Fire Dancer

by Colleen French

  Mackenzie changed into her leather skirt and a white linen shirt she'd confiscated from her father's clothes press years ago. She added a wide leather belt she'd bought at the Chester-town fair. The clothing was plain, but from what she could see in the small looking-glass she brought with her, the white was becoming against her suntanned skin and the skirt form-fitting enough to flatter her figure.

  She brushed out her hair and on impulse, left it down but for a braid she twisted on the crown of her head. After she rubbed off most of the mud that had dried on her boots, she was ready.

  Giddy with excitement, Mackenzie made her way down the narrow, cloistering hallway and down the steps, carrying a candle for light. At the bottom of the steps, she found a redcoat soldier, obviously on duty.

  "This way, Miss." He led her through a labyrinth of narrow passageways. Squeaking rodents raced ahead of them. She ducked as a bat flew overhead. The soldier paid no mind to the pests, so neither did she. She'd have no one saying Mackenzie Daniels was a cowering female.

  Mackenzie heard the men laughing before she reached the major's quarters. She recognized Harry's boisterous voice and her father's own quieter one.

  The soldier swung open a crude planked door and stepped back to let her enter. He reached for her candle. "I'll take it, Miss."

  "Thank you." She lifted her leather skirt to step over the sill, and entered the noisy dining room.

  "There you are." Joshua hurried toward her.

  He was still wearing the same dusty clothes, his hair uncombed, his face unwashed. She could smell his body odor an arm's length away.

  "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

  "Fine. Why?"

  He lowered his voice so that no one else could hear him. "The quarters your father and I are sharing with the officers are dreadful."

  "My room is fine." She lifted her shoulder. "Small, but quite nice. I can paint right there, if I wish."

  "I think your father should sell his goods, and we should turn around and go home to the Chesapeake. This is no place for a woman."

  "Mackenzie!" Major Albertson waved for her to approach. He stood on the far side of the room near a stone fireplace, a mug in his hand.

  "I rather like it here," Mackenzie answered Joshua as she waved back at Harry. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She nodded politely and left him to join the major.

  "A drink, Mackenzie?"

  She smiled up at Major Albertson as he crossed the plank floor to greet her. "You promised me a good Madeira."

  "Charlie! Get Miss Daniels a Madeira." He turned back to her. "Your room satisfactory?"

  "Perfect. I appreciate the window." She wrinkled her nose. "I prefer the scent of the forest to that of the fort, I fear."

  He laughed heartily. "You get used to it after awhile, dear." He accepted a glass of amber wine from O'Donaho and pushed it into her hands. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

  Mackenzie took the seat Major Albertson indicated next to her father, who sat next to the major at the head of the table. Joshua sat further down with the other officers. The table quickly filled, save for two empty chairs directly across from Mackenzie.

  After a quick blessing, they began their meal. A young woman appeared through a doorway with the first course. She was a pretty native woman dressed in a stained English bodice and petticoats. Her black hair was pulled back and tucked haphazardly under a mob cap. As the only other woman Mackenzie had seen at the fort so far, she immediately intrigued Mackenzie. If it hadn't been for her bronze skin, she'd have looked like a serving wench in Franklin Daniel's tavern.

  "Mary makes the best damned roast bear south of the Adirondacks."

  She had a Christian name? How odd. Mackenzie smiled as the woman gave her a portion of soup. "Thank you, Mary."

  Mary kept her eyes averted.

  Mackenzie took a corn biscuit and passed the plate to the young lieutenant beside her. She glanced at the empty chairs. "Missing guests?"

  The major slathered butter on his three biscuits. "Indian time."

  "Sir?"

  Albertson chuckled. "Our Shawnee delegate moves on what I call Indian time. It's not that he can't tell time. He's even got himself a silver pocket watch. He just doesn't pay attention to it. Comes and goes as he pleases. It drives our French delegate Major DuBois mad." He reached for the stewed squash her father passed. "The Indian and his nephew'll be around after awhile."

  Mackenzie lifted her fork to taste the bear meat. "And where is the French delegate?"

  "Called away." Albertson took an enormous bite of his biscuit. "Had to go north to settle some uprising. Seems a pack of his own redskins turned on one of his forts. He's expected back within a fortnight, though."

  Mackenzie nodded. The bear meat was strong but moist and savory. She cut off another slice as her gaze wandered to the empty chairs. She listened as her father and the major struck up a conversation.

  The meal was half over when the outside door swung open, and Fire Dancer and his nephew entered. Obviously, they had bathed. Fire Dancer's hair, pulled back in a sleek queue, was still wet. He had changed into a knee length skirt, tall moccasins and a soft buckskin tunic that was beaded with the most beautiful work she had ever seen. The boy was dressed similarly.

  Mackenzie smiled to herself, lowering her gaze to her plate. From the smell of the room, there were a few others who should have followed the Indians' example.

  "Major Albertson." Fire Dancer nodded.

  "Sit. Sit. You know the drill." The Major rocked back in his chair. "Mary!" he shouted. " 'Nother guest."

  Fire Dancer took his seat directly across from Mackenzie, allowing the boy to sit beside Major Albertson.

  "This is my sister's son, Tall Moccasin," Fire Dancer introduced.

  Major Albertson stuffed another piece of biscuit into his mouth. "So sorry about the mix-up, boy. You weren't injured, were you?"

  The Indian boy looked to his uncle, as if asking permission to speak.

  Fire Dancer nodded slightly.

  "This man was not injured," the boy said simply. Then he pulled his knife from his belt and dug into the slab of bear meat Mary served him.

  Fire Dancer's gaze moved across the table and settled on Mackenzie. He said nothing.

  She had no clue as to what he was thinking. She said nothing. She couldn't tear her gaze from his deep, soul-searching black eyes.

  "Mackenzie?"

  She blinked. "I'm sorry, Major. What did you say? It's been a long day, and I fear I wasn't paying attention."

  "I said you'll be painting Fire Dancer. Me, Fire Dancer, and Major DuBois, when he gets here. We will settle this fighting here, and our portraits'll be hanging in Whitehall in London."

  Mackenzie grinned at the thought. "I'll do my best, Harry, I swear it."

  "I know you will."

  Dinner progressed quickly. The officers were so pleased to have female companionship that they all vied for her attention. Here, it didn't seem to matter that she wasn't very feminine. She was flattered by the attention, but a shameless part of her wished it was coming from the Indian.

  One by one, the men began to rise and excuse themselves. They had duties to attend to, or pipes to smoke. Fire Dancer and his nephew left, and Mackenzie was disappointed that she didn't get to speak to him—not that she knew what she would say to an Indian. She was disappointed, nonetheless.

  For half an hour, Mackenzie listened to her father, Joshua, the major, and a few others discuss the war. Bored with the conversation, she finally excused herself.

  "Let me escort you." Joshua jumped up.

  "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I can find my own way." Mackenzie stretched and yawned. She was anxious to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, she would set up her easel and begin searching for the perfect spot to paint the portraits.

  Joshua glanced at Franklin. He pleaded with one hand. "Sir, you're not going to let her—."

  "Hell, let her go, Josh. Women need time to themselves. She's safe, isn't she?" her fathe
r questioned the major.

  Albertson nodded. "Safe as long as she's inside these walls."

  Mackenzie said goodnight and taking a candle from Mary, she stepped out into the dark hallway.

  "Need an escort, ma'am?"

  Startled by the soldier's voice, she pressed her hand to her pounding heart. "Goodness, no. But thank you." Lifting the candle, she started down the narrow passageway, but instead of heading straight for the staircase, she made a slight detour. She needed a breath of fresh air before she went to sleep.

  Mackenzie pushed open a heavy door and stepped out onto a wooden walkway. She leaned on a rail and breathed deeply. The yard was quiet now except for the sound of horses naying and the occasional squeal of a piglet. The tiny windows of the fort were illuminated with light. The watch soldiers' pipes glowed in the darkness on the palisade walls across the open yard. High in the sky above the fort walls, the stars glimmered.

  Mackenzie sighed at the beauty. She had enjoyed sleeping outside so much during her journey that she hated the thought of sleeping in a dark, storage-closet-turned-bedchamber.

  "It is beautiful, Tapalamawatah's sky, no?"

  Mackenzie didn't know where he came from. She'd never heard a sound, and yet, suddenly the Indian was standing beside her, gazing up into the heavens. Her heart gave a little trip.

  "It is beautiful," she whispered. He was so close that his bare arm brushed her sleeve. He smelled clean, like the forest, and the streams she'd crossed to reach the fort. The smell of him and his nearness made her feel strange inside, but not bad.

  "I was just thinking that, in coming here, we slept outside under these stars," she said hesitantly. "It was the first time I ever slept outside. I'm going to miss it."

  Fire Dancer took his time in responding. It was as if he actually considered her words before formulating his own reply. "In the winter, when it is cold and I sleep in my wigwam, this man misses the sky."

  "So we have something in common." She smiled at him in the darkness. "I really didn't get to talk to you at the supper table."

  He tapped his thumb and forefinger together in a rapid motion. "The officers, they chatter like magpies. This man wanted to speak to you. To thank you."

  She didn't look at him because she didn't want him to know how nervous she was in his presence. "For what?"

  "The soldiers could have hanged Tall Moccasin for what he did not do. You had courage to speak for him when your men did not."

  She lifted her hand lamely. "It was nothing. I only wanted to see justice done. The boy didn't look like a thief to me and the lieutenant seemed too quick to accuse."

  "To some, it was nothing. To me, much. This man loves the boy as he would love a son of his own loins. This man will not forget what you did for the boy . . . for me."

  Mackenzie could feel the Indian staring intently at her. She didn't dare meet his gaze. How odd a man he was, speaking of love so freely. She wondered if it was the Indian way. It certainly wasn't the colonists way. Even her father, who she knew loved her a great deal, never actually used the word.

  Fire Dancer was silent for so long that she thought he might leave. But she wasn't quite ready for him to go. She had to think of something to say to keep him a little longer. "I . . . I was wondering why you were here." She balanced the candlestick on the rail. "I mean, I know you're a delegate, but how were you chosen to come to the peace talks?"

  When he didn't answer right away, she was afraid she had said something to offend him. "I'm sorry. Now I sound like the magpie. It's really none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

  "No. You have said nothing to anger this man. I am just surprised that you would have this question. Other white women I know do not speak of such matters."

  She could feel her face growing warm. "Another fault of mine. I like politics." She smoothed her rough hands nervously. "Not very womanly." Then she raised her hands. "Like these."

  To Mackenzie's surprise, Fire Dancer took one of her hands in his. She knew the proper thing would have been to pull away, but she couldn't help herself. His hands were the same size as hers—warm, gentle, but firm.

  "This man does not think these hands are unwomanly." He smoothed them in something akin to a caress.

  Now Mackenzie knew she was blushing. Surely he hadn't meant his comment to be a compliment, but she took it as one.

  He let go of her hand. "You ask why I come? I come because the chief sent me. But the chief is also the parent to this man."

  "Your father is the chief of your tribe? He must be very important." For some reason, she wasn't surprised. Fire Dancer had a quiet, commanding way about him.

  He smiled. "Chief of my village, but an important chief. One who represents our—" he paused, obviously looking for the right word—"clan, as well."

  "I see. And your clan wants peace. You don't want to fight with the French against the British anymore."

  He lifted a finger to correct her. "This man and his clan did not choose sides. Not yet."

  She nodded. "But you will?"

  "This man wishes for peace. No sides. No enemies."

  She smiled grimly. "I understand." They were both silent for a moment, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'd better go inside before someone starts looking for me, thinking I've been kidnapped by wild Indians." She swallowed a laugh as she realized what she'd said. Now she felt like a complete fool.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean that. It's only that—"

  "It is what you know. What you have been told by your men."

  Ashamed, she hung her head. "Yes. I fear I've not really been left to make my own judgments." She lifted her chin. "But I am now, and I'm thinking that maybe my father has been wrong." She reached for the candle, lifting it to illuminate his face. "You don't seem so dangerous to me."

  "No?" He raised a feathery black eyebrow, his face without emotion. "Do not be so sure."

  Then he walked away as silently as he'd come.

  Chapter Three

  Mackenzie stood on the palisade walkway, her hand on one hip, her sketching pencil poised. Major Albertson sat perfectly still on a camp stool, his face turned so that the light struck his red-bearded face at just the right angle.

  Mackenzie paused, drew a line, and glanced at her subject again. It was important to her that these portraits be good. She needed to prove to her father that she could make money as an artist. She had to prove it to herself.

  "Another sitting and I should be done with my sketching," she told the major. "Then I can begin painting." Her grandfather had taught her to paint and had advised that making polite discourse helped the subject to relax. It was easy enough to talk to Harry. She'd known him since she was a little girl and he was a green lieutenant like Burrow.

  "I hope you're sketching me to be the good-looking hound that I am." He reached up to pinch his own ruddy cheek. "Not too fleshy."

  "I sketch and paint what I see." She eyed him carefully, trying to judge the angle of his jawbone. "And what I see is a handsome, caring bear of a man."

  He chuckled. "You could make a man very happy, Mackenzie. If I were a few years younger, I'd marry you myself."

  She laughed at the ridiculous thought. "I don't make most men happy. My father's cross with me again. He doesn't think I should be standing up here, even though he knows that I need the direct sunlight. He's positive a sniper is going to murder me." She rolled her eyes. "Joshua is barely speaking to me because, two days ago, I refused to let him carry my slop bucket. Now, apparently, your Shawnee delegate is angry with me because he failed to show up for his sitting this morning. That's two in a row he's missed."

  Major Albertson frowned, ruining the line of his mouth. "That Fire Dancer, he's a hard one to figure out. I'll speak to him, but I can't make any guarantees."

  She nodded and reached out to lift his chin slightly. "Good. Right there." She sketched another line on her canvas. "You said he's a hard one to figure out. What do you mean?"

  "He's an Ind
ian. They don't make sense. I mean, I think he's honest enough. I believe he's really looking for peace, but how can you trust a man when you don't know what he's thinking? He just stares at you with those heathen black eyes of his. You can't read them like you can a white man's. DuBois doesn't trust him, and hell, they're supposed to be on the same side."

  "I thought Fire Dancer wasn't on either side."

  Albertson turned his head, ruining his pose. "Who told you that?"

  Mackenzie thought before she spoke. She kept her gaze fixed on her canvas. "Fire Dancer and I were making conversation after supper that night in your quarters. I asked him why he was here. Could you please turn back? I need you to sit still."

  He turned his head. "You shouldn't be having private conversations with savages. Especially not him, prince or not. And you shouldn't be alone with him, either. He's dangerous."

  Fire Dancer's words echoed in her head. He himself had suggested that he was dangerous. Mackenzie wrinkled her nose. "Dangerous, how? He's a peace negotiator, the same as you. Besides, just what do you think he's going to do to me? Kidnap me?" She laughed. "He's surrounded by the King's armed soldiers, for sweet heaven's sake. You said yourself—no one can get in or out of this fort without your men knowing it."

  "He's an Indian."

  "Oh." She plucked a bit of lint from his red wool uniform coat. "And that automatically makes him a dangerous man, no matter how honest he may be, or how honorable?"

  His reply was firm. "Yes."

  She turned back to the portrait sketch. "Now you sound like my father." She licked her finger and rubbed the canvas where she'd made an error. "I swear, you men, you're all alike. You draw these lines in the sand and they're thick black lines. Don't you ever see the gray area? Don't you ever think that our side might be just a little wrong?"