This Fierce Loving

by French, Judith E.

  She sighed. “I suppose he must. I’ll get the berries if you’ll—”

  “As you command, ki-te-hi. Unless you’d rather do the fishing?”

  She shook her head. “Not without a fishing pole and line. The water in that stream is much too cold. That’s your job.”

  “Always does the wife stay by the fire in comfort while her man must brave cold and danger.”

  Rebecca glanced about the sunny meadow and erupted into laughter. And only after he had gone to catch the meal did she let the word wife rise in the back of her mind like the throbbing of a sore tooth. She was Talon’s wife in her heart, but so long as Simon Brandt lived she could never be Talon’s wife in the eyes of her church. Or in her own mind . . . not really . . .

  But her marriage to Simon was an ache that could be hidden away. She refused to let it spoil this paradise and the golden days and nights with Talon. What couldn’t be changed must be lived with, her nurse had always said. She would live with this old pain, and rejoice in the happiness she had found and the new delights she was experiencing every day.

  And when Talon finally decided they must return to the Mecate village, Rebecca gathered her few belongings without protest and made ready to travel.

  He promised her that they would come here again, and that this would always be their special place of healing. And in Rebecca’s mind, her new life as a Shawnee woman began not in the sweatbath of the village, but here in this magical glen.

  When they reached the camp, they were welcomed with feasting and dance. Rebecca’s adopted mother, Squash Blossom, put aside her mourning for Siipu and organized the women to build a wigwam for the new couple.

  Summer days slipped by like raindrops dripping from the lodgepole. Rebecca joined the women in the fields, hoeing the young corn and squash and training bean vines to grow up the cornstalks. She gathered berries and wild grapes and dried them for winter, sharing her recipes for cooking and preserving as she learned new ones from Squash Blossom and Fox’s cousin, Shell Bead Girl.

  Before Rebecca realized it, the first leaves of autumn had begun to turn red. The air took on a crisp scent, and the men began to hunt deer. It was a good time of the year. The rains had come, and the cornfields stood heavy with grain. There had been no sickness, and no young men had gone away to make war. And day by day, the Shawnee village had seemed more like home to Rebecca.

  Often Fox, Counts His Scalps, and Shell Bead Girl would come to Rebecca and Talon’s wigwam to share a late evening meal. There would be laughter and good food, and sometimes tears, as the friends shared old memories and made others. Shell Bead Girl was close to Rebecca’s age, and she spoke perfect English. A divorced woman, Shell Bead Girl, had returned from her husband’s village in late winter. She had married a handsome Mandan, but when they had no children, he had taken a second wife. Shell Bead Girl—Shell, as Rebecca came to call her—had decided that she missed home and family.

  “There are three mighty hunters here at this fire,” Rebecca teased on one such night after Fox and Talon returned from hunting empty handed. This afternoon, she and Shell Bead Girl had caught a huge catfish in the river and broiled it over the fire. Fresh corn on the cob was roasting in green husks, and a rabbit stew bubbled in the pot. “You might choose a new husband from one of these bachelors,” Rebecca continued in broken Algonquian. Her mastery of the Indian language was improving every day, and she could understand most of what was said so long as Talon or Shell filled in the words she didn’t know.

  Counts scowled. Rebecca was just getting used to his new appearance. Counts wore two black stripes of mourning across his lower face, and he had plucked all the hair from his head except for a handful in the center.

  That scalplock Counts had let grow long. He braided it with strips of black fur and hair from the tail of a horse, extending the length so that it fell to his waist. All along the false switch he had woven in tiny bones and eagle claws. He had also plucked his eyebrows completely away and ringed both eyes with yellow circles. Talon had told Rebecca that Counts had assumed this new persona because he took his shaman studies seriously and wanted to appear forbidding. But for a long time, she’d found it hard to keep from laughing when she looked at him.

  “There are two hunters at this fire and one holy man,” Fox said with a straight face. “Perhaps my cousin’s smile could turn Counts to the appreciation of women.”

  Counts grunted. “Shell Bead Girl makes a corn cake like no other,” he admitted, “and for a woman, she is comely. But this man is in mourning for another, the one whose name we may not say. If this man was one who cared for the company of women—which he is not—Shell Bead Girl would not be a bad choice.”

  “This person wants no husband,” Shell said. “At least not yet. In winter, when the cold wind creeps down the smoke hole, who can tell?”

  Talon laughed. “More than one woman who thought she did not want a husband has changed her mind.” His gaze met Rebecca’s, and he motioned toward Fox who struck a pose. Rebecca nodded vigorously as she and Talon laughed together like old married folk who share a secret jest.

  “I would have Talon as first choice,” Shell mused, pretending to ignore their teasing game, “but he and I are of the same clan and can never marry. Counts is a brave man and a skilled hunter. I know that he will be a great medicine man, but he would never make a good husband. Any woman who married him would be jealous when he was in the company of warriors.”

  “With good reason,” Talon said.

  They all laughed at that, even Counts.

  “And Fox is Fox,” she continued. “He is a good hunter, and they say he is brave in battle—although this woman has never seen this for herself. But it is hard to think of sharing a sleeping platform with a man who has a face like a new moon, a face that every girl fancies. I love him well, my cousin Fox, but he is not the man I would choose for a husband.”

  “I think Shell comes here to get away from suitors,” Fox retorted. “Many Bellies desires her for his second wife. Didn’t he give your mother a necklace of copper and an iron pot?”

  Shell Bead Girl patted a corn cake and laid it on a rock to cook. “Many Bellies can give my mother a forest of iron kettles. He has breath like a redcoat, and his hands are cold.”

  “All the more reason to consider Counts’ fine qualities,” Talon teased.

  Rebecca handed him a plate of fish and stew and their fingers brushed as he took it from her. Her pulse quickened at the charge of excitement that passed between them. She raised her eyes to his, thrilling at the sensual promise of the long night to come that she read there. I do love him, she thought. I love him with all my heart and soul.

  She had not been sorry that she’d come to Indian country with this good man. He was all the things to her that Simon hadn’t been. She didn’t know how she could ever have considered Talon a savage.

  He was a kind and thoughtful husband, rarely ill-tempered or impatient with her. He went out of his way to be generous with members of the tribe who needed meat or skins, or just a helping hand. And if he spent days with his companions, he also took time with her alone.

  Just the week before, they had returned from a three-day trip downstream to gather salt. They had taken food with them in their canoe and had camped beside the river at night. He had shown her the mist on the Ohio as he had promised, and he had taken her to a spot where a pair of eagles nested and raised their young.

  No, she was not sorry she had come with Talon. He had awakened in her a passionate nature that she had no idea she possessed. He was a lover such as women dream of—an ardent man who thought of her pleasures before his own. And if she went to hell for her sins of the flesh and for committing her soul to Talon, then she would gladly pay the price.

  Her only regret was that she hadn’t met him years before. If Colin had grown up at Talon’s side instead of Simon’s, her brother would have had a much happier childhood.

  Thoughts of Colin saddened her, and she forced herself to listen to the jo
ke Fox was telling. After he’d finished and they’d all laughed, Shell Bead Girl complimented her on the seasoning of the fish, and they were soon engaged in a discussion about the merits of wild mushrooms and the best places to find the nonpoisonous ones.

  “We tire of this idle cooking chatter,” Counts grumbled. “Shell Bead Girl is a reciter of old stories. Tell us a tale, one to hold a warrior’s attention.”

  “Yes,” Fox agreed, “Tell us why maxkw the brown bear walks on two legs.”

  “Not that one,” Talon said. “Tell us about the bride who wanted to please her husband.”

  “Who is the story teller?” Shell Bead Girl chided. “Who shall decide? And who shall be still and listen?” She glanced around the circle at the now silent men. “Once,” she began, “long ago when the world was young, the Lenape, our grandfathers, lived in a land to the east.”

  Talon leaned back against the sleeping platform and took a puff from his pipe. The bowl was carved from a single piece of green stone in the shape of a wolf’s head. He passed the pipe to Counts, and the tobacco smoke drifted across the fire to the place where Rebecca knelt on a thick fur rug. It was a sweet odor, not so strong as the Virginia tobacco, and she found it oddly comforting.

  Firelight reflected from Talon’s dark eyes and again a shaft of desire thrust deep into her core. It was not the Shawnee way for a husband and wife to show public affection for each other, but his love for her filled this wigwam and everyone who entered knew it.

  “. . . the people forgot the Supreme Being who created them and disobeyed his laws,” Shell continued softly. “They argued among themselves and each man and woman greedily kept what food and adornments they had acquired for themselves. But there were among them those wise ones who remembered the teachings . . .”

  Rebecca passed a basket of dried berries to Talon. They had found thickets of blueberries on their trip to gather salt. They had picked and eaten until both had lips stained blue like naughty children. Later, Talon had darkened her nipples with berry juice. She sighed with pleasure, wondering if she might someday repeat the process at Talon’s expense.

  “Mountains cracked and spewed forth molten fire and rock,” Shell Bead Girl said. “Many people died horribly. Those who did not fled to the shore of the great sea. There waves . . .”

  Rebecca nibbled at a honey-sweetened corn cake. There was a full moon tonight, a hunter’s moon, Talon called it. She sometimes lost track of the days of the week, but the moon was constant. It told her that two full cycles had passed without her bleeding time. And she decided that tonight would be the time to tell Talon that they were expecting a child.

  She had doubted that she was in the family way because she’d not been sick, not once. But her appetite had grown tremendously; she was constantly hungry. And now, her breasts felt fuller and more sensitive.

  As much as she enjoyed the company of Fox and Shell Bead Girl, yes, and even of grumpy Counts His Scalps, she wanted to be alone with Talon to tell him her wonderful news. She didn’t doubt for an instant that he would be as happy as she was. And she didn’t doubt that their child, boy or girl, would grow up a Shawnee, as wild and bold as their father and as ignorant of Irish customs as a gray fox.

  Shell Bead Girl’s voice paused for a few seconds of dramatic silence, then took up the story again. “When all seemed lost, there suddenly arose from the sea a mighty turtle with a back so broad and—”

  “Talon!” Someone threw back the deerskin door flap. “Talon,” came an urgent whisper from outside.

  He came instantly alert. “This man is here,” he answered. “Who calls?”

  “Mountain Horse.” The young brave appeared in the entrance, his face clearly showing his alarm. “White men come,” he said. “Arm yourself. We have need of the war chief.”

  An icy numbness splashed over Rebecca. “Talon, be careful,” she said. He reached for his musket, and she quickly gathered his hunting bag and powderhorn.

  “Go to Squash Blossom’s wigwam,” he ordered. “She will know what to do.” For an instant, he gripped her hand, and then he was gone. Fox and Counts followed him without a word.

  “My mother will need me,” Shell Bead Girl said. “You are welcome to come with us.”

  “Just because white men have been sighted,” Rebecca said, “that doesn’t mean—”

  “It means that we must take care. This is Shawnee country. Any who come here without invitation must be considered enemies.”

  “We’re too far from the settlements,” Rebecca continued, trying to convince herself that everything would be as it was . . . that Talon hadn’t gone out to shoot men and be shot in turn . . . that her worst nightmare hadn’t come true.

  “We are far,” Shell agreed, and then she shrugged. “Who knows if it is far enough from the white tide?”

  “What must I do?”

  “Pack food and . . . do you have a weapon?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca answered. “A pistol.”

  “Take a skinning knife, your fire kit, and a blanket,” Shell Bead Girl said. “Never, never, be without them. If we have to flee the village, they could save your life.”

  “Pray God, we don’t.” They could hardly pick up the cornfields or the dried meat and fish and berries and run with that, Rebecca thought. All summer the Shawnee had put away food for the winter. What would they do if it was destroyed? The houses burned? How would the children live without warm shelters and winter clothing? How would any of them?

  Squash Blossom met them just outside the wigwam. “Come quickly,” she said to Rebecca. “We must take the little ones into the forest. They say that it is Simon Brandt and his militia. Rabbit Running said that—”

  Rebecca heard only Simon’s name. It was true. He had come to destroy her world . . . her one chance at happiness.

  A musket blast echoed through the night, followed closely by another, and a man’s scream of pain. Somewhere in a nearby wigwam, an infant began to cry.

  “Quick!” Squash Blossom shouted. “There is little time.”

  More gunshots sounded.

  Shell Bead Girl pointed to the sky. “Look,” she said. “The moon. Blood spills across the moon.”

  Rebecca’s skin prickled as she stared up at the red clouds that marred the surface of the golden disk.

  “A bad omen,” Squash Blossom said.

  “For them or for us?” Shell Bead Girl murmured.

  Women and children ran from the wigwams. Dogs barked. An old man slipped and fell to his knees, and Squash Blossom and Shell Bead Girl hurried to his side to help him up.

  “Run,” White Stone called to her. The girl had a sleeping baby in her arms. “Run for the cedar thicket.”

  Another family group dashed by. Rebecca recognized the mother and one of the children. They were tugging at the hands of an elderly, white-haired woman who seemed confused. “It’s cold,” she protested. “I’m sleepy. I don’t want to go out. Let me sleep.”

  “Come, Grandmother,” the oldest girl pleaded. “You must come with us. There is . . .”

  Rebecca couldn’t make out the last of what was said. She looked from Squash Blossom and Shell back toward the woods where there was obviously a fight going on. Shouts and rifle fire continued to resound through the village.

  Then Rebecca heard what could only be the thudding of hooves on the earth and a riderless horse galloped through the town, sending women and children scattering before it. The terrified animal skidded to a halt and reared as the village dogs circled it, barking furiously. As the horse rose up and pawed the air, Rebecca saw an arrow protruding from its neck. She dropped her bundle and tucked the pistol into her belt.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” she soothed, walking toward the bay. His eyes rolled back in his head, showing the whites, and foam trailed from his nostrils. “Get back,” she commanded the dogs as she grabbed for the trailing reins. “Down!” The dogs ignored her commands until she realized that she was shouting to them in English.

  Shell Bead Girl came to her aid,
clapping her hand and driving off the fiercest of the curs. Rebecca seized the reins and took a firm hold on the bridle. The horse threw back his head and snorted, but his next attempt to rear up was only a half-hearted one.

  From what she could see by moonlight, the arrow was only partially buried in the horse’s thick hide. Her hands closed around the shaft, she gave a quick jerk, and the arrow came out. “It’s all right,” she soothed the horse. “It’s all right.” She handed the reins to Shell. “Tie him to a tree,” she ordered. “I’m going to . . .”

  She left the rest unfinished. She didn’t know what she was going to do, only that she couldn’t stay here and hide like a rabbit in a hole. If Talon was in danger, she had to go to him.

  “Ku!” Shell Bead Girl called after her. “No! Don’t go . . .”

  Her words were lost as Rebecca ran past the last wigwam and into the forest. She had no trouble seeing in the bright moonlight, and there was no doubt which way to go. She had gone only a short way when she saw Counts His Scalps bending over a sprawled figure with a knife in his hand.

  “Where’s Talon?” she cried.

  Counts turned toward her. His painted face was a demon’s mask of vengeance, and she went cold with fear. “Go with the women!” he said. “This is no place for you.”

  “Talon?” she begged. A steel trade hatchet lay beside the still figure.

  “Spare no pity for this English dog,” Counts spat. “He killed Raven Song. The boy had not seen his twelfth summer.”

  Raven’s childish face rose in Rebecca’s mind. His eyes were big and brown, and always laughing. She could not contain a sob. “Is Simon Brandt here? Did you see him?” she demanded.

  “Who do you weep for, Sweet Water?” He glared at her in disgust. “Go back to the women.” He picked up the ax.

  She ignored him. Pulling her pistol free, she darted off through the trees.

  “Stop!” Counts shouted, but she paid him no heed.

  A white man in buckskins loomed up before her. She opened her mouth to scream as he raised the butt of his musket to strike her in the face. Then a musket roared behind her, and her attacker was gone. She dodged his fallen body and ran on.