By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  The other man laughed, and Tschi followed him out of the house with a sharp remark, leaving Kate alone.

  She tried the limits of her tether and pulled uselessly at the knot. It was at the back of her neck and too tight to undo. She sat down and rubbed at her aching jaw. "Damn his foul soul to hell."

  A little feeling of satisfaction crept through her battered body. If he'd looked for an easy rape, he'd gotten a surprise. She was alive, and the fear was beginning to retreat. If they'd meant to burn her at the stake, they'd have already done it.

  She thought of the tortured Iroquois, and her stomach turned over. That bloodthirsty mob had spared her. She didn't know why, but it gave her hope. If she'd had to face what he did... She had looked into the face of hell and survived. Kate straightened her back. "You'd be proud of me, Geoffrey," she whispered. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. A Storm was a match for a naked savage any day.

  "Englishwoman?" A woman put her head in the door. "Do you wake?"

  "Yes." Kate eyed her suspiciously. The voice was not unkind, but she'd had no reason to expect anything but cruelty from these people.

  "I bring you water." The woman entered the hut and held out a gourd container.

  Kate took it and smelled the liquid, then tasted it carefully. It was water. Gratefully, she took deep swallows. "Thank you."

  "You are hunger?"

  Kate strained to see the speaker in the dim light. She sounded young, but no longer a child. "No. No food."

  "No eat, you weak." The English was heavily accented but comprehensible. "What call you, English squaw?"

  "Kate Storm."

  "Katstum?"

  "Kate."

  "Kat." She offered the water gourd again.

  "Close enough." Kate poured the water over her swollen face. "What is your name?"

  "Name? Name... Ah, me Wabethe."

  "Thank you, Wa-bethe."

  "Wa-be-thee," she corrected.

  Kate repeated it and the woman clapped her hands and laughed. "What does it mean, Wabethe?"

  "Ah, you say English. Big bird. Goose. No. No goose. Swan. Me Swan. Wabethe."

  "That's a lovely name."

  "Lovely?" She made a sound of satisfaction and began to apply a soothing ointment to Kate's face.

  Kate winced. "You don't hate me, Wabethe? Like the rest?"

  "Wabethe no hate. Me be Englisher, long time, long time go. You. Me. Sister. No tear. Shawnee good man. Good woman. No tear."

  "You're English? You're a captive too? How long have you been a prisoner here?" Kate caught at the bare arm. "What's your name? Where are you from?"

  The woman giggled. "No Englisher. Shawnee. Shawnee long time. No member white name. No captive. Shawnee squaw."

  "But you're white. You're a civilized woman. Not like them. Did you see what they did to that man? The Iroquois?" Kate's voice trembled and she held tight to the woman.

  "I see. You no see! Iroquois brave. Enemy. Good to see enemy die on stake."

  "No, Wabethe. It's not good. They tortured him, burned him. It was horrible."

  "Iroquois enemy." Wabethe shrugged. "Dead enemy. You woman of Chobeka Illenaqui?"

  "No. Yes. Well, in a way I am."

  "You his wife?"

  "No, not his wife. I was running away, going back to my own people. English people. Tschi captured me in the forest," Kate explained.

  "You be wife to Tschi?"

  "No!"

  "Tschi bad man. Chobeka Illenaqui good man. You fool run from Chobeka Illenaqui. He much man... great warrior." She let out her breath. "No let Tschi make you tear. He hit, kick. No kill. He want little English for wife. No kill." She patted Kate's shoulder. "Maybe you be Shawnee. Choose husband. Is good."

  "No. I don't want to be a Shawnee. I want to escape. I must go home to my own people. Can you help me to escape?"

  "You be Shawnee by'm by. You like. Shawnee good man, good woman. Englisher bad. You brave woman, Tschi say Panther Woman, Meshepeshe Equiwa. Kill warrior. Make good Shawnee woman."

  "No. I am English. I must escape."

  "Wabethe go now. Sun come, you eat. Make strong. No tear."

  "No, wait. Don't go," Kate begged. The woman ducked out of the hut. For a long time, Kate crouched, waiting for Tschi to return. Eventually, she slept, her body too weary to mind the bare dirt floor.

  In the morning, Wabethe came to untie the rope and lead Kate outside. The village was quiet. Only the dogs and a few children were about. In the daylight, Kate got a clear look at her benefactor.

  She was perhaps twenty, a tall, slim girl with gray eyes and hair so dark Kate would have taken her for an Indian. She wore her hair in one long braid down her back, secured with a beaded strip of leather. Copper bracelets jangled on one arm, and around her neck was a silver crucifix. Bright tufts of feathers dangled from her ears. A narrow strip of red trade blanket was twisted about her narrow waist. She wore nothing else but moccasins.

  Kate blushed and turned her eyes away from the firm pointed breasts that bounced when Wabethe walked. The girl must have been a captive since she was a small child to have forgotten all sense of decency. "I need to..." Kate fumbled. "To relieve myself."

  Wabethe nodded in understanding and pointed toward the woods. "I take you. I give food. You no run. No hurt Wabethe." She waved a tanned hand. "Braves there and there. Watch. All time. No run. You run, die." She made the gesture of a knife across her throat. "No run, Englishes," she repeated.

  "No, I won't." Kate lied. Not now anyway. Not when this girl might be blamed and punished. Not without taking her revenge on Tschi. She glanced about the village.

  The coals of the torture fires were dead, the charred post empty of its prey. Two little girls sat on the ground near the big house playing with a doll. It was hard to believe such an obscenity had taken place there the night before.

  A dog snapped at Kate and Wabethe threw a stone at it. The animal cringed and slunk off, belly dragging. "No afraid dog," Wabethe said.

  "No, I'm not." To the left was a cornfield. The corn was shoulder high and several small boys stood guard with tiny bows. "Are they playing?" Kate asked.

  "No play. Shoot crow. Crow no eat corn. Shawnee eat corn."

  "Oh."

  Wabethe smiled at her as if she were a simpleminded child. "Corn good." She made eating motions. Kate nodded and Wabethe grinned. "Eat crow."

  I probably will, Kate thought, before I get out of here. It can't be any worse than horse. She found, to her surprise, that she was hungry. "Eat?" she said to Wabethe.

  A few minutes later, Kate was sitting outside a bark hut eating a bowl of corn mush sweetened with honey. "This is good," she said.

  "Dame," Wabethe explained. "Dame... corn." She looked at Kate expectantly.

  "Dame." She was grateful that the food was soft. Her jaw was swollen, and she was certain two teeth were loose where Tschi had hit her. "Tschi did not come back last night. Do you know where he is?"

  The girl laughed. "Tschi sleep another woman." She made a motion with her hand that was impossible to misunderstand. "Another woman be good Tschi. No hit. No bite."

  "Let him stay with her. If he comes near me, I'll..." Kate's blue eyes hardened. "He'd better stay away."

  "No stay away. You slave. Better be wife. Wife strong. No hit." She pointed to the house behind them. "Wigwam. Belong Wabethe."

  "Your house? Do you live there alone?" The girl looked puzzled. "Do you have a husband?"

  "Husband. Yes," she answered proudly. "Great warrior, Muga Ki-lar-ni. Bear..." Wabethe pointed to her tongue. "Muga Ki-lar-ni."

  "You have an Indian husband?"

  "You stay. No move." She ducked into the house and came out with an infant in her arms. "Wabethe son," she said. "Wabethe wigwam, Wabethe husband, Wabethe son."

  God help me, Kate thought. I'd rather be dead than in her shoes. Trapped here for the rest of her life! She touched the baby's dark hair and forced a smile. "He's beautiful," she said. "A beautiful b
aby. You must be very proud of him. What's his name?"

  "No have. By'm by give name. Son." She unwrapped the chubby infant and put fresh padding of dried grass under him, then laced him into a deerskin and wood cradle board. She hung the cradle board from a tree branch and the baby swung slowly back and forth until he fell asleep. "No beautiful," Wabethe cautioned. "Sick. Ugly. No beautiful son." She winked at Kate to share the deception.

  Other people were coming out of the wigwams now. Most looked as though they had been up most of the night. The men ignored Kate, going about their daily business as though she were a natural part of the village. A little boy, no more than three, came and stared at her until his mother called him away. She glared at Kate and said something in Shawnee. Wabethe shouted back.

  "That one Tschi sleep," Wabethe whispered. "She want make wife. Tschi sleep. No make wife. That one sleep too much warrior. Paaah!"

  "She can have him for all I care." Kate kept her eyes down. Most of the adults were in the same state of undress as her friend. The young children were naked.

  Tschi came out of a wigwam across the way. He stretched and called out an order. The child's mother hurried to bring him food. Unconsciously, Kate's hand went to the heavy metal collar. He saw her and laughed. The woman made a remark and gestured in Kate's direction.

  "No good be slave Tschi," Wabethe muttered. "Quick you be Shawnee. Take good man husband. No tear Tschi."

  "Afraid? No, I'm not afraid of Tschi." She turned her back to him and tried not to feel his slanting eyes boring into her.

  "Slave work all time. Wife better." Wabethe stood and looked at Kate's dirty clothes and scraggly hair. "You come river. Make clean. English all time stink bad. Shawnee woman clean. You like."

  "Yes, I would like a bath," Kate admitted. She followed the slim woman back through the village, trying to ignore the comments of onlookers. Dogs growled and children ran after them. One even threw a stone.

  Wabethe turned and reprimanded the boy, shaking her fist. The child laughed and ducked behind a wigwam. "No tear... no afraid, Kat. By'm by no rock."

  Several women were already swimming in the river. They put their heads together and giggled as Kate and Wabethe made their way down the muddy bank. "You make swim?" Wabethe asked. Kate nodded, then whitened as the girl pulled off her cloth wrap and dove in. She surfaced and waved to Kate. "Come!"

  Kate looked at the other women apprehensively. She had no intention of swimming nude before this audience. If she took anything off, they'd probably steal it. Reluctantly, she slipped out of the moccasins and set them aside, then waded in.

  The women pointed at her, giggled, and whispered together. Wabethe frowned. Was Kat so stupid she would wash in her clothes? "No. Off," she called. "Off."

  Stubbornly, Kate dove under and swam, hindered by the heavy iron around her neck. The water felt wonderful. She coiled the tether in one hand to keep from being tangled in it. She kept her eyes on the surface: of the water, trying not to see the naked swimmers around her. Why was it that she was so embarrassed and they showed no shame at all?

  Wabethe called to a child on shore, swam in, and returned with a handful of sticky substance. She divided it, handed half to Kate, and proceeded to wash her hair. Kate did the same.

  When they emerged from the water a few minutes later, Kate felt a hundred times better, despite the dripping clothing. She would dry soon enough in the August heat, and her clothes were much improved by the dipping. A jerk on the tether pulled her around, and she looked into the taunting eyes of Tschi.

  "Why are you here, slave? There is work to do in my wigwam." He would have cuffed her but she ducked. Tschi contented himself with shoving her in the direction of the village.

  Kate glanced at Wabethe, who shrugged helplessly. If Tschi desired something, there was nothing she could do. Her eyes signaled caution.

  Tschi pushed her inside the hut and tied the tether overhead. From the floor he picked up a bloody deerskin and threw it at her. "Scrape this. Take care. If you tear the hide through carelessness, I will beat you."

  "I don't know how." Kate pushed the deerskin aside. Bits of fat and matter clung to it and the smell was foul.

  Tschi grabbed her arm, his fingers twisting her flesh. "Do not defy me, woman. I will send a squaw to show you how. You will obey."

  "You can kill me, but you can't make me your slave!" Kate spat. "When Pride comes—"

  Tschi grabbed the leather and pulled Kate against him. "When he comes, he will find death! I have no brother." He seized the front of her shirt and ripped it until the heaving tops of Kate's pale breasts were exposed. "I saved you from the stake once, woman. Next time I may not." His hard body pressed against her and he touched her possessively. "You are my slave! You do what Tschi say. If you do not..." He pulled a razor-sharp knife from the sheath at his waist and held it in front of her eyes. "Maybe I cut your face so no other man will look at you. Or..." He laughed. "Maybe I cut out your eyes." He drew the point of the knife down her cheek until it drew blood. "What do you say now, English?"

  Kate froze, not daring to move a muscle lest the blade cut deeper. Tears formed in her eyes but she would not cry out. "I say," she panted, "I say give me the knife and then we will see who is the brave one."

  Tschi threw back his head and roared. "Meshepeshe Equiwa! Panther Woman!" He wiped the knife on his breechcloth and put it back in his sheath. "Your tongue is like a snake, quick and sharp. I can see you will be great trouble." He shrugged, and the bulging muscles of his arms rippled. "But it does not matter. I am a patient man. You will give your white body to me, woman. And you will give me a son... a son with the courage of his panther mother. "

  Chapter 12

  Kate's knees felt suddenly weak, and she leaned against the supports of the wigwam. She stared at the man disbelievingly. When she spoke, it was in a calm, detached voice. Her blue eyes, hidden in the semilight, burned with an inner fire. "You're less than a man, Tschi; you're a beast. I'll never lie with you willingly. And I'll never, never, bear you a child."

  The loathing in her voice lay between them like a tangible presence, and for an instant, something like fear was visible in Tschi's fierce glare. It faded into the ebony depths and was replaced by a sadistic humor. "Tschi will tame you to his touch, Panther Woman, or destroy you." He thrust the stinking deerskin at her. "Remember, a blind slave can do much work and will not run far."

  "Even a blind slave can drive home steel into a man's ribs."

  "Talk is cheap, English. And nights are long." He turned abruptly and stalked from the lodge.

  Kate fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. If Pride did not come... and soon... No! She must not let herself believe in him, or trust in his coming! She must look to herself. He'd have no reason to come after her. No reason but revenge! And despite her brave words, if he did come, he might well leave her with his brother. Her fingertips brushed across her closed eyes. Tschi had threatened to blind her. What chance would she have to escape in darkness? If he did it, death would be her only escape.

  She rocked back and forth in utter despair. Her eyes were dry; there were no tears left to shed. "Pride," she whimpered half-aloud. "Please come. Oh, please come."

  * * *

  Dressed only in breechcloth and moccasins, Pride ran steadily along the ancient war trail. His thick hair was braided and held back from his hawk-like face with a leather thong. In his right hand, he carried a long rifle made in Germany. It was shorter than the English rifle by more than a foot, but deadly accurate. At his waist was a twelve-inch, double-edged hunting knife and a French-made tomahawk. Powder horns and a small leather bag were the only other things he carried. He must travel fast and light. Extra pounds on the war trail could mean the difference between life and death.

  Pride's worst fears had been realized. A Nanicoke runner had brought the word to Ashton Hall. A peaceful village of Lenni Lenape, or Delawares, had been attacked without provocation by a force of English Regulars. Men, women, and children
had been slaughtered without mercy. Their cornfields had been burned, fields full and ripe with summer's bounty, and the village leveled by fire and steel.

  The fact that many of these people had become Christians had not slowed the British charge; it had not kept the women and girls from being raped. The log chapel the missionaries had built so lovingly was ashes. Even the horses and livestock had been put to the sword in the killing frenzy.

  The village had been a small one and isolated. The British troops had been weary of chasing hostiles and eager for action. The two actualities had come together and had set in motion an irrevocable holocaust of blood and destruction.

  The Shawnee were cousins to the Delaware. They would rise in retaliation against the British settlers. Ashton Hall was a symbol of English claim to Indian land. In the face of war, Pride must be brother to the Shawnee or enemy. There would be no middle ground. The Shawnee nation would be lost to the French cause, and Pride could not become a French ally. If there was any chance of his recovering Kate alive, he must act swiftly. He must act before the Shawnee war drums began to sound.

  He had considered long and hard about the wisdom of going on foot instead of by horse. But a man on horseback was an easier target. A Shawnee in the forest was less than a shadow. And Pride, from the moment his moccasined feet touched the war trail, had become pure Shawnee.

  Rebecca had watched his departure stoically. Her two sons had been bound lightly by the ties of blood and clan. Now that tie would snap. Tschi would not forgive his younger brother the shame of English lineage. He would give no quarter. By staying at Ash ton Hall, she had relinquished her Shawnee heritage. Menquotwe Equiwa, the Sky Woman, was dead. And in her place was only Rebecca Ashton. She would wonder the rest of her life if it had been the right decision.

  The muscles in Pride's right calf had begun to cramp. He was growing soft. As a boy he had been taught to run all day without stopping for food or water. He had not received his first medicine until he had run a deer to earth. He ignored the pain and continued to run, listening all the time to the sounds of the forest around him.