Charmed

by Catherine Hart

  Silver Thorn lowered himself to the ground and pulled her into his lap, cuddling her close to his heart. “That is to be expected, love.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad!” she wailed, clutching at him. “I’m a grown woman, and I’ve lived on my own for years; but right now I feel like a little girl and I want my mommy and daddy so much! I want to tell Mom about you, and about our baby. I want to go shopping with her for baby furniture and maternity clothes and tiny blue blankets. She and Dad would be so thrilled. Dad would be out buying miniature baseball bats and advance tickets to the Reds game for his new grandson. By Christmas he’d be knee-deep in sawdust in his workshop, making a rocking horse for him.

  “Right now, Dad probably wonders where I am and why I didn’t get home in time for Father’s Day. Why I at least didn’t bother to send a card or call if I couldn’t make it home. July Fourth is just around the corner; and if they don’t already suspect something is dreadfully wrong, they certainly will by then. The whole family gets together every Fourth. My brothers and their families, aunts, uncles, cousins. We all gather at Mom and Dad’s farm for a huge picnic. Everyone brings food, and we set up games in the yard and play croquet and volleyball and touch football. After dark, we set off fireworks and sing patriotic songs and celebrate Independence Day in grand style. It’s wonderful.

  “But this year I won’t be there to join in the fun. And I imagine my absence will dampen their enthusiasm as well. They’ve probably got the state police out looking for me. Maybe they’ve even found my car by now, in the parking lot at the caves. They’re probably searching the woods and the caves and dragging the river, expecting the worst but still hoping I’ll turn up alive and unharmed.

  “Oh, Thorn! It must be horrible for them! If there were just some way I could let them know that I’m all right. To give them that much comfort, at least. Can’t you, with all your mystical powers, devise a means of contacting them somehow? Or maybe you could send me home, for just a few days, just long enough to visit and explain to them, then bring me back here.”

  He stroked her hair, his own heart aching for her. “I do not know if it is possible to send a message to your family, but I will strive to find a way. As for sending you home again, I would not want to attempt it, Neeake. The danger could be too great, for you and for our child, who would travel with you. Might not such a journey harm our son? Moreover, I do not know how to send you back to your same time. What if I tried and misjudged and sent you to another year? How would I find you again or you me? No, my love. Better you should ask me to give you the moon than to send you from me with such risk.”

  Nikki hiccuped, trying to stem her tears. “I don’t want to risk losing you either,” she told him. “But it’s so hard, knowing how they must be worrying. This isn’t like missing my refrigerator or Monday Night Football. This is my family we’re talking about. People I love, who love me.”

  “I know, Neeake. I am sorry for your pain.” Then, as if to divert her attention to a more pleasant topic, he inquired softly, “You miss football?”

  She nodded and gave a shaky laugh. “Silly, isn’t it? My brothers used to play when they were in high school, and I’d go to all their games with Mom and Dad.”

  “Did you not play?”

  “Only at home, with the boys and the other kids. At school, the girls had softball and basketball teams of their own, but no football; and we weren’t allowed to play on the boys’ team.”

  “Here, the women play against the men,” he told her.

  She pulled back and gave him an incredulous look. “You play football? Here?”

  “Yes, but only in the spring and early summer. It is our way of asking the Spirits to bring the rain for the newly planted crops. In midsummer, we cease the games, for too much rain then would be bad for the growing season. At this time the corn and beans need the sun to ripen them for the harvest. A game is planned soon, during the time of the council meeting. Our guests will be invited to join us in this, and in the dancing afterward.”

  “Football? And dancing, too?” The sadness left her face, replaced by delight. “It sounds like fun.”

  “First the council, which is a serious matter, and then the pleasure. Do not be surprised if Black Hoof requires you to stand and speak to the assembly of chiefs. As our eminent messenger from the future, your words could bear much weight in their decisions.”

  “Would they listen to a woman?” she queried skeptically.

  “If they can be made to believe that the Spirits have truly sent you to us, they will be eager to hear you tell what is to befall our people, and perhaps heed your warnings.”

  “I hope so, but I still don’t hold out much hope for the future of the tribes. What will be, will be, regardless of our puny efforts to change history.”

  Silver Thorn agreed. “As the Spirits will it, so it shall come to pass. Yet we must try, for Tecumseh’s sake.”

  He rose, pushing her up with him. “Enough of this dreary talk. The day is too fair for it, and the council meet is not yet. I searched you out to see if you would like to ride with me.”

  “In the canoe?” she asked.

  “On horseback,” he clarified. “For the safety of the babe, we will not go far and will keep an easy pace.”

  “Uh, I have to tell you that I haven’t ridden in years, not since I was a young girl. Even then, my mount was just a short-legged pony Dad had bought for us kids. I’m not sure I can still sit astride without falling off, especially without a saddle.”

  “Do you not want to ride?” he asked.

  “I’d love to!” she declared. “I’m just warning you that I’ll probably be a little clumsy at it.”

  “The mare you will ride is very gentle,” he assured her. “Also, I have anticipated your need for a saddle and have borrowed one for you.”

  Nikki nearly danced with enthusiasm. She grabbed his arm, tugging at him. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Time’s wasting!”

  Upon seeing the pretty little gray mare she was to ride, Nikki was doubly delighted. “She’s a beauty. I hope her owner doesn’t mind my riding her.”

  Silver Thorn shook his head. “I think not, since she belongs to you. She is a gift from your uncle, Chief Black Hoof.”

  “A gift?” Nikki echoed. “Oh, my lands! I must find a special way to thank him for such a generous present.”

  “Perhaps you could sew him a shirt like the one you made for me,” Silver Thorn suggested as he boosted her into the saddle.

  “Very funny!” Nikki wriggled into a comfortable position on the oddly fashioned wooden saddle, thickly padded with a furred cougar pelt and decorated with the cat’s actual claws. As she took up the reins, she asked, “Does the mare have a name?”

  Silver Thorn mounted his own horse. “In your English, she would be called Misting.”

  Nikki glanced over at him with a whimsical expression. “Did you say Misting or Mustang? I’ve always wanted a Mustang convertible with four on the floor, but this isn’t precisely what I had in mind.”

  Her mare whinnied and shook her head. Silver Thorn laughed. “Misting would appreciate it if you would refrain from making jokes of her name.”

  Nikki’s brow rose. “Oh, you understand horse, do you?” she said, recalling Konah’s tale of the mother bear. “How many other animal languages do you speak?”

  “All of them,” he countered blithely, kneeing his horse into a walk.

  Nikki followed suit, riding alongside. Her eyes sparkled with impish delight. “How interesting. Can you demonstrate a few for me? Perhaps the next time you’re whispering sweet nothings in my ear?”

  His answering smile was as mischievous as hers. “Which would you prefer? Which would you consider the most ardent? Perhaps the cougar? Or the goose? Or the wolf, who takes but one mate?”

  “Later, maybe. First, I want to be romanced in muskrat talk,” she replied with a giggle. “Ever since I first heard a song called ‘Muskrat Love,’ with all those intriguing tr
ills and squeals, I’ve been dying of curiosity to know what those two little creatures could be saying to one another.” His grin grew. “A fitting choice,” he agreed. “And since you are such an inquisitive goose, someday soon you must allow me to demonstrate how porcupines couple.”

  She laughed and urged. “Tell me, how do they do it? Very carefully, I would guess.”

  He shook his head. “My lips are sealed. Some things are better experienced than explained.”

  For the next hour and more, Nikki’s head was reeling with odd impressions, as she tried to imagine just how porcupines actually did mate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They were returning to the village, riding along the river trail, when they came upon a clearing and what appeared to be a white man. He was an odd-looking fellow, barefoot and dressed in what looked like old flour sacks, with a tin pot on his head. He was kneeling on the ground, where he had dug a small hole. As Nikki and Silver Thorn approached, they saw him drop something from his hand into the hole and push the dirt back into place.

  Something about the man’s unique appearance and apparel niggled at Nikki’s brain, suggesting she should know this man, but for the life of her she could not place how or why. It hit her as Silver Thorn raised a hand in greeting and called out, “John Chapman, my old friend! What are you planting here? More apple trees?”

  The man rose to his feet, a broad smile on his weatherworn face. “Silver Thorn, you scamp! I was hoping to run into you again.”

  Nikki was elated, and more than a little awed. “As I live and breathe!” she exclaimed. “It’s Johnny Appleseed!” John tipped his makeshift hat. “Yes, ma’am. I see you’ve heard of me.”

  “Who hasn’t?” she marveled. “Why, you’re a legend!” Shy by nature, Chapman actually blushed at her compliment. Silver Thorn took pity on him. “This is my wife, Neeake. Her tongue, though truthful, often runs off with her.”

  John chuckled as Nikki threw Silver Thorn a mock glare.

  “Are you headed for the village?” Silver Thorn asked him.

  “I’d thought I might,” John said with a nod. “Just for a short visit, of course.”

  “You are always welcome, for as long as you will stay,” Thorn told him. “Come. Gather your things, and you can ride with us. Neeake and I can ride double.”

  Chapman shook his head. “You go on ahead. I want to get this plot planted before dark. I’ll be along later, and I’ll bring a couple of potatoes for the cooking pot. Don’t want to be a burdensome guest, you know.”

  “Potatoes?” Nikki’s mouth started watering at the thought. “You’ve got real, honest-to-goodness potatoes? Not just some wild root that looks like one?”

  Silver Thorn scowled at her. “Neeake, where are your manners?” he reproved.

  It was her turn to turn red. “I’m sorry. That was terribly impolite of me, Mr. Chapman. My only excuse is that it’s been weeks since I’ve had so much as a skinny French fry.”

  “French fry?” Silver Thorn echoed.

  “It’s a kind of fried potato, sliced in long strips, but not as thin as hash browns,” she tried to explain.

  “Hash browns?” John queried. He looked to Silver Thorn for further clarification.

  Silver Thorn shrugged. “Whatever they are, they will be hash blacks when Neeake is done with them. But fear not, my friend, she has not poisoned me yet. Better yet, when Konah hears you are coming, perhaps she will volunteer to prepare our meal.”

  “Maybe she’d like to cook all of yours from now on,” Nikki suggested with a sour look.

  John glanced from her to Silver Thorn. “Uh-oh. I think you’ve made her mad, and I sure wouldn’t want to be in your moccasins right now.”

  Nikki offered him a genuine smile. “Mr. Chapman, you are still welcome for supper, whether Konah cooks it or I do. And don’t worry about Silver Thorn. He has riled my temper before and lived to tell of it. Besides, I don’t get mad; I get even. Moreover, in all fairness, my revenge is only directed at the person responsible. In this case, my beloved husband, whose mouth often runs away with him, too. So please, don’t let our silly little domestic difference of opinion keep you away. We’ll be thrilled to have you visit with us.”

  “Yes, John,” Silver Thorn concurred. On a wink, he added, “Please do bring those potatoes. Perhaps they will help soften her heart toward me.”

  “Don’t bet on it, buster,” Nikki muttered darkly.

  Silver Thorn’s eyebrow rose as he cocked his head in consideration. “Then again, perhaps they will not. Ah, well, such are the trials of marriage. Come, Neeake, we must let John get back to his planting.”

  Silver Thorn turned his mount toward the village. Nikki followed, fuming silently.

  John watched them go. Before they were out of earshot, he heard Silver Thorn say to her, “Would you care to hear how a muskrat would compliment your beauty?”

  “I’d rather hear Mr. Muskrat squeal with his tail in a trap!” she shot back.

  “Can I tempt you with porcupine caresses?” Silver Thorn suggested.

  “Well . . . maybe,” she hedged.

  They left Johnny standing there, shaking his head at their odd conversation. “Married folk make no sense at all sometimes.”

  Once having unearthed her camera, Nikki wanted to take pictures of everything and everyone, most especially her new family members and friends. Like Silver Thorn, many of them were skeptical and frightened of her “magic paint box,” as they came to call it. But once assured that it would not harm them, they posed graciously.

  Nikki photographed Konah and Melassa as they scraped skins, as they labored in the fields, as they splashed in the bathing pool. She snapped Silver Thorn and Fire Heart indulging in a game of Indian dice. The children were her favorite subjects. She caught them at play—frolicking like pups in the sunshine, giggling as they caught raindrops on their tongues, chasing through flowered meadows, or looking so precious and innocent as they slept.

  She even managed to capture the elusive and shy Johnny “Appleseed” Chapman on film when he was unaware. Naturally, he was busy planting his apple seeds at the time.

  Though Chief Black Hoof balked at first, he finally consented to having his photo taken. However, it was he who warned Nikki, in the presence of her husband, to exercise caution with her camera.

  “There are those who would make much of this magic paint box and your use of it. They would deem it evil, simply to suit their own sinister purposes. Beware, lest they label you a witch, Neeake, and seek to burn you at the stake.”

  “He speaks of my brother, the Prophet,” Silver Thorn elaborated. “Tenskwatawa held himself in high esteem, far above other mortals, and as a judge of them. His followers were just as zealous as he, and the entire band of them are responsible for the deaths of many good people.”

  “I know. I’ve read how they went around arresting or killing dissenters, those who refused to join Tecumseh or spoke against his ideals. But I thought all that was done with after the Prophet disobeyed Tecumseh’s orders and instigated that misguided battle at Tippicanoe—which, if memory serves me, the Indians lost in late 1811.”

  “This is true,” Silver Thorn agreed. “After the disaster Tenskwatawa made of Tecumseh’s grand plans for a uniting of the tribes, Tecumseh thrust him away, disclaiming him as our brother. To this day, Tecumseh will not speak Tenskwatawa’s name, nor will he consider forgiving him. Tenskwatawa is as dead to Tecumseh and to many of the Shawnee. He showed himself to be a false prophet, and is now disgraced and ridiculed by most of the tribes.”

  “As well he should be, the murderous little charlatan!” Nikki claimed adamantly. “However, that being the case, I fail to see what I have to fear from him.”

  Black Hoof took it upon himself to explain. “Tenskwatawa angered many people, but he also roused their fears of witches in their midst, and later of false prophets. You, my dear niece, with your strange devices and your predictions from the future would seem the embodiment of both. This could be very
dangerous for you, most especially if Tenskwatawa should somehow again gain favor. For your own well-being, you must exercise caution. It is the lowly wren, which draws less attention to itself, that often will outlive the strutting pheasant.”

  Nikki was confused. “If you wish me to be discreet, then why do you want me to speak to the council?”

  “The council will be a meeting of chiefs, leaders I respect and trust. They must hear from your own lips what your history says will befall our people if Tecumseh is not persuaded against the British. Most of these men, like me, are not involved in this war between the whites, but they hold much sway, not only upon their own bands but upon others they claim as friends. Just as Tecumseh is aware, uniting the people to one cause is important. You, Neeake, can be the cord which binds them together, and as one they might convert Tecumseh to peace.”

  The council convened four days later, but Indians from the other villages began arriving in advance of the meeting. New, temporary wigewas went up faster than Nikki could keep count. With friends and relatives exchanging greetings, visiting and eating together, it was like a huge family reunion.

  Konah had no qualms about introducing Nikki as her granddaughter, just as Black Hoof didn’t hesitate to tell one and all that she was his grand-niece and the acclaimed messenger from the future. Neither of them suggested that she amuse the newcorners with any of the items she’d brought with her from her own time, and Nikki was inclined to agree. While they were open to the idea that she was a visitor from a coming era, being confronted with her small bits of modern technology might really freak them out. As it was, she was walking a fine line between praise and prejudice, and she certainly didn’t want to do anything to tip the scales out of her favor.

  By the time she was due to speak to the assembly of chiefs, Nikki was more nervous than if she’d been called up before the school superintendent and the board of education. In preparation for the event, Silver Thorn and Black Hoof had carefully coached her on the proper etiquette for such a gathering, telling her what to do and say—and what not to. Konah presented Nikki with a traditional doeskin dress and moccasins for the occasion. Nikki had rehearsed her speech until she could recite it in her sleep, and still she felt like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine.