Grace and the Guiltless

by Erin Johnson

  “What is this used for?” Grace asked as she tried to copy Sequoyah’s motions with the mortar and pestle.

  Cheveyo did not answer but looked to Sequoyah. “Tell Grace what this do.”

  Sequoyah shook her head. “I do not know the English word.” Then she smiled. “It is for this.” She sneezed, then rubbed under her nose with the back of her hand.

  Grace smiled. “A cold? It’s for colds.”

  “No. This is cold.” Sequoyah clasped her arms around her and shivered.

  How could Grace explain that ‘cold’ meant two different things in English? “You are right,” Grace said. “This is cold.” She repeated Sequoyah’s shiver. “But we also say this is a cold.” She achooed.

  Sequoyah frowned. “Same word?”

  Grace nodded. “That’s right.”

  Sequoya chuckled.

  After giving them several tasks, Cheveyo left to see a patient. Sequoyah wrapped some ground herbs in bundles and then turned to Grace with a curious look on her face. “You and Joe now . . . ?” She pressed her hands together and opened her large, doe-like eyes wide with a yearning look.

  Grace almost choked. “No, no, no.” Of course not! Why did she keep asking?

  “You look at him like this.” Again Sequoyah made the wide-eyed look of longing.

  “You’re mistaken.” Would Sequoyah know that word? “I mean, you are wrong. I do not like Joe, I told you.”

  Sequoyah smiled, and the sly look she gave her showed she didn’t believe Grace’s protests.

  Did everyone think she and Joe were . . . were what? Friends? More than friends?

  Had Joe gotten that impression? Just because she got a bit skittish when he touched her didn’t mean she liked him. Not in the way Sequoyah was implying. All right, that one time she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but —

  Grace reined in her runaway thoughts. She didn’t like Joe in that way. Not at all.

  Sequoyah pointed to herself then clasped her hands against her chest. “I tell you the man I like . . .” she whispered.

  “You are . . . with someone in the tribe?”

  Sadness tugged at the corners of Sequoyah’s lips. “No.”

  “But you like someone. You wish he was your beau?” Grace was pretty sure she knew who that was — the young musician Sequoyah had been eyeing at the dance.

  “Beau?” Sequoyah considered for a moment. If she didn’t understand the word, she obviously understood its meaning. “Yes, yes.” The sadness in Sequoyah’s eyes changed to suppressed excitement. “It is Dahana.”

  “You like Dahana.” Grace grinned. At least they’d moved off her as the subject.

  A sigh was Sequoyah’s only reply. After a few moments of silence, Sequoyah spoke again. “It is soon time for me to marry.”

  “Already? Aren’t you too young?”

  “Ten moons ago I bleed like a woman. Then we had Sunrise Ceremony. This shows everyone I am a woman. When two more moons pass, it is time to marry.”

  Grace guessed that moons were like months. So Sequoyah had started her menses ten months ago? Then a year later she would get married?

  If the English did it like that, Grace would have been married for three years already. She couldn’t imagine it. But for some odd reason she couldn’t stop herself from wondering: if she stayed here, would Joe offer to marry her? She shook the notion out of her head. What is wrong with me?

  Sequoyah broke into Grace’s thoughts. “My father, he says Tarak is a good man to marry. But . . . but I have great joy when I look at Dahana.”

  Grace grimaced at the notion of marrying Tarak. “You can’t choose who you will marry?”

  Sequoyah ducked her head. “I may choose the man I marry. But my father is a great man. Very wise. He knows what is best. I will do what he say.”

  “Have you told him you love Dahana?”

  Sequoyah shook her head. “No. I will obey his wishes.”

  “But you should tell him. He loves you very much. He would probably listen and let you marry the person you want.”

  “That is why I will not tell him.”

  Grace was confused. “I don’t understand. Why not?”

  Sequoyah pinched her lips together for a few moments. When she spoke, her words carried the weight of great sadness. “If my father says to marry Tarak, he has good reason. He knows many things I do not know.”

  “So you don’t want to influence his decision?”

  “In-flew-ens?”

  Having these conversations was hard. How did Grace explain what she meant? She tried to think of simpler words. “You don’t want to make him change his mind? To make him think differently?”

  “That is so.” Sequoyah nodded.

  Grace smiled. “Your father . . . he would be sad to know that you did not follow your heart.”

  The frown on Sequoyah’s brow showed she did not understand. Grace tried again. “Your father would not want you to be sad,” she said. “You should marry the man you love.”

  “And you must marry the man you love.” Sequoyah grinned broadly.

  Grace stood and brushed off the back of her skirt, trying not to cringe when her fingers brushed across the deer tails dangling behind. She’d had enough talk about men and marriage. “We need to get back to work, don’t we?”

  They worked in silence until Sequoyah had to leave to prepare the evening meal. Then Grace wandered off alone. The men had still not returned from the hunt, so Joe wouldn’t be around for lessons tonight. Grace felt sad and lonely but also relieved. All these new feelings tumbling around inside her had her off balance.

  She drifted off toward the horses — being around Bullet always comforted her. Bullet neighed when he saw her, and as he made his way toward her, Grace frowned to see that his gait was still uneven. She sat in the field with him, gazing down at the town of Tombstone as darkness fell. She wished she could go hunting with the men. She needed to practice her skills.

  But how could she get them to accept her as one of the party? She had to do something to show she had what it took to be a hunter. To prove it not only to Joe and Tarak but to herself as well.

  And then Grace had an idea.

  CHAPTER 15

  Sequoyah’s eyes widened as she saw Grace exit her kuugh’a the next morning with a lance strapped to her back, a knife tucked into the top cuff of her moccasins, and a gun holstered at her side.

  “You are not coming to Cheveyo’s house with me?” Sequoyah asked.

  Grace shook her head. “I have some hunting to do.”

  Sequoyah wrinkled her nose. “You have bear grease on you?”

  Grace nodded.

  “But the men are gone. You are too late. You know they do not want girls along.”

  “I know,” Grace said tightly. She had watched the hunters leave at dawn, moving single file into the woods. They hadn’t ridden horses, which was why Grace had decided today was the perfect day to execute her own idea. “I have other plans. If Joe comes back, let him know I borrowed his horse. I’ll be back before sunset.”

  Though Sequoyah protested, Grace was adamant. She had to prove to herself and everyone else what she was capable of.

  Grace set off in the opposite direction of where the warriors had gone. She didn’t want to take a chance of running into them. If they knew what she was about to do, they would stop her for sure — but if she were successful, she would know in her heart that she was ready to track down the Guiltless Gang.

  Grace untethered Joe’s horse, Ash, and led him out of the enclosure. Joe had told her she was free to ride his horse whenever she wanted, but if he knew what her plans were, he wouldn’t be happy. When she had ridden deep enough into the woods, Grace tied Ash to a tree and set to work.

  All morning long, she did everything as Joe had taught her. She crawled on her belly with bra
nches in front of her to disguise herself. She lay quietly a short distance from the stream. Although she surprised several woodrats and a rabbit, she shot none of them. Grace was after larger game. Something that would prove to the village that she was a true warrior.

  By afternoon, though, she was starting to become discouraged. Perhaps she’d need to settle for a rabbit after all. But just as she was ready to give up, she spotted movement in the distance. Grace crawled slowly toward it, her heart pounding so hard her chest ached. Moving over the rough, rocky ground, inch by inch, she managed to get within viewing distance.

  Ugh! And smelling distance.

  Javelina.

  All that work for some stinky pigs? Grace had hoped for a deer or an elk, something large to drag back for a feast. But wait. Joe had said they had a small kill zone. If she could hit that and bring back one or two, that would prove she was a good hunter, wouldn’t it?

  Grace pulled out her gun, steadied her arm on the ground, took aim, and fired. The javelina all jumped at the noise and scattered, as the bullet flew past the one who’d been her target.

  She leaped to her feet and raced after them, finger on the trigger, hoping for a clear shot, but suddenly she tripped over a tree root and went flying. The gun soared from her hand, hit the ground, and discharged. She ducked, her heart racing, and the bullet clipped the javelina’s ear. Enraged, it turned in circles, squealing in pain.

  Before she could dive for the gun, the javelina charged toward her, its tusks like spears pointed in her direction. It sped over the ground between them.

  Grace froze.

  She’d never reach her gun in time. Yanking the knife from her moccasin cuff, she pointed it toward the javelina as it galloped closer and closer.

  Grace had never been so frightened in her life. Her heart was in her throat. Her hands were slicked with sweat. Drops beaded on her forehead and slid down her cheeks. She had to wait until the boar was close enough to strike . . . but if she timed it wrong, she was dead.

  Joe’s words came back to her. The kill zone. Behind the collar above the front leg. Grace stood steady, knife at the ready. Aim for the kill zone. Timing was everything.

  She took a deep breath and sidestepped the rushing javelina. As it passed, she buried the knife above its foreleg, hoping she had hit the right spot.

  But the javelina kept running.

  She had missed!

  Then its legs buckled. It crashed to the ground, snorting and squealing.

  Grace rushed toward it. Staying clear of the thrashing tusks and legs, she slashed at the spot again until at last it lay still. Then, panting, she stood over it, shocked and sickened.

  But also thrilled. She did it. She made her first kill.

  Grace sank to the ground a short distance away from the dead javelina until her heart slowed and she could finally draw in a breath.

  Her whole body trembled with the rush of energy that had shot through her.

  When she regained her composure, she stood and forced herself to skin the beast. Her arms shook with the exertion as she slid the knife under the hairy hide. She had helped the Ndeh women skin game before, but this time she had to be careful to find the stinky gland Joe said was on its back. Not far from the tail, she reached what looked like a nipple. She blew out a relieved breath when it came free with the skin.

  Grace wiped her hands in the grass and picked up her kill. Then she mounted, dug her heels into Ash’s side, and started back toward the village triumphantly.

  Dusk was already falling by the time she arrived, and the people were assembled for storytelling.

  As she entered the village, everyone stopped and stared. First at Grace with her blood-spattered hands and clothes, then at the carcass she held up. Faces registered disapproval, disbelief, shock, and fury. She spotted Tarak’s face hardening into a mask of rage.

  Nearby, Joe sat stunned, staring at her and Ash, his mouth gaping. Then he got up and rushed toward her, still looking shocked. “You killed a javelina?”

  Grace grinned. “I remembered what you told me about the kill zone. See? I told you I can hunt.”

  With a sick expression on his face, Joe gripped her arm and led her away from the staring crowd.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be proud of me. That everyone would see I could do it.”

  When they were out of sight of the villagers, Joe turned to her, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “This is my fault. I should have told you —”

  “Told me what? What’s the matter?” If this wasn’t enough, what could she do to prove herself?

  Joe’s eyes held anguish. “The Ndeh never kill javelina. It’s taboo.”

  “What?” Grace stood in shock.

  “I should have explained that.” Joe winced. “I didn’t think you’d ever need to kill one.”

  Grace gulped back the lump in her throat. Instead of everyone being impressed, she’d done something shameful? “All I wanted to do was prove I could hunt,” she whispered.

  “Oh, Grace.” Joe reached around her shoulders and squeezed her to him reassuringly, but he quickly pulled back, the tips of his ears red. “Listen, if you hit the kill zone, that proves you’re an amazing hunter. I just wish . . .” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the village.

  Inside, shame mingled with a whole wave of sensations coursing through her that Joe’s hug had started. Grace stared down at the scuffed toes of her moccasins, trying to sort out her tangled feelings.

  Joe lightly touched her chin, pulling her gaze so she turned to face him. “You should still be proud of yourself.”

  The tenderness in his eyes eased some of the ache in Grace’s heart. “You taught me well,” she said, blushing. Before she did something foolish, she stepped back and pointed to the carcass. “What do I do with that?”

  He shrugged. “Leave it for the coyotes.”

  Joe led her to the stream to wash, then walked close beside her as they returned to the village. They emerged from the woods when Sequoyah rushed up to them. “My father wants you to come to the fire. Everyone is assembled and waiting.”

  The sickness in Grace’s stomach increased. They were going to punish her in front of the whole village. What would they do to her for breaking a taboo?

  Joe reached over and squeezed her hand briefly before walking over to join the men. The worried look he shot over his shoulder made her even more fearful.

  Cheis beckoned to her and, dragging her feet, Grace walked over to him.

  The imposing Ndeh waited until she stood beside him, then lowered a hand onto her shoulder. His touch felt gentle, but if she squirmed away would he tighten it, hold her prisoner?

  Thinking about being a prisoner provoked the knots of fear in her stomach. She quaked a little.

  “We have met and talked and decided . . .” Grace tensed as the tall man leaned toward Cheveyo. When Cheveyo handed him a brand-new bow and a quiver full of arrows, she started shaking even more. Did he plan to shoot her?

  Cheis held out the weapons toward her. “For you.”

  “What? For me?”

  “You wish to be a warrior, do you not?”

  Confused, Grace looked up at him. “But . . . but the javelina?”

  Cheis’s eyes swam with the sadness of many seasons. “That is taboo. But your heart, it is good and true. You do not try to do harm.” He extended the bow and the quiver. “This will remind you not to do it again.”

  “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known . . .” Grace stammered to a stop.

  “Then we speak no more of it.” He turned her so she faced the crowd and nodded once, showing them he had forgiven her. “Someday we tell your story around this fire,” he told her.

  Joe looked as surprised as she was, but then he beamed at her. All around her, people gazed at her with forgiveness and even with affection.

 
But one person’s glance darkened as he looked on. Tarak glared at them all and then stalked away, shaking his head. Yet despite his glare, Grace had been accepted by the rest of the Ndeh. For the first time since she’d arrived, they did not see her as an outsider, but as a true member of the band.

  And although the Ndeh would never replace her own family — pain stirred in her heart at the thought — she was no longer alone.

  CHAPTER 16

  Gunshots!

  Grace had tumbled into bed that night, exhausted, and drifted to sleep right away. For the first time since that horrible day, her sleep was not haunted by nightmares. But early the next morning, she was roused from her sound sleep by a living nightmare.

  Thundering hooves and gunfire.

  As Grace stumbled from her kuugh’a, waves of soldiers galloped past her.

  Shouting and shooting, they surged through the village. Women and children scattered, shrieking as a hail of bullets mowed through them.

  Other soldiers torched each kuugh’a they passed. Dried grasses whooshed into flame. All around Grace, the camp was ablaze.

  Trapped beside the doorway of her kuugh’a, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the mob charged around her like a herd of stampeding buffalo, swords flashing, torches waving.

  Charging horses. Screams. Gunshots. Flames.

  Then behind her an eerie war cry went up. It sent shivers down her spine. Ndeh men streamed past her, whooping, their faces decorated with hastily applied paint — red, white, black. Some she recognized by their clothing, but they all looked menacing.

  The Ndeh warriors set upon the marauders. Knives flashed. Lances and tomahawks flew. Horses reared, screamed, whinnied. Gunfire rained like hailstones. Knives and lances glinted in the sunlight.

  Grace froze in horror as a soldier dashed past Sequoyah’s kuugh’a and tossed a burning stick onto the dried grass, setting it ablaze. Flames licked the roof, and black smoke spiraled into the dawn sky.