"I wish the wind always upon your back and the sun forever shining on your face, Storm Dancer, grandson of mine and shaman of my village."
Storm Dancer thanked her quietly, and then thanked his friends and relatives who all supported him. Lastly, he clasped his grandfather's wrinkled hand and pressed a kiss to it.
Starlight took Rachael's hand and laid it in Storm Dancer's, then turned back toward the villagers who still stood. "Now that the Dancer of Storms is our shaman, he can be set to the task of leading his people out of the clutches of the white men, west where we will find safety and contentment once more."
Storm turned in shock to face his grandmother. His bronze face was ashen. "You mean to leave this place where your grandmother's grandmother walked?"
"I mean to save my people from firing guns and measle sickness before it is too late," she said firmly. "I am too old, but you, my grandson, have both the years and the strength to do what an old man and an old woman cannot."
Rachael could tell by the look on Storm Dancer's face that never in his wildest imagination had he speculated that this was what Starlight and Shaakhan had in store for him. As startled by the thought of moving as he was, he was even more startled by the fact that they had chosen him to lead the people.
Storm Dancer looked from his grandmother to his grandfather and then back at his grandmother again. "Surely there is someone else . . . "
She smiled, resting her hand on her grandson's strong shoulder. "We appreciate your modesty, Grandson, but no there is no one else. A task as crucial as this must come through bloodlines. Tuuban is the only other man or woman of direct descendence who lives, and he has not had the calling. You remember, it was long ago that your grandfather saw his vision. This is not up to you, or even to me. It is in the stars. We can only be thankful that we have been blessed with the ability to read them."
With the matter seemingly settled, Starlight gave a few words of closing. Shaakhan sprinkled some soft magical dust over Storm Dancer and the meeting was adjourned.
Outside in the cold night air, Storm Dancer and Rachael were approached by many well-wishers. There was laughter and a hot apple and spice cider to share. Several campfires were built to chase away the darkness and the cold.
Someone began to beat a drum while another shook a gourd rattle. Several men and women began to sing as food was brought out to serve the entire village.
Rachael stood by Storm Dancer's side, trying to take in all that was said. Her mind was a flurry of confusion as they were ushered to the seats of honor and stuffed with slices of wild turkey and corn bread stuffing.
After they had eaten, Storm Dancer offered his arm to Rachael, bringing her close to him beneath the magical shaman's cloak. He kissed her forehead and she touched his cheek, speaking to him the first personal words all day.
"You had no idea the village wanted to go west?"
He shook his head as he sipped from a pewter cup. "None. It's a daring attempt." He lifted a finger. "But perceptive. My grandparents are right in saying we must flee if we are to save our world as we know it."
"Then you'll do it?"
He gazed into the bright firelight that illuminated the dancers. "I am frightened by the thought," he looked back at her, "and yet at the same moment I am exhilarated." He took her hand and slipped it beneath his vest so that she could feel his rapid heartbeat. "Do you feel the excitement?"
"I feel it."
"Will you help me, Rachael? This is too big a task for one shaman. I will need your help." He swept his arm indicating the villagers. "I will need everyone's help."
She kept her hand beneath his vest, enjoying the feel of his warm skin on this cold night. "Where do you mean to go?"
"West, to Ohio country I would think. That is where our Shawnee cousins have fled. Where other Lenni Lenape villages have gone."
Rachael gazed into the firelight, lost in thought. "If we go, we will never come back, will we?"
His voice was soft. "No, wife of mine. We will never come back." He paused as he took her hand in his. "Will you go with me? Will you turn your back on all you once were and give yourself to me? Will you walk into the sunset at my side?"
Rachael needed no time to think. The sounds formed on her lips before she knew it. "Yes," she whispered. "I'll go with you, Husband. Wither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people . . . "
Storm Dancer brought his mouth to hers and kissed her as she never remembered being kissed before.
The sound of barking dogs and a ripple of commotion among those around them broke the moment.
"What is it?" Storm asked.
"Someone approaches," Kilheek offered. "The sentry has sent her on."
"This is a strange time for a visitor, a winter night," Storm Dancer mused as he rose.
Rachael stood with him, their hands still clasped. "Who could it be?"
The crowd around the fire parted to allow the strangers to approach. When Rachael spotted the Indian woman beside him carrying a baby on her back, she glanced at Storm Dancer. The look on his face made her blood run icy, her stomach sick. "Wh . . . Who is it?" she beseeched.
A strange silence settled over the camp as the villagers observed Storm Dancer's reaction to the man and woman. For a long moment he said nothing, then slowly he turned toward Rachael and spoke, his voice audible only to her. "It is my wife, Ta-wa-ne."
Chapter Twenty
His wife. Rachael felt strangely numb. There was a buzzing in her ears. The sound of the villagers' hushed talk faded into the background. The cold of the winter air, the heat of the campfire, and the rich smell of roasting venison and burning pine was gone. She could still feel Storm's hand in hers, but there was none of the intimate warmth she had felt only seconds ago. He was watching her, but his handsome bronze face was a blur in her vision. All she could see was her. The Indian woman was splendidly beautiful despite the obvious hardships she'd encountered traveling in midwinter. And she was young . . . younger than Rachael.
"Rachael . . . " Storm's voice barely penetrated her thoughts. "Rachael," he repeated firmly, squeezing her hand.
She was aware of the villagers all watching them. She would not dishonor herself by making a scene. It was not the Lenni Lenape way. She would not shame Starlight and Shaakhan; they had been too good to her.
Slowly Rachael lifted her chin, her gaze riveting to Storm Dancer's face. "It cannot be. She's dead."
"She is not."
"You said she was dead." There was a desperation in her voice that bordered on hysteria. Rachael's life was crumbling in her palm and she had no recourse, no ground to stand on.
"I said she was gone," he answered decisively. "She left me almost two years ago with a red-bearded trapper who called himself Malvin."
Rachael felt as if all time had slowed to a crawl. She looked up at the Indian woman. Tuuban was speaking to her in Algonquian but supplementing his words with basic hand signals.
The wife stood beside Tuuban, speaking with him, but she was staring at Storm Dancer as if she were seeing a ghost. Rachael watched as the stricken look of surprise on her face softened into a delicate smile.
Rachael looked back at Storm, trying to control the tremble in her voice. "She can't be your wife, I am your wife."
"You are. Ta-wa-ne was my first wife, but she is no longer."
"What do you mean she is no longer!" Rachael flared. "There she stands!"
"Among my people—"
"I don't want to hear it!" Rachael's eyes narrowed as she jerked her hand from his grasp. She wouldn't let this man destroy her. Once she might have, but not now. She'd learned too much these last months to be defeated by such treachery. She didn't need a man to live. All she needed was herself and that she would always have; she knew that now. "I don't want your sweet words and logical explanations!" she spit venomously. "You married me knowing your wife still lived. You have made me an adulterer! You betrayed me! You betrayed my love for you by not telling me
all these months—by making me think I was your wife!"
Rachael attempted to speak quietly, to keep their conversation private, but already she could see the villagers craning their necks with interest. They were all talking at once. All anxious to know who this Iroquois woman was and who she was in relation to their shaman and his wife.
"Rachael! You must listen to me!" Storm Dancer raised his voice in mounting anger, the corded muscles in his neck bunching as he spoke.
"Listen to you—" She cut her words short upon the sudden realization that the wife was standing right there in front of them. Despite her gaunt cheeks, she was even more beautiful up close. She had almond-shaped eyes and coal black hair that fell from her fur-trimmed hood. Rachael glared at the man she had thought to be her husband until only a moment ago. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"
Storm Dancer's attention turned to the woman he had once been in love with but had never loved the way he loved Rachael. Rachael was his heart of hearts. Ta-wa-ne had never been more than an infatuation. He knew that now as he stared at her lovely face, feeling very little of the furied resentment, and bitter pain he had felt for so long after she had gone. Ta-wa-ne had left him for the trapper. "This . . . this is Ta-wa-ne of the Wolf Clan."
Ta-wa-ne smiled sweetly. "Greetings, Storm Dancer," she said in a velvety voice, speaking English quite well. Her gaze never strayed from his face. It was as if Rachael were not standing there. "For a moment I thought you to be a ghost."
"It is good to know you still breathe," Storm Dancer observed quietly. "I did not think to ever see you again. You vowed never to set foot in my shadow again when last we spoke."
"I was a fool." She brushed his shaman's cloak with her mitten. "But I truly did not think to see you again but in death. I passed through your brother's village moons ago. He said you had died a dishonorable death. I don't know why I believed his words. He always spoke a lie as easily as the truth."
"In his eyes I am dead. I was sentenced to the walking death for alleged crimes against him and our village."
Her laughter echoed in the cold night air. "I no longer believe in such nonsense of superstitions. A man cannot be dead when his heart still beats. You cannot kill a man with a puff of smoke and a turn of the back." She looked down for a moment, her dark lashes cloaking her eyes, then looked up at him again. "As for crimes, I know you could be guilty of nothing."
Storm Dancer crossed his arm over his chest uncomfortably. "What bring you so far south into Lenni Lenape territory? How did you get here? How did you find us?"
She looked away. When she spoke again, the clear confidence was gone from her voice. "Malvin travels far to trade. There is much coin to be made. The trapping has been good here along the Chesapeake."
"So where is the redbeard?" Storm Dancer glanced over her shoulder mockingly. "You entered this village alone but for the child."
"He . . . he left me on the water's edge. The boy was cumbersome. He will check his trap lines along the river and then he will be back. A day or two, no more." By the sound of her voice, the wife did not sound certain to Rachael.
There was then an awkward silence that gave Rachael a moment to look at the two of them. Ta-wane watched Storm Dancer with steady black button eyes. He looked away, not daring to look either wife in the face.
Storm Dancer nodded, indicating the sleeping child strapped to her back. "I see you and the trapper have a son."
She paused for one blink of an eye, then smiled, reaching to touch Storm Dancer's forearm. "It is true I have a son, but the boy's father is you, great Dancer of the Storms . . . " She took careful note of his ceremonial cloak. "Yes, his father is you, a great man who is now shaman to the Delaware."
A slap in her face could not have startled Rachael more. She opened her mouth to speak, but not a sound escaped her lips. She struggled to take a breath, tears welling in her eyes. Turning on her heels, Rachael ran toward the safety of her wigwam.
She refused to let Storm Dancer see how much his dishonesty had hurt her. She refused to let him see what a fool she had been to believe his lies . . . his promises of love and devotion forever. Rachael knew that the Indians practiced polygamy. Storm Dancer had explained that in lean years it was a matter of survival, but he also knew how she felt about marriage. Because of her religious beliefs she could never condone polygamy. He knew she would never have agreed to marry him knowing he had another wife, so he had simply not told her.
The snow crunched beneath Rachael's moccasins as she raced for the wigwam, fearful she would collapse before she reached it.
"Rachael-honey?" Dory called after her, following in her footsteps.
By the time Rachael ducked in the wigwam, she was blinded by her tears. Great sobs wracked her body as she fell on her knees, throwing aside her wet mittens and covering her face with her palms.
"Great God a'mighty! What ails you?" Dory demanded, huffing to catch her breath as she came inside. "Who's that trapper and the Injun woman?"
"His wife!" Rachael wept.
"What?" Dory knelt beside Rachael, pulling her hands away so that she could see her face and understand her words. "What are you saying? I can't understand what you're saying, Rachael-love."
"His wife!" she repeated, another wave of tears overtaking her. "That . . . that woman is his wife!"
"Whose?" Dory asked, utterly confused.
"S . . . Storm's. That woman is Storm's wife."
"Oh." Dory sat back on her heels, in utter shock. "You're certain?"
"He said so himself." Rachael fought for control over her emotions. She wouldn't let this devastate her. And . . . and the b . . . baby . . . the b . . . baby is his."
"Son of a rot-guttin' bitch!" Dory exclaimed, looking away.
Rachael glanced up through tear-reddened eyes. "He made me love him, Dory. He made me trust him. All these months I lived in sin thinking he was my husband. I felt I owed him for he what he did for me, but I didn't owe him. I didn't owe him a bloody thing."
"There, there." Dory reached out and pulled Rachael to her bosom. "Don't cry, Rachael-love. We'll get to the bottom of this pickling barrel, I swear to Christ we will."
She shook her head wildly. "I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to hear his explanations. He took advantage of me, damn him." Her gaze met Dory's, her voice bitter. "And I hate him for it."
Just then the deerhide flap of the door moved and Storm Dancer stepped inside. "Rachael—"
"Get out!" she shouted stumbling to her feet to point at the door. "Get out of here!"
"You must let me explain to you—"
"I don't want your explanations! I don't want your lies, mighty shaman! Why don't you go tend to your wife and child? You never told me she had given you a babe!"
Storm Dancer turned to Dory. His shoulders were thrown back, seemingly even wider beneath the ceremonial shaman's cloak. His face was stony with anger. "Leave us."
Rachael grasped Dory's arm before she could move toward the doorway. "She stays!"
"I wish to speak in private, Wife."
His endearment sent off a streak of rage in Rachael that she had never known she possessed. She whipped around, looking for a weapon, anything to silence him. The closest thing was the firepit that glowed red with hot coals. With a scream of fury, she grabbed a half-burned stick as big around as her wrist and two feet long and she brandished it. The red embers of the tips glowed brighter and smoke curled from the stock. "Get out!" she shrieked, taking a step in his direction. "Get out before I set your hair on bloody fire!"
Instinctively, Storm Dancer took a step back. It was obvious there was no reasoning with Rachael at this moment. He understood her pain. He knew he should have explained to her about Ta-wa-ne, but he had just never found the right moment. He didn't now how to make her understand. The ways of his people were different from hers and sometimes that gap of understanding was difficult to bridge.
"Dory, I wish to speak with you outside."
Rachael glowered, still holding th
e burning stick.
Dory glanced from Storm Dancer to Rachael. "You stay put," she told Rachael. "I'll be right back."
"You don't have to go," Rachael insisted as she went on faster than before. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Dory. You're a free woman. He doesn't own you. No one can ever own you again."
Dory walked around Rachael, cautiously, not certain just what Rachael might do in her state. Reaching the doorway Storm Dancer had just exited, Dory put up her hands. "All right now, missy. He's gone. Now you throw that firewood back in the pit and get ahold of yourself afore someone gets hurt. I'll be back in just a bit."
Dory watched Rachael reluctantly toss the firewood back into the firepit, and then Dory stepped out into the night air.
Storm Dancer stood in the shadows of the wigwam, his broad shoulders hunched over, his hand resting beneath his chin in thought. When he saw Dory he looked up. "She will not give me the chance to explain. She wished to have the right to speak but does not give me the same right."
"Phew-ee! I never seen Rachael hot like that afore, I'll tell you that." Dory looked up at Storm Dancer. "But I ain't saying' she ain't got reason. Why didn't you tell her your first wife was still livin'?"
He looked down at the snowy ground. The camp had grown still, the celebration cut short by the arrival of the Iroquois woman. Everyone was gathering up the food from the feast to store and settling into their wigwams for the night. "I saw no reason."
Dory dropped a hand to her ample hip. "You saw no reason to tell her she was wife number two, 'stead of the one and only wife?"
"Rachael is my only wife."
"But I thought you must said that sweet little she-bitch Ta-wa-ne was your wife?"
"She was. But we are divorced. She ran away with the trapper, Malvin, two winters ago. She never came back. I divorced her so that I would no longer be responsible for her."
Dory exhaled slowly. She understood that the Indians accepted divorce as a natural part of life. Here among the Lenni Lenape a woman could divorce her husband by simply leaving his moccasins and weapons outside the wigwam door. But Dory also knew that Rachael did not recognize divorce. A marriage was a marriage for life. To her, she and Storm Dancer had never been married at all. At the very least, she was his second and therefore lesser wife. Dory chewed her thoughts carefully before she spoke to Storm Dancer. She truly felt for him, but Rachael was who she had to remain loyal to if sides had to be chosen. "Fine kettle a fish you got here, I'd say."
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