“A rattle.” Shy Fawn didn’t look up.
Anna turned it over and over, listening to the noise. “How is it made?”
“With a dried insect sac. There are tiny pebbles inside to make the noise,” she said coolly.
Anna shook her head, amazed at the ingenuity. “What a clever little toy. Is it a cocoon?” She shook the toy in front of Cub, who grabbed it from her.
“No. Cocoon rattles are only used by shamans for healing.”
Shy Fawn’s tone was short, abrupt. Why had the woman taken such a dislike to her? Anna shrugged off the question and watched Cub crawl around on the blanket. “How old is your son, Shy Fawn?”
“Nicolas delivered him last August,” Shy Fawn answered proudly.
“Nicolas?” Anna was more than a little surprised.
“Nicolas is a wonderful father to my son.”
Anna felt the foolish bite of jealousy. “Really,” she said, attempting to sound casual despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I was given to understand that Nicolas didn’t have any children of his own.”
Shy Fawn looked up from her work and gave Anna a sly smile, but said nothing.
Anna turned away from that smile, confused. She checked the temperature of the water, all the while pushing Shy Fawn’s statement from her mind. Nicolas had been so emphatic about not having any children of his own. But really, what did she care? It wasn’t any of her business. However, the sick feeling in her stomach didn’t disappear.
As she removed the smooth, round stones with the tongs, one slipped and fell back in, splashing her arm with scalding water. Gritting her teeth and clamping her mouth shut to prevent herself from screaming, she removed the stone from the basket and poured the hot water over the acorn meal, all the while chastising herself. If she’d been paying attention to what she was doing rather than mooning about Nicolas and his relationship with Shy Fawn, she would have been more careful. She had no one to blame but herself.
“Miss Anna.” June hurried over to her, pushing her aside with tiny, gentle hands. “You gotta let me finish this.” She looked down at Anna’s dress and gasped. “Holy Moses! Look at the dirt on your pretty dress! And your arm! What did you do? Burn it? Jeezus! Nick will be madder’n a wounded bear when he sees what you’ve done.” She hurried to a wooden chest and returned with a small covered basket. “Here. Lemme put this on your arm.
Anna turned her arm over to expose the burn. “It’s not that bad, June.”
“I gotta put this stuff on it, or Nick will get mad.” She scooped out some ashes and smeared them on Anna’s arm.
“What is it?”
June shrugged. “I dunno. It just works.”
Surprisingly, the heat from the burn began to subside almost immediately. “Thank you, June, it feels better already.” She turned to go to her cabin, anxious to lie down and rest.
“Anya! Anya!”
Anna turned. Summer’s grin was wide as she ran toward her, her tiny legs hidden beneath a long, buckskin dress. The sight buoyed Anna’s lagging spirits. “Well, hello, Summer.”
“Come,” Summer demanded, taking Anna’s hand and pulling her toward the trees.
“Where are we going?”
“Duck!” Summer squealed, her face filled with excitement as she held out a small brown sack.
“Ducks? Where are there ducks?” Anna took the sack from Summer, looked inside and found some broken acorn cakes.
“Ducks swim,” Summer answered.
“Oh, there are ducks at the river?” Anna asked.
Summer nodded enthusiastically. “Ducks!”
Anna followed Summer down a path that led through the woods, her weariness suddenly gone.
Nicolas heard voices coming from the river. Reigning in Diablo, he let the animal slowly pick his way through the underbrush.
Once through the trees, he saw Summer and Anna sitting on the dock, trying to feed the ducks. A constricting band of emotion clutched at his heart as he watched Summer respond so eagerly to Anna. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d discovered the two of them in the schoolroom. He didn’t know how long it had taken for Summer to warm to him. Had it not been for Two Leaf, she might still be hiding behind tree stumps whenever he walked by.
He saw Anna stand up. “Oh, Summer,” she said. “They’re eating!”
One of the ducks quacked, and Summer mimicked the sound, laughing gleefully when the duck quacked back. She stood up next to Anna and jumped up and down on the flimsy dock. “They quack, Anya! They quack!”
The wood swayed, and Anna lost her balance as the dock came apart beneath her feet.
“Summer!” Anna’s shout was frantic as she fell backward into the water. Summer’s tiny head disappeared from sight just as the water closed in around Anna.
Nicolas was off Diablo’s back and at the water’s edge in seconds. Vividly remembering Anna’s fear of drowning, he waded in after her.
She bobbed up, coughing and sputtering. “Summer! Summer!”
Nicolas grabbed her under the arms and pulled her from the water.
“Sum—” She coughed, pointing to the water. “Summer!” she screamed as she raced back into the frigid river.
Summer’s head popped up and she dog-paddled toward shore. “Summer swim, Nick!”
He hunkered down and waited for the child. When she emerged, her hair in her eyes and her buckskin dress hanging to her toes, he pulled her into his arms.
Anna stumbled out of the water and sank down on the grass. “Oh, Summer,” she wheezed. “You gave me such a scare.”
Summer giggled in Nicolas’s arms.
“Here you go, tough stuff,” Nicolas said, putting Summer on the grass beside Anna.
Summer, water dripping down her face, looked at Anna and giggled again. “Anya wet.” She shed her sodden buckskin dress and stood before them, naked. “Anya take off her clothes, too.”
Anna coughed again, and looked up at Nicolas. He couldn’t help grinning at her. For a moment he thought she was actually happy to see him.
“Yes,” he said, his grin spreading, “Anna should take off her clothes, too.”
He caught the flicker of a smile on her mouth. She wrinkled her nose at him and busied herself, pulling her wet, heavy hair over one shoulder and wringing the water from it.
“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet and taking Summer’s hand, “let’s get you into something dry.”
Nicolas chuckled, relieved they were both all right. “Why can’t she stay the way she is? It’s the way God made her.”
Anna turned and gave him a trenchant glare. “The civilized world requests that we all cover our nudity in front of others.”
He knew she was referring to his own naked state over a week before. He threw her a crooked grin. She looked away, but not before he saw her smile slightly again. “Too bad.”
Anna pursed her lips and raised her chin, to assert her displeasure. Gripping Summer’s tiny fingers, she pulled the child hastily toward the path. “Come along, Summer,” she said curtly. “I don’t want you getting a chill.”
Nicolas watched them disappear through the trees, then he fished out some of the wood from the broken dock that floated closest to the shore. As he stacked the wood on the grass, he wondered if he wasn’t a bigger bigot than Anna had ever been. She seemed to have no trouble interacting with his people, while he allowed his past dealings with white women to constantly affect his actions toward her.
He emitted a low whistle, and Diablo made his way toward him, whickering softly. Nicolas swore. He didn’t like this softening toward Anna. It was a mistake to let his guard down.
He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a small apple, offering it to his horse. The breath from Diablo’s nostrils was warm and his muzzle soft as he deftly took the treat from his master’s hand.
“Somehow,” Nicolas said, stroking Diablo’s neck, “I have to remember that white women let you see only what they want you to see. They aren’t open and ho
nest, like our women. I’ve got to remember that, boy,” he added, “even if I don’t remember anything else.”
Anna picked up her wet, brown dress off the floor and frowned. It was ruined. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she carried the dress outside and hung it on the line Black Joke had strung for her between two of the oak trees that grew close to the cabin.
At this rate, she thought wryly, she wasn’t going to have any clothes left to wear. She hadn’t packed for life in the wilderness. Not only was her dress probably ruined, but her only decent shoes were inside, drying by the fireplace.
She rubbed her arms with her hands and lifted her face to the late afternoon sun. She felt chilled to the bone after her dunking with Summer.
Suddenly, the memory of a teasing Nicolas warmed her. How happy she’d been to see him, and how surprised when he’d smiled at her. It had transformed his features. His eyes, often so cold when he looked at her, had been warm, an irresistible twinkle in them. And the smile had revealed the hint of dimples in each cheek. Seeing him that way had almost made the dunking in the river worthwhile.
She shivered, remembering that she’d had to strip off everything she’d been wearing and put on dry clothing. Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out the strip of mink she’d found, tied her damp hair back, then strolled toward the schoolhouse.
Glancing back toward the activity area under the trees, she noticed Black Joke trudging toward her, carrying a small clay pot, shaking his head and mumbling miserably. Realizing she had to come to terms with this man once and for all, she stopped and waited for him to catch up with her.
Black Joke gave her a cursory look, but continued to walk past her.
“Joke?” When he stopped and turned, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
Joke shook his head again. “Joke not happy.”
“Why?”
“Joke need someone to help with his oil.” He lifted the clay pot in her direction and jerked his head toward the women who were working under the trees. “They too busy to help Joke.”
“Well … well, maybe I can help,” Anna suggested tentatively.
Joke pulled back and gave her a puzzled look. “You help Joke?”
“I guess so. What do I have to do?”
Joke took her elbow and led her toward his shop. Anna followed, trying to gather her courage.
“I sit here,” he said, sitting down on a wooden stool outside the large, square opening of the shop. “You put on oil,” he added, handing Anna the clay pot.
Anna took the pot from him. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Put on Joke’s head.”
“On … on your head?” Anna swallowed nervously. “Why?”
“Joke no want to lose hair,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Anna looked at the dirty, matted mess and decided a good, soapy shampoo was in order, but didn’t say anything. “Are you serious?”
“Joke serious.”
Anna looked at the oil. Curious, she brought the pot to her nose and sniffed it. “What does this really do for you, Joke?”
“Oil on the scalp make Joke keep his hair.” He shook his head. “Joke no want to be bald.”
She sniffed the oil again. It had the most unusual smell, rancid, yet … not. She shook her head. She didn’t even want to know where it had come from. Raising her eyes to heaven, she dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She felt a brief pang of loss when she realized the smelly oil would ruin the fine linen, but there was no way in the world she was going to dip her bare fingers into the runny salve.
She dipped the cloth into the clay pot. “On your scalp?”
“On Joke’s scalp.”
Anna wrinkled her nose as she worked, turning to the side often to take a big breath of fresh air. She gingerly parted his hair and dabbed the oil onto his scalp, repeating the process slowly over the top of his head.
“Joke has no fleas,” he announced proudly.
Anna’s stomach contents pitched downward, then rose up to meet her throat. She swallowed convulsively and took two deep breaths. “That’s good, Joke,” she rasped, her eyes watering.
“Joke keep laurel branches in the shop.”
“Laurel branches?”
Joke nodded. “Fleas don’t like laurel.”
That was something she hadn’t even anticipated—an infestation of fleas. “Maybe you could bring some for my cabin.”
Joke turned and grinned his toothless grin. “Joke do that.”
Anna had noticed the scrawny cats that slunk in the shadows, and was relieved they kept down the mouse population. The barking of the two rangy dogs Joke kept near him seemed to keep the wild animals away, so the compound appeared relatively clean and free of most offensive wild life.
“Well, well. What have we here?”
Anna’s heart leaped when she heard Nicolas’s voice. The teasing tone she’d noticed earlier was still there. She felt her stomach quiver when she realized he was standing behind her.
“Missy Anna putting on Joke’s oil,” Black Joke declared proudly.
“So I see.” Nicolas sounded overly interested.
“It’s nothing, really,” Anna replied, trying to ignore his close proximity. “The other women were too busy cooking supper.”
“Ahh …” Nicolas paused, then added, “Joke, does ‘Missy Anna’ know where you get your oil?”
Nicolas sounded serious, but Anna had the feeling he was laughing at her.
Joke shrugged. “She no ask.”
A tingling started in Anna’s fingers and spread all the way to her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she decided she was no longer going to cringe and shrink from all the things she had found so repulsive about Joke from the beginning. Certainly, with his tone, Nicolas expected her to swoon and faint when she discovered where the oil came from.
Chin up, she turned toward him. Her foolish pulse galloped. He was grinning at her, his straight teeth flashing white against his brown skin. And his eyes … blue as a warm summer sky …
She looked away, quietly reproaching herself. “You can tell me where you get the oil, Joke, I promise I won’t swoon.” She threw Nicolas a soft mocking look.
“Joke get it from skunk.”
Anna swallowed a gasp. “Skunk?”
When Joke nodded, Anna could see Nicolas’s brazen grin out of the corner of her eye. She just knew he was waiting for her to drop the pot and run screaming into the woods.
“It doesn’t smell like skunk.” She eyed the pot, then bravely sniffed again.
“Joke sneak up on skunk and hit him behind the head with a club. He fell—whump—don’t know what hit him, and don’t have time to spray.” Joke grinned.
“Really? Then … then what do you do with the skunk?” She had to admit the thought of the women using skunk meat for food crossed her mind.
“Joke take skunk fat and boil it,” he said, making a stirring motion with his hands. “I stir and stir and stir for long time, then what’s left in pot is oil for keeping hair.”
“What do you do with … with the meat?”
“Joke no like skunk meat.”
That’s a relief! “Then you throw it away?” She was momentarily distracted when Nicolas went into Joke’s shop and returned with a saddle, a cloth, and a small pot of his own.
Joke turned and gave her a stern look. “Joke never throw it away. Shy Fawn cook skunk, but Joke don’t eat it,” he said with disdain.
Anna’s stomach rolled again, but she schooled in her nausea. A quick review of her earlier confrontation with Shy Fawn led her to wonder if maybe she’d eaten skunk meat after all. She shuddered and swallowed the gag that sat at the back of her tongue.
“How do you know this works?” It was difficult to concentrate on her conversation with Joke, for Nicolas had thrown his saddle over a fallen log and was rubbing the leather with a cloth, using strong circular movements. The muscles in his arm strained, pulling the brown skin tightly over each
well-defined sinew. She found it hard to look away.
“Many generations my people use it. Hardly anyone lose hair,” Joke assured her.
“Oh.” Anna pulled her distracted thoughts back to her own task. “I think I’m done, Joke.” She handed him the pot, folded the dry ends of the handkerchief over the oily center and held it in her fist.
He stood up. “Joke thank you, Missy Anna.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, turning to leave. “Oh, Joke,” she added. “Don’t forget the laurel.”
“Joke not forget,” he said with a grin, then loped into the dark, cavernous interior of his shop.
Anna sensed that Nicolas was coming up behind her as she went back to her cabin. He caught up, and they walked in silence for a few moments before he put his hand on her elbow and thanked her for helping Joke.
She stole a glance at the arm she’d admired only minutes before. “It … it wasn’t all that much trouble.”
He reached out and pulled the handkerchief from her fist. Holding up the square piece of linen, he scrutinized the soiled circle of oil. “This is ruined.”
“Perhaps it is. Then again,” she added blithely, “maybe I’ll save it and use it on Joke another time.”
Nicolas folded the handkerchief and returned it to her. When his fingers touched hers, she felt a pleasurable shudder race up her arm.
“You could have refused to help him. Everyone else does.”
“Oh? I thought they were truly busy with the meal.”
Nicolas smiled and rubbed his chin. “Sometimes they get busy with other things very quickly when they see him coming across the compound with his little pot of skunk oil.”
Anna slowed her step and smiled sympathetically. “Poor Joke. He’s so … so …”
“Dirty?” Nicolas offered.
Anna’s eyes flew to his face. “Well …” She hesitated, feeling heat flush her cheeks. “I guess he is … kind of …” She gave him an apologetic smile. “… unclean.”
Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Page 11