they were in this wagon, headed west. It was three days before her father told her they would never return to their plantation home in Richmond; before he told her she would never see her mother again, that her mother had left her to run away with another man. Each day took them further away from Virginia, closer to the gold fields where her father claimed they could become rich…some place called California. With each passing day, her father became meaner, until little Heather didn’t recognize the jolly man who had read her bedtime stories. Had it really been four months since her world disappeared?

The wagon was slowing down now and Heather noticed the small buildings up ahead. Another trading post, probably. Several horses were tied to a hitching post next to the door, swishing their tails to rid themselves of the flies. Heather hurried to pull her hair back with a blue ribbon, wishing she had a mirror, knowing she looked dirty and unkempt. If anyone saw her now, they would never recognize that she had once been the city of Richmond’s darling…a beautiful, feminine child whose mother and servants had doted on her. Mama would faint dead away if she could see her now. She wore no lacy dresses or fine clothes. Her porcelain skin was dry from being burned by the sun and exposed to the elements. Her hair, once silken strands of golden curls was now a tangled mass. Four months on this trail had wrecked havoc with her.

Papa was wrong about Mama. She would never leave her children, would she? Setting her doll on the old blanket, Heather reached for her brother’s hand and climbed down, ignoring her father. As he swaggered ahead of them toward the unpainted wooden building, there was no telling what mood he was in. In a good mood he could be kind and generous, buying her a ribbon or a trinket. In a foul mood however, he could be quick to beat her if she broke one of his unspoken rules. There were a lot of rules; and the beatings ranged from a slap across her cheek to a downright whipping with his belt. Heather learned many miles back it was best to remain as quiet and hidden as possible.

The inside of the trading post was filthy and dark. It smelled of unwashed bodies and uncollected garbage. Several men sat around a table, passing a whiskey bottle back and forth. Heather wrinkled her nose and went to look at the few bolts of cloth laying on a nearby table. Frank set about to select the supplies they needed while her father went to join the men and their whiskey. Heather heard the door open and turned to see what other traveler was here. Her eyes widened as an Indian stepped into the room. She had never seen a man so tall, or so shamelessly unclothed. His chest was bare, as were his legs. A flap of some kind of animal skin covered the part that Heather knew made men different from women. Moccasins covered his feet and calves. Beads hung from a rawhide-looking belt, and from around his neck. She couldn’t help but stare. She had never seen a man so awesome, so fierce. His black eyes swept the room and came to rest on her. Heather backed into the table and he smiled at her. She took a deep breath and smiled back nervously. Then he turned away, to speak with the man behind the counter.

Heather hid behind the table so she could watch the Indian without being seen. She had never seen an Indian before. Papa said Indians weren’t human. They were savages, devils who did not worship God. Heather frowned as she remembered thinking not so long ago that if there was a God, he had forgotten all about her. Maybe Indians felt the same way. Men in other places they stopped spoke freely of hunting and killing the barbarians and spoke of their concern about the way the indians killed and captured the whites. She wondered what Mama would think and giggled softly. Mama would faint dead away. The Indian turned his eyes back to her and Heather realized he had heard her laugh. Sorry…I didn’t mean to stare so. I’ve never seen an Indian. Heather whispered her apology.

The Indian smiled. I am used to people staring. You were laughing at me.

No. I was laughing at something else. Heather’s eyes widened.

What is there here to cause humor? His eyes glanced around the room, then returned to hers. I can see nothing amusing.

"I…I was thinking that my Mama would faint dead away if she could

see you."

He grinned down at her. I have that effect on most white women. He turned back to the man behind the counter and Heather continued to gawk at him from her place behind the table. A strand of beads slipped from his waist and fell unseen to the floor. He completed his transaction and turned to leave, carrying his purchases. The men around the table returned to their liquor. It was obvious that the Indian had traded there before.

Without thinking of the consequences or her father’s list of rules, Heather scooped up the beads and bolted for the door. Mister! Wait!

He turned as he fastened his purchases to his horse’s blanket. Yes?

You dropped these, Mister. She stood inches from him, clutching the beads. As she realized the rashness of her actions, she chewed nervously on her bottom lip.

My name is Black Eagle.

Mister Eagle, sir, Heather said lifted the beads.My name is Heather. Heather Andrews. I’m from Virginia. We’re on our way to California.

Miss Andrews, I thank you for your honesty. These are special beads. They protect me from evil. Suddenly he straightened, his eyes darting to the men coming from the trading post. He didn’t need trouble with these men. Clutching the beads, he sighed.

Patrick Andrews stormed through the door, followed by the other men at the post. Frank looked upset as he followed his father. Heather knew instinctively she had broken one of her father’s unspoken rules. She also knew from the rage in his eyes she would be beaten. She cringed as his open hand connected with her cheek; she crumpled to the dirt. What ails you girl? Talking to savages! You got no upbringin’! Acting like that whore who mothered you! I’ll be damned if I allow it! You hear me girl?

Heather struggled to her feet, then flinched as she saw his hand raise to strike her again; only to be caught in the Indian’s grasp. Do not strike this child again, white eyes. the Indian said in a voice that was deeper, not friendly like when he had spoken her. His anger was apparent…his stance was one of a man preparing to do battle.

She’s my kid. I can beat her if it pleases me! Sure as hell ain’t havin’ no devil savage correcting me about what I do.

Not if you wish to live. I am a Crow and we cherish our children. Strike her again and I promise you death. It will be a slow death, taking many days. You will plead for mercy, but will receive none. This, I vow to you.

Heather stared at him. Crows were birds that destroyed crops on the plantation. She wondered why this Mister Black Eagle thought he was a bird. Her father was glaring at the Indian, but he lowered his hand. Maybe his beads protected her from evil as well. At least Papa had only struck her once this time. Only her lip bled slightly. At least he hadn’t taken his leather belt to her. Frank hurried to her side and brushed the dirt from her dress.

Be careful that I do not take her from you this very night while you sleep. She would be well cared for in my village. We would raise her as our own.

I should kill you here and now, her father said menacingly.

The Indian arched a dark brow. You could try. Then I would take her as you lay dying.

The other traders came forward and almost forcefully led Patrick Andrews away from the Indian, pointing to ten other braves waiting not far away. Frank led Heather toward a rain barrel where he wiped her bloodied lip with his handkerchief. What possessed you to run after a Crow Indian, sissy?

He dropped his beads. I only thought to return them.

It could have gotten us all killed.

Heather lifted her chin. She had grown more defiant each day on the trail. Papa was the one who challenged him, not me. If anybody gets us killed out here, it will be him and his temper. Maybe Mister Eagle will come for me tonight. Life with Indians couldn’t be as bad as what I am already suffering. At least he wouldn’t beat me.

Don’t say that. Frank stared at her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have reason to hate their father, but to live with Indians was unthinkable. No one wanted to be captured by Indians.

Fine. When I get old enough I’ll run away, just like Mama did. Except I’ll run away with an Indian. One who looks like Mister Eagle. I will vow this to you Frank Andrews. I will never attach myself to a white man who will treat me like Papa. Never! I am beginning to understand why Mama left.

I forbid you to say such nonsense. Frank didn’t understand exactly why their mother had chosen to leave their home with Major Rawlings, or why she hadn’t taken Heather with her. At eighteen, he could handle their father most of the time, but Heather didn’t deserve this kind of life. He vowed each night he would find a way to return her to the plantation. Hopefully their mother would have come to her senses and be there waiting.

Shut up, Frank, Heather said softly, then walked away from him, leaving him to stare open-mouthed behind her. She was careful to avoid her father who was now both drunk and angry. She hoped he would calm down when they left here. The men were upset because apparently they had made some sort of peace with the Indians and they didn’t care for the idea of a stranger coming along upsetting them. Finally, Frank told her the wagon was loaded and she dutifully followed him, allowing him to lift her into the back.

Black Eagle sat proud on his stallion, surrounded by his braves as the Andrews wagon pulled away. He had thanked the Gods he had controlled his urge to kill the man for hurting the little girl. Heather. Named after the flower that grew wild. She would grow wild as well. He whispered a silent prayer for her safety and happiness. Heather glanced at her father, saw he wasn’t looking, and lifted her hand to wave goodbye. Black Eagle returned the gesture, then winked at her. She watched until he turned his horse and his braves into the forest, then reached for her doll. It was all that was left of her mother. A birthday gift she hadn’t been forced to leave behind. She gasped as she saw that wrapped around the doll’s neck were the beads she had returned to Black Eagle. The beads which kept him from evil. Now they would protect her. Her heart pounded with joy as she fingered the treasured beads. It was her first gift from a man. She would treasure it always. One day, she hoped to meet a man like Black Eagle, and when she did, she would…well, she would do something. Indians weren’t evil after all.

1

1856

Heather studied the curtains as she finished the hem. The stitches were crooked and knotted, but at least they would cover the windows. At sixteen, she wasn’t versed in the art of home making or the fine art of polite conversation as she might have been had she remained in Virginia. Here in Dakota Pass, a settlement of some seventy people in the Dakota Territory, she felt at home in the saddle of her strawberry Roan, racing through the Black Hills. The wildness of the sometimes desolate countryside nurtured her own free spirit. Sometimes, sitting still in the middle of the woods and caves, Heather felt almost at peace. She hadn’t learned to sew very well, but she had learned to shoot and to throw a knife with perfect accuracy, which helped her and Frank keep meat on the table. The four years she and Frank spent in the gold fields of California had stripped away any semblance of ladylike behavior left over from her tutors back in Virginia. Her father, who panned for gold during the day and gambled his findings away at night, didn’t care much what she did, unless she was seen speaking to a boy. Any boy, with the exception of the Barclay Twins, who belonged to the lady who cared for her. Ned Barclay taught her to rope and ride, and Nick taught her to throw a knife and shoot a .45 which seemed as big as she was back then.

But things were different now. She had her own house with her brother Frank in a nice settlement filled with friendly people. She and Frank left California behind, heading East again after her father picked a fight with a gunslinger and got himself killed. She surprised him when she expressed no desire to return to Richmond, or to search out her mother. Nor did she wish to go to their mother’s sister, Aunt Ruby, in St. Joe. When an early winter forced them to take cover from their journey eastward, they found themselves stranded in Dakota Territory. The people there welcomed them with open arms and settled them in before they could catch a breath or shake the snow from their jackets. A nearby rancher sought out Frank and offered him a job helping with horses on his ranch. Mrs. Borris, who owned the town’s only boarding house with her daughter Milly, insisted Frank and Heather stay there for the time being. She also insisted Heather be tutored along with her own daughter.

Milly Borris could turn a hem so neat it was almost invisible. She also turned the heads of every man in the territory, and giggled with delight as she spurned each of them. Milly looked like a breakable porcelain doll, with her auburn hair and beautiful day dresses, while Heather always had her blonde hair tied in braids and refused to wear a day dress for any occasion unless forced. They were as completely opposite as any two friends could be, other than their love for devilishness. Milly could play the harpsichord and knit sweaters. Heather could hit a target at any distance and refused to ride in a wagon or carriage if she could race her mare instead. Milly shuddered at the thought of getting her hands dirty, while Heather would happily dig for hours in her small garden. Despite their differences, they were closer than sisters. Heather and Milly had become immediate friends and cohorts with Heather leading the way into a long list of mischievous deeds.

They sneaked onto the second story balcony of Sadie’s Brothel, peeking in the window and getting their first look at what went on between men and women. They giggled so loud, they were almost discovered before they could shimmy down the tree next to the railing. Undaunted, they boldly slipped into the storeroom the next night, intent on tasting Sadie’s forbidden wine, which they had heard was hidden there. When Milly whispered, Someone’s coming, both girls ducked behind the barrels of wine. It was one of the women, dressed in a scandalously low-cut red satin gown, so low most of her bosom was exposed. She was breathing hard, looking around the dark cellar. Then a man joined her. Milly and Heather recognized him because he was staying at Borris’s Boarding House! In minutes, Milly and Heather got the shock of their young lives as both man and woman shed their clothes and slipped between the wine barrels, just a few feet from their hiding place. Milly covered her mouth as the man and woman both squealed and groaned with delight. After they panted and grunted like animals, they retrieved their clothes and each slipped away, leaving the two girls shocked beyond words. The next day Heather slipped a burr beneath the man’s saddle while he was at breakfast. It was a sight as he mounted his horse only to have it rear up and toss him to the ground…not once but twice. Milly burst into a fit of giggles, earning her a glare from her mother and another from the man.

In more than a year, Heather had never forgotten the scene in the cellar. It had been so completely disgusting, she vowed she would never allow any man to touch her in any way. She thought that as long as she dressed in men’s denims and shirts and as long as she carried her rifle and skinning knife, no man would consider trying anything with her. One poor fellow who once did try was openly assured in front of his friends that she would geld him like a useless stallion if he so much as touched her person again. Then Frank showed up. Frank. Her dear older brother, who looked like their father, but he was kind like their mother had been. He was tall and muscular, with reddish-blonde hair and gray eyes, eyes that turned smoky colored when he was angry. He carried a Colt .45 low on his hip and each year took the prize for the shooting contest at the settlement’s Celebration Day picnic. Frank was her hero. As long as she had Frank, she didn’t need or want anyone else.

The object of her hero worship stood watching her from the doorway, grinning as she glared at the curtains that hung crooked on the small window. She would take it in stride like everything else out here in the wilderness. It amazed him, the way she had adapted so well. Girls her age should be sitting on porch swings, sipping lemonade and wearing dresses. She should be going to balls and having suitors. The grin faded. She made no secret of her contempt for men. No wonder after the way their father had treated her. But, at least he didn’t have to deal with her beaus, yet. Not that he wanted her to become an old maid, but he wasn’t going to force the issue. It would take one hell of a man to be Heather’s mate. One who wouldn’t back down from her, or from him. Most dandies who rode through here took one look at his .45 and developed a sudden interest in the scenery.

Ready to go to town, sis? he asked, dropping the wood next to the fireplace.

I’m useless, she said, wadding the curtains into a ball, throwing them into a chair.

You can’t measure worth by how your curtains look, Frank said. They cover the window, don’t they?

If I were a typical woman I would at least be able to stitch a straight seam. Never mind things like sewing clothes and such.

Frank laughed. If you were a typical woman you’d be married by now and I’d be an uncle. Now go get into something pretty and let’s go to town.

Nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. Heather lifted her chin a notch. I’m comfortable.

I’d like to remember that you’re my sister, not my brother.

I wear a dress on Sunday, Frank. They’re uncomfortable and it’s difficult to ride a horse with all those skirts and petticoats, not to mention there’s no place for my holster.

Heather, honey…

Damn.

Ladies don’t use profanity.

Ladies can sew curtains, she retorted with a frown.

"Go put on a dress, please. Frank grinned at her. I let you run wild nine days out of ten. Every once in a great while, I would like you to live up to the status of your heritage. You were raised to be a lady, back in Virginia. You come from a very well respected old Southern family. Not that anyone would know, looking at you." He reached out and brushed a speck of dust from her turned-up nose and tanned cheek.

Did anybody ever accuse you of being a bully? Heather asked with a grin.

Frank laughed. Not since yesterday.

If you weren’t my brother you’d never get away with this.

If I weren’t your brother I would never put up with you. You’re a hoyden, a wild tomboy. Uncivilized completely.

I’m happy, she snapped back with a grin, then took the stairs two at a time in a very unladylike fashion, simply to make her point.

Heather stared at her reflection in the old mirror. The pink cotton bodice of her dress clung boldly to her newly developed curves. It seemed like she’d been skinny yesterday. The skirt suggestively hugged slim but feminine hips. Soon there would be no help for it. The denims would no longer fit and she would be a woman, no matter how much she hated the very thought of it. She would be a woman like her mother, but only in appearances. Heather was the exact image of Adele Andrews, who deserted them for another man. No man was worth making yourself a fool over, she said to herself. No man should tempt a woman to leave her children. Granted, Papa wasn’t the easiest man in the world to deal with, but there had been holy vows exchanged. Did a man mean more to a woman than that? Not in Heather’s book. The men of Dakota Pass were crude, uneducated farmers and ranchers. None made her think about the things women allowed men to do after marriage. Or the things Sadie’s girls did. Milly had slipped back to Sadie’s alone one time, barely escaping discovery. She swore to Heather the girls seemed to enjoy what went on. How or why was anyone’s guess. It seemed degrading to lay naked while a man slobbered on your body, much less the rest of what they did! Not to be outdone, the next night Heather had climbed Sadie’s balcony and watched the entire act, from start to finish. It had left her feeling queasey.

With a shrug, Heather headed toward the yard where her brother had hitched up the wagon. Frank, if I have to wear dresses, don’t you think I should get new ones? I’ve put on a pound.

Frank’s eyes narrowed at the provocative picture she made as she lifted both breasts in her palms to make her point. Gone was the little girl with a dirty face and braids. Gone was the tomboy who wore denims and raced her mare through the hills. Here stood a woman of rare beauty who would not be able to hide her womanhood much longer. She was going to become quite a lady as she matured. Her wide, sparkling blue eyes were fringed with thick golden lashes which seemed more golden in contrast with her deep tan. Unlike other girls, Heather was never concerned about protecting her skin from the summer sun or the winter wind. When had this happened? I’d have to agree with you, sissy. You aren’t able to hide the fact you’re a girl any more, that’s for sure. I’d better start practicing my quick draw. Better see if Sam has some ready made dresses, or get some material. I’m sure Mrs. Borris would make you some new things.

No man alive is stupid enough to look twice, no matter what I wear. I’d geld him completely, then you could shoot what was left. To make her point she withdrew her knife from the dress pocket. I’m not dumb enough to go anywhere without this. Unfortunately my gun doesn’t go well with the dress.

Nobody knew much about Sam, the owner of the Dry Goods Store. He’d been here since Dakota Pass was a speck in the road, and Dakota Territory was a wild, untamed wilderness. He’d been here when the town almost burned to the ground. As the fire had raged, the Sioux Indians appeared from the hills and swooped down, beating the flames with their blankets, rescuing women and children from burning buildings. Until then, the Indians had kept their distance, coexisting with the few white settlers. Chief Fighting Hawk and his people saved them from ruin. The chief ’s thirteen-year-old son, Dakota One Feather, had rushed into the sheriff ’s house three times, to rescue his two young daughters and his wife. He suffered mild burns on his back when the roof collapsed around him as he carried the crying infant from the house. Sam still loved to tell the stories. Dakota One Feather was a hero, regardless that he was a full-blooded Lakota Indian. Until then, the settlers, like settlers everywhere, had lived in fear of the indians who resided nearby. However, since they didn’t seem interested in doing them harm, the people thought it best to adopt a live and let live attitude. On the day of the fire, all that changed. Now the Indians were mostly welcomed and accepted. If a new settler moved in, Sam was sure to expound on the issue and the Lakotas bravery. Those who didn’t like the idea of friendly Indians were quick to leave, either on their own or with the help of the townspeople. Heather and Milly had slipped near enough to the Sioux camp to smell the smoke and the scent of cooking food more than once. Heather was more intrigued about their way of life than Milly, but Milly was still awestruck by the way they survived.

Frank left the girls to their shopping while he went in search of a shave, haircut, and card game. Heather enlisted Milly’s guidance in choosing a dress or two. When Milly suggested one which was obviously designed for one of Sadie’s girls, Heather broke into laughter.

I kina like what yer wearin, sweet thing, a man’s voice stated.

Both girls turned to look at the dirty cowboy who had entered the store. He stood just inches away from Heather, his eyes boldly raking her figure. I don’t recall asking your opinion, Heather snapped in obvious disgust. His breath was enough to turn her stomach.

Like the way yer titties cling to the front. Like they’re askin to be touched.

Not in your lifetime.

His hand reached for her breast, catching the nipple between his thumb and finger. Ohwie, sweet thing…

Leave my friend alone you heathen! Milly said sternly, shaking her balled up fist at the man. The cowboy laughed. I mean it!

Honey, ifn you wait your turn, I’ll git to you too…

Heather slipped her hand into her pocket and came out with her knife. Pressing the point to his ribs, she glared up at him. Unhand me or I will carve you up like the pig you are.

His hand moved like lightning, knocking the knife away. Bitch. I’ll teach you to pull a knife on me.

You will unhand the lady at once or die. A calm voice came from the shadows.

The cowboy turned, Heather turned, and Milly gasped.

Dakota One Feather had been in the back storeroom choosing his supplies with Sam, stepping through the door in time to see the man touch Frank’s sister. He knew her by reputation only. He grinned inwardly as he saw the knife in her hand. He knew she would not hesitate to use it. The other girl, Milly Borris, was the boarding house woman’s daughter. He’d seen her around town, usually with her mother. A feminine little lady. Unlike Heather Andrews who was all wildcat. Even without her knife, she looked ready to battle this man.

I don’t listen to no filthy redskin.

I am One Feather, son of Chief Fighting Hawk. You will leave or you will die.

Is she yer squaw? That it?

"She is a lady. I have never met her before, but she is a lady and