Chapter Nine: Closer
"The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides."
- Audrey Hepburn
Now, the problem that existed was the lack of truth in this investigation. Booker knew the truth. That truth was the fact Clara was not kidnapped; she ran away. He was aware of Clara, in fact, he found her to be the most intelligent woman he had ever known. According to Charlotte, oh how his heart ached for her, she spoke of a Native taking her things. There were missing pieces to this, things either hidden from him or not explained. While two different problems existed, they were just different sides of the same coin. On one, Clara was kidnapped by savages. If that was certainly true, a truth the older detective doubted, Booker's own experience with Natives in the war did not assure him Clara would be alive. These Indians were not stupid, Booker knew that, and he knew them. His mother was a part of a tribe, but that story was buried along with his past. However, he knew eventually that all treasures could not be buried forever.
The second side being she ran away. This anecdote created, in fact, a greater issue, at least if Booker ever wanted to 'succeed' in this investigation. Clara was a clever girl; she obviously had things planned. She was not one to just leap into action without properly calculating her options. Whatever she did was planned. Now, Charlotte's story with the Native would complement their findings at the river. Clara had fallen in, but so did the Native. According to the footprints, that same man was also responsible for pinning Colin to the ground, a proud accomplishment at that. Booker swore he would have killed Colin if he had ever found him hurting Clara. Colin took extreme measures to make sure his beatings were as private as possible. Words were not enough to condemn a highly successful lawyer.
So, Clara fell in the river, but no doubt had help in getting out. From there, the story turns blank. Hours turned into days, and with rainfall came the mud covering up any evidence of tracks out of that river. Booker did not have any fear for Clara; he had a feeling that she would not have succumbed to the thrash of water. If Clara were ever to die, it would be sacrificial; just a sense he had. Either that, or he prayed she'd merely die old in her bed with someone she loved. Booker knew she was somewhere, and while that reassured him, it did not reassure the men who were accompanying him to spy on his investigation. They were no help whatsoever, just an annoyance with their pained questions. Booker would spend nights in the forest like a beggar, or some ancient monastic monk in the desert. Those days turned into a couple of months, all the men growing irritated with their unshaven cheeks and desire for clean clothes.
It was all part of the plan of course. Get them irritated, stir up trouble, and one by one these men would leave. One had already died after being careless and stumbling down a cliff, hitting the sharp rocks below. It was only a matter of time the men would turn on each other, and luckily, today was that day. Booker sat by the small fire, eating the leftovers of a cooked rabbit they had caught last night. The men were bickering with one another, claiming that Mister Robertson's pay did not cover this. Even Booker could see their bitterness towards the wretched man, but these men were no better. No doubt they were criminals, brawlers, and maybe even murderers. However, anyone could change their ways for good coin, but that only went so far.
"I do not understand. The lass is dead. Why don't we just say we found her body and move on?" One of the men groaned, smoking the last of his cigarettes. They had been to town a couple of times only to restock on any necessities. However, they had not been paid in those months. Money was short, and their patience even shorter.
"Mister Robertson would want proof of the bitch's body. Besides, I doubt the bastard would pay us if we returned empty handed," George spoke, trimming the facial hair on his cheek as best as he could. Of course, the men were not kind in talking about Clara. However, Booker knew he would have to remain objective in this; he could not show much care for the missing girl, no matter how personal.
Last night they had crossed the river into unfamiliar territory, to everyone but Booker. Did he know that he had intentionally crossed into Sioux land? Well, it was a risk, but hopefully, it would pay off. As the men sat there silently bickering in their heads, they failed to notice in the trees above several Natives watching them.
Chayton saw the heavy guns they all possessed. Despite only being about six men in total, if these white men stumbled upon any Native encampments, no doubt they could do damage. But the young scout did not hear the murmurs of Clara, whose name had become so familiar to him. In fact, he had just been near the river, both of them reading The Scarlet Letter together. It was mostly Clara reading aloud, often stopping to explain the figurative language or dialect on each page. But he was suddenly called by Enapay to join him, and it sounded urgent. While Clara was getting stronger and wiser every day in this area, he still didn't think she was ready to join him. Besides, by the way Enapay spoke, it did sound as if he didn't want Clara joining.
Now he understood why. White people. Of course, Chayton knew that Clara wouldn't just forget everything and run to them with open arms. But there was a fear in the back of his mind that if she were exposed to once a familiar life, she might miss it and want to return. Despite her being a bit of annoyance with Chayton, his father breathing down his neck on forcing her to leave, he was growing to love her. He knew he was. The mornings were spent with smiles, the afternoons spent with training, and evenings spent with small conversations on questions she had. She had a new issue every day, yet learned faster than anyone he had ever met. He admired her, significantly. She was so generous, often helping with the women cook despite spending a tiring day training or scouting. The women were also grown to appreciate her presence. It seemed like every day, Clara's color faded. Of course, she was still white as ever in appearance, but the veils in his tribe's eyes were becoming more colorblind. Clara was nicer than most of the Sioux women, who could be cold and very quiet. But not Clara.
She was just a complete mess of kindness, happiness, stubbornness, quietness, and gentleness. Chayton could not deny the way she made him feel each morning when exiting her tipi. Whether her hair was messy, perhaps even a small scowl on her face from the mud or even the simplicity of her attire, just the sight of her sent him into another world, as if he were one of the Spirits above admiring her. She was beautiful and got even more gorgeous as they days passed. Ever since her gentle lips had touched the side of his own, he had thought what it would feel like for their lips to collide. As a boy, he remembered being so disgusted by the idea of a kiss, or why it was a sign of affection. And yet now, it seemed he could not go a full day without thinking about taking that first move. But what held him back?
Privacy, for one thing, was a major issue. The only time they had alone was scouting or the early mornings, but he just never had found the right opportunity. Another problem was his own anxiety about it. Yes, there were constant visions of them being together. Even Shaman was pushing him to grow up and just make a move, but what if it was all wrong? Clara was a kind person in general. What if all of this was just her being friendly and caring for him? He could be misinterpreting the whole thing, right? These thoughts had always distracted him.
A snap could be heard, and it wasn't long until Chayton could feel his balance lose itself as he fell straight to the ground. Immediately the white men stood to their feet, bewildered by the Native to just fall from the sky. But before they could move to grab their weapons, or even tilt their heads up, the Sioux scouts had surrounded them with bows pulled and daggers in hands. They were severely outnumbered and obviously wouldn't win this fight. Chayton cursed in his head for being so distracted, but it wasn't that bad, right? Instead of sitting up there thinking of a plan on rounding up these men, it seemed his slight clumsiness had brought the opportunity to itself. He stood up with a grunt, brushing the dirt off him before noticing all the men staring at him.
"Booker, what the hell? Ye said this place was safe!" one of them shouted, Chayton apparently listening in as the Natives pushed further in, making a circle amongst the small camp.
"I said it was less dangerous than our previous place," he muttered, "put yer weapons down. If they were gunna kill us, they woulda' done it already." The men seemed hesitant, but they were good at following orders. All pistols, rifles, blades, and any other thing considered to be a weapon were dropped into the dirt. The man in charge, this man named Booker, raised his hands in the form of surrender. Chayton slowly ordered Enapay and the other men to lower theirs as well, but keep a steady hand. Anything could happen, especially with this being unpredictable. White people were always unpredictable.
"What is it you seek here?" Chayton asked his accent thick, but his English surprising all the men except Booker. One almost looked like he could laugh, but the sense of danger probably kept him from doing so. These men thought they were so humorous.
"We're looking for a woman, not like it would concern you. You savages probably wouldn't know the difference between a female and a meal," one snickered, but it was an empty echo as the rest of the men didn't really seem to find it funny. Maybe a couple of minutes they would have burst out laughing, but not now. Chayton's first thought was Clara. Of course, she had mentioned that her father wouldn't go looking for her. Chayton had handed whatever was in that letter to her mother, but wasn't there a possibility that perhaps Mister Robertson didn't read it? Or he didn't care? Whatever this was, it would end quickly.
"I was asking the man in charge..." Chayton spoke harshly, not finding that joke to be very funny at all. When Booker did meet eyes with Chayton, he noticed the change in expression. The young scout saw a familiarity of eyes, a green far brighter than the grass, yet intriguing. The thought that initially appeared in Chayton's mind was ridiculous. Perhaps Clara had been so much on his mind, he was connecting her to everything now. But he just could not shake the feeling away that there was something so familiar about this man, his complexion, his eyes, the way he spoke.
Booker took a deep breath before uttering these words in the best Lakota he could, "I want you to kill the men I am accompanied with." Immediately everybody's face lit up in surprise, even his own men. Of course, they had no idea what he was saying, but they were surprised a private investigator from Boston knew a Native language. In fact, Booker knew seven languages, three of them being from natives. Chayton and his friends were shocked because it was only just months ago that they learned that someone could even know Lakota. No doubt there could be translations, but who would spend their time studying such a thing, and for what purpose?
Chayton cleared his throat, speaking in Lakota now as well, "And why would we do that?"
"Well, ye planned on killing us the moment you spotted us. And don't think I did not notice ye. I heard the bird signal, it was a too low pitch to be an actual bird," Booker spoke, licking his dry lips, "in fact I crossed the river because I knew ye would most likely interfere with our investigation. I need these men dead, which will help ye just as much as it would help me."
"And why would I kill them and leave you alive?" Chayton asked, taking a step closer. He didn't feel threatened by this white man, but he knew that he obviously was intelligent. Anything was possible these days, and trust was tough to come by, especially towards a minority.
"Because I am lookin' for someone, that woman. Her name is Clara," Booker explained, immediately seeing a change of expression in the native's face, "and I know you have her or had contact with her. These men accompanying me are here to make sure this investigation goes smoothly, and we find her. Now, in my own personal opinion, I know the truth behind the girl's disappearance. Kill these men, and I will report back to Mister Robertson that your tribe had nothing to do with the woman's kidnapping. The name is Booker, I'm a private detective."
This really was a strange predicament, and Booker was taking a huge risk. If these men had never made contact with Clara, then he was in serious trouble. But, Booker got a good look at the footprint tracks made by the native that stood in front of him. They were exactly the same as the ones by the river, the ones that pushed Colin out of the way. Now, was it possible that two natives could have the exact foot size and gait? Possibly. But it was a risk worth taking. Booker knew that trespassing would result in death. If this risk worked out, he'd live, and hopefully get answers. Chayton on the other hand had to take a chance as well. Despite not knowing Mister Robertson well, the things he knew were certainly not positive and were extremely violent. This could turn ugly if this man were to escape and say Clara was here. He would have to trust this man. Chayton could kill him, but that wouldn't help much in shaking the attention away from their tribe, or Clara.
"Do as he said," Chayton turned to Enapay, getting a nod. Of course, Chayton knew it was rather uncivil to kill merely armed trespassers, but these men were not friendly. They were not explorers looking for help, they were killers. They had already shared laughs of the Sioux culture and way of life, and no doubt insulted Clara. Had these men been modest travelers, this would have resulted in a different manner. The killings were mostly silent, despite the small pleas of mercy before their echoes of begs were cut by a single slice of a blade. Their bodies laid in the campsite, leaving Booker the only one standing. Even Booker was a little relieved and impressed. "Dump the bodies in the river."
This left only Booker and Chayton standing there, the rest helping to dispose of this incident. Of course, word of this might incite some issues with the local towns, but it wouldn't take long to show that there was an obscene amount of alcohol and weapons here as well. It wouldn't be a problem if this older man kept his word. Chayton looked into the man's eyes, seeing some relief. But he couldn't get over the fact that there was such familiarity.
"So, you know Clara?" they both asked the same time, having the same astonished look on their faces. Hm, seemed as if that answered the underlying question in both their minds.
"Is she safe?" Booker asked, worry hinted in his tone. Chayton could tell this man cared for her. In what way, he didn't know just yet. He seemed far too old to be a lover, but then again, these days' age didn't matter much. Chayton was hesitant to answer, but he eventually nodded, assuring that Clara was safe. "I swear to keep my word; Mister Robertson will know nothing of this?"
"Why do you protect her?" Chayton asked curiously.
"Well, I suppose I could ask the same of you," Booker refuted, a slight smirk on his lips. Even that sly smile looked familiar. Slowly the pieces were coming together, that complex idea forming back in Chayton's head. Right now, it seemed less impossible than he thought.
"She's become a dear friend of mine," was all Chayton said, his stance protective yet understanding.
The man began to laugh, chuckling loudly before looking back at Chayton, "There's no need to be a boy here. We are both men. You love her, don't you? All the boys used to love her. She'd walk down the streets, and they'd all have that look you have in your eyes." And yet his look was slightly different. Booker didn't doubt this observation that the native felt something for her. The look was selfless, whereas back in Boston or Virginia, the looks would consist of lustful, selfish jealousy. This young man was very different. Then again, this Native was not a boy, but a full-grown man. Brad would have been a teenager compared to him. Chayton actually looked irritated at the fact this man knew what he felt. Was it that obvious? Or was this man just good at making observations, just like Clara was?
"I care for her deeply," was all Chayton said, his tone a bit irritated.
"I guess I should answer yer question since ye answered mine," Booker sighed, "let's just say I care for her happiness. And I know she ran away, despite Colin pushin' for us to find her. She wasn't happy in the world she was living in. And knowing she is safe here reassures the real purpose I am here, for her mother. Her mother wanted to know she was alright."
"How do you know Lakota?" Chayton asked.
"That is a story for another time," Booker explained, beginning to shove his belongings into a small sack. He honestly wanted to go back to town, write a letter, and maybe get a warm bath started. Even he was getting a little stir-crazy in this forest.
Chayton tilted his head in slight confusion, "Well, will we meet again?"
"Let's hope not. Perhaps this search will be over once I fabricate a story on how these men died, and I survived. I will tell her mother of my findings, but that is all. This was mostly reassurance for us both that she is safe and out of the monster's grasp." That monster being Colin of course. Although that word was a bit of an understatement, to say the least when it came to him.
Before Booker turned to leave, Chayton knew he might not get the opportunity to ask the burning question on his mind. "Did you ever tell her, Booker?"
At first, Booker looked confused at the question, but upon seeing the look in his eyes, the curious stance in his posture, and the soft pleading in his voice, he concluded what his question meant. Talented man, he must've been spending a lot of time around Clara. Even though, Clara had never seemed to realize it, had she? He couldn't blame her. He and Charlotte did everything they could to try and not leave a crumb trail for that curious girl to follow. Booker stood proudly, taking a deep breath before shaking his head. "No, she does not know. But it doesn't matter now does it? She would like it out here, a lot of freedom. And apparently, selfless men," Booker smiled slightly, "do not tell her what happened today. Do not tell her about our little secret. I highly doubt she'd believe you anyway, or you'd even tell her. You fear she'll leave to come back to society."
"I do not fear what Clara chooses. What she decides to make her happy is her decision," he assured, which seemed to make Booker all the more confident in this Native's words. Chayton knew she was a hard woman to control anyways. She was stubborn as a horse.
"Perhaps we will see each other again, it's a small world," Booker extended his hand. Chayton saw the familiarity in action, remembering Clara introduce him into a handshake. He reached his own hand, feeling the rough palms meet together in a small shake, "if you do ever need to find me, I heard you trade with the town on the east end. Just ask for Booker."
"If you ever see a Sioux native and need something, ask for Chayton," he nodded, watching the white gentleman leave. He didn't even have one ounce of regret as he stepped over the puddles of blood left on the ground. He merely blended within the forest and disappeared, like a ghost in Clara's past. Eventually, Enapay returned, kicking up dirt to cover this mishap and douse the small fire that still burned. He was apparently confused by what had happened, but no doubt could conclude whatever it was about, was about Clara. It seemed like everything was about her these days. The poor girl couldn't take a break.
"Should we follow the man? Will he be any trouble?" Enapay asked, looking at Chayton as he shook his head.
"No. He'd know you were following him anyway, and he shouldn't be trouble unless what happened today leaves any of our lips. Tell nobody, not the Chief, nor your wives. If anybody does ask, we say we stumbled upon weapons and searched for any men lurking around. We found nothing," Chayton commanded, getting all nods from the people around them. Chayton stood there for a moment, wondering how this would play out. There was no way Clara could ever find out about this, but if she did...it would change a lot. She was lied to, and whether it was a good lie or wrong one, Chayton couldn't tell. Was there ever such a thing as a good lie?
Nevertheless, what happened made him think about a future. Their future. Perhaps he was being overdramatic and completely overthinking this. It happened, and it would cease to exist. Or perhaps this could catalyze into something really extreme and disrupt the peace at hand. Mister Robertson was looking for Clara, which was already a bit of a worry. Chayton could only hope that Clara's real father would keep his word.
"Focus, Clara," the sharp voice spoke, causing her eyes to focus on her target, her muscles tensing. Ever since Chayton had run off to God knows where she had been stuck with her older brother in learning how to use a bow. Although it seemed he wasn't the greatest teacher either, remembering Chayton's story about the scar on his inner thigh. She'd never forget that day. It was a day where she felt fear again, felt alone, and angry. Yet Chayton helped her, guided her, brought her back to her sanity. Just being around him almost made her forget what had happened, of all the things that had happened.
She released the cord with a flick, the arrow spiraling towards the lower end of the mark of the tree. It was better than her other three attempts, but still not a perfect target. Chaska didn't expect her to be perfect though. Chaska was much more patient than Chayton, which Clara saw as both a blessing and a curse. She felt she dealt better under the pressure of Chayton always breathing down her neck and forcing her to do her best. But she also loved the moments where she could relax and take a break. It was hard-hitting for her to catch her breath while always running around, doing whatever Chayton told her, and of course looking at him. He seemed to age by the day, which honestly wasn't a bad thing. His jawline got stronger, his muscles broader than when she first met her, and even his smile was improving.
Although she figured the smile was all her doing.
It was when she drew for the next arrow that she heard the familiar voice. She had gotten his voice down to a pin. She could recognize it around a crowd of hundreds it seemed. Every laugh, yell, or whisper that escaped his lips were quickly acknowledged by her. She wondered where he had gone, what had happened that seemed so urgent. He didn't even say anything before he ran off, leaving her to sit on the dried-out trunk with her book in hand. She tried not to think anything of it honestly, there were times he would disappear throughout the day. It was his job, and she figured she still wasn't supposed to know everything just yet.
"That elbow is way too high," Chayton said, Clara soon feeling his rough and calloused hand slowly lowering her elbow.
She gritted her teeth, "It's uncomfortable this way."
"Chayton, you're distracting her," Chaska rolled his eyes, crossing his own eyes in annoyance. Chaska had offered to train her in some of the weaponry, despite the Chief's disapproval. Honestly, Clara had not seen him much, and if she did, he was quick to turn his gaze. Clara didn't feel like having a pleasant conversation with him anyway. In fact, he had just left this morning with several men in quite the rush. She wondered what that had been about. The hand on her elbow soon moved to her hips, a soft noise leaving her lips as Chayton had shifted her position slightly. And yet he still didn't move his hands.
"Keep your hand steady, take a deep breath...And release when you're ready," he guided her, soon taking a step back as he could feel her body relaxing. That was another thing about Clara, not only was she always calculating everything, she was also a disconcerted woman. Relaxing was definitely not something she seemed used to doing. Now were his words helping, perhaps not so much with that crazy imagination of hers.
Focus.
She did as he instructed, focusing on every muscle from her indexes, her forearms, to her legs to relax. When she released the arrow, it was merely a feather away from the center of the mark on the tree. Chaska offered a glare towards Chayton, in which his little brother was smirking. Clara just needed a decent teacher. She was more of a visual person than someone who just took direct advice. She learned through experience, not being told what to do, but being shown. Chayton walked over to the arrow, yanking it from the bark before tossing it among the others upon the ground to be recycled. The Natives were very good with their resources.
"Not bad," he spoke, walking back over to her with that small smile. She even offered one back, although it seemed to form into a proud smirk, "although it only did take you a couple of weeks."
"Yer brother is an excellent teacher," she said, offering a glare to Chaska who merely rolled his eyes again, "he's very patient and understanding. Not harsh, like ye." Oh, she was only teasing, and both Chaska and Chayton knew that. Of course, Chaska really wasn't one to enjoy teasing, being the very stoic and grave man he was. He didn't like being the center of the tease anyway. He picked up the wooden remains of the arrows and walked off, knowing Chayton would probably take over his place. Not like that mattered, he had more important things to attend to.
"I apologize for every being 'harsh' with you," he chuckled softly, a strong emphasis on that word harsh. Harsh? Hardly; Chayton would never do anything to harm her. In fact, he found his touch to be more gentle with her as if she was a fragile butterfly amongst his fingers. Clara was anything but fragile, more like a strong stone in a mountain. But yet he felt like he owed her any softness he could, knowing she had been brutally touched in the past.
She honestly didn't want him to apologize for such things. Clara had almost said that she wanted him to be harsh. Apparently not in the ways in the past, but because she knew he'd never be harsh to her. It just was not in his character to be that way to her. But what she was trying to say was that she greatly enjoyed his touch. "Well, I can say that it did help. Thank you," she said genuinely, losing the tease in her tone, and some of the accent. When she was genuine about something, it seemed she turned proper and serious. Although these days, she started losing it more often in her sentences.
He looked at her, knowing she was serious about such things. Already he could feel the tension in between them, a magnetic spiritual pull towards each other. Desire. Now certainly was not the time, but yet they looked at each other as if they both understood that. There were, of course, doubts in both their minds about how the other felt. Yet at that moment it seemed those faded away. But again, now definitely was not the time, not with everyone around them. Chayton knew his father had a few spies amongst the ordinary people, perhaps older men who felt the same negativity towards Clara. He remembered his father's promise about hurting her, yet it seemed he was losing support for such a thing. More people were enjoying her active presence within the tribe.
Thankfully, Wichahpi interrupted before anything got serious: "Clara, come, your meal is waiting to be eaten." Clara soon shook the thoughts from her head, feeling the young girl grip her arm. She merely smiled back at Chayton, knowing she would be dragged away from him soon enough if she didn't move quickly.
"Perhaps we could finish training after? We can start with fox hunting," he explained, wanting her to get a more hands-on approach. A real target would be better for her than some X marked onto a tree. Besides, they'd be alone again. Not like he had any intentions other than teaching. But they discussed more personal things that way, and he liked getting to know her better.
"I'd like that," she agreed with a smile, seeing him smile back before he was out of sight. Yet her eyes still begged to get one last glimpse before she was forced to eat. The food wasn't horrible here either. It was merely an adjustment. The food honestly did affect her body. She felt more lean, and muscular along with all the things involved in being a scout. The climbing certainly helped tone her arms. While the food necessarily wasn't something she craved, it had more benefits. The only thing she had missed was the delicious taste of chocolate. Despite it being rather expensive, it was such an elegant dessert.
"It's been nearly ten days in a row where he has offered his blanket to you," the child spoke, sitting across from her as they ate alone. Clara often was stuck in watching her when the women had nothing better for her to do. She didn't mind it. It reminded her of Charlie, which was bittersweet. She missed her brother and wondered what he was up to in good old Oregon. It took her a moment to understand what the young girl was pointing out. But there had only been one man to offer the warmth of a blanket during the cold nights.
"Well the nights have gotten colder, and he doesn't want me to freeze," Clara spoke, not really seeing anything wrong with it. In fact, it was a nice gesture, but little did she know the truth behind such a gesture. Winter was growing close, snow had already touched the mountains, and no doubt would reach here within a matter of weeks. How would most of them keep warm during the cold?
"Clara, we both know that if you were cold, you'd get your own blanket," she rolled her eyes. Oh, how dearly that reminded her of the blond mess her brother used to be. Always rolling his eyes at Clara, no matter what she said. She could be scolding, teasing, or merely complimenting her brother and he'd roll his eyes like that. But Wichahpi was right on that part. If Clara ever did need anything, she'd bloody well get it herself. Yet she wouldn't deny Chayton on his offer, it felt important to her.
"Okay, oh wise one," Clara smiled, "what does it matter if he offers me his deer-skin?"
She giggled at the comment before blushing, "He wants to marry you." Of course, the thought shocked Clara. Was he actually making that gesture in front of many? Perhaps it was just a wise tale told to children, right? Like in elementary when boys would whisper in a girl's ear or something, it meant they would be a couple. Surely this wasn't some cultural symbol that she didn't know about. "What's wrong? Do you not want to marry him?" she questioned, concerned about the look on Clara's face.
It wasn't that, it honestly wasn't that. The thought of marrying him did not scare her at all. She just felt like it wasn't the right time for one thing. She still didn't feel like she fully belonged. Yes, she was getting along perfectly well with most people. Yet there were still occasional glares of hatred directed towards her. While perhaps a marriage with the Chief's son would secure her place here...it still didn't feel right. Then again, Chayton probably wasn't thinking the whole blanket situation as a direct proposal. Hell, they haven't even kissed yet!
"No, it's not that Wichahpi," she shook her head, "I just do not think now is a good time to even be thinking about such a thing."
"Well when is a good time?" the girl asked.
"When I feel more comfortable, and the tribe feels comfortable with me. I still feel as if I do not fit in, although it has been getting better," Clara admitted, finding herself, to be honest with her. While children could be incapable of holding secrets, Wichahpi knew better than making this situation any worse.
"Chayton believes in you, and Enapay believes of your purpose here. So do I. You just have to wait. There's a time coming where you can prove yourself," she spoke in all honesty in return. Her words seemed far more mature than for her age, but she was also a very bright and intelligent girl. Now, in no way did Clara think it was appropriate to be asking for Wichahpi's advice on wooing her brother, but it was worth a shot.
"So, what do you think I should do? In response to Chayton offering such a thing?" she asked.
Wichahpi gave her an annoyed glare like most children did when older people didn't understand. It was obvious, wasn't it? "Wasicun winyan, kiss him," she finally spoke.
White woman, just kiss him.
Those words seemed to echo in Clara's mind the entire time, and only worsened when they walked in the forest together. What was stopping her from doing it? She had kissed Brad before, although that was more unwillingly. Brad wasn't even a decent kisser, although she really didn't have experience in kissing someone other than Brad. So, did that make her a bad kisser? She didn't know anymore, it just seemed she didn't know anything anymore. Her mind was so clouded by those words that anything else seemed irrelevant. She doubted Chayton would even like it, right? He appeared to be the kind of man to save romantics for later, private times. Like his brother, Chaska. She had become good friends with his wives, all of them relatively young but held high respects for each other. To her, that just seemed odd. If she had to share any woman with Chayton, or well, a husband...she'd probably lose her mind and go into rages of jealousy. Shouldn't one woman just belong to one man?
Chayton had noticed she had seemed silent, and that wasn't a bad thing. He noticed the furrow in her brows that twitched slightly, the clench of her jaw occasionally, and the fact her eyes rarely moved. It meant she was thinking. Whatever it was about, it seemed that she was thinking very deeply about it, especially since he had spoken a few times and it seemed she didn't even hear it. It didn't bother him. In fact, she looked more attractive when in deep thought. Clara always was thinking about something, which was one of the reasons he liked her. She had a reason for doing everything, almost like a calculation for every action. The only problem with that was...why didn't she leave Colin and her family sooner? How could such a smart woman not know when to leave? Why did she allow herself to be damaged in such ways?
The silence was broken by a small curse, "Hell."
Chayton had to hold back a smile, glaring at her and wondering what she was thinking about. There were no words exchanged between them, so either she had an imaginary conversation in her head, or the words accidentally slipped from her perfect lips. It seemed rather genuine though, with the tone of frustration in her voice. She was thinking about something, and whatever she was thinking about wasn't in her favor. Either that, or there was no solution to whatever was going on in that mind of hers.
"Everything alright? Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, reaching down to touch her hand. She didn't reject his hand in the slightest, so he only assumed whatever she was thinking about had nothing to do with him. Oh, little did he know.
"Yeah-yes. I just..." she thought more for a moment, "do you ever just have those moments where everything seems so stressful and feels so complicated? I used to just go through these vicious cycles all the time when I was at school. There was always studying, and yet I had to help my father with his job and filing paperwork, and then Brad always wanted to go out. And it just seemed I never had time to think! I was always rushing to do something, and as soon as something ended, something else would come up and consume me."
"Well, no. I don't think I have ever had that problem," he said, feeling a bit sorry because he wanted to help her. He never was stressed about something. The only time he did feel completely overwhelmed was when he rescued her and brought her there, knowing the consequences could be severe. But that all seemed to fade the more he began to know Clara, and the more Shaman assured him that her place here was not just coincidence. "Do you feel like you cannot think here?"
"Not at all. I have way too much time to think," Clara replied, looking over to see him very confused. Ugh, how could she explain this without giving away what was truly bothering her? "It's just something has been bothering me for a while, and I can't stop thinking about it. Do you ever just have questions that bother you? Why things are the way they are?" She just wanted to direct the subject off herself a bit. Sometimes she felt she talked way too much about herself and never gave him the opportunity to speak.
"I think all people have questions. As much as we try, we will never know the answer to everything. Why does color matter in your society? You tell me that Natives or those of darker skin are treated differently, why is that? I know you don't have the answers, and I doubt really anyone does. Why do we treat people negatively just because they are different? Why are people so genuinely evil? Why did your father do such things to you? Why do men treat women so horribly?" he asked, a bit angrily when he got towards the last part.
Clara seemed a little surprised he questioned such things. She thought all her life and hoped there was an answer. Perhaps because Colin was just an evil man, or he was sick in the head. Either way, it showed he cared for her. He truly wanted to protect her. Her hand squeezed his gently, their eyes meeting each other as she smiled softly. "I know that question seems to bother us both, but I think it is a question that cannot be answered. And it doesn't matter now. He cannot hurt me here. And while that incident a while back was...disturbing and highly uncomfortable, you were there. You protected me. And I know you'll protect me if anything bad happens," she assured him.
"Well, and you can also protect yourself," he smiled back, "don't leave all the protecting for me."
"You are a Warrior, no matter what your father or brother have to say. While you are a fantastic Scout and I don't think there's anyone better at tracking, climbing, or observing, you are a warrior in the heart. You fight for what is right. I know it might still bother you-"
"It doesn't" he interrupted her gently, "I know that it used to. I was raised with stories of warriors and battles of my ancestors, fighting other tribes or demons. I always wanted to be one, and I was going to do whatever it took. If I had to spend extra hours training on how to expertly ride a horse, shoot a bow, wield an axe...I was going to do it. But then I met you. I was a Scout when I met you. Had I been a Warrior, I probably never would have saved you that day with the bear. Had I not been a Scout, I wouldn't be able to teach you the basics, get closer to you. It did bother me for some time. I know my father treats me differently than Chaska, or Wichahpi, and I saw that as a bad thing. Although, I think bringing you here apparently made the relationship between my father and me worse...it doesn't change the way I feel about you. You being here that is."
He caught himself in the end, although he noticed the small smirk on the side of her lips. His error did not go unnoticed, but she didn't say anything about it. "I guess all things happen for some reason, big or small. I realize now after you say that, that there really is nothing to worry about. This is life, and we only get one chance at this. It was a risk, you bringing me here, and an even bigger one for me running away. But I knew I would not be happy there, and now I feel like I can wake up every day and smile, although the world around me is so different. What is there to worry about, to truly think deeply about? What if we just stopped calculating things for a moment, cease to be afraid of risks and just did what our hearts told us? Life would be, is so much better that way," she spoke, having to catch her breath for a moment as she practically spilled her heart out rapidly in those statements.
It seemed strange, this drastic change from her thinking so deeply and now saying she was completely overthinking it. Although he could agree with that. Life was better when people stopped stressing and worrying, knowing that life does get better. Chayton did have a few misfortunes in his life, but eventually, things got better. He was so upset at his father, but as soon as Clara arrived, he knew there was something better for him. No, not something, someone.
"I think people are just happier when they have nothing holding them back; when they learn that it's easier to just follow the stream of the river rather than try to push upstream," he spoke, turning slightly to fully face her, "is there a risk now that is making you feel worried or uneven?" Did she want to leave again, perhaps make her own way somewhere else? It seemed rather unclear what she wanted. She said she was happy, so what was she genuinely thinking about?
"What are we waiting for, Chayton?" she asked, seeing more confusion on his face. Fine. She figured she was the one having to initiate this. She moved swiftly, her hands cupping his face, feeling his strong jawline as she pulled him close. Her lips met his gently, yet urgently, as if she was going to go crazy if she didn't do this now. If everything was correct: if what Wichahpi said was true, if what she could observe from his eyes and touch were true, and if these Visions she saw were real...then this had to be true. This had to be real.
The way his hands immediately moved to her hips assured that, feeling his lips slowly work against hers. They were rough on the exterior, but surely, they were soft at their intentions. It seemed that was like everything about him. She knew he could be harsh, loud, or violent. His exterior was covered in scars, callouses, or bruises. Yet his insides were soft, his heart pure, and his emotions so innocent. He wanted this too. It seemed they have so enveloped in each other that everything around them meant nothing. The only thing that mattered to Clara was Chayton, his gentle touch, the way her hand moved to touch caress his chest, or the way she felt about him. As they pulled away slowly, they both had that awe-struck smile on their faces. That kiss meant something. It wasn't just some dull kiss like she had with Brad. It united them, it connected them. Clara didn't know all the answers to life, but she may have just found the answer to her happiness.
"That was...um, nice," she smiled, a bit of a blush on her lips. He moved in and kissed her again, still remaining gentle in his touch. Oh, she hoped she would never get used to this: his warmth, his touch, his lips...his love. Why hadn't she done this sooner? It could have solved all this anxiety built up inside her gut.
"More than nice," he replied with a whisper. It wasn't until they heard a soft clear of the throat that both of their eyes widened. Their heads turned towards the sound, seeing Chayton's mother, the Chief's wife, standing there. The first word to appear in Clara's mind was: shit. They immediately removed their hands from each other, moving a few inches away as Clara began wiping her hands on her dress. Clara never really had a conversation with his mother. It just felt like she resented her too, after all, Clara did not get a very welcoming first impression of her.
"Mother, I apologize," Chayton spoke. He knew he had no excuse for what had just happened. And he would give no explanation other than the fact he like Clara and damn well knew he was beginning to love her. His father would definitely never approve, but Chayton hoped the soft spot he had with his mother would help.
"For what? I could have stumbled upon worse things," she spoke, a small smile on her face. Chayton looked heavily relieved, turning to see Clara a bit shocked. "If you two truly believe that others haven't gone out and done the same or more, you truly have a reason to be surprised. What I am surprised about is how long it took you two."
Clara choked softly, covering her smile and deep blush with her hand as she tried to make it seem like she was laughing. Oh, but she was. Well, today was certainly turning into something interesting. A good interesting. Weight felt like it was lifted off Clara's chest. Chayton knew how she felt...and she certainly knew how he felt. The issue of admitting feelings seemed to fade away like evaporated rain. The only problem was now how to deal with these feelings. No doubt they still couldn't kiss or touch in public, nor did marriage really seem like an option right now. But things were alright, more than alright. She already felt so much closer to him.
"You're not going to tell Father, are you?" Chayton asked, a bit of a worried tone in his voice.
"I didn't tell his father, your grandfather when we did the same exact thing," she spoke, her tone so mellow and yet she had such a positive perspective on this. Maybe Clara had completely misjudged her as being a harsh, cold woman. She was understanding, and she definitely seemed to know how her son felt about this white woman. "Speaking of which, your father has returned with urgency. Which is why I came to retrieve you both."
"Is something the matter?" Clara asked, hoping nothing serious was about to happen. Did Chief know? Or were there things she didn't know about yet?
"He's declared war on the Ojibwa," she spoke, giving a small glare at Chayton. Now, whether this had to do anything with the incident weeks ago, where Clara had viciously hacked at an Ojibwa scout...both of them didn't know. That's not why his mother looked at him in that way. Chayton knew this was a battle he would partake in, the first official one. His mother turned, motioning them to follow. Clara glared at Chayton with a small, surprised smile before taking his hand. She wanted to get at least some touch in before having to part ways upon entering the homestead. Chayton quickly snuck a quick kiss on her lips, wishing he could have spent more time doing such things.
Chayton knew that today was quite a wild rush. First off, he met Clara's true father. Then he admitted his feelings for her, in which his mother had stumbled upon. Thankfully it wasn't anyone else, like his father. And now, he would be going to war against a tribe he knew to be brutal, vicious and evil. Despite all of this, he had never felt closer. Closer to what?
Life.