Her eyes wide with the wonder of having met the young Indian again, Elizabeth turned back to question him, but he had fled into the forest. Then she heard a horse’s hoofbeats, and knew that the Indian was gone. She realized she had missed her chance to find out who he and the elderly Indian were, and why they were there. Apparently Frannie’s voice had frightened him away. Perhaps she would never see him again, and that filled her with regret. She had not had the chance to tell him why she was there, or what her father was constructing on the beach.
She decided it was for the best. She did not know what his reaction would be if he ever found out. She feared that no Indian would be happy to know that her father was going to interfere in their lives for his own personal gain.
She then recalled the horrid skulls perched atop the poles. Perhaps she had found the graveyard of this handsome Indian’s ancestors.
Frannie’s voice called to Elizabeth again, this time filled with anxiety. Elizabeth fled from the bluff and hurried through the forest, avoiding the burial site, and, breathless, met Frannie at the fringes of the forest.
“Elizabeth Easton. I told you not to stay in the forest so long,” Frannie scolded as they walked toward the house together. “You done went and frightened ol’ Frannie outta ten years of her life! You ain’t goin’ alone into the forest again. No sir, honey chil’. Neva’ again!”
Elizabeth listened patiently, yet not hearing, for her thoughts were on the Indian. She could not help but feel that something unspoken had passed between them, and somehow, some way, she had to find out exactly what.
She went back inside the house, and Frannie followed, still chastising her.
Chapter 4
Her face, it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
—JOHN CLARE
Another long night of restless sleep had passed. Bored and frustrated, Elizabeth had a buggy readied, and ignoring Frannie’s pleadings against journeying away from the house again alone, she was now traveling toward Seattle, to acquaint herself with the city. As the horse trotted in a leisurely fashion along the dirt road, the sun shone brilliantly in the midmorning sky. Elizabeth sat comfortably on a cushion in her buggy, the brim of her lace-trimmed bonnet shading her eyes.
The day was warm. The air was perfumed by roses and wild flowers blooming alongside the road. A monarch butterfly drifted past overhead, riding a south wind. The white branches of sycamores broke the dense green foliage of the towering hardwood forest, and a symphony of bird-calls pervaded the leafy halls.
Elizabeth smiled, thinking that this day, indeed, was perfect for an outing. Yes, it was another day. Another adventure!
She had been torn between whether to return to the bluff and, perhaps, meet the Indian again, or to go on into Seattle and see the sights.
She had decided to take advantage of her father’s absence while she could, and had chosen Seattle for this day’s explorations. Anyway, she scoffed at the thought of the Indian reappearing, especially after he had fled so quickly the previous day.
Twice he had disappeared as if no more than a mysterious apparition. He would surely not materialize all that quickly again—for her or anyone else.
“In time,” she whispered to herself, “I surely shall see him again. In time. For he was real—very real!”
And what she had seen in his eyes told her that he had been as intrigued by her as she had been by him.
Foreign feelings that felt oddly delicious swept through her as she recalled her two encounters with him, being so near to him . . .
Lifting the reins, and slapping them against the back of the gentle mare, Elizabeth urged her horse to hurry onward, anxious now to get to Seattle. She had not been able to see all that much from the ship’s deck, but from afar it had been lovely. She knew to not expect it to be any sort of paradise, for its reputation was not that much better than San Francisco’s. She knew she would find many saloons, and wild and rough men lounging outside them, and also the bright skirts and painted faces of fallen women.
She feared none of it. She had learned to cope with almost anything while living in San Francisco. In truth, nothing much was left to shock, or frighten her.
A turn in the road brought the horse and buggy alongside the Sound, the rocky beach only a slight drop from the road. Elizabeth squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun as it shone brightly in the water.
Something drew her attention to the water, and what she saw gave her cause to straighten her back.
It was the strange sight of a young woman walking into the waters of the Sound. Elizabeth wondered why the woman seemed so intent on wading this morning, fully clothed. She was looking straight ahead, her gait determined.
And although the day was warm, Elizabeth realized the water had to be cold. No one in their right mind would go wading today. No one in their right mind would go wading any time in their clothes, whether it was summer, or autumn.
Elizabeth knew in a flash what the woman’s intention was. She was going to walk until there was no bottom. She was planning to kill herself by drowning.
Elizabeth tightened the reins and drew her horse to a quick halt. She tossed her shawl aside as she scrambled from the buggy. Running toward the water, she began waving her hands and shouting at the young woman, who ignored her.
At the water’s edge, Elizabeth shivered as the breeze blew damply against her face, her heart thumping inside her chest as she watched the woman go farther. Then she suddenly dropped out of view, her body now immersed in the water.
“Good Lord!” Elizabeth said, paling. “I’ve got to do something!”
She untied her bonnet and threw it aside. Without thinking about the danger, or the cold temperature, she began running into the water.
When she reached the deeper depths, Elizabeth began swimming steadily toward the victim. The woman was now splashing around, screaming for help, having suddenly changed her mind about wanting to die. She screamed and floundered wildly in the water, calling out that she could not swim.
Elizabeth reached the woman and tried to grab her, to tow her back to land. The young woman panicked and desperately clawed at Elizabeth, her eyes wild with fright.
Elizabeth tried to fight off the woman, realizing that if she allowed her to get a firm grip in her struggles to be saved, she would, instead, pull both of them to their deaths.
But the young woman’s fear gave her frightening strength. She succeeded at wrapping her arms around Elizabeth’s neck, pulling her beneath the water with her.
Swallowing great gulps of water, Elizabeth fought harder so that at least she could get back to the surface. Already her lungs felt as though they were going to burst. She felt light-headed, as if at any moment she might pass out. She was losing the battle of survival.
Suddenly Elizabeth was aware of a third person in the water beside her. She felt, and welcomed, strong arms around her waist. She and the other young woman were drawn to the surface.
Elizabeth clung to the muscular arm that held her in place against a hard body. She coughed and spewed water from her mouth, until she could breathe. Her eyes cleared of their watery haze.
When she turned to see who was holding her safely from the depths of the Sound, she was stunned.
“You!” she managed to gasp, her voice weak from her ordeal. “Again, it . . . is . . . you who saved me?”
Strong Heart was just as stunned to see whom he had rescued from drowning.
The same woman that he had carried from the house that was smoking, but strangely not burning.
The same woman he had saved from toppling from the high bluff into the Sound.
It seemed to him that she was the most accident-prone person that he had ever encountered.
And he wondered if it was fate that caused him to rescue her again.
He gazed into Elizabeth’s eyes, ignoring the other woman.
Yet that one, the total stranger, did seem to be the most helpless of the two as she clung to h
is arm with a wild desperation.
Still his attention remained on Elizabeth. “Are you all right?” he asked softly. “Are you able to swim to shore?”
“Yes, I’m sure that I can,” Elizabeth said, nodding anxiously. She trembled, now quite aware of how cold she was. It felt as if she were immersed in a tub of ice water.
She glanced over at the young woman, remembering what she had shouted while flailing her arms in the water. “I can swim to shore,” she quickly said. “But this young lady will need your assistance. She can’t swim. Please take her to shore. I shall be right behind you.”
“Kloshe, well enough,” Strong Heart said, releasing his hold on Elizabeth. He noticed the blue tint of her lips, now realizing the cold temperature of the water. “But hy-ak, hurry. It is me-sah-chie, bad, to stay in the water much longer. Go to shore. I shall lend you and the woman a blanket to warm you.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “That would be very kind of you.”
She was already swimming alongside him, yet found it hard to keep up with him. Although slowed from transporting the woman, this handsome Indian’s strong body seemed unaffected by its burden. In a matter of moments he would be on dry land.
Elizabeth envied the woman, and how the Indian held so possessively to her as he took her to shore. Elizabeth recalled the strength of his arms, having now been held three times in their steely grip. If not for the emergency of each of these times, she could look upon them as sheer heaven. This was how the Indian affected her—as no other man had, in her entire life.
Glad to have finally reached shore, Elizabeth rose shakily to her feet and stumbled out of the water. The breeze nipped at her wet flesh like clawing, icy fingers and her wet dress clung to her, causing her to shake and tremble.
Strong Heart thought her just as lovely soaking wet, as dry. His loins stirred as his gaze moved from her enchanting eyes and face, to her breasts that were so evident under the wet dress. He could even see the outline of her dark nipples, and he had to look away, for he could not help but want to possess such breasts with his lips and tongue.
He cast such thoughts aside, knowing that this was not the time, or the place, if there ever would be one.
Elizabeth glanced over at the young woman, seeing how purple her lips were, and how she was shivering uncontrollably herself from the chill.
Elizabeth went to the frail young woman, thinking her perhaps only sixteen years old, yet well grown for her age. Her large swell of breasts heaved as she breathed hard and coughed into her hands. “Everything is going to be all right now,” Elizabeth tried to reassure her, glad when the young woman gave her a flicker of a smile.
Elizabeth wanted to ask the young woman why she had tried to kill herself, but the Indian was there suddenly with his offering of blankets. He slipped one around Elizabeth’s trembling shoulders, and then the young woman’s.
Clutching the blanket closely around her, Elizabeth smiled up at him, and again thanked him. It seemed that he was giving her many reasons to repay him for his kindnesses. She wondered how this could ever be possible.
Strong Heart stood over Elizabeth, and their eyes met. “Do you think you can get home all right?” he asked, a hint of amusement in the depths of his intriguing, gray eyes. “You have yet to prove that you are capable of taking care of yourself. You did say that you were able to, did you not, after I saved you from falling from the bluff?”
Elizabeth was embarrassed by his teasing, yet more relieved at him having been there again for her. And though she was captivated by him more than ever, she knew that she must return home quickly for a change to warm clothes. She was already tempting fate by lingering even this long drenched to the skin.
Pneumonia was the last way she wanted to spend her time in this land that now held such a fascination for her.
Not the land, she corrected herself. The man. The Indian.
“I can make it home just fine, thank you,” she said politely, swallowing hard as he continued giving her a quiet, lingering stare.
Then he spoke slowly and eloquently to her. “When a favor is shown a white man, he feels it in his head and his tongue speaks,” he said. “When a kindness is shown to an Indian, he feels it in his heart and the heart has no tongue.”
He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned and walked away from her, leaving as abruptly as he had the other times.
Shaking from both the chill and her latest encounter with the handsome Indian, Elizabeth watched him ride away on a lovely roan horse. Yes, he was mysterious, but not at all dangerous.
He had proven more than once that he was a compassionate, caring man—and ah, so exquisitely handsome!
Then she wondered about his riding a horse. The Indians around Seattle were known as ‘canoe Indians,’ for most of their travel was done by canoe.
And, again she wondered about his name. Why did she always forget to ask him his name?
The young woman’s coughs drew Elizabeth’s thoughts from the Indian. Seeing that the young woman was as cold as herself, she went to her.
“Allow me to take you home,” she offered. “You should get out of those wet things as quickly as possible.”
Dark brown eyes, veiled with even darker, thick lashes, peered up at Elizabeth, tears springing forth in each. “I . . . I . . . have no place to go,” the young woman said, a sob escaping from her throat.
Elizabeth was not surprised by this confession, realizing that anyone who had chosen to take their own life could not have a loving home with caring parents. It was plain and simple: She was alone.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth soothed, placing a comforting arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “Then come along with me. I shall share my home with you. We shall both get into warm clothes and Frannie will prepare bowls of soup for us. Soon we shall forget about ever being in that dreadful, cold water.”
The woman’s eyes wavered. “I’m not sure if I should,” she said, in hardly more than a whisper. “I . . . I . . . don’t want to intrude.”
“I insist that you come with me,” Elizabeth said, guiding the girl by an elbow to her horse and buggy.
After the buggy was turned around and headed back toward home, and blankets were wrapped not only around their shoulders but also their laps, Elizabeth studied the young woman.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she blurted out. “Do you want to tell me why you had decided to end your life? Surely you have someone, somewhere, that cares about what happens to you.”
“Yes, I do have someone,” the young woman replied. “But not here. My parents live in San Francisco.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Then why on earth are you here in Seattle?” she asked, glancing at the road, then again at the woman.
“I was wrong to come,” she whispered, casting her eyes downward in shame. “Had I known . . . had I known . . . what I know now, I never would have come.”
“Known what?” Elizabeth prodded. “What happened to make you leave home, and then want to kill yourself? Did someone take advantage of you? Is that it?”
“In a sense, yes,” the young woman said, nodding.
There was a brief pause. Then Elizabeth reached a hand to the young woman and took her hand. “Well, no one is going to take advantage of you again.” she reassured. “I’ll see to that. You can stay with me as long as you wish. We’ve plenty of room, and I’m new in these parts and quite lonesome.”
“You’d do that for me?” the young woman gasped. “You’d be that kind?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, not venturing to guess what her father would think about bringing a total stranger into the house. He was never home to lodge a complaint, anyway. “My name is Elizabeth Easton,” she offered, smiling at the young woman. “Care to tell me yours?”
“Maysie,” she said softly. “Just Maysie.”
“No last name?” Elizabeth asked, again raising an eyebrow.
“Not one I feel free to use right yet,” Maysie said, givin
g Elizabeth a cautious glance. “Please just call me Maysie.”
“All right, Maysie,” Elizabeth said. She patted Maysie’s hand. “But one day I hope you’ll tell me everything.” She paused, then added, “Like where you’ve been living since you left San Francisco, and who has put such fear in your heart.”
Maysie ducked her head and swallowed hard, then turned blinking, apologetic eyes to Elizabeth, as though what she wanted to tell her was too shameful to share.
* * *
Strong Heart rode onward to the outer fringes of Seattle. He made his way up the butte to his camp where he could continue to watch and study the activity at Copper Hill Prison below.
After securing his horse where it could graze peacefully beneath a towering oak tree, Strong Heart changed into dry buckskins. He was disappointed that he had not found his grandfather, yet he had not actually thought that he would. The old Indian was too elusive for his own good, it seemed. So tomorrow he would go for Four Winds.
But tonight he would think about the lady whose name he had not asked. It would have allowed her to ask too many questions about him, and he had already drawn too much attention to himself in meeting her and the other woman.
He settled down on a blanket and drew his knees to his chest, hugging them, smiling as he continued thinking about the lady whose hair was the color of a flaming sunset. Yes, she was worth taking risks for. Even though he did not approve of her living on Suquamish soil, the woman had fascinated him from the first moment they had met.
And today, he had been a witness to her courage. He had seen her fiery spirit, which matched the color of her hair.
And her eyes! They were as green as the panther’s that stalked the trails of the forest. Somehow he had to find a way to meet her again—when danger would not overshadow their meeting.
He must learn her name, and soon. It must have been their destiny to meet. Chance had thrown them together now not only once, but three times.
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