Sweet Savage Heart Read Online Free Page A

declared impatiently, “We have spoken of such matters many times, my sister. It is our way. Grandfather chose the paths for males and females long ago, and He has not changed them. Oglalas must be Oglala. I will waste no more words and strength on such useless talk,” he told her, for he could not think of words to refute her arguments, and this dismayed him. “You refuse to see right and to do it. I wish it were not so. Think on your honor and deeds, my sister, and we will speak when I return.” He secretly hoped his wits would not fail him at such a trying time. If only her words did not sound so logical, or go against all he had been taught…
    “It is useless to speak further, my brother and chief. You see only your feelings and thoughts; you care nothing for mine. All people are not the same, Lone Wolf. One day you must face this truth and you mustlearn the value of women. If you could become a female for only one sun and moon, you would learn much. I agree that many of my deeds are rash and my words are often too quick and sharp, but my honor exists only as long as I remain true to myself and all that I believe. We will not speak on this matter again. I will obey your wishes or I will leave before the buffalo hunt,” she announced, a new confidence filling her at that irrevocable decision. If her brother felt she would leave before complying with his commands, he might back down…
    Lone Wolf watched his adopted sister mount and ride for camp. Wild Wind was smart and brave. She would think on his words and her behavior, then yield to his orders. After the passing of one full moon, she would become the mate of his Cheyenne friend or another of her own choosing, and all would be as it should be…
    Wild Wind returned to camp and closed the flap to her tepee to signal privacy. She had much thinking to do but did not know where to begin. For as long as she could remember, or would permit herself to remember, she had lived as an Oglala. Yet she was not Indian, and the trader’s looking glass impressed this reality upon her more and more each day. She had tried to be like all of the other Indian maidens but had failed. She was making Lone Wolf and others angry and sad, yet she could not help herself. She wanted and needed something more than this confining life offered her. She was not Soaring Hawk’s daughter, but she could not recall her dark past. Who was she? Where did she belong? How could she become all she wanted to be? “Help me, Great Spirit, for I am lost in mist and cannot find my rightful path. I do not wish to dishonor or sadden my brother, Lone Wolf, but I cannot yield to his commands. Please show him I am not like the females of his kind. Please reveal my purpose in life to him. My time is short, Grandfather, and I needyour help and answer. Do not fail me because my skin is white, for my heart is Indian.”
    Suddenly she began to weep, for the truth pounded inside her head: No, Wild Wind, you are not Indian and your place is not here…
    A similar confusion was taking place far away in Texas, near Fort Worth. Rancher Nathan Crandall was wondering if he was experiencing a cruel joke or a miracle as he digested the news he had just received. He swallowed to remove the lump in his throat that temporarily prevented him from questioning the astounding mystery that had been presented to him. The hands that gripped two breathtaking canvases by renowned artist Thomas Mallory were wrinkled by advancing age and scarred by countless hours of hard manual labor often done in harsh weather. His grayish blue eyes glanced from the two small portraits of an Indian princess to a large portrait of his deceased daughter, Marissa Crandall Michaels, which was hanging over his fireplace. The deteriorating portrait, which Thomas Mallory was now studying intently, had been painted in 1847, when Marissa had been eighteen. Nathan found himself wondering in confusion how the two portraits he held could look like Marissa when they