“If you are restless, I can understand,” Swift Horse said somewhat louder, yet in enough of a whisper that only she could hear. “The ceremony is long, but so shall ours be.”
“I assure you that I won’t be restless during our ceremony, for I so look forward to it,” she whispered back to him. “I am so impressed by everything—by the people, the ceremony, and this lovely building. It is so huge.”
“It took many days and nights to build it,” Swift Horse said, looking with pride all around him, and then at the high, pointed ceiling. “One can feel the Master of Breath here.”
His eyes were drawn quickly away from Marsha and again to his shaman as he was finalizing the ceremony.
“Our Supreme God, our Master of Breath, is the Father and Creator of us all, red as well as white,” Bright Moon said, sliding his gaze past the two newlyweds and smiling at Abraham, who sat at Swift Horse’s right side. “And he is also the Father and Creator of those whose skin is black.”
Marsha looked around Swift Horse, at Abraham, and saw how he was beaming to have been singled out for a blessing during the ceremony.
“I appeal to the spirits of the universe—the sun, moon, and other of nature’s spirits—to bless these two beloved people in marriage,” Bright Moon said. His eyes fell upon Soft Wind, and then Edward James. He reached for their hands and placed one on the other, then placed his own on theirs. “I bless you,” he said solemnly. “Go forth now and be happy.”
Tears came to Marsha’s eyes when she saw the joy and peace in her brother’s eyes as he twined his arms around his wife’s waist and drew her next to him, gave her a soft kiss, and then swept her up into his arms and swung her around, laughing merrily.
“My wife!” he cried. “Soft Wind, you are now my wife!”
Soft Wind clung to him, giggling, her long black hair flying around her face as Edward James took one more spin with her, the skirt of her long doeskin dress fluttering around her ankles.
Suddenly loud cheers, followed by chants, filled the huge chamber as the women left the rotunda and returned with all assortments of food. Soon everyone had their wooden plates filled—deer, peaches and apples, sweet potatoes, corn, and a variety of wild nuts and berries.
Marsha had left momentarily, then came back with a surprise for her brother and his new bride. She had baked a three-layered wedding cake that was covered with white icing. Of course it was not enough to feed everyone, but its presence drew gasps of wonder as the people gazed upon something they had never seen before.
“In my culture, it is custom to have a wedding cake,” Marsha explained, then went and gave her brother and then Soft Wind a hug. “Congratulations. I hope you both will be happy.”
“Thank you for the cake,” Edward James said, holding his sister’s hand as well as his bride’s, as he looked over at Soft Wind and saw the look of awe in her eyes as she still gazed at the cake.
Marsha stood on tiptoe and whispered into her brother’s ear. “Give her the first bite,” she urged.
Edward James smiled and nodded, then took up a knife and sliced a piece from the cake. He turned to Soft Moon and gently placed the piece to her lips. She smiled up at him as she took a bite.
Marsha edged up close to Soft Wind and handed her a piece that she had sliced for her. “It is your turn to give your groom a bite,” she said, glad when Soft Wind took the cake and did as she suggested.
Then Marsha addressed the crowd. “I wish there was enough for everyone,” she said, smiling around the room at the Creek people. “But I’m sure you see that there is only enough for the bride and groom.”
Everyone nodded, then Swift Horse stepped up to Marsha’s side. “Those who wish to dance can go where a huge fire has been built at the outskirts of the village where there are less trees!” he shouted. “It is a time of merriment!”
People began filing out of the building until everyone was gone except for Edward James, Soft Wind, Marsha, and Swift Horse.
“I am ready to dance!” Soft Wind announced as she grabbed Edward James by an arm. “Come. Let us dance with the others!”
Edward James gave her a wary look. “But are you strong enough?” he asked, smoothing a lock of fallen hair back from her flushed cheeks.
“I am strong enough to do anything, especially now that I have my husband to do it with,” Soft Wind said, her eyes brilliantly wide, her smile radiant. “I am so happy, Edward James. Oh, so happy!”
Edward James drew her into his arms and kissed her, then gave Swift Horse a wink as he gazed across Soft Wind’s shoulder at him, then took Soft Wind’s hand and left the rotunda.
Marsha turned to Swift Horse. She gazed up at him, smiling. “And what was that wink for?” she asked softly.
“It is because I told him that we would not join the dancing, but instead go elsewhere to be alone,” Swift Horse said, taking her hands, drawing her closer. “Or do you wish to dance, instead?”
“I doubt that I know how to dance your people’s dances, and even if I did, you know that I would rather be with you,” Marsha murmured. She thrilled when he brought his lips down onto hers and gave her a passionate kiss, causing a tremoring warmth to enter her belly.
“I have made a special place for us,” he then whispered against her lips. “Tonight some might think we are the newlyweds, not my sister and your brother.”
A quick blush heated Marsha’s cheeks as she looked into his eyes, then walked hand-in-hand with him from the rotunda, her insides warmed through and through by what Swift Horse seemed to be implying—that they would be making love!
She had been taught that it was not right to make love before vows were spoken, but strangely enough, she did feel as though she were already this wonderful man’s wife. And soon they would be married, so nothing would dissuade her from what she expected to happen only moments from now.
As they stepped outside, Marsha could hear music and laughter. She gazed up at Swift Horse. “It does sound like fun,” she murmured.
“We can still go there, if you wish,” Swift Horse said, trying not to show his disappointment.
But he understood that this must be her first time to make love, and perhaps she was bashful and hesitant to do so.
“I would like to take a quick look, if you don’t mind,” Marsha said, truly needing more time now that she knew what lay ahead. What if she wasn’t a skilled enough lover? If she disappointed him, would he even want her as his wife?
She felt some apprehension, but she knew that she wanted to go through with it, for she had had a strange sort of hunger inside her after having met Swift Horse, and she had to believe those hungers were sexual.
He took her by the hand and walked her into the village.
They stood back and watched, Marsha all eyes. She smiled when she found Edward James with Soft Wind among the dancers, amazed at how skilled her brother was with this sort of dancing, which was so vastly different from that which he had been taught in Georgia.
With the accompaniment of skin-covered wooden and pottery drums, gourd and turtle-shell rattles, and a singer, men and women, separately or together, danced in a slow shuffle or wildly animated motions. Suddenly scores of shell-shaker girls joined the men in a dance with a rapid tempo, the sound now almost deafening.
“Dances of my people are called obangas in our Creek language,” Swift Horse said, twining an arm around her waist. “Do you wish to learn today, or another day?”
Marsha gazed up at him and saw how he looked so wistfully into her eyes and knew why. “Later,” she murmured, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “We have a lifetime of obangas to join.”
Smiling broadly, he took her hand, swung her away from the crowd, and led her to the horses he had already prepared for riding.
“Where are we going?” Marsha asked as he helped her into her saddle.
His only response was to smile at her.
Chapter 28
Love and harmony combine,
And around our souls entwine....
>
—William Blake
With dusk falling all around them, Marsha and Swift Horse rode up a slight incline, and then across a straight stretch of land again.
She was familiar now with where they were traveling, having been there one other time with Swift Horse.
She gazed over at him, smiling, when she now heard the splash of water and knew that the waterfall was close. She would never forget her other time there with him. It had been so wonderful to sit with him, talking and kissing.
Soon she would even be his bride. She knew the hardships that came with a white woman loving a man with copper skin—that she would be cast from the white world as someone contagious, for it was taboo for a white woman to marry an Indian.
“You are so quiet,” Swift Horse said, turning his eyes to Marsha and catching her gazing at him.
“Yes, I’m quiet, but my mind is spinning with thoughts of so many things,” she said, smiling at him.
“Your brother and my sister?” Swift Horse asked, smiling, too.
“Yes, and you and me,” Marsha said. She would not admit to all of those negative things that she was thinking. She only wanted to think and feel positive about everything.
“I, too, have been thinking about you,” Swift Horse said, sidling his horse over closer to hers. “Since we met, it has been hard for me to think about much else.”
“But you are a powerful chief whose mind must not stray too long from your duties,” Marsha said, the roar of the falls so much closer now.
“In the life of a chief, his people do come ahead of anyone else, until a woman enters this chief’s heart and life,” Swift Horse explained. “And then the woman comes first. A chief’s people would not deny their leader the part of his heart that is given away to a woman that he loves and plans to marry. It is known that a man leads better if he has a woman who feeds his needs other than those placed in his life by his people. A woman ofttimes makes a leader even stronger, for the man feeds from this love of a woman, which in turn makes him stronger in mind and body.”
“I hope your people accept me as that woman,” Marsha murmured. “When I become your wife I do not want to ever get in the way of your duties to your people.”
“You will never be seen as someone being in the way,” Swift Horse said, then saw how she again gazed ahead, spotting where a campfire and blankets awaited their arrival.
He had come before the ceremony and prepared things for their time together, having made a fire large enough to ensure it would still be burning upon their arrival. He saw that it had now burned down to how he wished it to be while they sat by the falls discussing things and then . . .
And then made love, he thought.
They rode onward and drew a tight rein beside the falls, the campfire warm against Marsha’s flesh as she dismounted near it.
She held on to her reins and watched Swift Horse take his horse to a tree a short distance from the camp and secure his reins to a low limb, then come and take her horse and do the same.
Dusk was sending sprays of various colors of pink across the horizon in the distance. A coyote barked on the other side of the falls, waiting for dark.
Marsha shivered at the sound. “Are we safe here after it is dark?” she asked Swift Horse as he knelt and placed more wood in the fire.
“While you are with me, you will always be safe,” Swift Horse said. He rose and took her by a hand and led her down beside the fire.
“That coyote. Is it calling to others that might be on this side of the falls?” Marsha asked, snuggling closer to him as they sat side-by-side on the thick pallet of blankets.
“Did you hear a response?” Swift Horse said, lifting a folded blanket and placing it around both their shoulders, so that their shoulders touched beneath it.
“No,” Marsha said, glad that she wasn’t hearing the one animal any longer, either.
“Relax and enjoy our moments together,” Swift Horse said, reaching beneath the blanket and taking one of her hands. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, and I am so content to be here with you,” Marsha murmured. She looked on both sides of her and then at the falls as the water splashed downward into the river below. “You brought me to a different place beside the falls the last time,” she murmured, questioning him with her eyes.
“It is even more beautiful here, do you not think so?” Swift Horse said, gesturing around him with a hand. “Do you see the flower that grows in such abundance along the slope of land that leads downward to the river below?”
“Yes,” Marsha murmured, having noticed it the moment they arrived.
It was a beautiful creamy-white trumpet-shaped flower that sent off a lemony scent and seemed to glow now in the twilight hour of evening. The flowers seemed even to be flaunting their scent, their curvy shape, their luminous color.
She looked quickly over at Swift Horse. “I have never seen such a gorgeous flower as this.”
“I know this plant well,” Swift Horse said, somewhat frowning. “Its name is Sacred Datura. Normally it is a desert plant, but long ago an Indian tribe called the Zuni brought it here and planted it in the ground for their personal use. It has spread like wildfire in this area, but my people know to avoid it, and so must you. Do not even touch it, and especially don’t smell of its flower.”
“Why?” Marsha asked, her eyes widening. “You talk of it as though it is a devil’s plant.”
“That is a good reference to describe it,” Swift Horse said. “The Zuni tribes use Datura plants to bring on trances and visions, but drinking the tea made from its leaves or chewing on its seeds can be very dangerous.”
“Good Lord,” Marsha gasped. “I am so glad you told me, or I might have put some in a vase on my brother’s kitchen table.”
“There is a myth about the flower that is told to children,” Swift Horse said. “Do you wish to hear the myth?”
“Yes, very much,” Marsha said, sliding the blanket from around her shoulders and sitting directly in front of Swift Horse, her eyes wide as she awaited hearing the story. She loved these special moments with him, when she had the chance to learn about him and his people.
“According to the Zuni, many, many moons ago, two children spied upon the gods and then whispered the secrets they learned, thereby angering the spirits.” The blanket was no longer around his shoulders, but instead resting around his waist. “In punishment, the gods buried the children beneath the earth, where no one would hear their whispers. At the place where they disappeared, the Sacred Datura grew and blossomed for the first time. In my teachings, I tell the children that the use of this plant, even by experienced shamans such as Bright Moon, is considered dangerous. Visions can turn into convulsions—or death.”
“How horrible,” Marsha said, moving back to sit beside Swift Horse, again staring at the flowers.
“This sinister flower has become part of my understanding of the natural world, where beauty and violence often intertwine,” Swift Horse said hoarsely.
Marsha started to tell him just how beautiful what he said was, but stopped and gasped when she saw something else that seemed surreal. Out of the twilight came a fast-flying, white-lined sphinx moth, stopping and hovering over a flower, feeding from it.
It hovered while feeding, its wings a white whir as it sipped nectar from the deep white tube, then whirled away like a spinning dervish. It became a blur in the air for a moment, and then poised itself before another flower, sipping nectar again, its heavy body keeping aloft by the beating of its narrow wings.
And then the moth was gone again, along with it the mystery.
“I have just witnessed something so beautiful, it is hard to describe it. I’m so glad you told me,” Marsha murmured, then melted inside when he drew her even closer and lowered his lips to her mouth.
All thoughts and wonder of plants and flowers and lovely moths were wiped away. All Marsha was aware of was how her pulse raced and how her insides were mushy warm from Swift Horse’s kiss and embrace. She wa
s only slightly aware of being undressed, and of lying on the blankets. Swift Horse was soon nude, too, and blanketed her with his body.
It was all natural, how they came together, as though they had done this thousands of times before—how she knew the art of pleasing him even though this was her very first time with a man in this way. Even the pain that came with her losing her virginity to this man was instant.
Now past that pain and the newness of making love for the first time in her life, pleasure spread through her body as he kissed and stroked her where she had not known she had feelings before. Her every secret place became his.
His meltingly hot kiss as he plunged into her, withdrew and plunged again, made her writhe in response, becoming someone new to her herself—someone whose soft moans were repeatedly surfacing from deep inside her.
Her senses were reeling as she clung to his rock hardness, then sucked in a wild breath of an even more intense pleasure when he slid his lips downward from her mouth and he rolled first one of her nipples with his tongue, and then the other.
His tongue, his mouth, his hands, his manhood, worked their magic on her, causing waves of liquid heat to pulse through her. She was experiencing desire such as she had never known before as sweet currents of warmth swept through her, over and over again, as his lean, sinewy buttocks moved rhythmically.
Swift Horse’s body was growing feverish. He had not expected such intense passion as this woman evoked within him. He moved his lips from hers and lay his cheek against hers, trying to draw air into his lungs. He was almost beyond coherent thought as he found himself climbing to that place where paradise awaited them both. He had felt the pressure building from somewhere deep inside him, growing hotter like a fire consuming him.
Swift Horse leaned away from her so that their eyes could meet. “Do you know now how much I want you?” he said huskily as he gazed into her passion-clouded eyes. “Can you feel it? Can you even taste it?”
“Yes, I feel all of those things,” Marsha murmured, her heart pounding in her own ears. “I never knew making love could be this overwhelmingly beautiful.”
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