Candace McCarthy

by Fireheart

  Her cousin paused outside the wigwam doorway to glance at her. The tension between the two women was palpable. Joanna saw Mary’s struggle for something to say to smooth over the moment’s awkwardness. “Don’t be upset by how he looks,” she said finally. “He’s been sick a long time.”

  Joanna swallowed against a lump in her throat as she nodded. She didn’t know what to say to her cousin. She had loved Mary like a sister, even a mother, certainly more than as just a cousin. But their separation had changed their relationship. Joanna couldn’t forget that it had been Mary who had sent her away, and she couldn’t forgive her cousin so easily for all the pain Mary had caused her.

  The two women gazed at each other for several seconds in silence. When Joanna had nothing to say, Mary’s eyes took on a look of pain as she raised the wigwam’s door flap and stepped inside.

  Following closely, Joanna entered the dark interior with a pounding heart. Her attention immediately went to the ailing man who lay on the sleeping platform, his form highlighted in golden light. There was a banked fire in the wigwam’s fire pit.

  Joanna had recognized the old man as Wild Squirrel instantly although his illness had aged his features, which looked pale and drawn. The strong smiling sachem, who had patiently taught her how to use a knife, was a mere shadow of his former self.

  Tears filled Joanna’s eyes as she approached his bedside. She became oblivious to everyone in the room but the man who lay on his bed, a man who had shown her only kindness and love when she was a little girl. Wild Squirrel was the loving grandfather that Joanna had never known. It was her affection for this man that had prevailed upon her to leave England and return to a place that she’d thought she’d never visit again.

  The low murmur of voices drew Joanna’s gaze to Mary and a man. The shaman, Joanna thought. She frowned when the shaman turned briefly and flashed her a look of displeasure before presenting her with his back.

  Mary and the man appeared to be arguing. About me, Joanna thought. Ready to defend her right to visit, she glared at the brave, willing him to turn her away. It was too dark to see much of anything but the honey-brown skin of the man’s naked back. Once her gaze fully focused in the dim interior of the wigwam, she was surprised by how muscular he was . . . his powerful back and arms and the muscled thickness of the back of his legs.

  His dark hair fell past shoulders that were broad and as muscular as his arms and back. He was naked from the waist upward. He wore only a loincloth, and Joanna felt a flutter in her stomach as her gaze traveled down the back of his muscled calves.

  The shaman’s sinewy body looked like it should belong to a warrior rather than to a holy medicine man.

  Where were his medicine man’s tools? Joanna suddenly remembered another occasion when she had been living among the Lenape,, and there had been an ill child within the village. The boy had been the brother of her best friend, Little Blossom. Walking Dog had been sick with fever, and Little Blossom’s father had sent for the shaman. Joanna recalled the arrival of Raven Wing with his cloak of many colors, his turtle-shell rattles, and other implements of his position.

  Raven Wing had chanted and sang, and worked his special magic on little Walking Dog. By the next afternoon Little Blossom’s brother was up and running about the compound, once again a young healthy boy.

  Joanna had always been amazed and in awe of the shaman’s powers and ability to heal. She wondered now if it wasn’t simply Raven Wing who had won her admiration. She had yet to speak with this new shaman, but she already doubted his abilities.

  The man turned then, and Joanna experienced a jolt as she became the focus of the shaman’s intense dark eyes. He gazed at her without kindness. She was startled by his animosity, wondering at its cause.

  And then Mary drew her attention by speaking in English. “Joanna, the shaman is not here. Fireheart says that Raven Wing will return soon. I don’t see why you can’t visit with Wild Squirrel as long as you don’t disturb him while he sleeps.”

  Joanna realized then that the man in the wigwam was not the village shaman. Apparently, Raven Wing was still the shaman.

  Frowning, she studied the man before her. So this brave was called Fireheart, she realized. Who was he? And what right did he have to argue against her being here? Although Mary did not tell her of the reason for their argument, Joanna was certain that the subject was her and her desire to see Wild Squirrel.

  To Joanna’s disconcertment, Fireheart scowled as he continued to study her. Unwilling to be intimidated, she glared back at him while wondering what it was about her that irritated him.

  After several seconds of tension between them, Joanna dismissed the angry brave and returned her attention to Wild Squirrel. She remained conscious of the warrior’s presence as she went to the sachem’s bedside. Studying her beloved adopted grandfather, she began to pray.

  She felt the tension in the wigwam ease and guessed that Fireheart had left. She glanced back and sighed. She was right. Fireheart had departed, and only Mary remained, silently studying the changes in her young cousin.

  He had never expected to see her again. Fireheart left the wigwam for the forest where he could be alone to think. The appearance of Joanna—Autumn Wind—had startled him speechless. It had been many years since he had seen the golden-haired beauty. Then he had had a wild love for the young girl, but she had wanted nothing to do with him.

  Joanna had had many admirers. She had seemed most taken with Broken Bow, the eldest of his group of friends. He himself had been the youngest. He had been known as Yellow Deer then, before he had become a warrior, earning his present name.

  Had Joanna guessed who he was? Her expression as she studied him suggested that she had for she had gazed at him with barely concealed hostility. He should not have been affected by it, but he realized with some dismay that he was.

  Autumn Wind was as beautiful as he remembered. More so, in fact. But he must be immune to her beauty now. Maturity and distance had taught him to dismiss his feelings of admiration for her. He was no longer a child; he was a warrior. And he was the man expected to marry Moon Dove, a lovely village maiden.

  He knew Joanna had chosen to return because of Wild Squirrel, but he had no intention of remembering what she had once been to him . . . nor would he allow his thoughts to linger on the woman she’d become.

  “You’ll stay with us, of course,” said Mary.

  After a short visit with Wild Squirrel, who did not awaken while Joanna was there the cousins left the dark interior of the sachem’s wigwam for the warmth of the summer sunshine outside. Mary made an effort to be friendly, but Joanna had difficulty responding in kind. The knowledge that Mary had been the one to send her away still hurt Joanna deeply. She wanted to ask Mary why, but she wasn’t ready to hear the painful truth.

  Now, as they stood within Mary’s wigwam, Joanna wondered how she could share her cousin’s lodge while feeling resentment. But to argue against Mary’s generosity seemed churlish and rude. So Joanna made an effort to smile as Mary told her of the sleeping arrangements.

  Joanna then recalled her servants and realized that Cara and Harry were the perfect excuse to stay elsewhere within the village. Before she had a chance to mention them, a light breeze created by the lifting and closing of the deer flap drew her attention to the door. Rising Bird, Mary’s husband, had entered and stood by the door with a grin.

  “It has been many summers since I have seen my Autumn Wind,” Mary’s husband said.

  Joanna couldn’t contain her joy. “You have not changed much, Rising Bird.” She smiled at him as he approached. “It is good to see you, my father.”

  The warrior looked as magnificent and handsome as her young girl’s memory had pictured him. He appeared pleased by her endearment. He had the kindest eyes, she thought. Those gentle dark eyes of his glistened with emotion as he studied her. A lump rose to Joanna’s throat as her eyes filled with tears.

  “You are a woman now,” he said, his voice sad.

&
nbsp; “Yet,” she answered, “you recognized me.”

  “I will always know the young girl who came to us with sadness in her eyes but with great love in her heart.” He looked at his wife who remained silent during the exchange. “She has come home to us, Mary.”

  “I hope she will stay,” Mary said sincerely.

  The conversation made Joanna uncomfortable. She had come only for a visit. Her life and her inheritance were in England. In a few short weeks, she would return there with only the memory of this visit in her heart. Unwilling to discuss the length of her stay, Joanna told Mary about her servants.

  “And so you see,” Joanna continued, “it would be wonderful if there were a lodge available for us to stay together.”

  “There is room in Red Dress’s wigwam,” Rising Bird said. “She has gone to visit her sister in the north.”

  Mary looked upset by the switch in Joanna’s accommodations. “Cannot your friends stay in Red Dress’s lodge alone?”

  “Cara and Harry have never been to an Indian village before,” Joanna said. “Cara is understandably nervous. Harry, although more confident, will be unable to calm the girl’s fears.” She looked to Rising Bird for understanding.

  The brave nodded. “I see how much you wish to visit with Autumn Wind,” he said to his wife, “but Joanna knows best. You will have time enough to spend with our little girl.”

  Rising Bird convinced Mary as no one else could. He smiled at both women before leaving the wigwam to see about Red Dress’s lodge.

  A smile lingered on Joanna’s lips after Rising Bird had left. She had loved the brave like a father when she had lived here before. Now, as a woman, she could appreciate even more the warmth, affection, and friendship of such a kind warrior.

  “Are you hungry?” Mary asked, trying to mask her disappointment with a smile.

  Joanna turned to her cousin. “I’m famished. Can I help with the meal?”

  Mary’s expression lit up with pleasure, and Joanna realized the direction of her cousin’s thoughts. For a brief moment, the two women smiled at each other as they recalled an earlier time when Joanna had begged Mary to teach her how to prepare hominy . . . and the young girl’s first attempt at preparing the dish.

  Joanna made an effort to put aside her resentment toward Mary for the first evening of her brief return visit to Lenape life.

  Chapter 3

  “This is where we’ll be staying?” Cara appeared upset. “It’s nothing more than a primitive hut!”

  “Actually, Cara,” Harry replied, “I imagine we’ll be quite happy here.”

  “I’ve slept on a Lenape sleeping pallet.” Joanna wandered about the wigwam, noting things that seemed familiar to her. “I’ve found it comfortable.”

  There were different structures that served as lodges or wigwams within the village. Some were long rectangular buildings with curved roofs. Intermingled with these larger wigwams were dome-shaped huts with just enough room for a single person or small family. All were made from sticks and birch-bark. Joanna and her servants had been given one of the small huts. Studying its interior, Joanna felt the wigwam would do nicely.

  The wigwam held many provisions, no doubt left by Red Dress, the absent matron who owned the lodge. Dried corn known as Xus’kwim with its husks braided to form clusters hung from the roof rafters. Sacks of grain. dried beans, and dried berries lay against one wall near Lenape-fashioned pots, dishes, and cooking utensils. There was also dried meat. Joanna recognized a cloth bag as a container for bear grease, an ointment used by the Indians for many purposes. She saw an axe with a stone head and a birch-bark box filled with tree-sugar. The sleeping pallets were rush mats on the dirt floor, covered with deer skins and beaver pelts.

  Joanna glanced at her servants and frowned. Back in England, it would be shocking for two unmarried women to share a room with an unattached man. She felt that the unusual circumstance of staying in an Indian village in the Pennsylvania wilderness was enough of an exception to forget society’s standards.

  Besides, she thought, who else other, than the Indians and us will know or care?

  “Harry, perhaps it is unseemly for you to share our wigwam,” Joanna said, “but under the circumstances, I feel it would be best for Cara and me that you remain here.” Her gaze went to her maid. “Is that all right with you; Cara?” She smiled at her servants. “You mustn’t think that I feel we are unsafe here. The Lenape are a peaceful people. They will not harm you. But I think that you will both feel more at ease in a wigwam of our own.”

  The young woman nodded, looking relieved. “How long will we stay?”

  Joanna became thoughtful. “A month . . . a few weeks at least.”

  “A month!” Cara breathed. She looked horrified. “Whatever you wish,” she whispered uneasily.

  “Life here isn’t so terrible,” Joanna told her. “Given time, you’ll enjoy it, I think.”

  “If you say so, Miss.” Cara appeared unconvinced.

  Later that evening, Joanna once again headed toward Wild Squirrel’s wigwam. As she walked across the village yard, she fervently prayed that the brave Fireheart would be nowhere in sight. The warrior’s behavior toward her earlier had upset her. Why had the man been so hostile to her?

  She didn’t know him, and he certainly didn’t know her! The memory of his glaring dark gaze made her shiver. She didn’t deserve such treatment! She had come to see Wild Squirrel because she was concerned for the sachem’s well-being. What right did Fireheart have to forbid her to see him?

  Mary did not have to translate her conversation with Fireheart for Joanna to understand what had been said. Fireheart’s expression and gestures had spoken volumes.

  Joanna paused outside the sachem’s wigwam before entering. Drawing a deep breath, she firmed her resolve to visit Wild Squirrel, despite the possibility of Fireheart’s presence.

  The fire in the center pit had been stoked to a hearty flame. Joanna looked quickly about the wigwam, relieved to see no sign of Fireheart. Her gaze went to Wild Squirrel on his sleeping platform. Beside him, Raven Wing stood with his head bowed as he chanted a prayer to the rhythm of his turtle-shell rattle. As Joanna moved farther into the wigwam, the shaman, sensing her presence, stopped chanting to identify the visitor.

  Lowering his rattle, Raven Wing turned and approached. Joanna made an effort to smile at him. The shaman paused within three feet, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied her.

  As she waited for some sign that the shaman remembered her, Joanna searched her memory for the proper greeting. As the words continued to elude her, she watched as Raven Wing’s expression changed.

  “Autumn Wind?” The shaman grinned when she nodded. “You have been gone a long time, my daughter.”

  Joanna returned his grin. “You know me, Raven Wing.”

  “You look the same yet brighter, like the moon on a clear night.” Raven Wing’s English was excellent.

  “You are the only one besides Mary and Rising Bird who recognized me,” Joanna said.

  “My people said good-bye to a little girl. They did not expect to see that child become a woman.” Raven Wing smiled at her with affection as he gestured toward Wild Squirrel’s bed. “He would want to know that you have come to see him.”

  “Will he get well?” Joanna asked.

  The shaman’s expression sobered. “He is not fighting the sickness as he should. I do not know what else to do.”

  “May I speak to him?” Joanna’s voice was soft.

  Raven Wing studied the man on the bed. “Perhaps he will recognize your voice and awaken.” He gave her a smile of encouragement. “Speak to our Sahkeé-mah. See if he will listen. Do not be afraid.”

  Despite the shaman’s encouraging words, Joanna felt her heart flutter nervously as she moved closer to address Wild Squirrel.

  She felt her stomach burn as she studied him. He looked even frailer than he had earlier. His skin, usually dark, appeared pale and translucent. His high cheekbones, which had once given him a
look of authority and power, seemed too prominent in his thin drawn features. The sharp angles of his face, which gave him character when he was healthy, now added to his appearance as an ill man.

  “Grandfather,” Joanna whispered in Lenape. Her knowledge of the language was coming back to her. “I have come from far away to see you. Won’t you please wake up and talk to me?”

  Wild Squirrel seemed oblivious to Joanna’s presence, but the young woman was unwilling to give up. She touched his cheek with light fingertips.

  “Wake up, Grandfather! It is Autumn Wind. Do you remember me? You used to tell me stories when I visited your wigwam with my friend Little Blossom.”

  But Wild Squirrel lay without responding. Joanna attempted to wake him for several minutes before she decided to try again tomorrow. When the shaman learned of Joanna’s intent to return the next day, Raven Wing smiled his approval.

  He stood out in the yard and watched the woman leave the sachem’s wigwam. Fireheart scowled. Why did she have to come back? He had put her out of his mind and his heart. Why did she have to return to taunt him?

  He couldn’t deny that she looked lovely although there was something much changed about her. She seemed subdued. Where had the wild-spirited girl gone?

  His memory was of a bare-breasted girl walking across the compound, teasing the boys with her smile. She hadn’t noticed him, it was true, but he had adored her anyway.

  Now Joanna wore an English gown of soft blue with a scooped neckline and large sleeves that billowed, trimmed with fabric just below her elbows. She was covered primly from the neck to her wrists down past her ankles, but the dress also outlined her breasts and small waist.