Dances Naked

by Dani Haviland

  Marty saw her shock then realized that he was being a bit too garrulous, again. Oh well, that’s who he was and if he tried to be someone else, he’d risk Red Shirt not liking his fake persona. “Nope, ‘to thine own self be true,’ Melbourne. Now go to sleep.”

  Ж

  Marty was awakened by a familiar foot prod. “Yesss,” he drawled as he rolled over to see a stern-faced Red Shirt. He smiled at his new friend—he knew the near scowl was pasted on. He had heard the moans and giggles during the night and they weren’t all from Red Shirt. Rachel seemed to like being a newlywed as much as her husband did.

  Marty rolled up his blanket then looked around to find the best area to make his toilet. He saw Number Two coming back from what he hoped was the designated area, and then headed to the same cluster of bushes. When he came back, he saw that breakfast was going to consist of hot water. Hopefully, a town or trading post or whatever it was called, was nearby. He wasn’t privy to the level of foodstores that this little tribe had but he was pretty sure that they were meager.

  Red Shirt wasn’t demonstrative but did take the time to pick up Junior again and hold him, tickling the boy’s nose with the end of his finger. He waited for the lad to grab for it then pulled it away quickly. Smart father: teaching the boy to be swift at such a young age. Marty saw the tender look Rachel gave Red Shirt when she took her son back. She really was smitten with him and not just grateful to be out of a bad situation with her brother. Yes, Marty would be happy to help the extended family unit get back on their feet with the purchase of supplies, whether he got anything out of it or not. But, he still wanted to go home.

  Red Shirt handed Marty the reins to the mare he once owned, motioning to him that he was to saddle up the horse.

  “Sure,” Marty replied. Yes, it would be wise of him to be on a saddled horse when he got to the store. He was already suspect; wearing a breechclout instead of pants, but a white man riding in on a blanket might look a bit strange. “Hmph,” Marty grunted aloud. He was going to look odd no matter what. But then again, white men who traded with the Indians often took on their customs. “Hey,” Marty called to Red Shirt, “If you don’t want the saddle,” he said as he pointed to it, now cinched up on the horse, “maybe I can trade for more food and supplies. Sound like a plan?”

  Red Shirt knew what Dances Naked was saying and nodded in agreement. Yes, that was a good idea. He had thought of it, too, but hadn’t wanted to suggest it to the white man. He’d save his words for another time. Besides, the two of them seemed to get along great when he didn’t speak. “Hmph,” he added, imitating the man’s grunt: let’s get going.

  So, Red Shirt and Marty rode toward town, leaving The Young One and Number Two back at the camp. Marty didn’t know if they were there for the clan’s protection or if they were going hunting on their own. He hadn’t heard of any military conflicts in the area but, then again, he hadn’t been concerned with the war. All he had cared about was making sure that James made it to the right time and place and could save the life of his ancestor, Ian Kincaid. And, that he was there to meet him. He had missed James terribly and felt guilty about letting him believe that he had died alone, out at sea, of a mysterious terminal disease.

  At least that was all he had cared about for the last six months. That mission had now been accomplished. Five days ago, the group had parted ways with new agendas. Wee Ian was left in charge of his wounded father. James and Leah’s mission was to find the Pomeroy’s Place and her mother. His mission, now, was to find his way back to The Trees, the time portal, so he could return to the 21 century; to Bibb, the love of his life, and Billy Burke, the son he never knew he had who for some strange reason had the same name as the actress who played Glinda, the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz.

  He was sure James and Leah had found their way to her mother. They had brought the necessary medical supplies and skills with them so Ian Kincaid would survive to sire Bibb’s ancestors all the way down to James: his and Bibb’s child. Children, sons, he had two sons alive now and the urgency to get back to the child, no, he was now a young man, whom he had never met, was starting to choke him, to cut off his air supply. “Ergh!” he grunted in frustration, and then realized that it was an audible exclamation—he hadn’t just been thinking it.

  “Sorry,” he said to Red Shirt who was looking at him to see why he was making noises. Red Shirt gave him the ‘whatever’ look then kicked his pony in the flanks, picking up their pace. He wanted to get back to his family, too.

  After a couple of hours of the quickened pace and one rest stop for another clear, aqueous meal: cold water, Red Shirt put his hand up for them to stop. He dismounted but indicated to Dances Naked that he should stay in the saddle. He pointed with his whole hand, shooing the air in front of him with the back of his fingers to indicate, ‘Get going.’

  Marty patted the lining of his vest then looked back at his friend. “I’ll be quick about it then,” he said in farewell.

  He was just a few hundred yards from where the two of them had stopped when he saw the first signs of people: smoke from a fire. He wanted to race the nag to civilization, or at least to white people who would speak English, but trotted the horse to save her stamina. He wanted her to look good when he got there. He didn’t want to present himself as a desperate man. People from all time eras had a tendency to take advantage of those in need or with only a few coins. He may not have pants but, hopefully, his bearing would override that little shortcoming.

  “Hey, there,” Marty called out to the man walking outside toward the little outbuilding behind the long, log house.

  “Hey,” the man replied in a congenial manner, “Be right with ye. I have a bit of important business to take care of first.”

  Marty realized that his first impression was correct. That tidy little shed really was an outhouse. “A wooden seated privy,” he sighed. “Lord, what I wouldn’t do for inside plumbing…oops, sorry, Lord,” he said softly. “It’s just the hunger talking. Please guide me in this transaction to get food for these people and keep Bibb and Billy and James and Leah safe. And, sorry I haven’t been talking to you lately. Oh, here he comes, Amen.”

  “So, are ye a priest or a preacher?” the amiable man asked as he exited the privy. “I heard ye talkin’ to the Lord so I figured ye must be one of them.”

  “No, no,” Marty admitted, “I just know He’s the man in charge and I was asking Him for some help in my shopping here today. I need as many food supplies as I can get with these few coins,” he added as he traced the slight bulge in the lining of his vest. “I have quite a few in my family and we’re just about all out of food.”

  “Well, come on in and let’s see what we have. I’m Michael, by the way. Ye dinna happen to have any furs to trade, do ye? I could do better with furs than with the coin. I have a buyer for the furs but, with this confounded war going on, not many trappers are workin’ the rivers and streams. They’re too busy shootin’ at each other!” The tall, wiry, silver-haired storekeeper brushed some yellow grit from the front of his apron. “But if yer needin’ cornmeal, I can probably do ye a good deal on that. It seems like everyone that’s come in lately has that to trade. Come to think about it, yer coin might be useful in another matter. The tinker’s due through here before the snow falls. He likes the coin and I’m pretty sure he’s had his fair share of cornmeal, too,” he said then laughed heartily.

  Marty stooped over and retrieved his boot knife then brought it up to his vest. He cut a few stitches and six coins fell out of their discreet binding. “How much will this get me?” Marty asked. “And remember, I have a big family.”

  “I can do, hmm, let’s say four of the big bags of cornmeal, and do ye need any flour?” he asked.

  “Some flour and a ham if you have one, or even bacon—yes, definitely bacon. I don’t need any coffee or sugar but I’m totally out of salt,” Marty babbled. He was getting light-headed from lack of food. “And can I have some of those candies? I’d like a peppermint right no
w if you don’t mind. My stomach’s, um, a little upset.” Marty realized he wasn’t lying—his stomach was upset, with him, for not putting any food in it all day.

  “Here ye go,” Michael said as he handed him a round, striped candy. “But I’m sorry. Fer jest these few coins, I canna be lettin’ ye have the meat. Ye can have the cornmeal and a bag of the flour and a bit of salt, but no meat. No charge fer the candy I jest gave ye, but no more.”

  Marty set his knife on the counter then opened out the other side of his vest. He picked up the knife again, made another slit, and extracted six more coins. “Ham and bacon?” he asked as he pushed the coins toward Michael, “and a few candies?” he added with a pepperminty smile.

  “Yer a sly one, ye are,” Michael chortled. “Aye, a couple, no, I’ll make that three rashers of bacon and a bag of the candies, but I only have the one ham and I was savin’ it fer a wedding. That is if my daughter ever gets married!” he said with a mixture of mirth and frustration.

  “You’re sure that’s the best you can do for the twelve coins: cornmeal, flour, salt, bacon and a few candies? How about cabbages or potatoes? I could carry those and they’d sure make a fine stew, if I had some meat,” Marty hinted. “Or oats, surely a fine man like you, Scottish, aye, would have a nice, big bag of rolled oats to offer to feed my starvin’ family.”

  “How many did ye say were in yer family?” Michael asked before committing to adding any more supplies for the twelve coins. He enjoyed the bartering and didn’t mind making a healthy profit, but this man did look needy and a bit of alms given to a poor family would make him look good in the eyes of the Lord.

  “Well, we had some sickness and death just recently and a birth so,” Marty drew out the drama and started counting on his fingers, adding with a smile the new child, Junior; then frowned at a loss, Number Two’s wife. “Including me and the in-laws and old grandma, there’s thirteen. We’re down to our last bag of cornmeal and that’ll probably be gone by the time I get back. We’ve been having naught but water for some meals,” Marty said sincerely, his stomach grumbling in agreement with his dissertation.

  “Weel, I guess I can throw in a bag of the tatties and I have a few more cabbages than we need. Do ye think ye could use a few onions? I had a great harvest of those and I’d rather give them away than have them sit around and spoil, waitin’ fer spring.”

  “Well, that’s mighty generous of you, Michael. We would all appreciate it. As a matter of fact, I may just give the next child born your name. I mean, without your generosity, we might not make it ‘to’ winter much less ‘through’ winter.”

  Michael tried to hide the smile of pride that he felt: someone was going to name a child after him for giving him his extra food, but couldn’t contain his excitement and went ahead and let loose his grin. “Weel, I jest hope it’s a boy. With a name like Michael, a lass might get teased a bit,” he said joyfully as he gathered the empty, used calico flour bags from the corner. “I’ll be right back with the vegetables; they’re in the cold cellar.”

  Marty waited until the spirited storekeeper was out of sight then said a quick prayer. “Thank you, Lord, for the bounty. And may he be as blessed by You as he has been a blessing to us.”

  Michael stopped short as he heard the words. He was going to load the rotted cabbages and potatoes on the bottom of the bags; he didn’t want to throw those into the compost pit if he could make a profit on them, but changed his mind. The blessing he had just received could be turned into a curse for doing a bad deed. “Sorry, Lord, fer the bad intent,” he said under his breath then filled the bags with the prime fruits of the autumn’s harvest. He left the bags on the porch and came back inside. “I’ll jest sew these bags up so they don’t spill and ye can be on yer way to yer family. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see ye.”

  “Me and the food!” Marty proclaimed then laughed. He brought his emotions down a couple of levels and got serious. “I have a fine saddle out there and, um, I know you said that you were saving the ham for your daughter’s wedding, if she has one this year, but do you think that you’d consider trading the ham for my saddle? I mean, you and I know that it’s worth a lot more, but I really would like to bring home some meat. The hunting hasn’t been very, oh well, I haven’t shot a deer in so long, I don’t know if I’d know what to do with one,” Marty said in exasperation. It was the truth and he knew it showed. He didn’t want or need the saddle but did want to insure that, even if they didn’t get any game in the next few months, his new little tribe wouldn’t starve to death.

  Michael walked out and inspected the saddle. The horse wasn’t the greatest but the saddle was quite nice. “The saddlebags, too?” Michael asked warily. He knew it was a great deal even without them.

  Marty sighed deeply. He was probably being taken advantage of—no, he definitely was—but he wanted to get the deal done and get the ham and other food back to Red Shirt then to the others. “If you truly, honestly believe that it’s a good trade, my saddle and saddlebags for one ham, then I’ll do it. But just remember, in the words of my father and his father before him, ‘What goes around, comes around.’” Marty saw the confused look on the trader’s face so explained further. “How you treat me is how you will be treated in the future, aye?”

  Michael’s neck pulled back in shock. He never thought of it that way. “Oh, of course I’ll give you some beans to go with the ham. I mean, that’s the second best part of the ham, having ham and beans for the next six meals!”

  Marty pulled the saddle and saddlebags off the mare and repositioned the saddle blanket while Michael went to his cold cellar to retrieve not one but two hams. They weren’t the biggest ones he had, they were actually quite modest, but there were two of them. As Marty arranged his bounty on the back of the mare, now his packhorse, Michael brought out two more bags. “I forgot about the oats. The wee’uns need to have their porritch. And dinna forget about namin’ the next child Michael, now, hear?” the wiry man said with a grin.

  “And if it’s a lass, we can always call her Michelle,” Marty said as he stuck out his hand for a proper handshake to seal to the deal. He threw the bag of oats over one shoulder and the beans over the other. The horse was loaded with enough food to feed Red Shirt’s little tribe for months. It was a good day.

  12 Dear Prudence

  arty looked like a colorful two-legged camel as he portaged the two bulging, reclaimed calico flour sacks: rolled oats over one shoulder and beans over the other. He strode joyfully ahead of the grocery-laden horse; chin out with pride. He beamed as he realized that he was doing more than fine—he was alive, alert, able to walk, and had a destination. The mare was well watered and so was he. He had taken the opportunity to drink right alongside his equine lady friend before they left. She had taken advantage of a free meal, nibbling the tough grass that had sprouted up next to the trough, while he was inside bartering. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. At least the mare’s stomach could handle the ancient, golden sprouts. He wasn’t that desperate—yet. He’d bide and wait to get back to camp to eat with the others.

  Marty turned and waved good-bye one more time to Michael then headed into the dense scrub. He breathed a sigh of relief. His hopes had been fulfilled: he had food for his friends. Family. Both. He shook his head gently in dismay—his thoughts weren’t coming together like they should. Instead of progressing in a straight line, they were flitting around like drunken butterflies. It was nothing to worry about though. He knew the cause: he was lightheaded from the lack of food.

  “Oh, well,” he commented as he realized that, no matter what, the future was bright. He knew he’d be back to his normal, clearheaded self after consuming a few of the calories that he was toting on his and the mare’s backs. He grabbed her reins and trotted ahead of her, setting a comfortable pace for the two of them. There was too much loaded on her back for him to ride and that was just fine with him. He’d rather jog alongside a food-laden, bareback horse than ride a saddled one with empty bags an
d belly. Yes, it was a good day and he had done well with his bartering. Red Shirt would be proud of him.

  Red Shirt saw Dances Naked running in front of his mare, their two heads bouncing just above the short trees and tall bushes that led away from the white man’s store. ‘Well, at least he didn’t lose my horse,’ he thought. He couldn’t see if the crazy white man had been successful in spending his coins, but at least he hadn’t been robbed, and could still walk. No, he was almost running. Yes, he was still healthy enough to run and wise enough to return to him. He never threatened Dances Naked; he didn’t feel like he had to, but he would have hunted him down and eaten his liver if he had tried to take his horse and leave rather than trade his coins for food like he had offered. Red Shirt nodded. Yes, he was still a good judge of character.

  Red Shirt rode his stallion to the spot where he would intercept the running white man. He snorted. The funny man would probably get lost trying to find his way back to the camp if he didn’t have a guide—he was already veering away from where he should be. Dances Naked had no sense of direction and, from what he could gather, wasn’t from this area. He got lost very easily, even for a white man.

  “Hey, there!” Marty called out when he spotted Red Shirt. “I hit the jackpot!” he said breathlessly, quickening his pace to reach the man sooner. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Red Shirt couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about He’d wait until he caught his wind and was closer to explain though. Then again, when his friend saw all the booty, no explanation would be necessary.

  Red Shirt’s eyes widened in shock—both the horse and the white man were loaded with colorful bags of provisions. His mouth spread wide into an uninhibited smile, his lips parting to show both his teeth and his happiness. There was enough food for his family for months.