by Stephy Smith
Sarah dragged her feet on the walk to her cabin, and she opened the door little by little. Peering into darkness, her eyes darted nervously about. Although the spirits always disappeared during the day, she didn't trust not being woken up by the menacing noises, pokes, and scratches. She braced herself for another attack and then stepped inside. With the door open for the light to shine in, she cautiously crept to the windows to open the shutters. Nothing evil or menacing was in the cabin now. With a sigh of relief, Sarah bent to toss logs into the wood burning stove and lit the fire. Her arm ached as she lifted the kettle full of water and placed it on the burner to boil.
Her slow steps from the stove to the table took a lot of her energy. Sarah slid into the chair. She lay her head on her folded arms upon the table. With heavy eyelids, she fought to keep them open. She tried to think on happier times. Now, those times were nothing but faded memories replaced by horrid nightmares living within her cabin. To have a nice dream was all she could hope for.
The whistling pot startled her awake. She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until the noise caused her to jerk her head from the table. The hot handle burned into her flesh when she grasped it to remove the screaming kettle from the heat. Covering her chest with one hand and swiping her tangled hair from her face with the other, she worked hard to convince herself to calm down.
She reached her shaking hand into the cupboard and pulled out a cup. Going to the tin where she kept her tea, she took a few pinches of loose tea and dropped it in the bottom of the cup. Hot water sloshed as she poured it in to make tea.
Fretful of unwelcome guests, she took her tea to the porch. Slumping into the rocker next to the door, she sipped it down. She inhaled a deep breath. The atmosphere had calmed her, and a slightly cool breeze raced across the porch. Within a few minutes, she knew it would be time to milk Miss Betsy. With pail in hand, she started for the barn.
Brown fuzzy-faced chickens followed her at a run, chasing anything that could possibly be food. Sarah entered the barn. Her skirt stirred up the dirt behind her. Too tired to be amused, she did the chores and carried her milk and eggs back to her house. Casting her weary body upon the bed, she waited for more wicked noises and voices to haunt her daytime dreams as well as the night.
A splash, splash, splash of a horse's hooves sloshed against the wet ground and drew close to her cabin. Sarah peered out of the window to watch Shining Moon stop his horse in front of her cabin. With a few swipes of her hand, she smoothed her wrinkled blouse and skirt the best she could. As she stepped out onto the porch, she raised her hand and ran it through her unkempt hair.
"Shining Moon, what brings you here on this beautiful day?" Her heart thundered like last night's storm at the sight of him. Fighting to slow her nerves from jumping off the edge of no return, Sarah tried to hide the effects caused by the war of the ghost that haunted her nightly.
"I wanted to check on you after the storm last night. Lot of destruction in the area." His gaze penetrated her soul. She lowered her head.
"The wind tried to tear the barn down." She nodded to the tattered barn.
"You look tired, Sweet Sarah. Are you feeling well?" Shining Moon's genuine concern showed on his face. He slid easily from his horse and moved toward her.
"I'm afraid the loss of Mother and trying to catch up on the farm has caught up with me. I'm alright, really. Thanks for asking." She hated the lie. Yet it wasn't all a lie, most of her troubles had come from the spirits. Her heart picked up a pace as he neared. The fresh, clean air and herbs radiated from his well-toned frame.
"Lie down and rest a minute, Sweet Sarah." Shining Moon's insistence broke into her thoughts.
"I said I am fine. What do you want from me? I have work to be done, so state your business and go," Sarah pinned a glare at Shining Moon. She didn't understand why he was making a big fuss out of something he knew nothing about. After all, he was a wise man and the doctor in his village. What made him think he could waltz into her world and tell her what to do?
Mounting his horse, Shining Moon took one more glance at Sarah. The muscles of his chest flexed, as he turned the palomino paint stallion and rode away. Sarah drew in a long breath. When he was out of sight, she returned to her bed in the cabin. Why had she been so harsh to Shining Moon? He didn't do anything except express his concerns. She knew she had feelings for the man. She just couldn't quite figure them out. Because of those feelings, she didn't want him to think she was crazy.
However, she had made a spectacle of herself when she sent him away. Her heart clenched. If she would have allowed Shining Moon to stay, she was certain she would go to him. She couldn't risk his knowing about the spirits. He would think she was crazy. Especially since the menacing ghosts drew strength from the storms.
A vision of her throwing herself into his arms, kissing him passionately… Would he even accept her if he knew about the spirits?
Lost in thought, she remembered back before the faceless ghosts started visiting her. She knew they were put there by someone, somehow, but she just didn't know who or why. Her eyes clouded with images from the past.
****
Shining Moon stopped at the top of the hill. He glanced back at Sarah's house. He didn't like the aura surrounding her. It had changed from the healing, compassionate turquoise color to a dirty brown overlay, indicating insecurity. His Sweet Sarah was now soured from whatever was tormenting her. How could he explain to her sons what was happening to her when he didn't even know himself? All he could rely on was the auras she presented. The boys may not understand what all that entailed.
Being a shaman, he had been trained in many things. While he could read the outside of a body, the inside of the mind was closed off to his abilities. As far as he could tell, there were no diseases possessing his woman.
He shook his head. Since when had Sweet Sarah become his woman? Just the sight of her had struck a pleasant kind of fear in him. Fear of his own emotions, of the way his body longed to be near her every breathing moment of his life upon this earth. To protect her from any harm. His stomach contracted, twisting into a tight knot of failure.
This thing that had control of her was obviously not from flesh and bone. It was more from some kind of emotional torment that hounded her. He knew she shouldn't feel guilty over the death of her mother. He had coached her many times on how to accept the inevitable or things humans have no control over.
There had been many days when Sweet Sarah was worn down from the stress that it took to watch over her mother. Whatever stress she was under now was far worse than anything she had ever talked about. She chose to close him off and deal with this on her own, and he admired her for that. Yet why couldn't she see that she didn't have to?
With a squeeze of his legs, his horse started toward his village. He stopped several times and slid from the horse's back. Replacing the herbs he had used on his nephew, he also gathered a few that he could use to make Sarah a relaxing tea. She loved her teatime. But her words made him doubt she would take it from him.
He knew her harshness was only meant to keep him away. The confusion and pleas displayed in her eyes beckoned him to understand. He was trying, but nothing significant came to mind as to why or what she was going through. Her spirit seemed as if it were being toyed with. If she refused to tell him anything, he couldn't venture a guess as to an answer. His mind would be at ease if she would open up to him. Maybe he would be able to help in some way.
Trusting him had never been an issue before, so why wouldn't she trust him now? He hadn't done anything to misguide her, nor had she him. There wasn't another man or woman forcing her to sever their relationship.
As he collected his herbs, he came across a milkweed with a nest full of eggs below. It was a sign. Early in the morning, he would go milk Miss Betsy and gather the eggs before Sweet Sarah crawled out of bed. Hopefully, it would ease some of the stress from her mangled mind. He would also leave some of the herbs for her calming tea and pray she would use them.
> Shining Moon mounted his horse and rode off to his village. He prepared the poultice and pain relieving tea for Standing on Edge. Ducking through the lodge opening, he sauntered to his sister's lodge. After tending to his nephew, he walked to the burial site of his wife and child. The deep, dark void he used to feel had been replaced long ago. There was no doubt in his mind that he had once loved them. Now everything had passed from her death to his life with Sarah. The spirits of his loved ones seemed at peace with him.
He lingered in the area for a few moments. The sun beat down upon his head and back. A whirlwind wiggled from the ground, heavenward. A few early spring birds twittered. A slight wind crossed the tops of the grass. It wasn't often he came to this place. In his mind, it reflected the pain and sorrow his tribe had endured.
The white men had chased his tribe for years. They tried to herd them to reservations where the men were not allowed to hunt. They killed the buffalo for sport and not food. The Indians would have used everything of the bison. The hearts of his people hurt when there was no food to feed their families.
Diseases had been brought in by the men at the forts. Shining Moon's wife was young and frail when she died. The baby didn't have much of a chance after nursing tainted milk from its mother.
Shining Moon tried not to dwell on these things. He wanted to forget how his wife suffered. Thinking about Sweet Sarah, he shook the bad memories aside. Almost in a calm, soothing way, today they seemed refreshed with the arrival of spring.
Leisurely he walked back to camp. Could his Sweet Sarah be experiencing what the white man call "cabin fever?" From what he understood, there was no fever to it. Cord said it was caused from being confined inside all winter and wanting to get out into the fresh air. Sarah hadn't been held inside her cabin. She was free to go wherever she chose.
A low chuckle escaped his throat. Once, when Cord had come to visit his mother, she had caught his cheeks between her hands and rubbed her lips across Cords. When Shining Moon asked him about it, Cord explained the different kinds of kisses to him. He had said the one she passed to Cord was of the motherly nature. The one she would press upon Shining Moon's lips would be sweet and tempt a man's soul.
Shining Moon thought he was ready for his soul to be tempted by the rosy pink lips of Sweet Sarah. Each time they touched, a bolt of lightning shot up his arm to pierce his heart. Would their lips melt together? Cord said the taste of a woman's lips was more intoxicating than firewater. Would he stagger and fall to the ground in a giggling fit? He didn't know, but if that was the way he reacted, he would make himself stay away after the first one.
The ways of the white men were strange to him. Some things were good, some not so good. If it brought him closer to Sweet Sarah, he was willing to try anything. His only problem was getting close enough to try out the kissing. What if he didn't do it right and she laughed at him? How would his heart react to that? Would his mind dive into the pull of the caressing sound of her voice or would his heart ache with such pain and humiliation he would have to walk away and leave her memory behind?
****
With each passing night, Sarah braced herself for the onslaught of the humiliating spirits. Their pinching, shoving, and clutching her sent shivers down her spine. Cold, burning tentacles pierced her skin leaving whelps, scratches, and bruises to be discovered after the battles. They would pin her to the wall or floor and swarm around her head, taunting, screeching until she was sure she had lost her mind.
She should have called on Shining Moon when it all began. It was too late now. Her insecurities had won out over breaking her pride of thinking she could stop this alone. He would only dismiss her as she had him. It was all her fault. In some way, she had made the spirits mad. How was she to explain to the sweetest man, she was harboring demons in her home?
Chapter Four
Shining Moon knew it would take time for his woman to accept her mother's death. He waited on the hillside until she walked away from the grave after watering the roses in the cemetery. The cold air and drizzling rain bit into his skin as he laid the batch of herbs upon the cold mound. "I hope you don't mind Mrs. Burgess, but I intend to make your daughter my wife one day."
Nightly visits to the cemetery filled him with joy. He liked talking to Mrs. Burgess even if she had passed into the hereafter. The visits also shattered his thoughts. He wasn't the type to hide under the cover of darkness. But if he wanted to know what was happening to Sweet Sarah, he had to sneak around since she wasn't willing to tell him.
He sat down and listened to the loud voices at the bottom of the hill berating his Sweet Sarah. As he stood to go down there and set them all straight, something tugged at his heart. A quick, sharp breeze blew over him as if warning him it would only cause more trouble for Sarah.
"Of course you are right Mrs. Burgess. I shall wait until they leave and then I will go to her. I don't know why you want me to stay away, but I will do as you wish." Shining Moon passed through the sculpted iron gate and climbed the hill. He glanced back and then mounted his horse to return to his village.
Over the past few years, he had grown accustomed to having Sweet Sarah at his side. Together they had tended to her mother. He reveled in the aroma of sweet clover drifting from Sweet Sarah's hair. Her voice flowed across her full lips as honey would flow from a hive. He couldn't say how many times he wanted to kiss her.
Mrs. Burgess had asked him why he hadn't pursued Sarah. She herself saw nothing wrong with the union, other than a few "better than thou" sorts in Eagle Glenn, she had thought it a grand idea.
It had been several weeks since the old woman passed. Sweet Sarah didn't seem to be herself. To him, she appeared to be getting worse. She had stopped looking around when she found the milk, eggs, and herbs he brought. Did she know he was the one collecting them for her? What had happened to her? His woman was broken, and being a shaman and not knowing how to help her ate at his insides.
One look at her, and Shining Moon knew things weren't going well. The once beautiful widow was now skinny, wrinkled, and her eyes were framed with dark circles. Her blouse and skirt appeared as if she had slept in them for days on end, and that was something his Sweet Sarah would never do.
From their last conversation, she didn't want him to worry over her. Her words stung. Her eyes burned with contempt, warning him to stay away. Perhaps she just needed her time. He would allow it, but not for long. He would go to her and let her know of his love and how much he missed her.
Whatever was feasting on her soul was more than mourning her mother's death. The eerie thoughts had settled in his mind on more than one occasion. Death affected different people in strange ways. Sarah, on the other hand had seen death before. He wasn't certain, but he would guess it had never affected her in this manner. Stepping down from his horse, he ventured closer to her house. She caught his gaze. There was still the look to stay away. His chest tightened, but the unspoken bond between them would not be broken.
Sarah flashed him a slight smile. As he looked into her eyes, he found confusion, exhaustion, and pain. His heart broke with every beat at the sight of her dismantled spirit. Her eyes wandered off into some faraway place that Shining Moon recognized from his experience as a shaman. It was the look of someone fighting for her soul. He didn't like the transformation taking over his Sweet Sarah.
His need to tell her son Cord what was going on with her weighed heavily on his mind. He didn't know what was going on with her. How could he tell his friend? Shining Moon was used to dealing with people he had answers for concerning the situation. He had no solution because Sweet Sarah kept him at bay. As soon as he found the answer, he would go to him. Instead, he turned his horse in the direction of his village nearby.
Shining Moon stopped on top of the hill. Turning his horse, he took one last glance at the farm to watch from afar. Something was eating at her. Something was haunting his Sweet Sarah that he needed to know about, and she wasn't telling.
He watched from his perch on the hill a
s his brokenhearted woman darted from the tiny cabin to the barn. Wanting to go to her, he knew she would need the time to let her mother's spirit go. At first he thought and hoped this was accurate. Since Sarah's character had changed so much, he wasn't sure it was the case at all.
The saddening scream reached the top of the hill. Shining Moon fought the urge to run down, sweep Sweet Sarah up, and hold her. His desires for the white woman would only cause more problems for her. He couldn't risk putting more strain on the woman he loved more than life itself.
Shining Moon followed her movements at a safe distance. His need to protect her from the likes of her family sat heavily on his shoulders. When her siblings had left, he often wondered what they had said to her. How could she let them ruin her? Mrs. Burgess had warned him often about her other three children and the white man's occult they were mixed up with. But why would they want to harm Sweet Sarah?
All he wanted was to hear her laughter and soft voice, to gaze into her green eyes and touch her soft skin…but her glares of warning to stay away stilled his actions.
For three months he watched from afar. Soon he would go to her despite her warning glares. If he stayed away much longer, there would be nothing left of her except a dead, hollow body to lower into her own final resting place. He shuddered at the road his mind was taking. His heart was not willing to give into what his thoughts kept whispering in their dark recesses.
His concern ate at him like a buzzard gnawing on the fresh raw meat of a newly deceased animal. He could not let his Sweet Sarah diminish before he had a chance to love her. She was his breath, endurance, encouragement to conquer anything thrown in his path as long as she was by his side. At night when he laid down to sleep his heart grew empty, his mind cluttered with what was happening to her.