“Because that was the problem with society. It cared too much about who you fell in love with but never about why. The why matters.” L.J. Shen
Indian Territory, 1901
Sarah Goodnight wiped the sweat from her brow as she sat beneath cottonwoods alongside a wide shallow stream. It was already hot this May morning and she would dearly have loved to shuck her clothes and go skinny dipping in some deep hole. It wouldn't have been the first time but at eighteen she was too old to take the chance. Should she be discovered doing so it would have meant the loss of her good reputation. She smiled wryly. Of course, her good reputation was endangered each time she came here. But she stubbornly refused to stop.
Deceptively fragile looking, Sarah was petite and curvaceous with long, wildly curling, light brown hair that she was forever trying, in vain, to restrain in a bun on top of her head. Her eyes, the same color blue as an autumn sky, glowed warmly with intelligence and humor. They kept her from being called plain by those who met her.
Her family had settled in the area when Sarah was a small child and for the first few years lived a hardscrabble existence as wheat farmers living in a sod hut. Eventually, her father had diversified into cattle and, gradually, his hard work and business savvy had begun to pay off until he could finally afford to move his family into a proper house. Their standing in the small community continued to grow until the Goodnight family became one of its most respected.
It had been during one of their infrequent visits to town that her life had taken a turn. In early July, the family had come to enjoy the Independence Day festivities. It seemed that every building was decorated with red, white, and blue bunting and flags, and the streets were filled with buckboards and buggies as residents from the surrounding county arrived to celebrate the holiday.
Fifteen-year-old Sarah and her twelve-year-old sister, Emily, were making their way from the hotel to Freidrich's Mercantile when a ruckus had erupted in the street behind them. Turning, Sarah saw a mob of men gathered around an Indian who had fallen in the dusty street. She wasn't certain if he was sick or drunk but it didn't matter as, outraged, she watched the men taunt him with vulgar shouts and kicks to his head and body. She was disgusted further to see that there were prominent members of the local churches involved in the violence. The same men who, every Sunday, extolled the virtue of compassion. Her temper flaring, she took a step toward the melee, only to be stopped when her sister frantically grabbed her arm.
The sheriff quickly arrived and, firing his shotgun into the air, effectively brought an end to the violence. Wading into the mob he stood over the barely conscious man and ordered them to immediately disperse or he would be arresting them on charges of disturbing the peace. As the men walked away, grumbling loudly, Sarah watched as another young Indian appeared and bent down beside the victim. Slowly, he was able to help the older man to his feet.
All around her she heard derogatory comments being made about “drunken redskins”by those who watched the pair approach. When the younger man looked up, she discovered he wasn't much older than she and his face was filled with both anger and despair as he half carried the older man, raising a small cloud of dust in their wake. For a moment their eyes met and Sarah took a step forward, intent on helping, but again Emily restrained her and she had to watch helplessly as the pair passed then disappeared down an alley between the mercantile and the haberdashery. The crowd of witnesses quickly carried on with their business and the two young women continued along the wooden sidewalk and down the steps that would allow them to pass the alley.
Suddenly, Sarah broke away from her sister and hurried down the alley until she emerged from between the buildings. There she found the younger man crouching beside the older who had collapsed beneath a set of stairs than led to the second story of the mercantile.
“Can I help?” she asked, taking a hesitant step forward and was rewarded with glare of hatred from the younger man.
“Get the hell away from us,” he snarled, “Haven't you 'good' people done enough?”
She took another step.
“Please, I want to help.”
“There's nothing you can do. Don't concern yourself with us.”
She watched as he wiped blood from the older man's face then, reaching into her reticule, she withdrew a lace edged hankie.
“Here, use this.”
He glared at her a moment longer then grudgingly accepted the hankie and began to wipe the blood from a cut on the older man's temple.
“Is there someone I can get to help you?”
“Are you kidding?” He scoffed then sighed and tried to give the hankie back to her. “Here. Thanks.”
“No, you keep it. You need it more than I do.”
The older man began to stir and the younger carefully helped him to his feet. Looking back at Sarah he jerked his chin back toward the alley.
“You better leave before someone finds you back here.”
Then they turned and slowly walked away.
The incident continued to haunt Sarah. On the following Sunday after the family's after church dinner, as was her custom, she saddled the little dun mare her father had given her for her birthday the year before and rode to her favorite spot along the stream that bordered their land. There she sat upon an old blanket, writing in her journal until something drew her attention to the other side of the stream. There she found herself staring at the young Indian man she had seen in town. He rode barebacked upon a tall medicine hat stallion and was dressed in denims and an off white shirt. Buckskin boots reached nearly to his knees.
“You shouldn't be out here alone.”
His rich baritone voice carried easily across the water.
“Oh, hello,” she replied with a smile. “I come here every Sunday and have never had a problem.”
“I know.” He gestured toward the stream. “May I come over?”
She quickly nodded and remained seated as horse and rider slowly picked their way over the sandy bottom until they came ashore a few feet away. There he dismounted and left his horse ground tied before coming to stand beside the blanket. Tall and well built, his handsome face was marked by high cheekbones, dark, exotic looking eyes, and a chiseled mouth. His black hair hung in braids to his shoulders and a thin leather thong encircled his forehead.
“How do you know I come here?” she asked, not knowing just how she felt by his admission.
“I've seen you before when I've checked for stragglers.”
“Stragglers? Oh, you mean cows.”
He nodded and a faint smile curved his lips.
“Yes.”
There was a moment where they simply stared at one another before Sarah set aside her pencil and journal.
“My name is Sarah.”
“They call me Seth.”
“Hello, Seth.” She shifted to the far side of the blanket and motioned with her hand “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
But he simply crouched where he was and regarded her quietly for a moment.
“I wanted to thank you for your concern last week.”
“Was that your father?”
He shook his head.
“No, my brother.”
“Is he okay?”
“He will be.”
She nodded, “I'm glad. What those men did to him was incomprehensible!”
He shrugged but she could tell it didn't convey his true feelings. Banked anger shown from his dark eyes.
“It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.”
They stared at one another for a few moments and Sarah felt a small shiver trace down her body. Searching for something to say she glanced across the stream then turned back to him.
“Does, um, does your family own the land over there?”
“We lease most of it to a man for his cattle but we still live on it.”
“Do you own livestock as well?”
“A few horses. Mostly we break and train them for others.”
“That's a beautiful one you're riding. Are you training him for someone?”
He smiled, obviously pleased, but his response was off hand.
“He's mine.”
“He's gorgeous!”
They continued to talk for a while. She learned he was Arapaho and a graduate of the Seger School where he had learned how to read, write and do math, and how to make bricks. He grimaced as he told her that and she laughed, allowing it couldn't be that exciting a job. Eventually she realized the time was getting late and, with his help, rose to her feet. She folded the blanket and after brushing her hands down her long skirts, smiled shyly at him and thanked him for keeping her company. He held her horse while she mounted from a large rock then smiled as he handed her the reins.
“Be careful riding home,” he urged as he watched her ride away.
He was there the following Sunday and the Sunday after that, until she began to expect him when she arrived alongside the stream. They were comfortable with each other and became good friends. As time passed, their affection for one another grew. When winter arrived and she was no longer able to ride to the stream, she was surprised to receive a short note from him, which she quickly answered. Until spring, each Sunday she would pen a missive to him and receive one in response the following week. Sarah kept every note she received from him wrapped in a ribbon and hidden, along with her journals, in the bottom of her cedar hope chest.
Knowing the harsh response it would garner should their relationship become known, they were careful to keep it secret from those around them. When they saw each other in town they steadfastly ignored one another, though it was hard. When hate-filled words followed Seth or his brother, it was all Sarah could do to stay quiet and not jump to their defense. Their only freedom came during those few stolen hours each Sunday.
As time passed, love grew between them and they began to long for more. In her innocence, Sarah unknowingly tempted Seth in ways she could not understand and was often hurt when he insisted on keeping his distance. But Seth knew their love was dangerous enough without risking her complete ruin. So they continued to meet but never touched except when he helped her sit or stand, or when she mounted her horse. He didn't dare touch her otherwise.
Then May arrived nearly three years later. Winter had long since passed and they were once again meeting at the stream on Sundays. Sarah had blossomed into a becoming young woman. Seth, at twenty-one, was tall and strong, and possessed a quiet confidence despite the hatred that often met him in town. To her eyes, there were no finer men anywhere.
As she sat upon the old blanket with her journal beside her, Sarah was dreaming once again of what it would be like to share a kiss and know more than his casual touch. She wanted more than a steadying hand when she sat or stood. Much more. And though it was obvious he wanted the same she remained frustrated by his steadfast determination to protect her from ruin. Who knew her chivalrous knight would be a stubborn Arapaho?
The quiet splash of water drew her from her musings and she smiled as she watched Seth ride across the stream and dismount nearby. Turning back to her, he stood for a few moments, his dark eyes seeming to caress her as he returned her smile with a gentle one of his own. Knowing how much she liked it, he had left his hair, now reaching well below his shoulders, loose, where it shown almost blue black in the sun. Sarah's fingers itched to touch it.
“Tous.” Hello, he greeted her.
“Tous.” She responded softly then asked, “Kooni'iini?” How are are you?
His smile broadened, pleased with her willingness to speak some Arapaho with him.
“I am well.”
Gracefully he dropped to the blanket, sitting cross legged beside her.
“I have missed you this week,” his voice was low and husky.
“And I missed you. I saw you Wednesday.” She cocked her head to one side. “You were leading a couple of horses out of town.”
“I'm training them and wanted them shod before putting them up for sale.”
“They looked like nice horses.”
He nodded.
“They are. I've been asked by people specifically for gentle mounts for women and children. That's what they are.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply staring at one another. Each wishing for more than they had. Sarah felt her impatience beginning to grow. Frustrated with the distance between them, she looked away and took a deep breath.
“Seth.”
“Hmm?”
“I want..I want,” she screwed up her courage and suddenly leaned forward and kissed him gently on the chin.
Surprised, he jerked away. But not far.
“Sarah...”
“I won't apologize, Seth.” She whispered, her breath falling softly on his face. “I've wanted you to kiss me for a long time.”
“Sarah, we can't.”
With another deep breath, she overrode his half hearted objection and pressed her untutored lips to his. For endless moments he remained still before wrapping his arms around her and taking control of the embrace. She was a fast learner and it wasn't long before the kiss went from her shy brush to a deeply erotic dance of lips and tongues as she slowly lay back upon the blanket.
The sounds of water flowing and the song of a bird in the tree above them accompanied his murmurs of encouragement and her sighs of longing as she moved restlessly beneath him. Her arms reached to cling to his neck as his thigh rested across hers and he gently squeezed her breast. They lost all track of place and time.
“Get off my daughter, you bastard.”
The harsh order was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. Instantly they sprang apart and sat up. The flush on Sarah's horrified face instantly turned pale.
“Father!”
“Get over here, Sarah. Now.”
“Father...”
“I said now, Sarah!”
Trembling, she slowly rose to her feet but refused to step away. She looked down at Seth where he half knelt beside her. His eyes were filled with worry as they met hers though his face remained otherwise impassive. Stiffening her spine, she turned back.
“No, Father.”
The older man moved his horse a few steps forward. His eyes were livid with hate and the barrel of his gun never wavered from Seth. His glare sent shudders through Sarah's body. This man was a stranger to her.
“When your sister showed me those journals and letters, I couldn't believe a daughter of mine would choose to consort herself with a damned prairie nigger.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke, then he motioned abruptly toward Seth. “Stand up.”
Slowly Seth rose to his feet.
“Now move over there.”
Sarah watched fearfully as Seth took a step away from her, never taking his eyes from her father.
“You just couldn't keep your filthy hands from touching her, could ya?”
“Father!”
“Shut up, Sarah! I'll get to you in a moment.”
The horse moved step closer.
“I'm going to make sure you never touch another decent white woman again.”
Sarah threw herself against Seth as the gun fired and she jerked as his arms caught her to him. Blood erupted from her back.
“Sarah!”
Seth's horror quickly morphed to rage as he eased her to the ground then looked back at her father. The older man sat stunned and motionless upon his horse, staring as Seth frantically tried to stop her bleeding. Then once again he raised the gun.
“No, Father!” Sarah begged in a rasping voice before turning her eyes back to Seth. “Run, Seth! Go!”
“He's not going anywhere.”
“Father!”
Again the gun was cocked but this time it merely clicked when the older man pulled the trigger.
“Go, Seth! Please!”
With a last agonized glance at Sarah, he sprang to his feet and quickly mounted his horse, splashing away through the water before disappearing into the trees on the other side of the stream. Behind him he could hear Sarah's father swearing savagely as he flung the jammed gun away.
Somehow Sarah survived the swift, rough ride back to the house in her father's arms. She lay for days after the doctor removed the bullet, hovering between life and death. When her fever rose she had to be restrained as she cried out repeatedly for Seth. In the meanwhile, her father gathered other men and went in search of him, intent on finishing the job he had started. But Seth was no where to be found and eventually the men gave up the hunt, vowing instead to shoot him on sight if he dared show his face again.
Eventually, Sarah began to recover but there was no rejoicing among her family. Their humiliation was overshadowed only by the revulsion they felt for her. She never learned why Emily had betrayed her in such an awful way.
As the months passed she slowly regained her strength but not her spirit. She spent long hours in her bedroom or on the porch staring off into space. She rarely spoke and had nearly to be forced to eat. She wasn't living. She was merely existing.
In early autumn, her father suffered a stroke and, after lingering for several weeks, finally died. Her mother assumed control of the family holdings and refused to have anything further to do with her daughter. Sarah was ruined. Unfit to live even with more distant members of the family. And so she suffered through each day.
And, eventually, she was once again riding to the stream where she and Seth had met. There she would linger, her heart aching bitterly. She prayed that he was safe, wherever he was.
One cold, blustery Sunday in early November, she sat upon her dun mare, staring at the stream. The trees were bare and ice had begun to form thinly along the shoreline. She was long past being able to cry. Her pain had become all consuming.
Closing her eyes, she raised her face to the wind. Its chill was a direct reflection of what she felt inside. Finally, with a shiver, she brought her gaze back to the stream and froze. There, on the opposite shore, sitting on his tall medicine hat stallion, Seth waited, watching her intently across the water.
“Seth?”
Her voice was a mere whisper as she watched him urge his horse across the stream. By the time he reached her, tears were streaming down her face and she was trembling with the force of her emotions. Without a word, he reined to a stop and slid to the ground, where he raised his arms and lifted her down before him. His own eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he drew her tight against him. His voice was raw and husky.
“Sarah.”
They held one another for a long moments before he drew away and cupped her face with his hands.
“Are you okay?”
She smiled tremulously.
“I am now.”
Leaning forward he kissed her cheeks, her nose, and, finally, her lips, as his arms tightened almost painfully around her. When he pulled away he once again cupped her face and stared intently into her eyes.
“I'm leaving, Sarah. I can't stay here any longer. It isn't safe for me or my family.”
Tears once again rose in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, where he gently brushed then away with his thumbs.
“I'm going west, to Wyoming. To the Wind River Country. There are other Arapaho there where I would be welcome, and safe.” His hands tightened around her cheeks. “Come with me, Sarah.”
There was only a moment's pause before she nodded.
“Yes. Yes, Seth.” She smiled tearfully. “I love you. My place is with you. It has always been with you.”
For a moment they gazed into one anothers eyes before a smile lifted the corners of his lips and he pulled her close again as he whispered his own words of love into her ears. There they remained as they planned their departure.
Two days later, she met him once again at the stream on her dun mare with only a couple of saddlebags to hold those things she needed to take with her. Sitting tall upon his stallion, he waited with two pack horses carrying the provisions for their trip. And as the sun slowly rose into the cold morning sky, they began their trek to a new home and a new life.
I like this story better than the others because while it had an idyllic ending, it grew out of turmoil like so many great love stories have. Seth was wise beyond his years and it showed in every bit of his behavior. It takes wisdom to deal with hatred and do the kind of work he did for those who sometimes, hated him.
Young people's values usually come from family. So I thought that perhaps her mother had given her the altruistic feeling she had towards Indians and others who were abused. But her father's hatred, while probably quite realistic, was not passed down to his daughter. And even his younger daughter Emily, apparently felt that anger, unwisely not listening to her sister.
An intern architect at Ryan and Associates, Mateo Diaz has spent the last year learning his craft under the tutelage of partner Alex Ryan. Alex is the closest thing to family that Mateo has known since losing his own family years ago. But not even Al
Enchanted Desire, published by The Wild Rose Press, tells the story of a beautiful young college student, Shanna, who is looking for a fresh start and a way out of a bad relationship. She meets and falls in love with Kenny, a sexy 6 foot 8 Native Ame
Indian Territory, 1901
