Fire Dancer

by Colleen French

  Fire Dancer grabbed his pack. "Good-bye, wife. This man loves you."

  She followed him to the door. "How much?"

  "As the fishes love the great ocean."

  She kissed her fingertip and blew the kiss to him. Then he was gone.

  Mid-afternoon, Laughing Woman entered Mackenzie's wigwam. Mackenzie was working on Fire Dancer's original painting.

  Laughing Woman studied it carefully. "This is good, Mack-en-zie. Much, very good. I feel the strength of the man. I feel his honor."

  Mackenzie stood back beside the Indian woman. "It's still good, isn't it? Even with the alterations?"

  "Much good." Laughing Woman placed a pan of water on the coals to heat for tea. "Your husband came to me on his way out of the village. He say you not feel good. Say you cry and not know why."

  Mackenzie laid down her brush and joined Laughing Woman at the hearth. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel so strange."

  "Mmm hmmmm." Laughing Woman sprinkled herbs into the heating water. "Tell this woman sym-toms."

  Mackenzie sat crossed-legged on the grass mat she had covered with deerhide for the winter. The wind howled and the snow blew outside, but inside, the wigwam was cozy and warm. "I don't know. I've been emotional. I'm not a crier, but now I cry all the time. And I'm hungry. And I'm tired. Yesterday I slept half the day away." She brushed her hand across her bosom. "And I'm sore."

  Laughing Woman smiled. "Your moon cycle. Does it come?"

  That seemed like an odd question to Mackenzie. "My bleeding?" She thought for a moment. "No, I guess it hasn't. Not since I joined the village. I thought perhaps because of my head injury . . ." Her eyes widened. Now she really felt like a fool. "You don't suppose?"

  Laughing Woman beamed. "Yes, this woman suppose you have papoose on the hearth." She slapped her thigh and laughed heartily at her own joke.

  Mackenzie lowered her face to her hands. She was in shock. A baby? And she was embarrassed. How could she not have known she was pregnant? "I feel stupid," she confessed. "It . . . it never occurred to me that I might . . . might be with child."

  "It is all right. This woman does not laugh at you." Laughing Woman rubbed her shoulder. "This is a happy time for you, for your husband, for all of us."

  "It just never occurred to me," Mackenzie said in numb disbelief. "My . . . my mother died when I was very young. Our cook told me about my woman's bleeding because my father was too embarrassed. She wasn't very helpful. She never told me the symptoms of pregnancy. I never knew a pregnant woman."

  Mackenzie's mind whirled and she glanced up nervously. "I don't know how to take care of a baby. How will I—"

  Laughing Woman pushed a cup of tea into her hand. "Do not worry. When I place your daughter or your son in your arms, you will know how to care for him or her. We will all help, women and men of the village. It is why we live together as we do. To share our knowledge."

  Mackenzie held the cup in her trembling hands. She was so happy. So scared. She and Fire Dancer had never discussed children at any length. She knew he wanted them, but now?

  "It is the Shawnee tradition," Laughing Woman explained, "that our women do not tell of a child until its little soul is formed. Do you know when our prince make baby inside you?"

  Mackenzie shook her head. "I don't know. It could have been as long as three moons ago."

  "Better to wait another moon, not tell anyone. Not Fire Dancer. He has much to worry. He does not need to worry about what only Tapalamawatah can care for."

  "You're right." Mackenzie sighed with relief. This would give her time to get used to the idea. "I'll wait to tell Fire Dancer." Her unsteady gaze met Laughing Woman's. "I don't know how he'll react, anyway."

  Laughing Woman covered Mackenzie's hand with hers. "Do not have worry. Drink and be happy. You will give your husband the most best gift a woman can give." She laid her hand on Mackenzie's flat stomach. "Gift of your womb. Of your heart."

  Mackenzie smiled over the rim of the cup and took a sip of the soothing tea. Laughing Woman was right. She and Fire Dancer were going to have child and everything was going to be fine.

  A shout outside the wigwam startled Mackenzie. She couldn't translate the Shawnee.

  Laughing Woman bolted up, her smile falling from her face.

  Mackenzie grabbed her friend's hand. "What is it?"

  "Intruders," Laughing Woman cried as she ran for the door. "Grab your weapon. "It is Englishmen."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "My children," Laughing Woman lamented. "This woman must go to her children. Pro-tect them."

  Mackenzie seized the precious wheel-lock musket Fire Dancer left her. She knew it was primed and loaded because she'd done it herself last night.

  "Go," Mackenzie told Laughing Woman calmly. "I'm behind you. Go to the children."

  The two women burst out of the wigwam and raced across the snowy compound. A single musket cracked in the cold, fresh air.

  Women and children ran through the village. The men who'd remained behind from the French scouting expedition sprinted through the snow with bows and spears and a few old rifles.

  "How many?" Mackenzie asked Gentle Bear as they crossed paths.

  "This man have not know," he shouted as he ran. "Take cover of wigwam."

  Before they reached the wigwam Mary and Laughing Woman shared, Mackenzie heard Laughing Woman's children crying. "They're here. Go inside. I'll guard the door," Mackenzie ordered.

  Laughing Woman lifted the doorflap and Mackenzie caught a glimpse of Mary huddled on a sleeping platform holding the toddlers in her arms. The flap fell and Mackenzie swung around, the rifle cradled in her arms. No one would bring harm to her family as long as she breathed. Laughing Woman and her children were Mackenzie's family. Mary was her family. She'd die protecting them.

  "How many soldiers?" Mackenzie called out to a Shawnee woman who passed by.

  "Do not know. Not soldiers. White men. Down by stream."

  Every nerve in Mackenzie's body crackled with dread as she waited, her musket in her hand.

  What if her father had found her? What if they were coming for her? What would she say? How would she tell her father she could not leave . . . that she had married a redman and now carried his child? How could she tell him that she was now more Shawnee than English? A minute passed and Mackenzie didn't hear any more gunshots. She fought with indecision. Did she remain here to protect the woman and children or did she go to the stream to see who the intruders were? If it was her father, she didn't want him injured.

  "Laughing Woman," Mackenzie called, making her choice. "I'm going to the stream to see what's happening. Stay inside. Have a weapon ready."

  Mary burst through the door. "This woman go with you. See the Englishmen."

  Mackenzie knew there was no sense in arguing with her. "All right, but stay behind me, Mary. If I say run, you run. Understand this woman's words?"

  "Ah." Mary fell in behind her.

  Mackenzie followed the path, along with other villagers, to the stream. Obviously there was no army attack. Who were the intruders?

  At the streambank, Mackenzie spotted Gentle Bear holding a musket on a man in a coon-skin cap dressed in bear hides. He had black hair and medium toned skin—a half-breed probably. Mackenzie didn't know him.

  She approached the crowd of Shawnee men and women and her gaze fixed on the ground. Someone had been shot. The Indians stood in a ring around him, all talking at once. A pale-skinned man's hand lay in the snow . . . spotted with blood.

  Not my father , Mackenzie prayed. It didn't look like her father's hand. It wasn't broad enough. She pushed through the crowd. "Who—" She halted.

  Josh? It was Josh Watkins.

  "Josh!" she hollered. She pushed her musket in someone's hands and dropped to her knees. He was unconscious, his face as pale as the snow he lay in. An arrow protruded from his left shoulder. The shaft had been feathered by a Shawnee; the style was unmistakable.

  "What happened?" Mackenzie d
emanded as she checked for a pulse at his neck. His heart still beat. Blood oozed from the arrow wound.

  "Our guards catched these men try to sneak into village," Gentle Bear said, still holding his weapon on the man that looked to be a trapper.

  "Don't shoot. Don't shoot me," the man said, holding his hands high. "We didn't mean harm. I am Robert Red Shirt. We . . . we're just lookin' for a woman. Lookin' for his woman." His gaze met Mackenzie's. "A white woman with red hair."

  "If you meant no harm," Mackenzie stated, "who the hell shot the musket? How did Josh get hit with an arrow? Our men don't shoot unprovoked."

  "Watkins got scared, I guess. I told him not to fire. The Indian spooked him and the musket went off. He wasn't aimin' at nothing. I swear by the virgin he wasn't."

  Mackenzie wished Robert Red Shirt wouldn't stare at her like that. She knew that he knew he'd found who he was looking for. She glanced back at Josh and spoke in broken Shawnee. "Someone help me get him to a wigwam." She backed up as two of the men grasped Josh's arms and legs.

  "Mine is closest," Mary offered, hovering over Josh's limp body. "Bring him to my wigwam."

  They passed Mackenzie and hastened up the path, back to the village.

  "What are you going to do with him?" Mackenzie asked Gentle Bear, indicating the trapper with a nod of her head.

  The crowd broke up. Some of the Indians followed the men carrying Josh. Others walked toward the village on their own. A handful of men and women remained behind to glare at Robert Red Shirt.

  "This man have not know." Gentle Bear poked the half-breed with the barrel of his musket. "Maybe cut off his balls and make tobacco pouch. Ah?"

  Robert Red Shirt blanched.

  The women giggled.

  Mackenzie laid her hand on Gentle Bear's bulging forearm. "Tie him up. Give him food and water. Don't let anyone harm him. It's what Fire Dancer would do if he was here. After I talk to Josh, I want to talk to him."

  "Ah , Mack-en-zie. You are wise like our Prince." Gentle Bear grinned as he switched to Shawnee. "You would make a good chief yourself someday."

  Mackenzie laughed. It was becoming easier each day for her to understand their language and to speak it herself. At times, her thoughts came in Shawnee rather than English. "You are very funny," Mackenzie answered in his native tongue. "Now take him and put a guard on him. I'll come as soon as I can."

  By the time Mackenzie reached Mary and Laughing Woman's wigwam, they had shooed everyone out.

  Josh laid unconscious on Mary's sleeping platform. The arrow still projecting from his shoulder.

  Mary cut his shirt open with a knife and began washing the wounded area with a hot, wet cloth.

  "This is Josh Watkins, a friend of mine," Mackenzie said. "He came from Maryland to the fort with me, Laughing Woman. Can you help him?" She knelt beside Mary and brushed his matted blond hair off his forehead, surprised by the tenderness she felt for this man who she knew she could never love. She couldn't believe he had found her. It had been three months since Fire Dancer had taken her from Fort Belvadere. Had he searched for her all this time?

  "Can you save him?" Mackenzie questioned.

  "Is not so bad wound." Laughing Woman dug through a basket of herbs. "I pull out arrow. Kill bad spirit with hot tip. Make herb poultice. Man dancing around camp fire few days."

  Mackenzie turned back to Josh as he rolled his head and groaned in pain.

  Mackenzie clasped his filthy hand in hers. He was thin. His chest bared, she could count his ribs. Josh had always been slender, but never like this. He was starving.

  "Josh," she whispered and squeezed his hand. "It's me, Mackenzie. Can you hear me?"

  Mackenzie . He moved his lips to say her name, but no sound came out.

  "That's right," she comforted him. "It's Mackenzie."

  His eyelids fluttered open. "Mackenzie?"

  "I'm here."

  He swallowed. "Redskins. C . . . captured. Must save you from filthy redskins."

  Laughing Woman stood behind Mackenzie. "You sure you want me save him?" she asked tartly.

  "Yes," Mary cried passionately. "Save him. He doesn't know what he's saying. He's delirious. Help him, Laughing Woman." She peered up at her friend, her hands clasped. "Please. This woman begs you."

  "Mackenzie?" Josh moaned.

  "Josh," Mackenzie whispered. "Listen to me. You've been shot. These women are going to help you. Try to relax and save your strength." She squeezed his hand and let go.

  He followed her with his gaze. Despite his pain, his eyes were filled with relief.

  Mackenzie stepped back and Laughing Woman took her place beside Mary.

  Mary clasped his hand and nodded. "Pull," she whispered.

  Laughing Woman grasped the arrow shaft with both hands and yanked.

  Josh hollered and rose off the bed. Mary pushed his chest and eased him back down. "Is all right," she crooned in English. "I'm here. Mary is here."

  Laughing Woman took the bloody arrow and held the iron tip over the hot coals of the fire.

  Mackenzie felt her stomach twist. She wasn't normally squeamish, but as Laughing Woman carried the glowing red arrow over to Josh, Mackenzie turned away.

  "Hold him," Laughing Woman told Mary.

  Mackenzie heard Josh scream and the sizzle of his burning flesh. She gagged as the smell of scorched skin filled the wigwam.

  "Be right back," Mackenzie said and ran out of the wigwam.

  Outside in the cold air, she caught her breath. She needed a minute and then she'd go back inside with Josh. She knew he was in capable hands. Laughing Woman knew as much about healing as any Colonial surgeon Mackenzie had ever known. And obviously Mary was taking it upon herself to care for him. That was good. It would gave her something to think about other than her dead baby.

  Mackenzie breathed deeply, exhaling in frosty puffs.

  "Mack-en-zie." Gentle Bear approached.

  "Gentle Bear."

  He pointed toward the wigwam. "He live?"

  "Ah." She spoke slowly in Shawnee. "Laughing Woman cares for him. She says he'll survive."

  He nodded and lifted his rabbit fur cloak off his shoulders and lowered it onto hers. "That is good . . . this man supposes."

  Mackenzie dug her moccasin in the snow. She wished desperately that Fire Dancer was here right now. Josh's appearance scared her. It made her feel like her marriage and life as she now knew it was threatened. "Gentle Bear, the white men came for me. From the fort, this woman guesses."

  "Ah."

  She gazed out over the wigwams toward the mountain range to the west. Some of the Shawnee talked of moving west, far from the hand of the white man. The idea sounded good to Mackenzie right now. "This woman thinks we must add extra guards to the perimeter of the village. I will talk to the one who calls himself Robert Red Shirt and to Josh when he wakes. I will see if others come, but to be safe, we must be ready."

  "Mackenzie?" Josh called weakly.

  "I'm here." She jumped up from the hearth where she was sharing a cup of tea with Laughing Woman and Mary. Laughing Woman's toddlers had been sent to spend a few nights with their grandfather.

  Mackenzie knelt beside the sleeping platform and clasped his hand. "I'm right here."

  He opened his eyes. "Feel like . . . like I've been hit by a cannon ball."

  She raised up on her knees to look into his eyes. "A Shawnee arrow, actually."

  Slowly he reached up to give one of her red braids a swing. "I found you. Harry said you were dead, but I knew you weren't. I knew it as well as I know my own name." His gaze locked with hers. "I'm so sorry I shot you. I didn't mean to. I just—"

  "It was just a graze," she interrupted. "A scratch." She lifted her hair to show the small, healed scar. "See. The scar you gave me on my calf with that pitchfork when we were ten was worse."

  He smiled at her joke, then sobered. "I'm sorry the bastard carried you off. I should have stopped him. I should have—"

  She lowered her lashes. "His name is
Fire Dancer and he's my husband now, Josh. You can't talk about him that way. Not to me."

  "Your . . . your husband?" He struggled to lift up on his elbows and flinched with pain. "The savages made you marry him?"

  "No," she answered him firmly. "I married him because I love him."

  "A redskin?" He stared at her with a look of shock and bewilderment. "You married a bloody redskin of your own free will? Instead of me?"

  "Are you listening to what I'm saying? I don't mean to hurt you, Josh, but I love him. I don't care what color his skin is. I love him," she repeated passionately.

  For a moment, she thought Josh might cry. The hurt was written all over his face.

  "You mean it, don't you?" he whispered.

  "Ah . We fell in love at the fort."

  "But he kidnapped you!"

  She rubbed his hand in hers. "He brought me here to save me after I was shot." No need to tell him the whole portrait story now , she thought. It will only complicate matters. All he needs to know now is that I want to be here . "I was unconscious for a fortnight. If I'd not been cared for by our medicine woman, the same woman who saved your life, I'd have died. Do you understand, Josh? I'd have died at the fort."

  "You really love him?"

  "I love him with all my heart. He and I were meant to be husband and wife. It was fate," she said as gently as she could.

  He glanced at the cornhusk wall. "All these weeks I looked for you. I felt responsible for you because of your father."

  "And I thank you for . . ." She tugged on his hand, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "My father? What about my father?"

  Josh drew his lips together grimly. "There's no way to tell you but to tell you. He . . . he's dead, Mackenzie. Been dead."

  A lump rose in her throat and a single tear slid down her cheek. She stared unseeing. "Mahtah. "

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Her lower lip trembled. She could feel her heart breaking. Her father dead? How sad to no longer be a child . . . anyone's child. "How . . . how did he die?"

  It took him a long time to answer, as if he had to recall. "The night you . . . you left. The whole fort was under attack. He was shot." This time he squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry, Mackenzie."