Jesse frowned but said nothing. He wasn’t sure what she’d said, but he thought it’d been English. He’d been told the old witch spoke the language, that she’d learned along the way, with help from Adelaide’s sister. He hoped so. Otherwise this was going to be a waste of time. Not that he had a great many things to do with that time, but still.
“You are uncertain of this place, Tloo-da-tsì.” When he didn’t speak, she smiled and he saw only more darkness within the toothless jaws. But it wasn’t threatening, that smile. Curious, like a child’s. His muscles loosened just enough as he began to relax. She cast a quick glance over her shoulders, toward the back of the house, looking for whatever it was that held his attention. Maybe she wasn’t so blind after all.
“You hide in the shadows, but you do not like when the shadows hide from you.”
She definitely spoke English. That woke him up. “I don’t like surprises,” he admitted.
She smiled. Her face seemed to have collapsed in on itself, lacking either bone or teeth to keep it in the right shape. Age had had its way with the woman and left her with a hideous face, yet the air around her felt soft and comforting.
“This life brings many surprises,” she assured him. “Your life with the Tsalagi is a surprise, I think.”
That roused a crooked smile. “Oh, I’d say it most certainly is.”
“And are you unhappy?”
Unhappy? Hardly seemed to scratch the surface, did it? Jesse dropped his chin to his chest and bit his lip, willing himself to keep calm. Wouldn’t do to reach across the fire and throttle an old woman just for asking a stupid question. One he wasn’t about to justify with an answer.
Unhappy. Huh. How about furious? How about, What the hell is going on? Would that qualify as “unhappy”?
Jesse got to his feet, debating his next move. His first instinct was to turn and leave, stomp out of the stifling house and maybe head to the river. Get away from the crazy woman and the looming shadows.
But he didn’t go. The old woman intrigued him. What was it about her that had the whole village so entranced?
“Where will you go, when you run from here?”
He glanced at her, startled. He didn’t like learning he was so transparent. It was a decent question, though. He couldn’t go home, though his father probably assumed he was already dead. That was maybe a good thing. He could let Thomas keep on believing that.
“I have to get home to my family,” he bluffed.
The woman tilted her head like a sparrow. “I hear you have only a father. The Catawba took the others.”
It was as if an Arctic wind suddenly whistled through the house. Jesse remembered suddenly the shapes of the men who had killed his family, even though they’d been in the distance. He remembered how their wild eyes had been painted with rings of black and white. He stared at the old woman through cold, cold eyes, but she didn’t even blink.
“You hear right.”
She continued as if nothing had changed between them. “You have a family here now. You must trust the new family.”
“I don’t trust easy.”
“No. I see that.” She hesitated. “Permit me to touch your face, Tloo-da-tsì?”
He frowned, startled by her request. “Why?”
The curious smile lit up again. “What have you heard of me, the old woman of the village? What have your new people said?”
“That you’re in charge.”
She chuckled. “I do not know those words, but I think I understand. The People come to me for answers because I can see what they cannot. May I touch your face?”
He jerked away and stared at her, not understanding. It seemed like an invasion, letting someone touch him like that. Not like when Adelaide had helped him out, though. That was different. That was to fix his injuries. But the old woman just smiled up at him, so obviously harmless he could find no reason not to stoop and let her do what she wanted.
“Here,” she said and patted the ground beside her.
Jesse puffed out a breath through his nose, but he sat where she said.
“Now. Just sit,” she said calmly.
Her fingers were shriveled and soft as deerskin, her joints twisted at strange angles from their losing battle against rheumatism. In spite of the pain he assumed would come from doing so, she pressed them firmly against his cheeks, her forefingers on his temples. She smiled at him, then closed her eyes. Without thinking about it, his did the same.
He floated. He had no other words with which to describe what happened in that moment. The air around him churned, like someone had poured the boiled kettle into a cold bath, then swirled the water around. Part of him wanted to jerk away, demand to know what was going on, but most of him didn’t really care. Didn’t want to move at all. He felt relaxed, more soothed than he could remember ever feeling. He saw things he hadn’t remembered until that moment, pictures and sounds from his past flowing before him like the globe in Doc’s house when he spun it slowly. He recognized the old privy and the mangy brown dog sitting outside of it. He kind of remembered that ugly dog from when he was little. The mutt had ended up with a muzzle full of porcupine quills and had to be shot. There was his mother, her face so long forgotten, beckoning. He ran to her, his little boy body melting into the promise of security in her arms. Then she was gone, and he ran with his brother, laughing in the summer grass.
But his life contained much more, and that dwelt in the dark. He waited for the old woman to unlock the door, unsure. Part of him feared what she would see, wanted to keep it hidden and thereby stay safe from it himself. Part of him cowered in shame at the truths his memories would give her. But he also knew that when she saw it, he would somehow . . . feel all right. He might even understand a little better. He had been so young, after all.
But he found no comfort in the picture of his father, loosing his belt to teach him one lesson or another, tightening fists to use on his sole surviving son. He saw no peace in the images of torture and killing his father and his gang had inflicted on others. He had nowhere to hide from the shame that threatened to shadow all his dreams. He tried to hide, tried to shield the old woman from it, but she was there, her thoughts with his. She was in him somehow.
Then he saw the girl, Adelaide. Her expression was tired and sad, as it so often was. She gave the impression that she was very much alone, and though she obviously ached with loneliness, she seemed petrified of connecting with anyone. Her pain, from whatever source, penetrated almost as deeply as the old woman’s thoughts. He wanted to touch her, comfort her in exchange for all she’d done for him, but her image vanished in the next breath, and he felt a lingering sense of loss when she was gone.
The pressure of Wah-Li’s fingertips eased on his temples, and he coaxed his eyes open, not wanting to rush back to reality. But the ancient crone was waiting. Sadness floated in her eyes.
“You do not trust for many reasons,” she said, her voice more gentle than it had been before. “The Tsalagi will help you.”
Jesse didn’t know what to say. Even if he had, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to form the words. He was suddenly exhausted beyond belief, his body close to collapse. She saw it and smiled. “You had much in your mind. Sharing has been difficult. You will sleep well tonight.”
He had no doubt of that.
CHAPTER 16
The Importance of a Name
The cat moved in. Just to annoy Soquili, Jesse called the little feline Gitli, which he knew very well meant “dog.” After Adelaide assured Soquili it was a joke, Soquili had joined in, calling Jesse “A-ta,” or woman. That wasn’t the only nickname Jesse got. The old woman called him Tloo-da-tsì. Adelaide pronounced it “Loo-Dot-See,” and told him it meant “cougar.”
“Why cougar?” he asked. “My scar?”
She shrugged. It was a small gesture, her slight shoulders lifting and falling like a sigh under the f
aded deerskin tunic. Everything about Adelaide looked sad: her gestures, her expressions, her eyes, even the way her white-blond hair hung weakly over her shoulders when it wasn’t braided. Such a deep sadness. As if all hope had been sucked from her soul. Sometimes the sadness got so all-consuming that he didn’t want to be around her, because it wanted company. Being sad just wasn’t Jesse’s way.
Mostly, though, he did want to be around her. A lot.
He’d gone to her house that morning, needing to hear a little English, wanting to see a little of her. She’d been startled when she saw him there, but her immediate panicked glance—which he’d noticed was the expression she always used first—faded swiftly into amusement. And later softened into an actual smile. Yep, he had a way with the ladies, he thought proudly. Usually he used these natural gifts with the purpose of reaching his ultimate goal: kissing and cuddling never did anyone any harm. And though he would dearly love to experience that with Adelaide, he had a different reason to use his charm this time. He needed her to like him so she could help him. This village was an entirely different world, and it didn’t appear he’d be getting out anytime soon.
“The Cherokee believe your animal chooses you, so the scar could be part of it. But it’s not just that, I don’t think.” She squinted at him, her head cocked a bit to the side. “No. It’s more than that. It’s in your eyes.”
“There’s cougar in my eyes? Come on, Adelaide. What’s that supposed to mean?”
She smiled at him, though even then she couldn’t quite manage to slip the sadness out of her expression.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested. “I’ll tell you a bit about Cherokee legends. It might help you understand things better.”
He shrugged, trying to keep the motion casual. “I got nothing else to do. Lead on, my lady.”
They strolled along the edge of the village, and on impulse Jesse stooped to pluck a daisy, then handed it to her. When she raised her eyebrows, he blushed, surprising himself. He felt vaguely exposed, letting this stranger see a weakness, and he looked away, pretending to study the line of the trees. From the corner of his eye, he saw her touch the petals of the daisy, one by one, then gesture toward the forest.
She stepped into the trees ahead of him, deftly finding a deer track and following it straight up the mountain, winding through rocks and shrubs, ducking under branches of looming oak and maple. He was quiet behind her, admiring how the smooth deerskin dress clung to the lines of her body as she moved, waiting for her to start up the conversation. Jesse was hungry for all the information she could give him, but he sensed she needed to be handled with kid gloves. That was all right. He could give her room.
She stepped into an open space at the top of one of the peaks, and the view just about took his breath away. The ancient gray of the granite cliff, smoothed by time, extended like a hand over the Keowee Valley, so he and Adelaide seemed to stand on God’s palm while they looked out. The view almost didn’t seem possible; the forests were so lush below them, it was as if the trees were grass. As if he could just step off this cliff, and they’d be soft under his feet. Through the green snaked the Keowee River, tumbling through bubbling white rapids, then calming and continuing its journey as if nothing had happened.
“Careful you don’t step out too far,” Adelaide said, her voice soft behind him. He’d almost forgotten she was there, he’d been so distracted by the view. Almost. Not entirely. Now he was more than aware of her, standing close enough that he could turn and set his hands on her waist if he dared. “When the wind comes up, it feels like it could snatch you right off,” she explained.
“I can handle it.”
As if she’d called it, a sudden gust nudged him, checking to see if he was attached or not. It stroked up his side and ruffled his hair, then moved on, searching for easier prey. It was a cool breeze, but he kept warm within his deerskin shirt, relieved the Cherokee had let him keep his trousers after Adelaide patched the holes. He never had gotten used to those breechclout things. Seemed awfully close to naked in his opinion. And though he was as happy as the next man to wear nothing but the hair on his body, he didn’t think it was proper for the ladies to see that. Not even the Cherokee ladies.
Adelaide had settled against a pile of boulders and looked comfortable lounging within its edges. She watched him with blue eyes that shone like stars within her tanned face, pale in comparison with the cloudless sky. The breeze had roused a red glow in her gentle cheeks, which were being tickled by blond wisps of hair that had blown from their ties while she’d climbed. Jesse stared at her, momentarily tongue-tied. She looked like a fairy, her sweet pink mouth relaxed in a calm smile, her colouring almost ethereal. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was.
“Soquili brought Maggie and me here a long time ago,” she said, not appearing to notice his hesitation. “He told us a Cherokee legend about how the world began.”
“Sure is a pretty place,” he replied, finding his words again. He walked toward her, looking for a place to sit, and eventually claimed a large boulder with another behind so he could lean back. He closed his eyes, letting the sun bake his lids.
“You wanted to know about your Cherokee name, Tloo-da-tsì. Cougar,” she said, and he opened his eyes again. She was looking at him in that way, like she was thinking carefully about every word she was about to say. “I think it’s more than your hair or your eyes. I’m not sure the Grandmother even thinks about colour. It’s what is in you. She can see it, you know.”
“That’s one strange old lady,” he muttered.
She chuckled. “Don’t say that in front of the others. I thought she was pretty frightening in the beginning, but she’s an amazing woman once you get to know her. Just nothing like what you and I knew before we came here.”
Jesse didn’t say anything. She’d inadvertently revealed a tiny gem about herself, and he didn’t want to scare her back into hiding. He wanted to ask her all about her life before she’d come here, find out what invisible bonds tied her here. Because it seemed like being in the village was her choice, and he just couldn’t understand that. She never seemed able to open up about herself, but Jesse was determined to wait patiently. He was good at that. He focused on her, trying to appear both attentive and harmless. It seemed to work, because she started speaking again in that almost whisper.
“The Grandmother is teaching me a few things about myself, too,” she said shyly. “My sister . . .” She stopped, looking shocked at her own words. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you about her.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because you might think she’s something she’s not. She just . . . can do things other people can’t.”
“Like what?”
She sighed, her expression tortured.
“I don’t judge folks,” he assured her.
“It’s not that. It’s, well, we never used to tell anyone, but since we came here, it seems so . . . normal. It’s just that I haven’t spoken with a white man in so long . . .”
As he watched, her gaze seemed to cloud, her expression to tighten so that her cheeks sucked slightly in. She didn’t blink.
“Adelaide?”
Her eyes snapped back into focus. “I’m sorry. What were we . . . ?”
“Your sister? Me not judging?”
She gnawed on her lip, then blurted, “Maggie sees things in her dreams. Things that are coming. She’s always had those dreams, but Wah-Li showed her how to become stronger and use them better. Wah-Li thinks I can do some of that, too, but I’m not very good at it.”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed despite himself. “You have visions? Don’t that make you a witch?”
She shot him a glance, and fear spread across her face. “I’m no witch.”
“Hey,” he said, raising open hands in surrender. “Just asking. I’m not about to string you up for some kind of witch talk.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not a witch,” she insisted, then frowned and looked away. “Maybe you don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
“Now you’re just being stubborn.”
She looked back at him and gave a little half smile, one side of her mouth quirking up and lighting her eyes. Jesse liked the look of that, and he was determined to see more of it. Her smile both calmed and excited him at the same time.
“Maybe so,” she admitted. “You being a cougar, you’d recognize that.”
He rolled his eyes. “What are you going on about now?”
“Okay,” she said, letting her smile broaden. “The Cherokee think we all have animal partners. Like our spirits are similar to the ones in specific animals.”
“And I’m like a goddamn cougar. How’s that?”
Her eyes looked at his, the blue surprisingly intense as she assessed him. “I’m guessing you like to be alone, and that you can be patient.”
“Sometimes,” he said, starting to grin. He liked games like this.
“You’re obviously not afraid of challenges and are quick to fight. Pretty strong, too.”
“You got that right,” he assured her.
“And when people need a peacemaker, they come to you.”
He looked away. “Yeah, sometimes. So? What’s that have to do with anything? Cougars solve problems for folks? Never heard of that before.” Yeah, that happened, and he never enjoyed those requests. It usually got him in trouble with both sides. But he did usually seem to be the only one with the guts to stand up and say what needed to be said. He’d give her that one, too, though he’d rather skip over it.
“Hmm,” she tilted her head to the side. “That’s just another one of the qualities the Cherokee say are part of the cougar. It’s interesting, her thinking you’re a cougar. Because there’s a lot more to it—and for you to be here with the Cherokee, well, it makes a lot of sense. Or rather . . . it could make a lot of sense.”
Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) Page 10