CHAPTER 10
Family
On the day after the gauntlet, Jesse was summoned to Soquili’s parents’ house for a meal. I was curious, wanting to watch their reaction to this new son. I had expected suspicion, aloofness maybe, but I was perfectly wrong—at least, in Salali’s case. We stepped inside, and she embraced me, then Soquili. He gestured toward Jesse, who followed us in and frowned mutely, glancing around the house with a critical eye.
He looked horrible. Most of his face was a dark mottled purple, swollen despite the leeches I’d reapplied. I’d set his broken nose, but for now he could only breathe through his mouth. He limped and held one arm against his stomach. He no longer wore a shirt, since his had been beyond saving after the gauntlet. The Cherokee didn’t seem to notice.
Salali, her deep eyes liquid with something I couldn’t imagine, held out her arms as if Jesse truly was a long-lost son, rather than a newly discovered white man. She grabbed his damaged hands before he had time to pull them away and gazed up at him with an expression of sheer joy.
“My son. My heart is full of happiness. Welcome home.”
He stared at her, then glanced toward me for help. I smiled. “She just welcomed you. She believes you are her son, returned to her.” I tilted my head and gave him a crooked smile. “Though, personally, I don’t see the resemblance.”
“Ha, ha,” he said wryly, trying not to smile and split his lip in the doing of it. “So what do I do now?”
“I think you should say something nice to her.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Think of something, and I’ll tell her.”
“Fine.” He pointed at the pot over the hearth. “Tell her she ain’t as ugly as some of the others here. Then tell her I ain’t eatin’ none of that. Far as I know, it’s part of one of my friends she just cooked up.”
Without batting an eye, I turned to Soquili and his mother. “Jesse says he is honoured to be with you and has missed your cooking greatly.”
Soquili’s eyes narrowed. He’d caught some of Jesse’s words but wisely chose to keep quiet. Salali grinned and threw her arms around Jesse, then started crying. I hadn’t expected that. Jesse looked entirely bewildered.
“Stand still,” I said at his panicked expression.
Jesse was almost a foot taller than Salali, so when her tears calmed, she had to look up to study his face. Her tough copper hands caressed his tender, bristled cheeks, her gentle fingers floated over his bruises and cuts. She traced his eyebrows with her thumbs, then touched the soft spring of his hair with her palms.
“What—” he started.
“Hush,” I said. “Be kind if you can. I told her you were happy to be here.”
He arched one eyebrow at me. “You’re a liar.”
“No, I’m not,” I replied, maintaining a cool smile. “I imagine you’re happier to be here than you would be tied to a stake.”
A movement caught my eye, and I spied Soquili’s father, Ahtlee-Kwi-duhsgah, sitting cross-legged and silent at the back of the house. In his stillness he almost blended into the dark wood. Jesse followed my gaze.
“Your new father,” I murmured. “Don’t try his temper.”
Jesse’s eyes burned as he squinted at the older man, and I watched for Ahtlee’s response. There was none. I hadn’t expected one, really. The man was a sturdy, stubborn twin of his son Wahyaw, and one of the smartest people I’d ever met. He spoke little but knew much.
“Come,” Salali said cheerfully in Cherokee, grabbing our attention again. “Please sit. Soquili?”
Soquili nodded, then went to the back of the house. Jesse and I sat with Salali, waiting in silence as she beamed at him. Soquili returned and handed Jesse a bundle wrapped in deerskin. Jesse stared at it, looking unsure.
“A gift,” I said.
“Yeah. I can see that. What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jesse,” I hissed. “Open it up and look at what they have given you.”
He unfolded the deerskin, and his eyes widened at what he saw within. The first item was a shirt. His face reflected surprise, then appreciation.
“Tell her thanks,” he said, managing a hint of a smile at Salali before he slid the shirt over his head. I passed along his message, then tried to help him with the sleeves, but he shrugged me off, stubborn despite his wounds. He returned to the bundle, pulling out a new blanket, a breechclout—which he immediately set aside with a scowl—a pair of buckskin leggings, and moccasins.
Salali handed him a bowl of stew, which he sniffed carefully. Since he was the guest of honour, he was to be the first to eat, so we all sat waiting. He glanced nervously at me, then finally spooned up some of the meat and started to chew, wincing as the bruises on his face made themselves felt. Salali watched his expression carefully, as if his judgement of her cooking was vastly important. In a silence that must have seemed huge to Jesse, we watched him swallow. He smiled vaguely at all of us, then dug back in, eating as if he hadn’t seen food for days—which, of course, he hadn’t. He even graced Salali with the occasional smile between bites.
We didn’t speak much until afterward, then it was Salali who spoke, with me translating.
“It is good to have you among us, Jesse. You do not look like my son, but your spirit is his. Soquili brought you home, and I am grateful to him for that. You have made an old woman happy.”
I turned to Salali. “You’re not old.”
“Ah, Ad-layd. But sometimes I feel older than the Grandmother.”
I smiled at her. “This man is fortunate to have you for a mother.”
“And I am fortunate to have you as a daughter,” she teased, flicking one eyebrow.
“Oh, not you, too! You know I am not ready to marry, Salali.”
“No, but you will someday.”
“Perhaps.”
“What’s she saying?” Jesse demanded. “Is it about me?”
“No,” I snapped. “It’s about me.”
Salali beamed at Jesse, and I continued to translate. “Soquili tells me you will not cut your hair. That is all right. My son wore feathers in his hair, and yours is already gold like the sunshine. We will cut your ears, though, and maybe give you paint.”
“What?”
I nodded. “They want to pierce your ears and give you a tattoo, but she’ll leave your hair as it is.”
He looked as if I’d just suggested he leap off a cliff. “A tattoo? That’s for savages.”
“Like it or not, you are one of the Cherokee now. I suppose that makes you a savage.” I tried to appear nonchalant. “Like me.”
He frowned at me, opening his mouth slightly as if he weren’t sure how to react. “You’re no savage.”
“Exactly,” I replied, grinning. “Neither are they. You’re the most savage creature here.”
“Hey!” he objected, looking injured. “I’ve behaved.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, you have. You’ve done well.”
Salali began speaking again. “We have more gifts for you, son.”
A quiet shuffling came from the back of the house as Ahtlee rose, carrying with him another bundle, this one wrapped in a dark deerskin. There was something about just watching Ahtlee approach that made it feel like a ceremony. Soquili stood beside his father and glared down his nose at Jesse. Confused, Jesse struggled to his feet, wincing when his wounded thigh twisted. I stood up as well and tried to disappear beside the three of them, feeling strangely like an intruder, though the conversation couldn’t have worked without my translations.
Soquili glanced at me, looking slightly self-conscious, then spoke in his choppy English.
“Jess-see. I welcome you. A white man killed my brother, but now a white man is my brother.” He looked at me, shrugging slightly and looking adorably sheepish. I nodded. You’re doing well. Reas
sured, he looked back at Jesse, frowning slightly. “You stand in his place. You and I have same friends and fight same enemies.”
Jesse said nothing, but stood perfectly still, studying Soquili and his father with the unblinking stare of a cougar. The words Soquili had meant as a welcome had the opposite effect on Jesse. The atmosphere grew so taut between the three men that when I cleared my throat it seemed the air shuddered like a plucked bowstring. Rage crackled behind the golden eyes, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t react. Soquili turned toward Ahtlee, who held out the bundle, then folded back the deerskin cover and inspected the contents.
Jesse’s eyes flickered in my direction. He glared at me and muttered, “I ain’t no damn Injun.”
“For you,” Soquili said. With formal elegance, he handed Jesse the rifle that had originally been taken from him during his capture. He followed up with both powder and shot. Jesse stared at the weapon in his hands, frowning with disbelief. Then Soquili gave him a tomahawk and a knife, adding a leather leg holster as well. I studied Jesse’s shocked expression, felt the rush of blood through his veins as if it were my own. I could practically see the thoughts spinning through his mind as he worked out a plan to use these very weapons to slaughter us all and take to the hills.
“Don’t do it,” I quietly advised.
He turned his swollen face slowly toward mine. The lines beside his eyes were tight with grief, anger, desperation, and his voice was low when he spoke through his teeth. “Why not? Why shouldn’t I? They ruined my life years ago.”
“These people aren’t who killed your family. You described those warriors to me. They weren’t Cherokee.”
“They’re all Injuns, Adelaide. You and me, we’re white. We’re not meant to mix. You know that.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know that. These people treat me better than white people ever did.”
“Ad-layd?” Soquili said, curious.
I held Jesse’s gaze a moment longer, then I turned to Soquili and spoke in Cherokee. “He is not ready for this, Soquili. He does not understand and carries much hate for Indians who killed his other family. He is very angry. I fear his rage.”
Soquili nodded, then examined Jesse closer, through narrowed eyes, considering the clenched jaw and hostile expression. “Then I will watch him, Ad-layd. But this is a good thing. An angry man is a strong man. My brother was the strongest of all.”
“But he was not angry,” I objected.
Soquili shrugged. “He could be angry. And if white people killed my family, I would be angry like this Jesse.”
Why couldn’t they see this was a mistake? “An angry man may be strong,” I said, “but he is difficult to predict. He can be foolish and dangerous. Do you still want him?”
Soquili looked at his mother, who shut her eyes, leaving the decision to him. His gaze passed over me and rested on Jesse. He nodded. “I believe it is right. If I am wrong, he will not live. If he runs, he will not live. So he should make me right, and not run.”
I smiled. “That makes sense.”
“We shall see,” Soquili said. He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Do you see him as your husband?”
“Stop saying that,” I hissed. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
Jesse’s eyes snapped between Soquili and me, trying to follow our tone, if not our words. I glared at him. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Tomorrow I shall take him hunting,” Soquili declared, smiling broadly. “I will teach him.”
I crossed my arms. “Could you perhaps wait until his leg heals a bit? He can barely walk.”
He frowned, then shrugged. “Fine. Two days from now, we shall go.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, sure. Two days, and he’ll be good as new.”
“What’s he saying?” Jesse demanded. When I told him, the corners of Jesse’s mouth curled in a derisive grin. “He wants to teach me how to hunt? That should be interesting. What are we hunting?”
By now I’d had enough of translating for two impossible men. “Something big and dangerous, no doubt.” I rolled my eyes. “Something guaranteed to prove you both very manly, I’m sure.”
After that, I did everything I could to stay away from Jesse. Maybe he’d escape. In fact, maybe I should help him escape. If he left the village, I wouldn’t have to marry anyone.
PART 2
Jesse
CHAPTER 11
Daylight
Something soft hit his eyelid, and Jesse’s eyes sprang open. “What the—”
A pair of light green eyes, pupils dilated with curiosity, stared down at him. Delicately bowed whiskers twitched on either side of a light brown nose. Seeing Jesse was awake, the triangular ears perked forward with anticipation.
Jesse shoved the cat away. “Get off,” he snarled, then winced as his lip split. Again. He had just shut his eyes and started to doze again when two more lightning-fast whacks struck his eyelids. This time, the cat bounced out of reach when he grabbed for it. Growling, Jesse sat up, then immediately regretted moving.
Everything hurt. Someone was beating a hammer inside his head, hitting louder and harder with every strike. Both eyes throbbed and were swollen almost completely shut. He poked gingerly around his face, grimacing when he felt the extent of the swelling. That white girl—what was her name? Adelaide. Adelaide had set his nose—God, he remembered the grating agony as she’d worked it back into place. He still couldn’t breathe through it. His thigh felt as if a hot poker had been shoved into it and was being slowly rotated. And his mouth . . . Lord, his mouth was dry as death. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. The sensation was stifling, like he was suffocating. He turned in desperation, searching for something wet.
There. A small clay cup, filled to the brim with water. His hand shook as he reached for it, his stiff fingers closed around the vessel, and he cursed himself every time he spilled a drop. He used both hands, making sure he brought the water to his lips, then sucked it back. He tasted iron with the water and gulped more down. Blood from his lip. Didn’t matter. When he finished, he hung his head over his bent knees and closed his eyes. Blindly, he set the cup back on the mat beside him, letting the time and place get a grip on his senses again. He was still here, with the damn Injuns. Cherokee, she’d called them.
And he was still alive. What would his father say to that? Probably call him a liar and club him over the head.
Sweet Jesus. That couldn’t make him hurt more than he already did.
Jesse slowly turned his head, careful not to strain his injuries, and studied the room, taking in the details. The sweltering building was a welcome change from the tent where they’d first tossed him, though he’d never admit that out loud. Dried corn hung from the rafters, and baskets of food were set in neat rows against the dark wood walls of the house. In the centre of the room, a tiny circle of embers glowed, dining on sticks and twigs. The little fire provided the only sounds in the place, tiny sizzles and pops that were barely there. Any other noises came from outside.
If it had been raining, he would have heard drops pattering on the thatch overhead. As it was, the sun beamed across the floor with invitation. Three giggling little faces peered through the door, round cheeks flushed, then vanished with squeals of excitement when he glowered at them. The cat returned, this time soft with persuasion, pressing her nose with suggestion under his hand. Jesse absently stroked the tiger-striped fur while he watched the activity outside.
Where was the girl? Without her, he was lost. These people and their strange language scratched his ears, making no sense in his brain. What was he expected to do? Was anyone going to come and check on him?
He groaned and pushed tentatively to his feet, grasping at the wall for support. The cat twitched the long crook of her tail and, sensing the end of attentions, disappeared outside. Jesse hardly noticed her leaving. Willing h
is feet to step one in front of the other was a mental exercise. They hardly felt as if they belonged to him, the pain was so foreign. Sure, he’d been beat before, plenty of times. But he couldn’t recall anything ever feeling quite this bad. He was amazed nothing besides his nose had been broken. At least nothing that he’d noticed. Maybe a rib or two, but Adelaide hadn’t said anything about that. Sure could have used Doc right about now.
Lifting his arm as a shield from the blinding sun, Jesse stepped outside. The three children hadn’t run far, and now shrieked again, seeming deliriously happy to see the monster on his feet and lurching in their direction. He looked beyond them, then across the expanse of open space between the houses. It was a busy place, with men and women passing through, stopping to speak with one another, doing whatever business they were required to do. Like anywhere else . . . only different, with all the naked skin and plucked heads, the women with long black hair in tails falling down their backs.
A corral of horses was at one end of the yard, filled with a variety of healthy-looking beasts in all different colours. Probably all stolen from white folks, Jesse figured. He didn’t see any saddles, or even a barn where they’d store such things. The savages probably didn’t use them. Why bother? These people were just like animals anyway.
He was almost bowled over when a large black-and-brown dog bounded toward him, tail curled into a loose coil, pointed ears alert. When Jesse didn’t move, the dog dropped his chest to the ground so the wagging tail stuck up in the air, looking ridiculous. The damn dog wanted to play.
“Ain’t no time for that, boy,” he said. “I don’t think I could throw a stick if my life depended on it, anyway.”
“Dog,” said a male voice, startling Jesse. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching, which bothered him. Must be all the swelling in his head making him deaf. With a grunt, he tilted his head to one side and looked up into Soquili’s calculating expression. The men frowned at each other for a moment, then Jesse nodded.
Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) Page 7