Fire Dancer

by Colleen French

  "See what?"

  "Where you were going without a bow or a pack."

  Okonsa's black eyes narrowed dangerously. His nose ring glimmered in the sunlight. "You have been following me, turd. The other night when I was in the sweat house." He pointed accusingly. "It was you I heard outside."

  Tall Moccasin took a step backward and shook his head. "No. No it wasn't me," he lied. "I . . . I was in my mother's lodge. I'm not allowed out after it grows dark. I was with my mother."

  "Liar!"

  This time Okonsa struck him so hard that Tall Moccasin fell backward. Tall Moccasin felt his feet crumble under him and he lashed out wildly with his hunting knife. As he fell back, he heard his uncle grunt in pain. Tall Moccasin must have nicked him with his knife.

  Tall Moccasin hit the ground hard and balled himself up to try to roll away. His Uncle kicked him in the stomach and Tall Moccasin lost the grip on his knife.

  Tall Moccasin was ashamed of the tears that ran down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried. "I . . . I won't do it again. D . . . don't hit me again. I won't tell . . . please Uncle . . ."

  Tall Moccasin saw his uncle's face leering over him. He saw his balled fist come toward him. He felt the blow to his head and the explosion of pain . . . and then he felt nothing but coldness seep around him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "Nthathah?"

  Mackenzie heard a woman's urgent voice outside her door.

  "Nthathah?" came the voice again.

  Mackenzie's Shawnee was improving every day. It sounded like Fire Dancer's sister. She called for her brother.

  "Bird Song?" Mackenzie raised the doorflap to discover her standing in the dark, her hands clutched nervously. "Come in. What's wrong?" She followed the older woman.

  "This woman have need of brother."

  "I can find him for you." Mackenzie touched her with her paint-stained fingertips. She'd been working on a portrait when she heard Bird Song outside her door. "Please tell me what's wrong. Is Little Weaver all right? She's not bleeding again, is she?"

  Bird Song laid her palm against her cheek. "Not Little Weaver. It . . . it probably nothing." She shook her head and attempted a smile. "Tall Moccasin he . . ." She opened her arms. "No find him. He no come home."

  "He's missing?" Mackenzie felt a surge of panic in her chest. In the last few weeks Fire Dancer's family had become her family. His people had become her people. "How long has he been gone?" She grabbed the doeskin wrap she'd fashioned into a hooded cloak. "Who saw him last?"

  "He went fishing. Noon day. No come home for supper. No come home for dark. Neekweethah always come home dark, no worry his mother."

  Mackenzie threw her cloak over her shoulders and grabbed Song Bird's hand. "I'm sure he's here somewhere. In someone else's wigwam, mayhap?" She led her out of the wigwam, intent on finding Fire Dancer. He would know what to do and where to look.

  Bird Song shook her head. "No. No wigwam. This woman ask. No one see him but Gentle Bear. Gentle Bear see him in the forest noon day. Not again."

  Mackenzie hurried across the compound, between the wigwams. Fire Dancer said he was going to see his brother who was headed out on a scouting trip for the French. Mackenzie had been so relieved that Fire Dancer wasn't going, that she'd sent him off with a pot of candied carrots for Okonsa.

  Mackenzie reached Okonsa's wigwam. "Fire Dancer?"

  "Ah," Fire Dancer called from inside.

  Mackenzie didn't wait for an invitation. All she could think of was that Tall Moccasin was out in the cold, dark forest somewhere, injured or lost. She pushed through the door and pulled Bird Song along with her. "Fire Dancer, you—"

  She halted inside the doorway and glanced up. A shiver crawled up her spine She'd never been inside her brother-in-law's wigwam before.

  The wigwam was darker than hers, or any other she'd ever been inside. Strips of bark hung from the vaulted ceilings and filled the room with the distinctive, pungent aroma of cedar. From the ceiling, between the strips of bark, hung British-made goods. It was the strangest thing Mackenzie had ever seen.

  The natural air flow caused by the heat of the fire and the cold of the night air that seeped through the chimney hole made the trinkets swing. The effect was haunting. There were silver-handled toothbrushes, fringed epaulettes, pewter hand mirrors, barrettes, purses, even a mob cap. All the objects swung eerily overhead.

  "Mack-en-zie, what is wrong?"

  Fire Dancer's face appeared before hers. She held tightly to Song Bird's hand. "Tall Moccasin . . ." she said, dragging her gaze from the objects. " . . . is missing. Bird Song can't find him anywhere."

  "You have checked the other wigwams and the stream?" Fire Dancer questioned his sister.

  "Ah." For Mackenzie's benefit, she spoke English. "Look everywhere. Call his name." She gripped Mackenzie's hand. "Have fear in my heart, brother. Son would not stay away from home so late. He would not scare his mother this way."

  "This man will search for him." Okonsa thrust out his chest. "He is nearby. Only playing boy's games. His Uncle Okonsa will find him."

  Mackenzie focused on her husband and ignored Okonsa and his ghostly treasures. "I think we should form search parties. Gentle Bear was the last to see him at noon."

  "This woman will look for son."

  "No." Mackenzie squeezed Song Bird's hand gently. "You should wait by your hearth. If the boy comes home on his own, he'll want his mother." In the back of Mackenzie's mind, she thought, if we find his body killed by an animal or murdered by English soldiers, I wouldn't want you to see him .

  "Mack-en-zie is right." Fire Dancer grabbed his otter skin cape off a hook and tossed it over his shoulders.

  Mackenzie knew he was thinking the same things as she

  "Okonsa," Fire Dancer ordered. "Gather men and make torches. This man will organize search parties. We will meet at the stream."

  Mackenzie hurried into the darkness, anxious to be out of Okonsa's wigwam. "I'll take Song Bird back to her wigwam and gather the women. Perhaps Snake Man can watch over the young children."

  Fire Dancer clasped her arm and lowered his voice. "This man would feel better if you stayed with Song Bird. We do not yet know if danger lurks in our forest. If there are British soldiers . . ." His voice faded.

  Mackenzie's gaze met his. She was touched that he was so fearful of leaving her. "No man is going to take me from here against my will," she reassured him as she rubbed his arm. "This is Tall Moccasin we're talking about. We need every able-bodied adult we can find to look for him. Mary isn't well enough to trek through the forest yet. I'll have her stay with Song Bird."

  Fire Dancer opened his mouth to protest, but Mackenzie didn't give him a chance. "Hurry," she whispered and gave him a nudging. Then she took Song Bird by the arm and led her across the compound.

  By the time Mackenzie reached the stream with a dozen women wrapped in cloaks, Fire Dancer was pairing men and women off to form as many search parties as possible. No one would leave the village alone or without a weapon. They would sweep the area around the village, walking within voice-distance of each other. As a precaution, Fire Dancer doubled the guards around the village. There had been no signs of redcoat soldiers nearby, but he would not leave the village unprotected even for the sake of his nephew.

  "Those are your instructions," Fire Dancer said in Shawnee. "You know where each of you must search. Get your torch from Okonsa and move out. Call out if you see or hear anything suspicious."

  The crowd of Shawnee dispersed, their faces solemn. When one woman's child was missing, he became everyone's child and they all felt Song Bird's fear and pain.

  Fire Dancer signaled to Mackenzie. "If you must aid in the search, you'll come with me."

  Mackenzie grabbed a torch and passed it to him. "I must." They crossed the stream on the stepping rocks, her arm linked through his. "I must because I'm one of you now. Tall Moccasin is as much my nephew as he is yours."

  Fire Dancer patted her arm. "This man is s
orry. I did not mean to push you away." The flame of the spitting torch illuminated his sober face. "This man is only concerned for your safety. I would not lose you now, Mack-en-zie. I cannot."

  "I understand." It was a tender moment between them. His simple words made her understand the depth of the love between man and wife, a love that saw beyond skin color or politics.

  She walked beside Fire Dancer, and kept her eyes open for any sign of the boy. Around her, she heard sounds of the Shawnee walking through the forest and calling Tall Moccasin's name.

  "I have never been in your brother's wigwam," Mackenzie said as she snuggled deeper into her doeskin cloak. "I found the hanging trinkets disturbing." She searched for any expression the torch illuminated on his face. "Don't you?"

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. "His sister collects English objects. It is harmless."

  "That's different. Mary keeps her things in a box, and they were gifts. Okonsa . . . his wigwam is like some sort of madman's shrine. Mary wants to be English. He hates Englishmen."

  "He does not hate you."

  Mackenzie wasn't so sure about that. She wondered if Okonsa's preoccupation with her really was due to hate and even he himself didn't realize it. But this wasn't the time to discuss the matter with Fire Dancer. "Where does Okonsa get all those British manake things."

  "This man does not know." He tapped a bush with a stick. "Trades for them, I suppose."

  She gave a shudder. "And what's the purpose of the bark strips hanging everywhere?"

  "Shawnee medicine. It protects the man from the evil spirits of the objects, of the white manake who owned the objects."

  Mackenzie frowned and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. Her husband was as an intelligent a man as any colonist she'd ever known, but when it came to his brother, he had little sense. He saw what he wanted to see, believed what he wanted to believe.

  "How far should we go?" she asked, changing the subject. She knew from experience that there was no point in questioning him about Okonsa. If he saw anything wrong with his brother's collection , he'd not admit it.

  It was beginning to snow. Fluffy white flakes fell on her cloak. Mackenzie knew that the snow would make it more difficult to find any signs of Tall Moccasin, but she felt no need to say so. So often, she and Fire Dancer had the same thoughts.

  "We must walk to the fork oak and then turn back."

  Mackenzie heard the echoes of the villagers as they called to the lost boy.

  "Do you think we'll find him?" she asked softly. She needed Fire Dancer's assurance.

  "This man does not know." He grimaced. "What I know is that I must pray to the Father, Tapalamawatah . . . and keep looking."

  Mackenzie woke beside Song Bird's hearth and stretched her stiff muscles. Song Bird and Mary still slept. Mackenzie fed the dying coals a few sticks and left the wigwam to search for her husband. It was dawn. The snow had covered the ground in a thin, white blanket that sparkled in the first rays of sunlight.

  She trudged across the compound, her heart heavy. They had not found Tall Moccasin and sometime after midnight, Fire Dancer had suspended the search. They would begin looking for him again this morning.

  Mackenzie found Fire Dancer and Okonsa at her hearth.

  "Good morning, wife." Fire Dancer kissed her on the lips. Intuitively knowing her need to be comforted, he hugged her before he returned to his mat beside the fire.

  "Could this woman make you men something to eat?" Out of respect for Fire Dancer, she included Okonsa.

  "No, thank you, sister." Okonsa stretched and reached down to adjust his testicles inside his leggings.

  Mackenzie paid him no mind. She had become so used to his fixation, that she actually found it funny. "You are certain, brother? This woman has rabbit she can fry up and oat mush."

  "No. Many thanks, but I cannot. My men and I must leave. The French are expecting scouts. If we do not come to them, they will come to us and your husband does not want them here." He shrugged into a deerhide mantle decorated with red slashes of paint that looked like blood. "This man would rather stay and search for his nephew, but our War Chief is insistent. He says I must go and, of course, I must do what our War Chief says."

  Fire Dancer walked his brother to the door. "Take care, Neetahnathah . Do not be too trusting of our allies."

  "We are safe enough, He-who-worries-too-much," Okonsa said. "We but scout. We've not been involved in a skirmish yet. Our warriors are growing fat and lazy."

  Fire Dancer clapped him on the back. "Take care the same. I will expect you in seven nights. If you do not return or send word, I will come looking for you."

  "Good-bye, sister. Have care while I am gone." Okonsa winked at her, but Fire Dancer didn't see it.

  "Farewell," she responded formally. Inside, she was seething. It was easy for her to see through his polite words and declarations, even if her husband could not. Okonsa didn't want to stay and look for the boy. He wanted to be off on one of his scouting trips. He wanted to fight the British, not just scout for the French. He wanted blood.

  Fire Dancer returned to the hearth, his face etched with fatigue and worry.

  Mackenzie placed a tin pot of water on the coals to boil and knelt behind him. She massaged his broad shoulders. "Tall Moccasin is not nearby, is he?" she asked gently. "Else we would have found him last night."

  "This man does not understand." He made a fist in frustration. "Even if the boy was dead, we would find his body. How can there be no trace? It is as if he vanished."

  "Do you think he could have been kidnapped . . ." She hesitated to say it. " . . . by the British soldiers—maybe because of me?"

  He shook his head no. "No one has come looking for you here. Redcoat manake leave a trail any Shawnee child could follow. They have not been here."

  She peered into his face, wishing there was some way she could comfort him. "But the snow, it could have covered soldiers' tracks, right?"

  "Ah , the snow would make following signs harder, but not impossible." He lowered his hands to his sides in a helpless gesture. "I walked the forest all night. There are no signs. He is just gone."

  Mackenzie kissed the top of his head and rose to prepare a hot meal. "I'll feed you and then you can take men and search the area for anything we might have missed last night in the dark. There must be something out there to tell us what happened."

  "We will look. This man wants you to remain in village and keep the women busy. Give my sister, Song Bird, work so that she will not spend her hours weeping."

  "I'll do whatever I can to help her. I'll look after the women. You and the men just keep looking."

  The portrait on the easel near their sleeping platform caught Mackenzie's eye. The nearly complete painting was of three boys kneeling in the grass beside a wigwam, each of their faces turned so that all one could see was their inky black hair. They were playing a game with clay marbles. One of the boys in the portrait was Tall Moccasin.

  The days blew by like the last leaves of the trees that sheltered the village. Snow fell and the Shawnee settled in for the winter. After a week of searching, Fire Dancer finally gave up the hunt for Tall Moccasin. Now all Song Bird had left of her son was a few of his possessions and the dismal hope that he might return to her someday.

  Mackenzie kept occupied with her portraits of the Shawnee and tried to keep from thinking too much about Tall Moccasin. She loved the boy and it was hard to imagine he was gone. It was the Shawnee way that gave her strength.

  Mackenzie had been surprised that there was very little mourning for Tall Moccasin, even from his mother. The Shawnee's strong religious beliefs sustained them in times of tragedy and encouraged them to find joy, even after sorrow. Song Bird had explained to Mackenzie, that Tapalamawatah cares for all his people. If her son still lived and had been kidnapped or lost, God watched over him. If he had be killed by man or beast, he was now being rocked in the arms of the Great Father.

  "I wish you didn't have to go," Mackenzie said as she packed
Fire Dancer's leather bag for his scouting expedition with the French. "Your mother says a storm blows in. We're expecting a lot of snow."

  Fire Dancer sat on the edge of their sleeping platform restringing his bow. "I must go. The French have kept their bargain. We have not seen any signs of redcoat soldiers. We must keep our side of the pact and provide scouts."

  Mackenzie dropped a leather pouch of pemmican into his bag. The mixture of dried meat and berries she'd made herself would sustain Fire Dancer when he could not stop to make a campfire and cook meat. "I understand the logic. That doesn't mean I want you to go." She stuffed an extra pair of mittens into the bag. She felt on the verge of tears and she didn't know why. "Couldn't you send someone else in your place?"

  "We must all take our turn, kitehi . You know that."

  She smiled and sniffed. She loved it when he called her that. My heart . She was his heart, and he was hers.

  "Mack-en-zie, you are crying. Why?"

  She wiped her eyes. "I . . . I don't know. I just . . ." She exhaled. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave me."

  He walked to her and held out his arms. She allowed him to pull her close.

  "This man is not leaving you," he said gently. He kissed her forehead. "This man but goes scouting." He grasped her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. "Are you well? Yesterday you cried because you burned the venison."

  She gave a small laugh. "I don't know what's wrong. I just don't feel like myself."

  He kissed her soundly on the lips. "This man must go. The others wait. They will tease me and say that I cannot leave my wife's sleeping mat. But I will send Laughing Woman. She is a healer and knows of women's illnesses. Speak to her. Perhaps she can give you an herbal tea."

  Mackenzie clung to him. She felt foolish. "I'm sure it's nothing. Go. I'll see you in a few days."

  "Do you want me to stay until you speak with Laughing Woman?"

  She forced a smile. "No. Really. I'm all right. Go." She threaded her fingers through his long hair and kissed him passionately. It was a kiss she hoped would entreat him to hurry home.