This was not the place to show any sort of affection for her—he knew it would be misconstrued by everyone around who saw them—but he could not help putting one hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes.
“What’s wrong? Why are you leaving like this so quickly?”
“You good friend to me,” she said. “But I go now.”
“Let me go with you.”
“You have life in Bay City.”
“I really don’t, Moon Song,” he said. “I don’t have to be anywhere except back at Robert’s lumber camp this October, and then only if I want to be. There will be men lined up for my job, and you know it.”
“You have woman in Virginia. Woman who writes on pretty paper.”
He was stunned. “How do you know that?”
“I see you sneak looks at letter on boat. You smell like woman’s perfume after.”
“Penelope and I were in love once, but no more. I’m not going back to her.”
“You abandon your woman?” Moon Song turned away from him with disgust. “That just like a white man!”
“Where did you get that idea? She broke it off with me a long time ago. Told me to leave.”
“Oh.” She absorbed that information and then shook her head. “No matter. You not follow where I go.”
“Why? I want to see you and Ayasha back to your people. I have to tell Robert that you’re safe or he’ll never forgive me. Not to mention Delia and Katie. I can’t possibly face those two women if I can’t tell them for certain that you are all right. I know I’m not able to make food appear out of thin air like you can, but once I get some provisions from the fort, I’ll be fine. A gun, an extra knife, and some hard tack and jerky and I’ll be in great shape.”
“No. I go rest of way alone. You my good, good friend, but I must go rest of way alone.”
He was perplexed. It was obvious from her tears that her heart was breaking over their departure from one another, but she wouldn’t budge on the idea of her going on to her people without him.
He took her hand, clasped it to his cheek, and kept it there covered with his own. “Will I ever see you again?”
“I must see to my grandmother. I worry she did not get through winter well.”
She had not answered his question.
“Where does she live?”
He saw her hesitate. She was debating her answer. Debating whether or not to even tell him.
“She lives on a reservation.” Her eyes shifted away from him. “The people are very poor.”
It was then that it hit him. She was ashamed. His precious, valiant Moon Song was ashamed of how her people lived. It broke his heart. This was one woman who should never have to be ashamed.
Well, at least this was one thing he could fix. He could buy some food and gifts for Moon Song to take with her to her grandmother. He wasn’t sure what he could get from the fort, but he was going to try.
“Stay here, Moon Song,” he said. “I’ll be back soon with whatever I can find for you to take to your grandmother.”
“I have Ayasha.” She looked alarmed. “Cannot carry big load.”
“Maybe you won’t have to. In fact, instead of staying here, come with me.”
Skypilot had seemed so forlorn about not coming the rest of the way with her that Moon Song figured the least she could do was grant his request to wait a short while longer before leaving. She obediently followed behind as Skypilot went about his business.
She had no intention of changing her mind. It was easier for them to part now. She loved him, but there was no future for them together. She could not allow there to be a future for them. If there was one thing she knew to be true, it was that white men who married Indian women eventually left them.
She and Skypilot would have to say good-bye sometime—and now would be less complicated than allowing him to follow her to her home and being put into the position of having to answer all the questions Grandmother and the rest of the tribe would ask if she showed up accompanied by this big white man.
The problem was—Grandmother wouldn’t just question, she would be furious, and a furious Fallen Arrow was not something she wanted Skypilot to experience. Skypilot had no idea how big a favor she was doing for him by not allowing him to follow her.
Besides that, Copper Harbor was at the tip end of the Keweenaw Peninsula, where there was nearly always a wind. Between Fort Wilkins and the reservation where her grandmother’s people lived, there were miles of trails, swamps, wildlife, mosquitoes, and blackflies.
Skypilot had only a little experience with the pests of the Upper Peninsula. Staying along the coastline where there was much wind swept some of the little biting population away, but in the middle of the Keweenaw, where she intended to travel, he would find out what living in northern Michigan really meant.
It was kind of him to purchase supplies for her to take home to Grandmother. She stood quietly in the background while he struck a bargain with the sutler. He seemed especially delighted with an overpriced pack mule he purchased. He packed the mule’s saddlebags with everything from hardtack to canned peaches, coffee, and evaporated milk. He also got some blankets and a tarp. An Indian family could have made it through a winter on what he purchased.
“I think this is about all the animal can carry. Do you want to say good-bye to Isabella before you go?” The sun had fallen low in the sky. Moon Song wished to get away from the fort and the eyes of the men as quickly as possible. In her opinion, she had already stayed too long.
“I say good-bye plenty,” she said. “Isabella with white women now.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Skypilot looked miserable standing there with his pack mule. “Give this to your grandmother with my thanks. Tell her that her granddaughter saved my life.”
Moon Song smiled. “Oh, Fallen Arrow like squirrel with nut, digging meat out until nothing left. Grandmother not stop until she know everything.”
“Everything?” His eyes searched her face.
“Maybe not.” Moon Song smiled. “I not tell her I kiss you on night of the wolves.”
It was the first time she’d acknowledged that the kiss had ever occurred. “Moon Song . . . let me come with you.”
“No!”
No? The woman was so adamant, she nearly hurt his feelings. In fact, it would have hurt his feelings if her eyes had not told him how hard this was for her. Did she love him too? He thought she might.
Her voice softened. “Indian woman always think white man not leave.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You love Moon Song now?” She cocked her head to one side. “Think maybe marry?”
“I’ll admit that the thought’s crossed my mind.”
“No.”
“I didn’t propose to you.”
“Good.”
“All I did was offer to walk you home.”
“White man. Indian woman.” She shook her head sadly. “Not good. White man leave some day. Always.”
“Your husband was half white and you married him.” Skypilot was immediately on the defensive, but he also couldn’t believe they were having this argument. He had not said a word about marriage to her and hadn’t planned to. At least not yet.
“Husband also half Menomenee. French-Canadian father leave him and mother. Make him a very sad little boy.” She turned to leave. “Go home. Go home.”
Saying good-bye to Moon Song was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. The injuries he’d sustained the winter before when the falling tree hit him were insignificant compared to the pain he felt in his heart as she prepared to leave him.
As he watched her walk away, memories of their recent time together flooded his mind. He had never known any woman who could be so many different people wrapped up in one lovely package. He remembered the Moon Song who was the half-wild Indian woman he’d kept from killing the man she called Stink Breath. Then his mind flew to the half-frozen girl who had curled up in his arms after she’d swum the frigid water
s of Lake Superior to save them. The tender mother caring for her child so faithfully. The wood sprite he’d admired, standing like a crane poised to spear a fish. The childlike woman who had created a tea party by pretending to put sugar and cream into their birch bark cups of tea. And most of all, the woman who had kissed him so passionately the night he had saved her from the wolves, and then pretended even more passionately that it had never happened.
All he knew was that whoever she was—he loved her. He would always love her.
“You’re wrong,” he shouted. He could not let her disappear without saying it. “If we were married, Moon Song, I would never leave. Ever.”
In reply, she simply waved a hand above her head without turning around, as though dismissing him.
Blast the woman! She had guessed correctly. He was in love with her. He did want to marry her and live with her forever . . . except for one very big thing that had been troubling him from the day he first realized he was starting to think about her as more than a little sister to be protected. It was the one thing that kept him from rushing after her and proposing right then and there.
Whose God would they found their life together on? He would not ever abandon his, and he wasn’t sure she would ever abandon the religion she had been taught.
He’d tried to gently teach her about Christ, but he’d been too careful. All he’d really done—coward that he was—was read her Bible stories, hoping the power of the Word itself would help her believe. He did not want to coerce her into believing something simply in order to make him happy. If they were ever to be together, he wanted it to be real to her.
The problem was, he had never needed to convince someone who had absolutely no concept of Jesus that he was the Son of God. He didn’t know how to do this. He’d spent his entire life with people who had at least a basic understanding of the Bible, even if they chose to live their lives apart from it.
The Chippewa did not live in a spiritual vacuum. He knew that fact from a conversation he’d had with Father Slovic. The priest had said that they followed a very ancient and intricate woodland religion. Even more worrisome, Slovic had found that sometimes they lived their lives with more integrity than many of the whites who had infiltrated their country. This made Slovic’s job infinitely more difficult.
Skypilot had been trying to figure out how to approach the subject with her for months, and now he had run out of time. All he had managed to do was teach her some Bible stories. He had no idea if the two of them would ever believe the same, but if they actually ever married and had children, he did not want them to be raised by a mother who thought Jesus was nothing more than a character in a storybook.
Slovic had seen that he cared for her, and had privately asked him three questions. Was he willing to live with an Indian woman as his wife for the rest of his life? Absolutely. Was he willing to live in a wigwam for the rest of his life in order to be with her? If he was with Moon Song, of course . . . although he was confident he could build a decent cabin for them. Was he willing to marry someone who did not share his belief in a risen Christ and salvation?
No, and there was no guarantee she ever would. He couldn’t chance it. Not yet. But if only she would let him travel the rest of the way with her, maybe he would find a way to talk with her in such a way that she would understand the miracle that had happened on the cross. Maybe God would give him the words.
He desperately needed the extra time that accompanying her to her people would give him, and so he caught up with her.
“Moon Song!” He grasped her arm. “Stop! Please let me go with you. Just to make sure you’re safe. That’s all. Then I’ll leave.”
She stopped but did not look at him. Instead, she stroked the mule’s nose.
“Thank you for this gift,” she said. “It will make Grandmother very happy. Perhaps I will teach him how to plow the ground. It seems that the white government wants Chippewas to become farmers now.”
He remembered the Chippewa braves Slovic had told them about who had been forced to become potato farmers. He had seen a cloud cross her face when she heard that and he’d wondered what she was thinking. Now he knew. From the tone of her voice, she was not happy.
“I’m sorry, Moon Song.”
“Not your fault. I go to my people now.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were pleading. “Go home. I cannot bear much more and still so many miles to walk.”
He finally saw what he was doing to her and gave up. He would not allow his own selfish need to be with her to cause her any more pain.
“What will you do when you get back to the reservation?”
“I will miss you, Skypilot.” Her eyes grew soft as she gazed up at him. “We have made many good memories together.”
“I can hardly bear the thought of never . . .”
And then she astonished him once again by standing on tiptoe and giving him a quick, fleeting kiss on the lips. “You are a man who prays much.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then pray for me, my friend,” she said. “Because I do not think my life will be easy.”
“I will never stop praying for you.”
She nodded in acceptance of this, tugged on the mule’s harness, and turned away.
Watching that slim body walk away from him was wrenching, and yet he watched until he could no longer see the eyes of that sweet baby to whom he had grown so attached. He watched until he heard the sound of the steamship whistle blowing a warning blast, and he knew he would have to get on that boat or lose his mind and run after this woman who had asked him not to follow her.
He watched until her figure disappeared altogether, and then his heart quietly fell into a thousand pieces.
“This would have been an interesting place to live,” Isabella said as the ship pulled away from Copper Harbor. “I would have enjoyed getting to know the other women of the fort better. They were so kind to me the short time we were here.”
“Did you have any trouble getting the trunks you had sent ahead deposited on the ship?” He was trying to make conversation, but it was difficult. His mind was on Moon Song. His mind would probably always be on Moon Song. It felt so strange to be separate from her.
Isabella smiled. “It is not difficult for a widowed colonel’s wife to get soldiers to carry things for her. The trunks are all safe and sound, although I have no idea what I’ll do with them.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Are you asking if I’m going to lose my mind again and steal someone’s baby?”
Her comment made him uncomfortable, but he answered it truthfully. “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m asking.”
“I don’t think so.” Isabella looked at the fort as it receded into the distance. “But I honestly don’t know what I might do. I never doubted my sanity before, but that episode has shaken me. I suppose any of us might lose our minds under the right circumstances.”
“I suppose. For instance, right now I’m seriously considering jumping over this railing, swimming back to land, and going after Moon Song. That’s pretty crazy. Right?”
“Completely insane.” Isabella leaned against the railing. “She was magnificent though, wasn’t she? I’ll never forget her as long as I live. We both owe her our lives.”
The lump in his throat felt like it might choke him. He gulped it down and went to find his cabin. He couldn’t bear to talk about her anymore. Not even with Isabella.
In a few hours, the steamship stopped in Marquette, and Skypilot and Isabella once again accepted a few hours of the priest’s hospitality.
While Mrs. Veachy prepared food and visited with Isabella, Father Slovic invited Skypilot to a small shed behind his house where he had a pair of snowshoes in need of repair. Skypilot had noticed the man seldom sat still. Even when he was talking or listening, he was usually moving.
“If I were a Chippewa brave,” Slovic said after they’d gotten seated and he’d begun the repairs, “I would have a squaw who would expect to string my snowshoes for me. T
his is considered women’s work among the Chippewas.”
“I’m sure there are many Chippewa women you could hire to do so.”
“Yes, but then what would I do when I’m traveling alone through these woods if these break? I have found it best to master many skills that were not taught in seminary.”
“True.” Skypilot’s thoughts turned to Moon Song. If she didn’t know how to make a pair of snowshoes, he’d eat his hat.
The priest glanced up at him. “A marriage with that girl would not work, you know.”
Skypilot sighed. “My head knows you’re right,” he said. “But my heart doesn’t seem to want to agree with you.”
“The northwoods is such a harsh place. The insects alone are enough to drive a man mad during some seasons. There are animals that have never seen a human and have no fear of them. There is the snow, so many months of snow. You have not seen snow and cold until you have lived a winter in the Upper Peninsula. Then there is Lake Superior. So beautiful and yet so deadly.”
Skypilot listened respectfully. Slovic was trying to tell him something important, but it was hard to give it much weight when all he could think about was the beautiful Chippewa girl he so desperately missed.
“The problem is, Father, I love her.”
“No doubt.” The priest’s hands were surprisingly dexterous as he wove the sinew back and forth in the snowshoes. “I have watched many well-intentioned white men marry Indian women and start families, only to abandon them later. There has been enormous tragedy because of this. It may be easy for some men to leave a native wife after they have grown tired of her, but it has not always been so easy to walk away from one’s children with her. Many mixed-blood children have been taken from their mothers by white fathers who believed it to be their right to do so.”
“I would never do something like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You are a reasonable and kind man. You would never put her at that kind of risk. Not all men are like you.”
Under a Blackberry Moon Page 16