Savage Flames

by Cassie Edwards

  Wolf Dancer gave Blue Sky a quick glance. “This man was not shot while trying to escape,” he said. “And the white men I have seen carry firearms, not bows and quivers of arrows.”

  “Then who?” Blue Sky persisted as the huts came into view through the thick foliage.

  “It was an arrow of Seminole design, but there is no one among our Seminole people who would have cause to shoot this man,” Wolf Dancer said. “And, anyhow, I know who did it. It was a whiteman trying to make it look as though a Seminole were responsible.”

  “A slave owner?” Blue Sky prodded. “Was it a slave owner who attempted to kill his own slave?”

  “Yes, and we must make certain that the wounded man defies the one who attempted to kill him, by living,” Wolf Dancer said. “Run on ahead, Blue Sky. Alert Shining Soul that I am bringing a wounded man to him. He must have his medicines ready.”

  Blue Sky nodded, then ran quickly ahead of Wolf Dancer and was soon out of sight.

  Wolf Dancer only hoped that he had found Joshua in time, and that he would live. He was also worried that the beautiful, golden-haired woman might be in as much danger as this black man and her husband had obviously been!

  Although she, a white woman, should be nothing to Wolf Dancer, he could not help caring about her welfare. She was so petite and vulnerable, he couldn’t keep himself from being concerned about her.

  When he finally reached the village, Wolf Dancer rushed into his shaman’s personal lodge without even announcing himself. It was the custom of his people to announce themselves outside someone’s personal lodge, never entering without permission. Privacy was cherished and honored by all who lived in his village.

  But today things were different.

  There was a need for haste. The injured man had already lost a lot of blood.

  Shining Soul, a wrinkled, shrunken old man withkindly eyes, was dressed in a long robe with designs of the sky people on it, such as the rainbow, moon, sun, and stars. He had already prepared a pallet of furs for his patient.

  Shining Soul even now gestured with a bony, long-fingered hand toward it.

  “Place him there,” he said, closely studying Joshua’s face. He had never before been so close to a black man.

  After Joshua was stretched out on the furs, Shining Soul knelt beside him. “Blue Sky did not tell me where you found this man, nor why he was shot with an arrow,” Shining Soul said. He tore Joshua’s shirt away from the wound, giving him a clear view of the injury.

  Wolf Dancer went and knelt on the opposite side of the pelts from Shining Soul as the shaman gently pressed his fingers all around the puckered skin where the rest of the arrow was still lodged.

  Wolf Dancer quickly told Shining Soul what he knew as the shaman skillfully opened the wound. With delicate fingers he removed the other half of the arrow from Joshua’s body, then quickly put a compress on the wound, which was again bleeding. “I believe that poison was placed on the tip of the arrowhead before it was shot into the man,” Shining Soul said as he stopped the bleeding and began applying various herbs to the wound. “That is why the black man sleeps so soundly. But I have applied medicine that will keep the poison from killing him. Under my care, he will be well soon.”

  “Thank you,” Wolf Dancer said, sighing withrelief. “This is a kind man. He did not deserve the treatment he was given by the white man. We will make certain he never hurts this man again. I am going to ask Joshua, which is the wounded man’s name, to stay among us in our sanctuary. It will become his, too, if he agrees.”

  “What of his family?” Shining Soul asked as he softly applied a white doeskin cloth to the wound.

  “I know not of his family,” Wolf Dancer said, standing to leave. “When Joshua is ready, he will tell us.”

  Wolf Dancer patted Shining Soul softly on his shoulder, then left the shaman’s lodge.

  Wolf Dancer found most of his people outside, waiting to hear about the black man that had been brought among them.

  Never holding anything back from his people, Wolf Dancer took his time explaining to them about what had happened, and that Joshua would possibly be staying to make his home among them.

  Wolf Dancer trusted in his shaman so much that he was certain the man with black skin would not die. As he had so many times before, Shining Soul had worked his magic on the black man’s wound.

  When everyone’s concerns had been alleviated, and his people had dispersed, Wolf Dancer went to his own home.

  His personal lodge was different from all others of his village. Although it was built of many of the same materials, like palmetto thatch and cypress logs, his house was two stories high. On the upper floor was akind of porch that was open to the air and looked out over the village.

  The balcony was a breezy, cool spot where he could watch the activity of his people.

  It was one of his favorite places to spend time.

  After getting an orange and peeling it, Wolf Dancer sat down on a thick pelt on the second-story balcony that overlooked his village. As he enjoyed the orange, he watched his people: The adults went about doing their daily chores, while the children were happily romping and playing amongst themselves.

  His mind returned to the white woman who was now widowed. He would go and watch her some more as he planned how to get her away from the evil white man who had widowed her.

  From what little he had observed today, he’d noticed that she had two children with her. One was black, surely a child of a slave, and the other was white-skinned, an exact replica of the woman, with her same golden hair and pretty face.

  Surely this white child was the woman’s daughter. The child, too, must be in despair over the loss of her father.

  In time, Wolf Dancer would save her as well from the clutches of the evil man, providing her mother would let him come into their lives to help them.

  It had been many moons since he had allowed himself to be infatuated by a woman. His wife, Pretty Butterfly, had died after being together as man and wife for just one night.

  An alligator had killed her the next day. It had found its way onto the island while his wife wasaway from the village, searching for turtles for her cook pot.

  It had taken him years to begin getting over his loss, but now that much time had elapsed, he knew his heart was healed enough for him to love a woman again.

  Yes, he did hunger now, not only for a woman, but also for a family of his own.

  Driven to know whether the white woman was alright, Wolf Dancer left his home and went to check on Joshua. After discovering him sleeping peacefully, he continued on to his canoe and slid it back into the river.

  His heart beat with an anticipation that he had not felt for years. Each stroke of the paddle taking him closer to the white woman made him realize just how empty his life had been without a woman in it to share laughter and conversation with him.

  Yes, he would observe what was happening at the huge plantation house. He would make certain that the widow and her daughter were safe enough for the time being, until he decided how he could claim them both as his own!

  And he would.

  Somehow…he…would!

  Chapter Five

  Dost thou love life?

  Then do not squander time, for that’s the

  stuff life is made of.

  —Benjamin Franklin

  Unable to stop thinking about what had happened on this fateful day—the murder and burial of her poor husband—Lavinia scooted lower in her bed and covered her head with her blanket.

  Sobs racked her body as she relived the moment when she had seen her husband lying dead in Hiram’s arms, an arrow in his chest.

  She still couldn’t believe that the peaceful Seminole Indians who made their home in the nearby swamp could be responsible.

  In fact, she was certain that they weren’t.

  Did that mean another band of Indians also lived somewhere near?

  If so, no one had ever mentioned their causing problems before.

&
nbsp; The slaves worked safely in the fields, and Lavinia came and went in her horse and buggy when she pleased.

  Some inner sense told her that whoever had killed husband had used an arrow to make it look as though Indians were responsible.

  But who would have wanted to kill Virgil?

  Her husband, being the kind man that he was, had no known enemies.

  He had never had problems with anyone.

  He was even kind to his slaves. The slaves had grown to admire him for his gentleness, though they hated the very sight of Hiram, who used his whip too casually on them even after Virgil had warned him against such a practice.

  Only one man came to mind when she thought of evil and meanness…and that was Hiram!

  But surely…

  No.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to believe that Hiram could kill his own brother. Yet Hiram had much to gain if Virgil were out of the picture.

  He would be able to run the plantation by himself, the way he wanted.

  He was even planning on marrying his brother’s wife!

  That thought made Lavinia stop crying and angrily push the blanket away from herself.

  She slid out of bed, and barefoot went to the shutters at one window and threw them open.

  She inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh air as it wafted into her room.

  She knew she had to get hold of herself.

  She had much to plan and do.

  Besides burying her husband, she had accomplished one other thing today.

  Twila was no longer living among the slaves in the quarters.

  She was now at the house, with a little room of her own, and with housekeeping duties that were much easier than the chores she’d done before. Hiram was furious that Lavinia had given Twila so much freedom.

  “And that’s only the beginning,” Lavinia whispered to herself.

  She went to her dresser and took up her hairbrush.

  As she pulled it through her long, golden hair, she went back to the window and found herself gazing at the massive live oak where she had seen the mystical panther earlier in the day.

  The sunset was casting an orange glow on the moss, which hung from the limbs like the lace at the neckline of her delicate white gown.

  Then she dropped her brush, gasped, and grabbed at the bedpost as she found herself gazing at the white panther, which was leisurely resting on the same limb as before.

  Seeing it again convinced her it was real.

  It wasn’t a figment of her imagination, unless…“Mama?”

  Dorey’s sweet voice drew Lavinia’s attention as she came into the room. The smell of tomato soup wafted toward Lavinia, who turned abruptly to look at her daughter.

  “Mama, I’ve brought you your soup,” Doreysaid, taking the bowl over to the bedside table. She placed it there and set a spoon beside it.

  Dorey went to Lavinia. “Mama, you’ve been crying again,” she murmured. “Yet I’m glad that you are at least out of bed and brushing your hair. But, Mama…there is something I see in your expression that puzzles me. What is it, Mama? What’s wrong?”

  Lavinia smiled weakly. She laid her brush on the bed, then turned slowly to look out the window again.

  She had to see if the beautiful white panther was really in the oak, or just a figment of her imagination. If she still saw it there, she would point the creature out to Dorey. If Dorey saw it, too, then Lavinia would know without a doubt that it was real!

  When she gazed at the exact spot where she had seen the panther, the limb was empty. A strange feeling of panic clutched her insides; she needed to know for certain that it had been there.

  She didn’t want to believe that she was on the verge of losing her mind!

  She stepped closer to the window.

  She grabbed hold of the sill, and her heart pounded as she looked almost desperately from tree to tree, to see if the panther had gone to rest elsewhere.

  But no!

  It wasn’t anywhere to be seen!

  And then she gasped. Down on the Bone River she caught a glimpse of an Indian paddling away.

  He turned his head as if he knew that she was there, watching him. As he looked up directly ather, Lavinia grabbed the sill even harder, for her knees had gone strangely rubbery, as though they might not hold her up any longer.

  Oh, Lord, had she been wrong not to believe an Indian had killed her husband? Could this very Indian be the one responsible?

  But no!

  She had seen his face well enough today when he was resting in the tree earlier. This Indian she was now gazing upon at was one and the same.

  So, no. He could not be responsible for her husband’s death. She had seen this same Indian only moments before Hiram had appeared, carrying Virgil in his arms.

  This Indian could not have been in two places at once!

  And he had not carried a quiver of arrows on his back, nor had he been clutching a bow in his hand earlier today as he rested in the tree.

  But then again, there had been that white panther in the tree, and she had seen it at almost the same time she had seen this Indian!

  Oh, she was so confused.

  Or…she might truly be losing her mind.

  The sound of Dorey speaking brought Lavinia out of her puzzled state. “Mama, you are behaving so peculiarly,” Dorey said. She stepped up to Lavinia and took one of her hands. “What are you looking for outside the window?”

  Lavinia smiled weakly at Dorey.

  “Mother, you look as though you have just seen a ghost,” Dorey said, her eyes wide as she saw how paleher mother’s face was. “What on earth is wrong? Please tell me.”

  Lavinia saw that she was worrying her daughter. Not wanting to address her questions at this time, since she truly had no answers, she bent over and brushed a soft kiss across Dorey’s brow.

  “It’s been a very tiring and troubling day, that’s all,” she murmured. She went to her chifforobe, took a robe from it and slipped into it, then pulled on some slippers.

  She went to a soft, upholstered chair that stood beside the bedside table and sat down.

  She picked up the bowl of soup and scooped a spoonful from it. She softly blew on it first, then sipped the rich tomato soup into her mouth.

  The first taste warmed her stomach, yet she truly wanted nothing to eat. Her stomach was still unsettled by the day’s sadness, and from seeing the Indian again.

  She set the bowl aside on the table and forced a smile as she looked at Dorey. “How is Twila doing?” she asked. She knew she must try to calm herself by talking about ordinary things. “Does Twila like her room?”

  “She adores it,” Dorey said. She plopped down on the rocking chair that was positioned near the chair upon which her mother sat. She giggled. “But I must confess, she spends more time in my room than her own. I’ve been showing her all my things. She loves my doll collection and my storybooks. Mama, I’m going to teach her so much. And she is so eager to learn.”

  “That’s wonderful, Dorey, wonderful,” Lavinia said, though she had not actually heard much of what Dorey had said.

  Lavinia kept gazing over at the window, her eyes lingering there as she thought about what she had seen.

  First the panther, and then the Indian!

  It was all so mysterious; so unbelievable!

  Chapter Six

  I saw and loved.

  —Edward Gibbon

  It’s been two weeks now,” Lavinia said as she sat on her bed, resting her back against the headboard. She was in a robe, for she never knew when Hiram might decide to come and check on her, to see if she felt strong enough today to leave her room and join him at the dining table for dinner.

  “Do you think it’s been long enough, Mama?” Dorey asked as she worked on her embroidery. “Aren’t you tired of being in this room? Surely Uncle Hiram has lost interest in his idea of making you his wife.”

  “In just two weeks?” Lavinia said, laughing. “He won’t forget it until he has one foot in hell. I
would gladly go there so that I could push him in the rest of the way.”

  “Mama, he asks me too often about you,” Dorey said, resting her embroidery work on her lap. “It’s making me nervous. I have to tell him one lie after another. I’m getting quite uncomfortable making up so many stories.”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to make you lie,” Lavinia said. She sighed heavily. “But there is no other way. I despise the very ground Hiram walks on. I would die if he so much as touched me. And if I were his wife, I would be…duty bound… to allow him to do more than that.”

  “I will tell him the necessary lies until the day I die if it keeps you from having to endure something as horrible as that,” Dorey said. She shuddered. “So don’t worry, Mama. I’m sure God understands why these lies are necessary.”

  “It’s only a game, and it shouldn’t have to be necessary for much longer,” Lavinia said. She slid from the bed. She ran her fingers through her long, golden hair, slipped her feet into soft slippers, then went to a window and threw open the shutters so that the morning sunlight could filter in and brighten the room.

  As usual, she gazed at the old oak tree where she often saw the Indian sitting and looking, it seemed, directly up at her window. She hadn’t seen the panther for a few days and wondered why.

  “Mama, Twila seems happy being here in the house with us,” Dorey said.

  Her daughter’s voice drew Lavinia’s eyes from the tree, but she never seemed now to be able to put the handsome Indian from her mind. Lavinia turned just as Dorey got up from her chair and came to join her by the window.

  “I’m so glad that Twila is doing alright even though her parents are no longer there for her tolove and spend the evenings with. The evenings were the only time they had together, you know,” Lavinia said. She took Dorey by the hand and led her to the bed, where they both sat on the edge as they continued to talk.

  “Hiram pushed them so hard even after Virgil begged him not to be so cruel to the slaves,” she murmured. “Your father was too soft-spoken. He allowed Hiram to walk all over him, and it was Hiram who got his way for the most part. Now? With Virgil not here to keep an eye on what’s going on, I would hate to see how Hiram is treating the slaves.”