Free Woman of Courage by Wanda E. Brunstetter

it could’ve been that I just wasn’t thinkin’ straight ’cause of all the whiskey I’d drunk that night.”
    The only good that had come from the trade was that he now had a wife to cook, clean, and do other chores, which gave him more free hours to hunt, trap, and enjoy the great outdoors.
    When Jim had brought his Indian bride home, he’d given her the name Mary and taught her to speak English. She’d caught on fairly fast, although her sentences were broken, but at least they could communicate. Even though Jim didn’t love Mary, he enjoyed her womanly company.
    Jim’s horse whinnied and nuzzled his arm, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “I know ol’ boy. I wish we could hightail it outta here again, but we just got home.” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, a white woman was lying on his bed, and he needed to go back inside and find out who she was.

    “You want more coffee?” Mary asked, holding the coffeepot out to Buck.
    He shook his head. “Thanks anyway, but I’ve had enough.” He glanced toward the cabin door. “I wonder what’s takin’ Jim so long. He’s been out there a long time, feedin’ his horse.”
    “He upset.” Mary set the pot back on the stove. “He be back when he ready.”
    Buck gave a nod. If there was one thing he’d learned about Jim Breck, it was that whenever he got mad, it was best not to bother him until he’d cooled off.
    “Any idea why Jim’s upset about the white woman being here?” Buck asked when Mary took a seat at the table.
    She lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “He not like intruders. He very private man.”
    “Yeah, I know what ya mean.” Buck raked his fingers through the ends of his hair. “He wasn’t too keen about me hangin’ around when we first met, neither.”
    Mary leaned back in her chair and stroked the yellow feather tied to the end of one of her long dark braids. Buck had never seen Mary without that feather, and he knew the reason she wore it was because many moons ago, when she was a young girl, she’d gone into the hills to pray and fast until she found
Weyekin
, her guardian spirit, just as all young Nez Percé children were expected to do. Mary had shared with him once that a yellow bird had come to her one morning during her time alone, and it had sung her a special song. Mary had been sure that
Hanyawat
, the Great Spirit and creator of all things, had sent her guardian spirit in the form of a bird. This Weyekin would be with her to offer assistance throughout her life. From that moment on, Mary wore a yellow feather, and had taken on the name of “Yellow Bird.” Of course, Jim never called her by that Indian name. Said she was Mary, and that was all there was to it.
    Buck was about to ask Mary if she thought they should check on the woman in the next room, when the cabin door opened, and Jim stepped in. He lumbered across the room, grabbed a tin cup and the pot of coffee, and poured himself some of the muddy-looking brew. Then he pulled out the chair next to Buck and sat down with a grunt. “So, who is this woman?” he asked, motioning to the bedroom, “and why’d ya bring her here?”
    “He not know. He find her along trail,” Mary spoke up before Buck could respond.
    Jim slammed his hand on the table, jostling his cup of coffee and spilling most of it out. “I asked Buck, not you!” he hollered, squinting his eyes at Mary.
    Mary winced as though she’d been slapped; then she leaped out of her chair and began wiping up the mess with a rag.
    Buck felt sorry for her. He didn’t understand why Jim spoke to his wife in that tone of voice. She’d done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be talked to that way. Jim had been good to him and taught him life skills, but it took all of Buck’s willpower to keep his mouth shut when he heard Mary spoken to like that. She had been taken from her people, just like his own mother, and it wasn’t her fault she was here. Having no choice in the matter,