Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  As she straightened up, she said, “At least I now understand why there were so many accidents on the trail.”

  “Yes, I fear he was the cause. But come, we must move along. We are not yet in a safe place. Can you walk?”

  She nodded. “Where will we go?”

  “Not far,” he answered. “But because our enemies will look for us, we will have to discover a place that will be so well hidden that it will disappear into the landscape. The Ottawa will not give up our trail easily, I think, and they will send their scouts out, looking for us, so I must build us a shelter very well. Know this, it is one thing to try to fool the white man into not seeing what is there before him, it is another to try to trick an Indian scout.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you are right, but won’t they think we’re dead? Why are they so persistent?”

  “Because we killed four of their own. They will not forget easily. By now they will have discovered that there are no bodies, except perhaps that of Miss Sarah.”

  Marisa caught her breath.

  “They may, even now, be searching the ground for clues as to what has happened to us. If we remain here, they will certainly find us, and our fate will be sure and exact. We must go.” Arising, he helped her to her feet. “We must go quickly. Can you run?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then come, we had best find a good place to erect a shelter. It may take some time.”

  And with this said, Black Eagle headed into the woods. “Lift your skirts,” he said to her before he broke into a run. “The material you wear tears easily and could leave a trail.”

  She nodded, and then they were away.

  They had literally run through the forest, sweeping over paths that weren’t really paths, jumping over logs and branches, looking for what, Marisa could only conjecture. They climbed up a steep hill, ran down into the surrounding valley. And still they didn’t stop.

  And with each footfall, Marisa became more and more concerned over Sarah’s fate. It seemed to her that they were traveling far away. Were they leaving her behind?

  At last she had to know, and she called out to Black Eagle, who was far ahead of her in the lead, “Sir Eagle, how will we ever find Sarah, if we go so far away from the water?”

  With her question, Black Eagle stopped and turned back toward her. Patiently, he waited for her to catch up to him, and when she came within hearing distance, he said, “We have not traveled far from the falls. I am circling the lake and the rapids, looking for something in the environment that I can use to make a shelter that will not be easily recognized for what it is.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled at her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she said at once, not realizing that she was so until he mentioned it.

  Motioning to her to come close, he opened a bag that hung from his shoulder, and he offered her the pemmican that was within it. She took a handful and plopping it in her mouth, she chewed. The dried meat, which was mixed with fat and berries, tasted wonderful, more pleasing it seemed than the richest meal she’d ever eaten. It was so good, she observed, “I’m surprised this didn’t get soaked.”

  “It is a little wet.”

  “Hardly. ’Tis very appealing,” she said between bites.

  He smiled at her, and bent down to steal a kiss. However, no more had he done so, than he was straightening up. And he was happily grinning. But he wasn’t looking at her.

  “There,” he said, pointing. “There is what I’ve been looking for.”

  She gazed in the direction he indicated, but she could see nothing that could bring such delight. She said, “Truly?”

  “Nyoh, and it is all because of you. Come, I will show you our new home.”

  It was ingenious. It was simply brilliant. A large elm tree had fallen on its side, leaving a gap of about four feet between its trunk and the ground. Branches were spread out everywhere over the earth.

  Looking at it in the raw, however, Marisa was less than pleased. Were they to spend the night inside a tree?

  But that had been before Black Eagle had gone on to erect a shelter. First he had cut off some of the tree’s upper branches, then he had spread them sideways over the trunk, which had created a lean-to, complete with enough branches over the top so as to form a ceiling. But the real stoke of genius had come in the form of scattering other branches over the ground, around and over the shelter, so that the hideaway literally disappeared into its surroundings.

  Further landscaping with limbs, leaves and tufts of grass had hidden the shelter even more so by simply making it appear to be a part of the tree. Inside the shelter, pine boughs became their floor, while tree bark that he had carefully cut from the bottom of the elm tree, provided them with a ceiling.

  Their door also consisted of the same tree bark, so, too, the walls of their shelter.

  Black Eagle had then gone back to the stream to fill one of his bags with water, while another bag that he carried with him contained enough pemmican to see them through several days.

  The shelter wasn’t large—it was only about four feet in height—but it was big enough and long enough to allow them to lie down full form. That it was also warm and waterproof made it a bit of a haven in the wilderness.

  However, Black Eagle had no more than set up the structure, than he had left, giving her strict instructions to be quiet and to make no fire. It was to be his task, he had told her, to backtrack and erase their trail from the forest floor.

  She had meant to busy herself with little tasks, making their shelter more habitable, but in the end, she had capitulated to the tiredness of her body, and it wasn’t until Black Eagle crawled into their shelter that she had awakened.

  “It is I,” he’d said, announcing himself, and scooting in through their doorway.

  It was dark inside the shelter, and she realized that she had slept the rest of the afternoon and evening away. Streams of moonlight filtered in through a few of the openings in their ceiling and walls, making Black Eagle barely visible to her. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she said, “Welcome home.”

  “Ah,” he said in return, “that it were really true. That we shared a home together, and that I was returning from the hunt, loaded with game to serve us for many a supper in the months ahead.”

  She smiled. “It does sound quite lovely, doesn’t it?”

  “Nyoh, I wish that it were so. But now that we are alone, and are safe from our enemies—at least for the night—I would look at you more closely. Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Let me see,” he said, as his hands came out to run over her head, over to her face, on down to her neck, her shoulders, her back, down lower still. He threw up her skirts and felt her legs, down her calf muscles to her feet.

  “Nothing hurts?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “It is good. I am glad.”

  She paused, then she asked, “Did you see signs of the Ottawa?”

  “Neh, but that is not necessarily a good sign. Their scouts will be almost undetectable. I can only hope that this structure I built will avoid their notice. But, we should prepare ourselves by loading our guns, sharpening our knives and hatchets and making ready anything else we will need to protect ourselves.”

  She nodded.

  “When I am out tomorrow searching for your friend, you can do this.”

  “Yes.”

  “But now,” he said, “much as I would desire to make love to you all night long, I think it best that we get some sleep.”

  Lying down, he opened up his arms for her, and she went into them easily, as though they two were magnetically attracted. He pulled their blanket up and around them.

  What bliss, she thought, to be held so closely and securely by the one that you loved. And so it was on this thought that she fell to sleep.

  Seventeen

  “Sarah!”

  Marisa awoke screaming.

  Musket in hand, Black Eagle followed her
up and jumped to his knees. Looking back at her, he placed his fingers over her lips, effectively silencing her, and he knelt there at her side, noiselessly, alert, listening. Several minutes turned into many more, and still he knelt in the same position, alert, awake, his weapons at his fingertips.

  Indeed, such a long time elapsed while he remained in this position, that by the time he turned back to her, Marisa was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. He sat back on his haunches, set his weapon down at his side, and taking her up in his arms, he placed a kiss over her lips. Only then did he whisper, “I think we are safe, but enemy scouts may be about. It is a wise man who remains as silent as possible.”

  She nodded. “I beg your pardon,” she muttered quietly. “I had a nightmare.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  She shivered, for simply speaking of it brought it back to mind. “It was terrible.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it? ”

  “Oh, no,” she replied. “There is an old wives’ tale that is common amongst the Dutch, and Sarah related it to me, that a dream told before breakfast may come true.”

  “Ah, then it is as well that you keep it to yourself for now. Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

  “I will try, but now I am afraid I might cry out again.”

  He nodded. “It is a possibility.” His arms closed around her to hold her tightly, his chin coming down to rest on the top of her head. “I like the feel of you in my arms,” he whispered.

  “I, too, enjoy this. But I am afraid,” she murmured. “All I can hear in my dreams is the crashing of the waterfall and the sound of the rapids. All I can see is Sarah, being swept away from me, all I can feel is the freezing water, and the muted sounds of the waterfall above me.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Perhaps, then, it would be best to do something else besides sleep. Possibly now is the time to tell you the story I have in the past promised you. Know that waterfalls are not always so fearsome, or so fatal. Sometimes they bring about many good things. This story is about another time, long ago, when a woman fell over the greatest waterfall in the land of the Iroquois, and became the wife of He-noh.”

  “He-noh?”

  “He-noh, the Thunderer,” he murmured. “It is he who gives us rain and thunder. Though he is not the Creator, he is yet a giver of life, for without the rain, nothing on this earth could live.”

  “By Creator, you do mean, of course, God, who lives in heaven?”

  “I do,” he said, “we call him Hawenia, the Creator of all life. But this is the story of another being, the Thunderer. It happened not far from here, in the land of the Seneca, in the village of Gaugwa. Close by to that village is the great waterfall, Neahga. Now it happened that there was a beautiful girl whose relatives were dead.”

  “Like mine?”

  He nodded. “Like yours. But instead of living with her uncle, she lived with her aunt. It was the only relative she had.”

  “Like me.”

  “Like you,” he said, his voice barely raised over a murmur. “Now the girl’s name was Ahweyoh.”

  “But that is the name you call me.”

  “So it is,” he said. “There is much similarity between you and the Ahweyoh of long ago. Now, Ahweyoh was generous and compassionate to all, but her aunt was not kind to her. Some think the aunt was jealous of Ahweyoh’s beauty. Others believe that the aunt hated her own brother, thus she took her grievances out on her brother’s daughter. Whatever the truth of this, the aunt made Ahweyoh wear the oldest clothing, and forced her to do many chores that were unbecoming of her. Still, because Ahweyoh was beautiful and kindhearted, there were many who wished to marry her, and would have done so, but for the aunt, who forbid it.

  “Now there was a terrible man, an old man who was fat and ugly, who was known to have beat his wife to death. But he had acquired much of the white man’s wealth, and the aunt was desperate to have a part of those riches. And so she arranged to have Ahweyoh marry this man.

  “When Ahweyoh became aware of this, she was grief stricken. She refused to marry the man, but the aunt insisted, and was planning the ceremony to take place the next day.

  “Ahweyoh could not bear the thought of life with this man, and when her pleading fell on deaf ears, Ahweyoh decided she would rather die than marry him. And so, late that night she set out in a small canoe, steering her boat toward the rapids that would carry her to Neahga. Soon, the canoe was rushing through the rapids, carrying Ahweyoh to certain death.”

  Marisa shivered, and Black Eagle wrapped his arms more tightly around her. In the same low voice, he continued, “Now, long ago it was well-known that the Thunderer lived under the falls of Neahga. The people knew it was so, for they could hear his voice. On this night, the sky was clear and so the Thunderer was at his home beneath the falls. He heard the cries of Ahweyoh. Looking up, he beheld her, seeing through the rags that she wore, to her beauty beneath, not only of her physical beauty, but he saw into her heart. He fell instantly in love with her . . . much like I did upon seeing you the first time.”

  Marisa smiled, and snuggled deeper into Black Eagle’s embrace.

  “The Thunderer saved Ahweyoh,” continued Black Eagle, “by catching her in his arms as her canoe tipped over the falls. Although he was not quite human, he was a handsome man nonetheless, and Ahweyoh fell in love with him, too. Soon, they married, but there was still trouble with her aunt, who plodded to steal her away and force her to marry another. And so to ensure that the aunt was never again able to hurt Ahweyoh, the Thunderer abandoned his home under the falls to live in a safer place, a place in the west. Thus, when you see a storm fast moving, coming toward you, look at the direction that it approaches. It will usually come to you from the west.”

  Marisa sighed, and nuzzled in closer to him. “And did they live happily, to the end of their days?” she asked.

  “It is so,” Black Eagle said. “They had a son, Thunder Boy. Thunder Boy, because he is half human, often walks upon the earth. Sometimes it is said that Ahweyoh becomes lonely for earthly things, and so she joins her son in his walks. If you listen closely in the spring, you can hear the earth echo the call of the lightning. When you hear this, know that all is well, for these are the voices of Ahweyoh and the Thunderer as they speak words of love to each other.”

  A long silence followed the story, until at last, Marisa said, “ ‘As they speak words of love to each other,’ ” she repeated. “That is a beautiful story. Tell me, Black Eagle, do you call me Ahweyoh because she, like I, had no one to care for her?”

  “Nyoh, it is so, and also because, like the Thunderer, with one look, I fell in love with you. But there is another resemblance, too. Like the Ahweyoh of the past, you chose to lavish your love on someone who is very different from you.” He paused, and when he continued, there was a noticeable tremor in his voice as he said, “I think that if we try hard, our life together could be as happy as Ahweyoh and the Thunderer.”

  She smiled. “I would like to wish that, too, but . . .” She went still, then sat up, pushing herself away from him. “Black Eagle, I know you once said that we should marry, but you didn’t ask me then. Are you now proposing to me?”

  “I am,” he admitted simply. “You hold my heart. If I had labored under any doubt of this, the events of today washed them away. The future may be good or bad for us, but it will be a better place for us both, I think, if we face it together.”

  Marisa wanted nothing more than to say yes. But she knew she could not. She said, “Would that I were free to follow my heart. But from childhood, I have been aware that my marriage is and will be a financial pact between my step-uncle and a man of his choosing. ’Tis my duty to obey him in this, since I owe my guardian my upbringing. Plus, I have promised that I will do this.”

  “Ah,” said Black Eagle, “that would be true in your old life, but what has happened here today has changed that.”

  “It has?”

  “Nyoh. Like the Ahweyoh of lege
nd, you determined to leave the one who provided your upbringing. And like the Ahweyoh of legend, also, the falls did not claim your life. You have a new life now, and in this new life, you are free to determine your own future. You are free now to have me, if you wish it.”

  Marisa paused while conflicting thoughts consumed her. Black Eagle’s logic was not without merit. Indeed, there was much truth to it.

  Still, altering the decisions and habits of a lifetime was not a thing to be done without consideration. So she said, “ ’T is true that I have been wrong about the matters that separate us. I have thought too greatly of our cultural differences. But I have come to believe that these things are superficial, and are attached to us with very thin veils. In truth, all it takes is lifting the veils to see that we are much alike.”

  “It is so.”

  “I have thought all my life that there was nothing to learn from the Indians of these woodlands,” she continued. “I have lived next to your people, and yet I know little about them. This has not been wise. It has made me look upon your people as being somehow less than human.

  “Still,” she went on to say, “I cannot shed all those things I have held dear for a lifetime.”

  Reaching out for her, he brought her back into the circle of his arms, where he nestled her head against him. It was a sort of paradise, she thought as her flesh melted into his; the warmth of his body, the feel of his skin next to hers, the security of his arms holding her, was dizzying. If she could have, she would have kept the world away from them, and stayed like this forever.

  Brandishing a kiss atop her head, he said, “Nothing has to be decided now. But know this, my life is now yours. Regardless of what you decide, I am now bound to you. You hold my heart.”

  The passion, the ardor in his words stirred her soul, and tears welled up behind her eyes. Indeed, it was all she could do to simply say, “I love you.” And even then, her voice shook.

  “And I, you,” he responded. Then he sighed. “Do you think you might be able to sleep now?”