Page 17 of Shoshone Sun (Native Sun #3)

- Shoshone Village, Spring 1867,

Two hundred miles west of Fort Laramie –

The sun had risen high over the vast plains, its warm golden rays spreading across the landscape like a comforting blanket. Flying Arrow sat tall upon his war pony, the steady rhythm of his horse’s hooves the only sound that filled the silence of the open land. For two days he had ridden without pause, his thoughts a mixture of anticipation and sadness, the weight of parting from Jane still heavy on his heart. The long journey back to his tribe was an endurance he knew well, but this time, there was one pull within him that tugged at his chest, urging him forward with a relentless urgency—and a second begging him to go back. He knew which he must follow, but it was difficult.

The Shoshone camp loomed ahead, nestled at the base of a series of rocky ridges, the smoke from their fires rising in curling strings against the blue sky. As Flying Arrow approached, his heart quickened, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, an innate sense of belonging washed over him. His people—his family—were waiting for him.

The tribe’s familiar sights and sounds filled his senses as he rode in: the rhythmic drumming of the elders, the children’s laughter, the smell of roasting meat, and the sight of his family’s tepee standing proudly among the others. His mother—White Swan—had always been a figure of grace and strength, her presence a steady comfort in his life. And his father, Mighty Buffalo, the tribe’s chief, whose wisdom and leadership had guided their people through countless trials, would undoubtedly be proud to see his son return alive.

A cheer went up as Flying Arrow dismounted, his heart swelling as his mother rushed toward him with open arms, her face breaking into a radiant smile.

“My son!” she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. “You have returned to us!”

Flying Arrow felt his throat tighten as he enveloped her in an embrace. “I am home, Mother,” he said softly.

White Swan held him close, her hands smoothing over his back as if to reassure herself that he was truly there, alive and well. She pulled back, her eyes filled with tears of joy. “We thought you were lost to us. We mourned you, Flying Arrow.”

“I was lost, but not forever,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “I am here now.”

Chief Mighty Buffalo stepped forward, his powerful frame casting a shadow over them. He extended his arms in a rare gesture of affection, pulling Flying Arrow into a firm, proud embrace. “You have returned a strong warrior,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, but softened with pride. “We are honored to have you back, my son.”

Flying Arrow’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. He had missed his family more than he’d realized. The familiar warmth of their presence was like a balm to his soul.

His sister, Dove Wing, joined them, her eyes shining with happiness. “You are home at last,” she said, her voice light and full of joy. “We have all feared the worst.”

Great Bear, Flying Arrow’s brother and closest companion, approached next, a broad grin spreading across his face. He clapped Flying Arrow on the back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “You live to ride again, my brother!” he exclaimed. “We thought the Blackfoot had claimed you.”

“I thought the same,” Flying Arrow said with a wry smile. “But fate had another plan for me.”

The feast that followed was filled with laughter, delicious food, and stories of battles fought and victories won. Flying Arrow could feel the weight of his painful ordeal lifting from his shoulders, replaced by the comforting presence of his people. Yet, even amidst the joy, a quiet sorrow lingered in his heart. He found himself stealing glances at the horizon, wondering if Jane, the love he had left behind, was still thinking of him.

Later that night, after the fire had dimmed and the tribe had settled into their evening routines, Flying Arrow entered his parents’ tepee. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows against the hide walls, and his parents were seated beside one another before it, their faces illuminated by a soft glow.

He moved toward them, his heart heavy with the weight of the story he was about to share. His mother’s eyes were full of concern, her gaze never leaving his as she spoke.

“I think it’s time for me to share my story,” he said to them as he sat down cross-legged on a bear skin across from them.

“Yes, please my son. Tell us everything that happened,” she urged gently. “Tell us how you survived.”

Just then his sister and brother entered the tepee. “Yes, my brother. We all want to know!” Great Bear said.

Flying Arrow took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “The Blackfoot almost took my life.” He lifted his tunic to show the scar the Blackfoot arrow had left in his side, fully healed, but still red and ugly.

His mother and sister gasped.

“I was saved by two families of white settlers—a man named Peter Jacobs first rescued me.”

“Whites saved you?” his brother said, sounding astonished.

Flying Arrow nodded. “Fearing that the Blackfoot knew where to find me, Peter and his sister-in-law, Jane, took me to the homestead of his uncle, a man named Paul Jacobs. Paul and his wife, Mary, accepted me into their home as if I was their own son, and Jane remained there with me, tending to me night and day.”

“They sound like kind people,” his sister said.

“They were wonderful,” he agreed. “Eventually, when the Blackfoot were no longer considered a threat, I was moved back to Peter Jacobs’ cabin where I was cared for once again by Jane. The Jacobs’ son, Petey, became like a nephew to me.”

“That’s wonderful. We owe them a debt of gratitude,” Mighty Buffalo said.

“Jane stayed by my side night and day, nursing me back to health. She was very kind to me. I don’t think I would have lived without her tender and constant care. And I know it sounds strange, but we grew very close.”

White Swan’s eyes softened as she took his hand. “A settler woman cared for you?” she asked, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and curiosity. “Wasn’t she afraid of you?”

“No. Jane never feared me, although her sister, Mary, did. Jane convinced Mary that I was a good man and that I was not a danger to her or her family. Finally, she accepted me as well.”

“We owe them a great deal for saving you,” Mighty Buffalo repeated.

“Indeed,” responded his mother. “But tell us more about Jane, the one who cared for you.”

Flying Arrow hesitated, then cleared his throat and spoke, his voice low. There was no point in keeping his feelings a secret. “Jane is a remarkable woman: strong, tender, and beautiful. I grew to love her. But I could not stay. My people called to me. And so, I left, though my heart is torn. Jane … she could not come with me. She has her place there. As I have mine here.”

Mighty Buffalo nodded thoughtfully. “Love, like the land, is a hard thing to claim,” he said quietly. “But you did what you had to do. The winds carry us all in different directions.”

Flying Arrow felt a pang in his chest as he thought of Jane, her face in his mind’s eye as clearly as if she were sitting before him. “I long for her still,” he admitted quietly.

That night, and every night after, as he lay beneath the stars, the sounds of the tribe settling around him, Flying Arrow’s thoughts turned to Jane. He could feel the distance between them—both the miles and the lonely days. There were moments when the pain of leaving her was unbearable, when he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. Would she ever understand why he had left? Would she ever forgive him for abandoning her?

Over time, the longing did not subside. Flying Arrow spent his time working alongside his people—training the young warriors, helping to prepare for the coming season of hunting, and strengthening his bond with his family. But in the quiet moments, when the firelight flickered and the world seemed still, his thoughts always returned to Jane.

- Peter Jacobs Homestead, Spring 1867

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie –

Jane’s days dragged on after Flying Arrow left. She went through the motions of her life on the homestead—helping with chores, caring for Petey, and settling into the rhythms of farm life—but her heart was no longer fully in it. The absence of Flying Arrow left a space within her that seemed impossible to fill.

One evening, as she and Susan sat together in the cabin, her sister must have noticed her distant expression. “You are still thinking of him, aren’t you?” Susan asked gently, her voice full of understanding.

Jane nodded, the weight of her emotions spilling over as tears welled up in her eyes. “I miss him so much, Susan. I think I made a terrible mistake not going with him.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Susan said softly. “But the heart wants what it wants, Jane. And I know your heart still calls to him.”

Jane wiped away a tear, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and longing. The days since Flying Arrow’s departure had felt long and empty, leaving her with a longing she could not ignore. Should she have gone with him?

As she lay in bed that night, the silence of the homestead pressing down on her, she wept quietly. The ache of missing him was unbearable, and she wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him. She knew she had to face the fact that she would probably never see him again, that he was almost certainly gone from her life forever.

Over the following weeks, the days continued to stretch on, each one feeling heavier than the last. Jane helped with the spring planting, cared for little Petey, and tried to distract herself with any other work that needed doing. But in the quiet moments, when the world seemed to still, her heart was always with Standing Buffalo, endlessly wondering if she had made a mistake.

One day in late April as the late afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting long, golden beams across the room, Jane’s mind was far away, lost in a past she could never fully leave behind. It had been weeks since Flying Arrow had ridden off into the distance, leaving her heart aching in his absence. Each day felt like a slow unraveling, each moment a reminder of what she had lost, what could never be again. The memories of him had not left her, not for a single moment. But today, something else clawed at her—something she hadn’t dared to acknowledge, even in the deepest recesses of her mind.

She sat by the window, her hands resting on her lap, her mind adrift in thoughts of him. She remembered the night they had shared in her room, the night their passion had flared into something more than just platonic love. The way he had held her as though the world might slip away if they didn’t cling to each other with every fiber of their being. The sweetness of his touch, the warmth of his body against hers—those memories were etched in her soul, more vivid than anything else in her life.

But as she thought of that night, the joy of it began to mix with an unsettling feeling that had been growing in her, deep in her core—an unfamiliar nausea that had begun and persisted. An exhaustion that had set in with a fierceness she couldn’t ignore. An aching in her breasts. No, she could no longer dismiss the changes in her body, could no longer tell herself they were nothing.

Now, sitting alone in the quiet of the house, with the sun stretching across the floorboards, she could no longer deny the truth.

She was with child.

The thought struck her like a thunderclap in the silence. Her breath caught in her chest, and her hands trembled as she placed them gently on her stomach. She couldn’t— couldn’t —believe it. A child. Flying Arrow’s child. The love of her life, the man she had lost, the man she would probably never see again.

A sob caught in her throat, raw and heavy. She felt the tears begin to sting her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to give in to the overwhelming wave of grief. She had to pull herself together. She had to. But it was as though her very body was betraying her, reminding her, with every painful twist in her heart, of the love she had lost.

She rose slowly, pacing the floor as the gravity of her situation settled over her, pressing down on her chest like an unbearable weight. She was carrying his child. She could sense the new life growing within her—her body had known it before her mind could admit it.

Her mind reeled with the enormity of it. A thousand questions crashed through her mind, each one more suffocating than the last. How could she raise this child on her own? How could she face the knowledge that she had lost the man who had meant everything to her? How could she explain everything to her child one day?

Tears slid down her face, unchecked now, as the weight of her loneliness settled deep into her bones. She missed him so terribly, it was as though the ache inside her was consuming her whole. She thought back to the night they had shared—his hands, his lips, the way he had whispered her name as they became one, so utterly entwined. In that moment, she had felt invincible, like nothing could break them apart. But now, the cruel truth of their separation was a wound that would never heal.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold together the fragments of her shattered heart. She was alone. She was alone with a piece of him, a piece of her—a child that would never know its father.

The thought broke her. How could she raise this child without him? What kind of life could she give him or her when the one person who should have been by her side to watch their child grow wouldn’t be with her?

Jane crumpled, her hands cradling her face as she let the sobs come, shaking her body with their force. The tears blurred her vision, but even through the haze of grief, one thought burned clear in her mind.

She had lost him.

The longing for him was a knife in her side, and now, the knowledge that she’d be a mother without him felt unbearable.

She felt as though she might lose her mind under the weight of it. The absence of Flying Arrow felt like a gaping hole, and this child— their child—was now the only thing that tethered her to the world. But even that tether was fragile, as fragile as a dream that might never come true.

“I will love you, little one,” she whispered into the quiet room, her voice broken but filled with resolve. “I will love you as I loved him. And I will keep you safe. I will do my best, for both of us.” But even as she spoke the words, she knew they could not fill the emptiness inside her.