Page 16 of Shoshone Sun (Native Sun #3)
- Peter Jacobs Homestead, March 1867
Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie –
By early March, the warmth of the spring sun had begun to stretch across the land, dispelling the heavy chill that had kept the world locked in ice for so many months. The first green shoots were pushing their way through the thawing earth, tentative yet determined. Birds returned to the trees, their songs a welcome reminder that life, even after the long, brutal winter, could still find a way to renew itself.
Inside the homestead, Jane stood by the front window, her hands resting on the window sill as she watched the world come alive again. There was a stillness in the air that mirrored the quiet within her—a stillness that seemed to hang between her and Flying Arrow, who sat at the table nearby, his dark eyes watching her with a calm intensity.
He had healed. The wound from the Blackfoot warrior’s arrow that had once almost killed him had scarred over. His strength had returned in full force, his body lean and powerful again, the pain he had endured fading into memory. He had waited for this moment—waited for his body to heal, for the season to change, for the time when he could return to his people.
And now it was time to go.
Flying Arrow’s feet itched for the freedom of the open land, the call of his people pulling him home. The Shoshone were waiting for him, calling to him from the high plains, their fires burning as a beacon in his heart. But here, in the quiet of Peter’s homestead, where he had spent months healing and learning, there was something else that anchored him—something he had not expected to find in the heart of a settler’s cabin.
Her name was Jane.
“I must leave now, Jane. Will you come with me?” Flying Arrow’s voice, low and steady, broke the silence.
His words hung in the air between them, thick with meaning. Jane didn’t turn to him immediately. She continued to stare out the window, the weight of his question pressing down on her chest. It was not an easy thing, this decision. She had come to love him, this quiet warrior with the dark, intense eyes, who had shown her a new way of seeing the world. His presence had brought peace to her heart, and she had given him something she hadn’t realized she had to offer: a piece of her soul. They were not just two people bound by circumstance anymore. They had become something more—a pair, a unit forged in the fires of understanding and shared quiet moments.
But now the reality of their situation weighed heavily on her. He was asking her to leave everything behind—to leave her sister, her nephew, the life she had started to build on this homestead. It was too much to ask.
“I cannot go with you, Flying Arrow,” she said softly, her voice thick with the sorrow she couldn’t hide. “I can’t leave them.”
His gaze remained fixed on her, steady as ever, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something like hurt, something that made his chest tighten. “I understand,” he said quietly, his voice so soft it almost seemed like he was speaking to himself rather than to her. “You have your family. You have your place here.”
Jane swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She turned then, finally meeting his gaze, and in that moment, everything she had been trying to suppress—the ache, the sorrow, the guilt—came rushing to the surface.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she admitted, the words trembling on her lips. “But I know you must. I know that your place is elsewhere. At the same time, my place, my people, are here. Although I don’t want to let you go alone, I can’t turn my back on no family. Not when they still need me.” She glanced out toward the homestead where her sister Susan and her brother-in-law Peter were tending to the early spring chores. “They’re just beginning to settle here. They’ve built something. I can’t walk away from that.”
Flying Arrow said nothing for a long while. He let the silence settle, his expression unreadable. He knew that Jane had a heart that held tightly to those she loved. And he could not fault her for it, no matter how deeply his own heart ached.
“I don’t want to leave you either,” he said finally, his voice rough, like gravel against his tongue. “But I have my people. I cannot stay here forever.”
Jane nodded slowly, her chest aching with a grief she had not expected to feel so strongly. Although she’d hoped against hope that this day would never come, she had known, deep down, that it would—that Flying Arrow would need to return to his people, to his tribe. But the reality of it felt like a cold weight pressing against her chest.
“You’ve healed,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “You’ve given me so much love—more than I ever could have hoped for. But I have to stay. They need me.”
She walked over to him, sitting beside him on a bench at the table. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply sat in the silence, their shoulders touching lightly, the weight of their unspoken feelings heavier than any words could take.
Flying Arrow turned to Jane and leaned forward, his hand gently cupping her cheek, turning her face toward his. His eyes searched hers for any sign of uncertainty, but he found none. She was sure of her choice, and though it tore at him, he understood.
“You will always have a place with my people,” he said softly, his voice deep and steady. “If ever you change your mind, you are welcome. I am sure that my tribe will welcome you, as I do.”
A tear slipped from Jane’s eye, but she didn’t wipe it away. She let it fall, the sadness of the moment too much to bear in silence. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
He pulled her into an embrace then, the strength of his arms enveloping her. For a long moment, they just held each other, neither of them wanting to be the first to let go. Finally, Flying Arrow pulled away slightly, his hand resting on her shoulder as he looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“I will leave tomorrow morning,” he said, his voice soft. “The journey is long. But I will wait for you—should you ever decide to join me.”
Jane pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. The connection between them was undeniable, the bond between them forged not just by love, but by respect, by shared time, and by the land they both had come to love in their own ways.
“I will never forget you,” she whispered. “I could never forget you.”
Flying Arrow smiled faintly, his expression bittersweet. “Nor I, Jane. Nor I.”
Later that evening, as the house settled into its usual quiet, Jane sat by the window of her room, her thoughts a tangled web of love and loss. The stars shone down from the clear sky, cold and distant, and she wondered if Flying Arrow was already missing her as much as she was missing him.
A soft knock at the door broke her daydream.
“Come in,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite herself.
The door creaked open, and Flying Arrow entered, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the main room. His face was still, unreadable, but Jane could see the way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight far heavier than any physical burden. She rose slowly from the chair, drawn to him, to the quiet promise that still lingered between them.
“I was just thinking about you, missing you before you’re even gone,” she said, a faint, sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I can’t leave without holding you in my arms one last time.” His voice was soft, almost a murmur, but it carried the weight of everything they both knew was coming.
She crossed the room toward him, her breath catching in her throat as she closed the space between them. Flying Arrow reached for her, his hand warm against her cheek, his touch a reminder of everything they had shared. They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving, just breathing in the final moments of this shared time, this fleeting, sacred connection.
Slowly, tentatively, he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was soft, hesitant, as though they both knew that it would be their last. But as the kiss deepened, there was no hesitation left. Only the need to be closer, to feel each other one final time. He pulled her to him, their bodies fitting together with ease, despite their different worlds.
Jane’s hands trembled as they traced the outline of his face, memorizing every curve, every inch of him as if to hold it in her memory forever. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, steady and strong, yet something in his chest seemed to quiver—perhaps in sorrow, or perhaps in the same realization that gripped her.
They undressed each other slowly, their movements tender, almost reverent. There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet intensity of knowing that this was both the first and the last time they would make love. The first and last time they would share this closeness, this intimacy. Flying Arrow laid her gently on the bed, his body covering hers in a way that felt both foreign and utterly familiar. They moved together with the silence of two people who had no more words left to say.
When it was over, they lay together in the quiet of the room, the only sound the soft rhythm of their breathing. Jane’s hand found his, their fingers intertwining as though they could hold onto each other, could make time stop.
But neither of them could stop what was coming.
A few hours later, Flying Arrow pulled away slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I must go now before someone discovers that I’m in here,” he whispered. “You will always have a place in my heart, Jane.”
A tear slipped from her eye, falling to the pillow beside her, and she squeezed his hand tighter. “And you will have a place in mine,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow in the face of the finality of their parting.
Flying Arrow stood and moved toward the door, his back to her. “Good night, my dearest.”
As he closed the door behind him, Jane lay still in the bed alone, her chest tight with grief, her heart breaking as the sound of his footsteps faded away. And when she could no longer hold back the sobs, she let herself weep—quietly at first, then louder, until the pain of losing him consumed her.
It was the final sorrow—the knowledge that they would never be together this way again.
The next day, as the sun began to rise, Flying Arrow prepared to leave. He collected his few belongings, his war pony saddled and waiting. Jane, Peter, Susan, and little Petey gathered in the yard to see him off.
Flying Arrow approached his horse and turned to Jane. For a long moment, their eyes locked, and in that gaze, they shared everything—the love, the sadness, the longing, and the knowledge that this was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.
“In my heart always,” he said softly, his voice carrying across the still air. “In my heart.”
With one final look, he swung onto his horse’s back and urged it forward, then slowly disappeared into the distance.
Jane stood at the edge of the yard, watching him ride away, her heart filled with the knowledge that no matter where life took them from this moment, the love they had shared would remain—rooted deep within her soul, like the land itself.