by Adair, Mary
DuPrey laughed loudly and many confused faces turned his way. "He is a great warrior. His magic is strong!" He shouted in explanation of his laughter. The villagers looked to one another and then to their chief who nodded in agreement.
Several of the warriors continued in the chase, the loud whoop—whoop of the villagers sounded behind them to better cheer them on and to honor the bravery and tenacity of the Mohawk warrior.
James would have joined the others had not New Moon reached out and taken his arm. "His spirit is strong, but yours is stronger because the Spirit showed you Ataga'hi. You will someday face him again. For now he is free."
James could not believe his ears. "Are you telling me to just let him go, after what you have gone through!"
New Moon was unperturbed. "What I just went through brought you to Lake Ataga'hi. You are now a true member of the village." She turned so she could look him in the face. "I know you now." She turned and walked away.
James had no time to wonder about her strange words before villagers surrounded him. Dark hands reached out from all directions to pat his body and to hurry him toward the village. As James passed between the walls of the gate he held the scalp above his head. The children swarmed him to jump and swing their tiny hands in hopes of touching the hair of a fallen warrior.
Two steps inside the walled fortress James stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood Akachee and beside her Gentle Rain, large with child.
New Moon looked at the two women. One, her body heavy with age cried tears of joy and great pride. The other, her young body heavy with child, had a face that gleamed with happiness, but New Moon saw sadness there as well.
New Moon looked at James and saw the softness in his eyes as he looked at the two. The first word from his mouth, the Choctaw word meaning mother, caused her to stare again at the two women. This had never been revealed in her dreams!
"Akachee!" James shouted with joy and then, "Gentle Rain!" He held out his arms. If they had been afraid to run to him sooner they were not now. They flew into his welcoming embrace. He wrapped his great arms about both of then and squeezed until they squealed happily.
So unsettled by this sight was New Moon that she did not hear her brother approach and jumped when he said, "We must welcome our newest warrior's family."
New Moon masked the emotion in her eyes but not before Dancing Cloud read the hurt and confusion there.
Chapter Fourteen
New Moon watched with a heavy heart as James greeted the two women. Her throat tightened painfully as whispered gossip floated like the foul smell of a dead animal on the breeze.
No one in the village knew how her warrior came to be called son by the old Choctaw woman, or in what way he was bound to the young pregnant one who called herself Gentle Rain.
The Chief had allowed the women to enter their village. They were to be watched and treated with tolerance, but not questioned. However, after the warm greeting everyone just witnessed, every conceivable possibility was being speculated on.
The Choctaw were not a tribe at peace with the Principal People. Yet now that the Chief s friend—one who so recently proved himself on the warpath—had welcomed them, they would be welcome as long as James remained with the tribe.
New Moon watched Cloud walk over to welcome James. The Choctaw women did not tarry when they spotted the chiefs approach, but hurried away using the beaten path that wove throughout the village.
New Moon squeezed her eyes shut. "I will not so easily accept the women of enemies into our village," The fierce whisper slipped from between stiff lips. "I will learn what hold this pregnant one has on my warrior, and I will sever it!"
A small hand slid into hers causing her to jump. What kind of a warrior was she becoming to be startled twice in a matter of a few minutes?
"Little Sparrow, I did not see you," she apologized and hoped no one noticed her agitation.
"I know, my aunt. You look very upset."
She stifled a moan. If a child noticed, then everyone in the village did as well. New Moon took a slow breath and forced a smile for the little girl who looked at her with worried eyes.
"It was a difficult blood cry and, did you not see, our prisoner has just escaped."
Little Sparrow looked incredulous, a comical expression for one so young. "I would be more upset about those women," she pointed accusingly in the direction the visiting women had taken, "than your prisoner."
New Moon clucked her playfully under the chin, though playful was not at all what she felt. "And when did you become so wise?" Sparrow provided New Moon her one true joy in life since her husband's death. The child could be no closer to her heart if she were her own daughter.
New Moon indicated her own lodge. "I must retrieve my bathing moss."
"This is good, my Aunt. You need to wash this paint from your body. I have missed you. You will not go on another blood lust after the one that escaped? I do not think that you should." The girl kept up a continuous chatter all the way to New Moon's lodge and while her aunt gathered her things.
As they went down the path that lead to the rear of the village, Sparrow asked the first question to which she expected an answer, "Why are you going this way? You never bathe in the creek."
Sparrow waited, but New Moon did not answer.
"I know what you are doing." Sparrow sounded smug. "You are going to watch those women."
Still New Moon did not answer, but hurried on.
Unlike her lodge, which was situated near the front of the village, James' lodge was located near the back. It was the practice of every village to house their unproved visitors to the rear of the settlement. No doubt, James would now be allowed to have his women build for him a lodge in the center of the village.
New Moon ground her teeth again in vexation. It didn't matter that she could hear Sparrow complaining about her pace. She would not slow down.
Following the path around a sharp bend, New Moon suddenly stopped. James' lodge was up ahead. Sparrow, still complaining about the pace her Aunt traveled, bumped into New Moon. Without looking back at the girl New Moon's hand shot out to steady her before she could fall.
It was remarkable what the two women had accomplished after only a few days in the village. Both lodges, summer and winter were white washed so thoroughly they glistened in the sunlight.
Two small pens and one larger were repaired. One of the small pens held a large pig noisily rooting by a wooden trough, while chickens leisurely pecked at the hard packed ground.
The women worked in plain sight, busily tightening ropes on a deerskin they stretched. Before the doorway of the summer lodge, the long-bench lay covered with a variety of bowls and baskets at various stages of completion. New Moon snorted. "Their baskets are not as pretty as our baskets."
"No they are not," Sparrow agreed.
"You should go back and play with your friends."
"I don't want to. I want to stay with you."
New Moon sighed with exasperation. "There is no reason to stay with me. I am only going to go to water."
"But you are going to watch those women first. Don't you want me to tell you all about them?"
"I doubt there is anything you can tell me that I can't see for myself." New Moon turned her attention back to James' lodge.
His stallion in the larger pen stood perfectly still in the swirl of motion that surrounded him. He looked with curiosity in her direction. His ears perked up and rotated forward as he sniffed the air and whined gently. The Choctaw women ignored him.
"See," New Moon pointed. "The pony is proving his worth but the women ignore him."
"There is someone standing in this very spot every day watching them, New Moon. I think they know someone is here now."
New Moon ignored Sparrow as she looked toward the small garden that accompanied the dwelling. The plot had been cleared, and the soil broken up. No doubt it had been seeded with fall vegetables.
"This is truly too much to have been done by an old woma
n and a pregnant one. Who helped them? Who in this village would be so quick to help two women from the flat-head tribe, a tribe at war with our people?"
As if in answer to her question a young man in buckskins stepped from around the far side of the summer lodge. He handed a water skin to each woman and spoke to her in the language of the French.
The young man stood tall, thin; his black hair pulled back and tied with a strip of rawhide. Sparrow started to speak but New Moon raised a hand to silence her. For once, Sparrow obediently held her comments.
New Moon's attention was totally focused on this new development. This one…this thin-as-a-reed one ...moved with a natural grace, but she did not believe he had lived long in their lands. After handing each woman a skin of water, he carried a third with him and moved down the path to the only other lodge their village had for visitors.
Two visitor lodges were an indication of their village's size. Most visitors stayed with family. Only the largest and most important villages had need of two. It was not often that both lodges were occupied. To New Moon, it was a bad omen.
Sparrow had held her tongue as long as she could. "That is how." She sounded peevish.
"I can see, Sparrow. Now go back and play with your friends." New Moon did not mean to sound irritated but…by the Great Spirit! She was irritated!
Sparrow let all the rejection she felt show in her eyes as she looked up at the woman she loved almost as much as her own mother.
New Moon smiled down at her and felt a twinge of remorse for speaking harshly to her, but she could not stay. After caressing the child's chubby cheek with a finger she mouthed one silent word, "Go!"
New Moon watched Sparrow leave, but as soon as the young girl was out of sight she turned back toward James' lodge. She wrapped her arms about herself and rubbed her hands along her upper arms to smooth out the tiny bumps that tingled along her skin.
She now understood how the women had gotten so much accomplished; Skinny Reed had helped them. What was wrong with her brother that he would allow two Choctaw women and a French man into their village?
Without another glance at the visitors, New Moon marched angrily past the lodges on her way to the stream. She came this way with a hand full of moss, she might as well go to water and cool the warrior's blood that at this moment pounded like war drums through her veins.
Lieutenant Beauregard Smythe looked up. His mouth dropped open, as his jaw became slack with surprise. He'd heard stories about Cherokee women dressing themselves as warriors and going with the men on the warpath, but he didn't expect them to look like this one. She must be the woman who accompanied the colonel. No wonder he went if it meant she would be at his side.
Her head held high and her back straight, she walked with a bold stride into the wind. It lifted her long, black hair and kept it afloat in an ebony cloud that followed her.
He swallowed hard.
As she came closer he saw that her brow was furrowed, and her eyes flashed with an unknown emotion. The expression did not detract from her rare beauty, but rather added to the illusion of a proud warrior.
His gaze traveled lower. Long rawhide leggings and a bright red waistcloth, which reached to her knees in front and in back, hid the shape of her legs. Yet, the odd masculine garb did not disguise the narrow tapering of her waist or her curved hips any more than the bold red and black paint streaked across her chest took away from the fullness of her breasts.
Realizing he stood in a growing puddle of water from the pouch, which had slipped unknowingly from his hand, he cursed under his breath. Just as suddenly a grin appeared and spread across his face. He'd been commissioned to learn all he could. He'd never seen a woman warrior. By his way of thinking, it was his duty to follow her.
He snatched up the water skin and squeezed it between his large hands in his haste to empty its remaining water. After a quick shake of the pouch and a few seconds to compose himself he stepped out onto the path and fell in behind the woman warrior.
He knew the routine. The women of the village gathered at the far end of the stream to bathe. Further upstream, where the water flowed into their village beneath the wall of their fortress, the fish traps were placed. Just below that, the women were allowed to draw water for drinking and cooking and so on downstream to where, finally, the women were allowed to bathe at the farthest point before the water exited the village beneath the far wall.
Smythe understood this procedure. He was even impressed with their reasoning, but being a newly returned warrior, the beautiful woman he followed would have no way of knowing all had been explained to him. Hence, his excuse for going to the wrong end of the creek to gather water. He grinned at his own cleverness.
He watched as New Moon made her way around the cane that sheltered the bathing pond from the village and waited a short while for her to occupy herself with her bath. After a few moments he strode around the natural cover.
If he were caught, he reasoned with himself, he'd simply claim he was going for water. It was a stupid and cowardly excuse for a lieutenant about to take the role of voyeur. But things were different out here. A thing totally unacceptable in polite society somehow seemed natural in the here and now.
Smythe watched as she unlaced the tall moccasins and slowly eased the leggings downward. She seemed to be unaware of her audience as she removed the bright red waistcloth. Slowly, tauntingly, she raised her arms to run her fingers through her hair before she climbed up on a low, flat overhand of rock and dove into the water.
He hurried to the water's edge and watched her with great interest. She swam leisurely toward the far bank and there she began to bathe. Soon the paint was gone and her skin shone a dusky rose from her scrubbing.
He watched as she rolled to her back and floated along the surface. Her up-thrust breast peeped teasingly from the gentle waves caused by the motion of her legs as she paddled.
Would his Gentle Rain be so promiscuous? No, he told himself. This woman was nothing like Gentle Rain. Resentment rose up in him for the colonel and for his part in Gentle Rain's life.
Soon the bath was over and the warrior woman swam toward the bank where her clothes and he waited. Smythe backed up several feet to give her room to climb up over the rocks and retrieve her warrior's garb.
As she reached for her clothes she looked in his direction. Her eyes met his and she smiled. She laughed softly as she reached down to take up the bright red strip of cloth. Wrapping it about her waist, she fashioned for herself a short skirt. She then squatted to gather her war clothing up into her arms. When she rose up again it was with smooth, flawless grace. Her gaze traveled the length of him as she glided forward.
She obviously took no offense at his watching her. Maybe there was nothing between her and the colonel after all. She didn't slow as she neared him, but instead made to pass him on the narrow path. Wanting to stop her, he raised a hand to place on her shoulder, but froze mere inches from his goal.
His gaze moved up from her shoulder to meet her eyes. In them he saw a glint of humor and no small amount of challenge lurking in their ebony depths. He lowered his gaze again, but this time he looked lower to the sharp steel point pressing threateningly against his crotch.
A half-grin spread across his tanned face, "Now where did you have that concealed?" he asked in French as he let his hand drop slowly to his side.
New Moon knew the tongue of the French and so understood his words. She was satisfied that he was not going to press her and lowered her knife. With her chin held high, she moved past while Thin as A Reed watched, his head tilted to one side and a lopsided grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
New Moon did not look back at the white man. She should have felt if not fear, at least weariness from his behavior, but she had not. He would not try to hurt her. She had seen that in his eyes.
It was good he withdrew with her warning. At one time the fact that a French man looked at her with such boldness would have been enough for her to kill him.
Now things were not so simple. Now she belonged to a white man whose very presence in her life had taught her to look more closely at a man's heart.
So what was in her warrior's heart for two women from an enemy tribe?
She made her way toward James' lodge. Once again she stopped to watch. The old woman tended the livestock while the pregnant one worked diligently at a pair of large moccasins...for her warrior no doubt!
New Moon pushed down the despair that threatened to engulf her as she pressed her fingertips to her stomach to quiet the ever increasing tightening there.
When she first dreamed of the one she was to walk the path with, she worried she would not find love in the union. She thought she would never find love again. Then her eyes met his and her heart raced and her limbs quaked. At the time she told herself it was nothing more than the need in her body, but she knew it was more.
Memories sprang in her mind of the day of the ball-play.
The deep scrapes on his arms still bled as he marched onto the playing field and she knew he accepted the testing by the Old Beloved Man of their village with the same show of strength as the other warriors.
She watched as he fought in the Little War. Dancing Cloud had been right. He impressed her. His strength and his cunning thrilled her.
It did not really surprise her when he agreed to take her on the warpath. It did, however, when he reached for her as she stumbled and then carried her rather than take her back to the village. He rubbed her ankle and dressed it with cool cloths with such gentleness that his touch felt more like a caress. And then, only hours later, she saw him kill a man.
She recognized in his eyes and in his body the power and pride of a warrior. In his soul she saw tenderness and strength of character. In his arms she felt the coming together of it all his strength, his tenderness, his need for her and her need for him.
No longer did she doubt that he belonged to her or that she belonged to him. She no longer doubted that she could love again. Still, her pride dictated that he must know her as well as she knew him and accept her for what she was.