Savage Surrender

by Colleen French

  The Indian woman went down with a groan of pain.

  "Now get up and go," Rachael shouted with authority ignoring the blood that dripped from her arm onto the white snow. "Go from this place and do not ever come back again 'else this woman will slit open your belly and hang you from a tree so that the crows may eat your entrails!"

  Ta-wa-ne shrunk back in superstitious horror and made a hand signal to ward off any evil curses her enemy might be silently flinging. Still watching Rachael, the Indian woman scrambled to her feet and began to run toward the center of the river. She screamed the trapper's name and he hollered over his shoulder for her to go back.

  Rachael watched as Ta-wa-ne caught up with Malvin and he spun around, striking her in the mouth with his fist. Ta-wa-ne fell onto the ice and a horrible cracking sound rent the air.

  Dory screamed for Rachael to run for the bank as that entire section of the river began to crack. Rachael was just reaching the bank when she heard the first splash and as she turned she saw the river sucking up both the trapper and Ta-wa-ne.

  "Ta-wa-ne!" Rachael screamed. Though she hated the woman, drowning beneath the black ice was no way for anyone to die. Without thinking, Rachael turned back toward the river, thinking perhaps she could help the woman out. She could see her dark head bobbing up and down in the hole as the woman struggled to pull herself up out of the water. Each time she caught a piece of solid ice and tried to heave herself up and out, the piece broke dropping her back into the water. The trapper was nowhere to be seen.

  "Oh no you don't," Dory shouted, stepping out on the ice to catch Rachael's arm and drag her toward the bank. "Ain't no use in you dyin' too."

  "Dory, we can't just let them drown," Rachael protested, struggling to break free from her friend.

  "It's too late," Dory shouted, trying to make Rachael understand. "The whole river's breakin' up!"

  Just then a huge crack zigzagged toward them and both Rachael and Dory dove for the safety of the bank.

  Rachael felt the frigid water on the toe of her moccasin as one of the village women pulled her up off the ice as it broke. Rachael fell onto the snowy bank exhausted and in shock from blood loss. Somehow Ka-we-ras found her and crawled into her arms. Rachael hugged the toddler tightly, crying in relief that Storm's son was safe and in sorrow for the death of Ta-wa-ne and the trapper. Dory came to kneel beside her to look at her wound.

  "She's deep," Rachael heard Dory say to one of the other women. "But a few stitches'll fix 'er right up."

  Rachael's mind was hazy for the next few hours. She was ushered back to Tuuban's wigwam by the women and given a ghastly tasting concoction to drink. The women then cleansed her wound and sewed it. With the help of the medicinal tea, Rachael barely felt the stitches. She was then stripped naked and tucked into Storm Dancer's sleeping furs with hot stones at her feet. Rachael remembered wanting to get up and care for Ka-we-ras but she was so cold that she couldn't think straight and her words seemed fuzzy . . . and the bed furs felt so warm. Dory kept assuring her that the child was fine and soon Rachael relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

  The next thing Rachael knew it was late in the afternoon and Storm Dancer was kneeling beside her carefully rewrapping the bandages of her arm. "Storm?"

  He smiled. "I see my she-cat has struck again."

  She tried to sit up but he gently pressed her back onto the sleeping mats. "Storm, she drowned, they both drowned, we couldn't save them."

  "Of course you couldn't. The whole river has broken today." He kissed her. "But you saved Ka-we-ras."

  She closed her eyes, licking her dry lips and then opened them again. "I told her not to walk on the ice, I told her—"

  "Shhh," he hushed her. "We all choose our own fate, Rachael-wife. Ta-wa-ne chose hers."

  "But—"

  He pressed a finger to his lips. "My son is alive and that is what is important." He took her hands. "Now listen, Rachael, I must ask you a question and then I will leave you to sleep." He squeezed her hands in his, waiting until she gazed up at him with her sky-eyes.

  "Tell me, Wife, are you certain that you can accept my son in our wigwam, because if you cannot there are others who can take him."

  She shook her head, struggling to remain conscious and make sense as she spoke. "I have a responsibility to my husband's child. Now no more of that talk; he'll live with us."

  He tucked her hands under the bed fur. "Well enough then, my brave Rachael. Sleep now."

  She closed her eyes, snuggling down into the warm blankets. "Storm?"

  "Yes, my love. This man is still here."

  "I have been thinking about those horses and the supplies we will need to get across the Ohio River."

  "You must rest now." He smoothed her dark hair. "We will speak of the matter when you have rested."

  "But I have a good idea." She opened her eyes to look up at him and brought her hand out from under the covers to touch his. "Promise you won't get mad or misunderstand."

  His midnight hair brushed across his shoulders as he shook his head. "I could have no anger in my heart for you today after you risked your life to save my son."

  Feeling dizzy, she closed her eyes. "We could go to Philadelphia, I know it's not far." She opened her eyes to see his expression. She saw caution, but no fear, no anger. "I have money, Storm, money meant to be my dowry when I married Gifford. It's not a lot to some, but it would be a great deal to the Lenni Lenape."

  "We do not need your money, my dearest wife."

  "I have a right to it, Storm, and I have a right to do with it what I wish. I wish to buy horses and supplies to aid us in our journey west." With that said, she closed her eyes again. Her arm was beginning to throb.

  "We will talk more tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," she whispered already drifting off to sleep.

  The following morning the bodies of Ta-wa-ne and the trapper were found at the edge of the river a few miles downstream of the village. Warriors carried the bodies back so that they could be prepared for proper burial. Rachael offered to assist the other women in the cleansing of the bodies but Storm Dancer refused to let her leave the wigwam. Instead he gave her Ka-we-ras to entertain and he went to make plans for a proper funeral.

  Rachael had just settled down to play a game of clay marbles with Storm's little boy when Storm Dancer came back into the wigwam. His face was pale, his mouth drawn back in a frown. "Ka-we-ras," he called from the doorway.

  The boy looked up and seeing his father, he bounced to his feet and ran as fast as his two-year-old legs could carry him. "Nukkuaa! Papa!"

  Storm lifted him into the air and the boy gave a squeal of delight. He didn't seem to care that his mother was gone forever, all that mattered was that he was to live with his father.

  Storm tickled his round belly and then set him gently on the floor and turned him around and lifted up his shirt.

  "What are you doing?" Rachael asked. "What's wrong, Storm."

  He lowered the boy's buckskin shirt slowly.

  "Storm?"

  He leaned over Ka-we-ras. "Put on your cloak and mittens and go find Dory in her wigwam. Can you do that, Ka-we-ras?" He had already picked up the toddler's cloak and was helping him into it.

  Ka-we-ras nodded. "This boy can find Dory," he answered in perfect Algonquian.

  Storm tied his cloak tightly, slipped his mittens over his hands and let him out the door. He stood and watched until the child reached Dory's wigwam and the woman gave a wave.

  Storm let the flap fall and turned to face Rachael.

  "What is it?" She rose, frightened by the look on his face. "Please tell me, Storm. Is Ka-we-ras sick."

  He shook his head, taking her into his arms. "He is not mine," he said, regret obvious in his voice.

  Rachael pulled back. "What?"

  The boy is not mine. Ta-wa-ne lied to me. Ka-we-ras belonged to the trapper."

  "How do you know?" She brushed her fingertips over his cheek. "How can you be certain?"

  "The mark of b
irth on Ka-we-ras's back . . . "

  "Yes?" Rachael frowned. "What about it?"

  "It is identical to the one on the back of the man called Malvin. Dory found it."

  Rachael looked away. "Oh." Her lower lip quivered. What Storm Dancer was saying was that he had no child of his loins. Ta-we-ne had not given him one and Rachael might not be able to either. Tears formed in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Storm. I'm so sorry."

  He frowned, and seeing her tears, pulled her against him. "Why do you cry, Wife?" He wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks with his hand.

  "Because I cannot give you a child. Because you wanted a child so badly."

  Her thought on her words for a moment, slightly confused. "You do not understand. I come to tell you this, not as an accusation. I came to tell you that you are no longer responsible to this boy. He can go to another. He is not mine, so you do not have to care for him."

  "Don't have to!" She laughed. "But I love Ka-we-ras! It's just that I thought you wanted a child of your own blood. I would gladly take him if you're willing."

  Storm Dancer pulled her tightly against him. "Of course I would take the child, no matter who he belongs to. I, too, love him, and that love is not greater than the love that could spring from my own bloodline." He leaned back so that he could stare into her sky-eyes. "It is settled, then? The boy is ours?"

  "Ka-we-ras is the son of Storm Dancer and Rachael. We will adopt him as is the custom of the Lenni Lenape." She paused. "And when the spring comes you and I will set out for Philadelphia. We will get my money and we will buy the horses and supplies we need to travel west."

  He studied her for a long moment and then leaned down to kiss her. "Very well, my wife," he murmured against her lips. "Very well, wise woman."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Colony

  April, 1762

  Rachael stood just inside the woods line, invisible to the passing carriages of Philadelphians. She took several deep breaths to gather her courage as she observed them. Just behind her she knew Storm Dancer stood, waiting, watching.

  "You do not have to do this," he murmured in a constricted voice.

  "I do," she whispered, unable to resist one last glimpse of his handsome face. It was for Storm Dancer that she would do this . . . for love of him and those who had taken her in. "I have a right to that money and I want your people—our people—to have it." She glanced back at the road just as another carriage rolled by. The passengers were laughing and chattering, but their voices seemed unfamiliar to her. Their King's English sounded awkward and guttural to her ears. It was the sweet melodious language of the Lenni Lenape she now spoke and thought in as well.

  "I would go with you, Wife. You have only to speak the words."

  She could hear the uncertainty in his voice. They had talked of trust on their trip north to Philadelphia and Rachael had sworn her love for him, promising she would not leave him, but she wondered if he was now afraid. Did he think there was the remote chance she might not come back to him once she was reminded of the life she had left behind?

  She lifted her dark lashes to meet his gaze. "We agreed, Storm, that it was better if I went alone. I'll go to Gifford's barrister, get the necessary paperwork, and collect my funds from the goldsmith." They assumed Gifford had never made it back alive. How could he have? "I'll be back by nightfall. Then we can go home to Ka-we-ras. You and some of the other men can go to Annapolis to buy our horses and supplies. It's a good plan and you know it."

  Storm knew that, logically, Rachael was right. This was the easiest way to accomplish what they had come for, but just the same, he hated to let her go alone. He felt as if he were throwing her to a den of winter wolves. "Go then," he forced himself to say. "And may the wind of luck be at your back."

  "Luck? I need no luck. There'll be nothing to it."

  He reached out to touch her hand, to look one last time into her sky-eyes. She was dressed in her best white buckskins, her hair careful braided and adorned with shells from the Chesapeake Bay. Across one cheek she wore the mark of their tribe in blue and red paint. "Come back to me soon, my love."

  She laughed, shrugging off the strange sense of foreboding that teased the recesses of her mind. "I'll be back by tonight, now just stay out of sight. Someone spots you skulking in the woods and you'll have the entire city of Philadelphia frightened of an impending Indian attack." She withdrew her hand from his and pursed her lips in the air in a kiss. Then she turned away from her husband and stepped out onto the roadway she had traveled nearly a year ago the day she was kidnapped by Broken Horn.

  Rachael had not walked half a mile toward Philadelphia when she heard a carriage approaching from behind. She tried to slow her pounding heart as she waited for the vehicle to draw close enough for her to call to one of the occupants. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with Storm and Ka-we-ras back at the village. But somehow this return to Philadelphia was the way for her to break off her last ties with the woman she had once been. She would try to find Thomas or leave a letter so that her family would know she had survived and then she would truly be able to leave the life of Lady Rachael Moreover behind.

  She turned around to face the carriage and waved her arms over her head. "Help me! Help me," she cried, trying to sound sincere as she stepped out into the middle of the rutted roadway. "Please help me!" She and Storm had agreed that it was best if she played the role of a captive of the Iroquois who had escaped. If her goal was to get into the city as quickly as possible, this was the surest way.

  Startled, the driver of the open carriage jerked on his leather reins, yanking the horses to a halt. The occupants, a potbellied, middle-aged man with a whiskered face, and three young girls, stood to get a better look at the woman dressed in buckskins and to hear her first words.

  "Ma'am?" The driver's eyes were wide with uncertainty. He looked over his shoulder at his master.

  Rachael's skin was so suntanned and her hair so dark that she knew they were trying to figure if she was English or a savage. "Please help me," she repeated in English, the words tasting funny on the tip of her tongue. "I've been walking for days."

  "I'm John Calmary." He tipped back his cocked hat. "Have you need of assistance, young woman?" the gentleman in the carriage called.

  Rachael walked around the vehicle to speak with John Calmary. "Sir, would you help me? My name is Lady Rachael Moreover—"

  "Precious Mary, Mother of God!" He looked her up and down taking in the braided hair, the white buckskin skirt and tunic, and the face paint. "You're the woman who was captured by the savages last year! You're Langston's bride!"

  She was taken off guard. His bride? She almost protested, but on second thought she decided it was best to play along until she could figure out what this man was talking about. What would make this man think she and Gifford had been married? "That's . . . that's correct. I . . . I've escaped from the Indians. I need to get to Viscount Langston's barrister's home. I know the viscount is dead but—"

  "Dead? Indeed not. Your husband's alive and well. A miracle you both survived." His teenager girls tittered, covering their mouths with lacy handkerchiefs. "I saw the viscount but a week ago at his new country estate on the Schulkil."

  For a moment Rachael was too startled to speak. Gifford alive? She'd really not considered the fact that he might have made it back to civilization alive, though now she wondered why she hadn't. Perhaps because she secretly wished him dead. That and because he'd seemed so incapable of caring for himself. She thought of how Gifford, the man who had supposedly loved her, had abandoned her in the forest, leaving her to Broken Horn. She thought of the promise he had made to come back for her if he made it out of Iroquois country alive.

  Rachael set her jaw. Alive is he? So he had told everyone they were married and then passed her off as being dead? The heel. "Thank God Gifford's alive," she proclaimed. This way I can kill the coward myself. She tried to sound meek as she rested her hand on the carriage door. "Wo
uld you . . . could you take me to him . . . my husband I mean?" She had a difficult time getting the words out of her mouth, but she'd come this far. She'd not back down now.

  "God's bowels!" John Calmary threw up his arms in distress as he hurried to throw open the door and help Rachael into the carriage. "You just had me in such shock, Lady Langston. I . . . I truly am not responsible for my own actions."

  Rachael allowed him to assist her into the carriage although she certainly could have leapt in herself. She sat between two of the man's daughters, both as plump and plumed as partridges. She greeted them, but they only giggled.

  The fifteen-minute carriage ride to Gifford's house was awkward. John Calmary was anxious for the sordid details of her capture and questioned her extensively, while the three young women giggled incessantly.

  Rachael asked John if he knew her brother, but he did not. She was hoping she would get a chance to see Thomas one last time, though she knew there was little chance of it. It seemed he had spent most of his life at sea.

  Finally the carriage rolled up Fourth Street to the city residence owned by Gifford. It was a three story L-shaped brick house with extensive gardens in the back. It was here that Rachael had resided with Gifford and his old senile Aunt Emma who was meant to chaperone them. Chaperone. That was a joke. It was right here in this stately house, with dear Aunt Emma sleeping upright in a chair in the parlor, that Gifford had tried to seduce Rachael, even offering money for her maiden head!

  It all seemed so ludicrous when she thought back now. Why hadn't it then?

  The carriage wheels rolled to a halt and John Calmary leaped down, straightened his coat, and reached up to help Rachael out of the vehicle.

  "I thank you for your kindness, John." She turned, dismissing him but he followed her around the back of the carriage toward the front steps.