Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation)

by Graham, Genevieve

  “They’re coming. Soon.”

  He shook his head and ran his open palm over the rasps of a new beard, looking at the floor while he thought over what I was saying. He returned his attention to me. “You know this for sure?”

  I nodded, then slowly moved my right arm so I could feel what Doc had done. Jesse observed my every movement, making sure I was careful.

  The bandage covering the site was thick but clean. I could smell old blood in the air, but it wasn’t on the cloth.

  “Jesse?”

  He nodded, waiting.

  “It has to be you. You and Soquili. You have to bring the Cherokee to stand against them.”

  His expression was skeptical. “The Cherokee stand up against the Catawba for a bunch of white folks? I don’t see that happening, Adelaide.”

  Slowly, very slowly, a smile crept over my face. “But I did. I saw exactly what will happen.”

  “What do you mean? You told me yourself you never see the endings to these dreams of yours. It could end up totally different from what you’re saying.”

  “I didn’t want to see it,” I admitted. “I tried to get away. But I couldn’t wake up, couldn’t escape—”

  “Laudanum,” he said, his crooked smile hitching up as he figured it out. “It kept you under.”

  “It was awful, Jesse. But I had to stay, so I saw what you have to do. If you go, it will work. You can do it.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and gazed out the window. “Me and the Cherokee against the Catawba, saving a town full of white folks neither you or I care about?”

  “Yes.”

  The smile left his eyes, but he nodded. “I’ll go to Soquili for help.”

  “You will?”

  His smile popped back up at my expression of surprise, and his eyes creased with humour. “Never thought you’d hear that from me, did you? ‘Ask the Cherokee for help’ doesn’t really sound like me, does it?”

  I shook my head. “But you believe me?”

  His smile wavered and was lost. “If you say so, Adelaide. If you truly believe this will happen, it will have to be done. I guess I gotta go.”

  Of course he did. If anyone knew the urgency of his mission, it was me. But selfishly, the idea of his leaving was terrifying. My stomach clenched, and pain washed over me. He saw that, too.

  “Don’t you worry. Doc’ll be here, and he’ll keep you safe. Not much I can do for you right now other than sit here and go on about nothin’ anyway. You’ve given me a job to do, so I’d best go do it.” He put his hand on mine. “You can trust Doc. I’ve trusted him my whole life. Actually, until you came along, I guess he was the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

  I nodded and tried to relax. The door squealed closed behind him, and I heard the muted sound of his boots as he stepped from the wood floor to the grass beyond. I wanted to sleep. Wanted to stay awake. I needed both. I ached for Jesse, hating the task I had put before him. He hated Catawba as well as the people from the town; I hated white men. Now he had to ask the Cherokee to defend people we both hated.

  But it had never been a question for me. I saw the deaths being planned in the Catawba warrior’s mind and knew it was up to us. Up to Jesse. But would the Cherokee see it as something they must do? Would they set themselves against other Indians for our sake? Would the people I knew stand up for their enemies? I wished I could have gone with Jesse. I wanted to be there when he told them, to be witness to Wah-Li’s expression when she saw what we had become, Jesse and I. Because he would have to go to Wah-Li. She would reach the truth he held out, then bring it to the People. It was up to her. She would send them. Unless . . .

  I had never before been able to see my dreams to fulfilment, but if I sat before her, presented myself to her, she probably could. What if I’d seen this one wrong? What if she saw what Jesse told her, then saw a different ending? If she saw needless death, useless sacrifice, would she still send the men?

  PART 6

  Jesse

  CHAPTER 40

  Lesser of Two Evils

  Catawba. The name stuck in his mouth like a piece of gristle. Jesse spat to the side, tasting bile. Goddamn Catawba. They’d slaughtered his family, and now, if he was going to believe Adelaide’s crazy dream, they were coming for the town. Something big must have gotten into them. They usually went for small settlements of houses, unprotected, helpless victims. Then again, a bunch of shopkeepers and ladies wasn’t exactly a well-prepared army. Goddamn Catawba.

  He did believe in the dream, though. Wild as it was, he was determined to put his pride aside, and his life in danger, on the basis of one girl’s imagination. He believed, and he would do what he had to do.

  Doc kept two horses. Before he’d been taken by the Cherokee, Jesse had given them to Doc as a thank-you, and he had trained them as well. When Jesse stepped out of Doc’s little white house, he spotted Doc leaning on a fence post, watching the mares. The early morning sunlight caught their matching chestnut coats and turned them a burnished copper. Soft black muzzles mouthed at grass wet with dew. At first, Jesse had wondered if bringing the horses to Doc was maybe a bad idea, that Doc wouldn’t know what to do with them. But he’d been pleasantly surprised by the way it had turned out. The horses tended to Doc the way Doc tended to folks. They healed whatever Doc needed, just by being there. Jesse guessed it was the mindless ease of their company that did it. The old man could be the picture of concentration, of courageous medical skills like he had been with Adelaide, then he could flip entirely. Like a page in one of his books. The animals calmed him. Jesse’d once seen him take an hour just grooming one of them, talking to them, carrying on a one-sided conversation the horse seemed to enjoy.

  “I have to leave for a bit, Doc. Can I take Blue?” The mare didn’t register her name, but both horses looked up at Jesse’s familiar voice, delicate ears perked with interest.

  “Certainly, certainly you may, my boy. She’d be happy to take you. And your lady friend? You will leave her in my care, of course.”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I would have it no other way. But tell me. I’m curious. What is it that has the power to pull you away from her, when I haven’t been able to do it for three days?”

  Jesse chuckled. “I gotta go save the world, Doc.”

  “Ah. Of course.” He hooked his long fingers behind his back and stared up at the cloudless sky. “Well, it’s a good day for it anyhow.”

  Blue was the quicker of the two, though River was a fine mare as well. Blue was a bay, so her mane and tail were midnight black against her copper coat. Both were friendly, but Blue listened a little better. Just that slightest bit brighter, Jesse figured. He was comfortable riding without a saddle, but chose to use one this morning because he thought he might need it later for carrying things. And it looked like it might be a long day ahead, and the leather would provide a bit more comfort than Blue’s knobbly back.

  He didn’t ride her hard, but kept up a steady pace. It was a couple of hours to the village from here. He had plenty of time to go over things in his head.

  This raid on the town seemed extreme, even for the Catawba. But they were unpredictable sons of bitches. Even the Cherokee hated them. He could picture the warriors, their painted faces and lack of hair making it difficult to tell one from another. He’d heard horrible stories about killings done by Catawba, about things they’d done to the dead, too. They had sick senses of honour, those men.

  And they were vengeful. He wondered what had set them off that might make them go to this length. The Catawba weren’t actually thinking too far ahead, he realized. If they attacked an entire town, the army would take revenge. Problem was, he doubted the army would bother differentiating between the Catawba and the Cherokee, or any other kind of Indian for that matter. He sure hadn’t. Until recently, one Indian had always been the same as another to him.

 
That had changed. At first, everything they said or did evoked his father’s voice, stirring up hatred Thomas had planted and tended in his son from early on. The Cherokee asked him to turn right, he’d go left. Set out clean new clothes for him to wear, and he’d tug on his old stained breeches instead. He’d do just about anything but be agreeable.

  Adelaide had turned him around. She had no problem with them and had told Jesse a lot that made him more curious than disapproving. He learned some of their hunting techniques, carved out an arrowhead or two, eventually gave in about the clothing. Except the breechclout. That was not for him. No thank you. But the tunics and the trousers one of the women had made for him, well, he’d been surprised at how good the deerskin felt against his skin. And he’d seen some of the successes these people had had with their healing. Of course, some of them were disasters, but he doubted even Doc could have done any better in most cases.

  They’d eventually treated him as an equal, like when they gave him their trust at the powwow. They’d included him in things no white man would normally experience. Like that game of Anejodi—or whatever it was called—when the men used sticks with nets to toss a deerskin ball at a carving of a fish on a pole. He grinned, remembering the comradery he had experienced for the first time in his life. Out there in the field with Soquili and the others, chasing that goddamn ball and tackling each other just to get to it, well, that was fun. He’d never fit in with Thomas Black and his crew, never had friends his own age as he’d grown up. Doc had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend, and Doc was old and unusual.

  Thinking of Doc made him think about Adelaide again. He didn’t worry about her health, because he knew Doc could handle whatever came his way. It still made him ill, though, thinking about Thomas’s fist in her stomach, breaking her apart inside. Took away any feeling of guilt he might have felt over ending Thomas Black’s life. He smiled and checked Blue’s canter, slowing to a walk. Both he and the horse needed a water break, and he knew the stream was close.

  Yeah, his Adelaide was a flighty little thing, but damn, she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Seemed to him the braver she got, the more beautiful she became. He loved seeing the fire spring up in her eyes when he teased. Even more though, he loved the way the icy blue of them grew dark, her pupils dilating into perfect black circles when he kissed her, when he touched her like she’d never been touched before.

  He shouldn’t have made love to her. He knew that. He should have waited until they were properly wed. But the opportunity had been there, and she’d seemed to welcome it, to want him as much as he wanted her. No, it was more than wanting. They’d needed each other in that moment, and they both gave what they had to give. He’d never regret doing it, not for the rest of his life, but he did wonder how she felt about it now. It had certainly brought them closer—in a number of ways. Ever since then, she had been more open with the things she said, less shy in the way she said them. So maybe it was all right that they hadn’t waited. He wasn’t sure.

  Jesse guided Blue toward a stream, but he needn’t have bothered. The mare was already going that direction. She’d heard the silvery sound of the mountain water rattling over pebbles and stepped up her pace. When they got to the edge, he hopped down and dropped her reins, tossing them casually over her neck. She strolled to the edge of the water, lowered her head, and cooled her throat. Jesse squatted beside her and filled a flask, then cupped his hands and drank. He stayed there a moment, squinting against sparks of late morning sun on the water, and spotted a trout wriggling across the riverbed. Too bad he hadn’t brought a hook. He didn’t feel patient enough to do it Cherokee style, stabbing at the thing with a spear. No time for that anyway.

  He did have time for a short wash, though. He peeled off his trousers and kicked them into a pile over his boots, then started to wrestle his filthy shirt over his head. He changed his mind halfway and tugged the shirt back down, thinking the thing could do with a wash anyway. The itchy wool fibres clinging to his body had once belonged to his father, and he wanted to wash any trace of Thomas from the shirt.

  He waded in until he was knee-deep, relishing the slippery cold of pebbles sliding between his toes, then bent over to scrape dirt from his skin. When he’d almost gotten used to the frigid temperature of the mountain water, he sat in the stream and splashed the rest of himself—including the shirt—then shuddered in reflex. Finally, he dunked completely under and gasped at the welcome shock of cold against his still-healing face. He shook his head like a dog, spraying water into a fountain around him, then shoved his hair back from his eyes.

  When he got out and headed to Blue, he noticed he’d accidentally tied Thomas’s haversack alongside his own on the saddle. He reached up to grab something to eat from his, but curiosity made him unwind the strap from his father’s as well. With the bag hanging over one arm, he carried a chunk of cheese and a piece of Doc’s fresh bread back to the edge of the stream and took a seat.

  “What you got in here, old man?” he wondered aloud, unravelling the ties and emptying the contents onto the grass. Not much. Kind of sad how little was left to represent a man’s life. A small knife, a rusted fishing hook stuck into a chunk of deerskin, some kind of biscuit that had hardened into near rock. Jesse sighed and dropped the items back into the bag. He could use them. Might as well keep the bag, too. He was just getting up when something grabbed his eye, and he crouched back down.

  The item was a shell about the diameter of an apple, but it was like no other shell he’d ever seen. He wrapped his fingers around the little treasure, amazed by its colours. He supposed the base colour was white, but the shell seemed to catch fire whichever direction he turned it, iridescent blues and greens dotted or rippled throughout.

  “What are you doin’ in Thomas’s bag?” he mused.

  He turned it over and noticed there was more to the beautiful shell than its colours. His thumb skimmed over a series of scratches on the concave surface, and when he squinted he could see the lines were white and purposefully etched. Peering closely, he was able to make out a vague shape, a carved, intricate pattern of triangles. The pattern looked much like something a Cherokee might have used.

  Now where would Thomas have gotten something like this, and why keep it with him?

  Blue nudged his shoulder from behind, and Jesse reached back to stroke her warm, wet nose. “You’re ready, are you, girl? Keep going and we might get there before this sun gets too hot. You’re right, as usual.”

  The little shell slipped with a clatter into the sack he’d tied to Blue’s saddle. He’d give it to Adelaide. She’d like something pretty like that, maybe.

  He slid on to the saddle and nudged Blue back in the right direction. Before long they were on the path where Thomas had attacked them, and Jesse couldn’t help but glance nervously around him. The old man was dead. He knew that better than anyone. Nobody was liable to come back after a bullet did that to his head. Just the same, the air held whispers Jesse’d rather forget. Even Blue seemed to step more gingerly through the path, as if she sensed the violence that had occurred there.

  CHAPTER 41

  Gift of Persuasion

  As he rode into the village, Jesse was spotted by eight-year-old Ahsdahyaw Deela, or Loud Skunk, and the rest of his little gang. They shrieked something that Jesse was sure was supposed to sound fierce, then raced ahead, announcing Jesse’s arrival to the entire village.

  Kokila ran toward him, her brow creased with worry. “Tloo-da-tsì!” she cried in English. “I cannot find Adelaide! She is gone many days!”

  Jesse slipped off Blue and smiled with reassurance. “Don’t worry. She’s with me. In town.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly taken aback at the idea of Adelaide mixing with white people. “In town? Why?”

  He tried to speak in Cherokee, then decided to stick to English. His emotions ran too high at the moment to try and translate. So he compromised by slowi
ng down.

  “She’s fine now, Kokila. She was hurt and sick. My friend healed her. She is getting better now.”

  Her eyes flickered over his face, searching for anything he wasn’t saying, but Jesse didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t who he wanted to talk with about his mission. He needed to talk to Ahtlee. Kokila shrugged when he asked where the man was.

  “Soquili is at canoe. I do not know about Ahtlee.”

  It was a different boat from the one Jesse had originally helped with. Smaller but no less impressive. Soquili was busy carving into the sides, sweat streaming down his chest despite the autumn chill. He looked up when Jesse approached.

  “Brother,” he said, frowning. “Where you go? You tell no one.”

  “Not true. Dustu knew.”

  Soquili twisted his mouth with disgust, and Jesse was hard-pressed not to laugh. “Dustu.” Soquili spat, then left his carving tools and went to Jesse. “Where you go?”

  “To find Adelaide.”

  “Ah,” he said, his expression lifting. He peered behind Jesse. “Where is she?”

  “Not here.”

  Soquili’s frown was back, dark with suspicion. “Where—”

  “Listen, Soquili. I need to talk with Ahtlee.”

  “He not here. He hunt many days.”

  It was Jesse’s turn to frown. He sighed and hooked his hands on his hips. “Many?”

  Soquili nodded, wiping sweat off the tip of his nose. “Why you need him?”

  Jesse stared at him a moment, considering. It would have been easier to ask Ahtlee for help, but he didn’t have much choice. He sighed again. “Okay. You’ll do. Come and sit with me. I have a story for you.”

  They sat by the river where they had once leapt from the creaking old oak. The leaves along the edges of the water were gold as sunshine, quivering with the slightest of breezes. One by one they gave in to exhaustion, twirling toward the soggy carpet of those that had fallen before.