Wanalancet turned from Jane to Sam. “Bloody Hand, I must kill wolf man. Tell him to prepare himself.”
CHAPTER 43
Before Sam even translated, Stephen understood what was about to happen. His heart pounded in fury. They were caught in that moment between life and death. What happened next would determine if they were going to live. He would not back down. He was more than ready to die if need be. He would never let Wanalancet take Jane.
She carried his heart. She carried his son.
Stephen had to convince the Chief that Jane was his. He turned to Wanalancet and said, “Trying to kill me would be a mistake. I destroy evil. Are you so sure that your heart holds no evil? If it does, I will prevail. My spirit has the courage of good, not evil. Unafraid of the wilderness, I have come far and journey further only to make a new life and a better home for my family. I respect you great Chief, and have no desire to take your life and those of your braves. But my honor will not let you steal my wife. Stealing her would be an act of evil.”
Wanalancet seemed to consider what Sam translated and then replied, “I too have traveled far to claim my new wife and start a new life with her. I did this because my spirit joined hers through the smoke of my sacred pipe. I love her spirit already.” The Chief hauled Jane over to stand beside him. “And I will love her body soon.”
Jane didn’t resist but her face went bright with anger.
Stephen quickly stomped toward Wanalancet, his teeth bared, his own face burning with wrath. He ignored the brave’s drawn arrow closely following his movements. It was time to end this, one way or another.
“Sam, tell him exactly what I say—exactly.” Stephen forced himself to speak slowly. “We can fight now for which life and which spirit wins—yours or mine—but some of you will die and some of us will die.” He waited for Sam to translate, then continued. “Those of us who live will hunt you until we kill you and we will bring these women back to us. This woman is already a wife, mine, and by all that is sacred, she always will be. Taking another man’s wife is evil. And I must fight evil where I find it.”
“My heart is not evil,” Wanalancet said firmly.
“It will be forever evil. If you take my wife.” His gaze on Wanalancet remained steady.
Sam translated, then added, “I too have traveled far—to leave behind bloody wars I have fought with both the Indians and white men. We have been enemies for many years. You, your braves, and other tribes, fought us with great courage. And the white men fought each other bravely. But the time has come for us to live in the same world and let the same sun enlighten us all. We all need land to grow food and game to hunt. The Algonquian tribes must have their world and their lives. And we must have ours. There is enough land for you and for us.”
Then, Stephen continued, “It is not brave or honorable for you to steal women from among us. Even though the numbers are few, the grief you cause is great. If you stop, it will be easier for the white man to respect you and call you wise. A wise soul understands that there are good and bad among any tribe and any nation. But good men will always be greater in number than the bad. You and I must not let bad men determine how we treat each other. My brother does not want his hand to run red with Indian blood, especially the blood of a great Chief. But his knife is savage when it needs to be. We will kill you, but only if you harm our family or steal these women. We can be brothers or we can be enemies. You must decide. Now.”
“His knife is savage, but it is also a noble blade,” Wanalancet said, “unlike the blade of Bomazeen. He was one of the bad men that you speak of. I regret now that he sometimes acted for me because I am not one of these bad men. I see truth in the blade of the big knife because his heart is true. Your spirit, wolf man, is the strongest I have known among white men. But I have come far for this woman. I must consider what to do and what the Great Spirit tells me.”
The imposing Indian circled Jane, seeming to study her body and soul. With each circle, his movements nearly graceful and his self-assurance unmistakable, Wanalancet drew closer to her. Each loop the Chief made around Jane lessened Stephen’s self-control. Soon he would have none. Forgetting their plan, he decided he would kill the man himself.
Then, Wanalancet bent down and, for what seemed an eternity, studied the fire. Stephen wondered if the flames tied the Chief’s soul to the ways of the old spirits. Wanalancet’s eyes soon blazed, as though some unknown life force spoke only to the Chief. He hoped they were words of wisdom and peace.
Stephen barely breathed but his hands gripped his weapons tightly. The dripping leaves surrounding them sounded like a thousand ticking clocks. Sam and the others remained quiet. Stephen prepared himself to kill if needed.
Finally, Wanalancet stood tall, his long raven hair billowing in the breeze, and spoke again. “Bomazeen was right. This woman would make good mother to my people. I see great strength in her eyes and her body. But I do not want a woman whose spirit will die. Her beauty would wither like winter leaves. It has been so with others we have taken. Perhaps, as you say, it is false-hearted for us to continue to steal slaves. It is not my desire to do evil. We will leave you now with your lives and women. We will travel on to southern tribes and trade for women there.”
Wanalancet motioned for his braves to put away their weapons and they obeyed immediately.
Stephen lowered his weapons somewhat and finally breathed but kept relief from showing on his face.
Bear, who understood the Algonquian language better than he could speak it, put away his hatchet and slowly stepped forward. He removed his necklace and presented it solemnly to the Chief.
Stephen knew what a great sacrifice Bear was making to seal the agreement with the Chief. He also saw in Bear’s eyes a new respect for the man Wanalancet was and suspected that he no longer thought of the Chief as merely a wild savage.
Wanalancet’s eyes widened in surprise and obvious pleasure as he studied the string of bear claws and teeth.
Stephen removed the wolf hide from his shoulder and slowly brought it to the Chief.
Wanalancet’s eyes, bright with the fire’s reflection, considered Stephen for a few moments before the Chief reached out for the dark skin. “This symbol of the spirit of the wolf is a costly gift. A wolf pelt is worth more than 40 beaver skins and presenting a gift of the fur of a wolf is an act of reconciliation. I accept this gift and your gesture of peace with it.”
After Sam translated, Stephen said, “I will keep one skin and you the other. As these wolves were linked in strength and alliance in life, so will we be.”
Wanalancet moved to the side of his horse, who sidled uneasily at the smell of the fresh wolf hide, now hanging from the Chief’s muscular forearm. He reached into a deer-hide pouch and removed his Calumet, sheathed in the neck of a loon. After filling the pipe’s red marble bowl with tobacco, and lighting it with a stick from the fire, he smoked the peace pipe for a few moments before offering it to Stephen.
“My spirit gives this woman’s spirit back to you,” Wanalancet told him.
Stephen took the pipe respectfully, and smoked several puffs before passing it back to the Chief. Wanalancet then solemnly passed it to each of the other men in turn before taking a final drag on the long pipe decorated with bird feathers and locks of human hair.
With the pipe cradled in his arms folded across his chest, Wanalancet said, “I ask only one thing of you.”
“What?” Sam asked, warily.
“That you use your noble blade to cut a length of this woman’s hair,” Wanalancet said, pointing to Jane.
Sam glanced uneasily at Stephen and then translated.
Stephen hesitated a moment but then nodded his assent, and motioned for Sam to give him his knife. If this had to be done, he would do it himself. He took the knife and cut a length of Jane’s hair, as she stood motionless, her face revealing nothing. He offered the locks to the Chief.
Wanalancet sat down by the fire and used one of the rawhide strips hanging from the pipe to care
fully secure Jane’s hair to the quill. Silently, they all focused on the shining copper curls now adorning the Chief’s sacred pipe.
Stephen sat down next to the Chief. “Now, I ask only one thing of you great Chief.”
Wanalancet studied him as Sam translated.
“Would you clean your heart of Bomazeen’s evil by returning the yellow-haired girl back to her people? I believe her Christian name is Lucy,” Stephen asked.
Wanalancet gazed again at the fire’s flames and smoke, his face impassive.
“I ask you to do this good thing,” Stephen said. “If you do, and take her back to where Bomazeen stole her, we will all thank our God for your wisdom and ask for his blessings for many seasons upon you and your tribe.”
“It will be done,” Wanalancet finally said. He stood abruptly, removed one of the many strings of pearls on his chest, and placed the strand around Jane’s neck.
Jane’s face remained impassive, but her eyes, filled with gratitude, met Wanalancet’s. “God’s grace onto you,” she said with dignity.
Sam translated and Wanalancet nodded and turned away.
Moments later, the Chief and his braves disappeared into the woods.
Stephen turned to his wife. His wife.
Jane, crying from joy and relief, jerked the wolf skin off Stephen’s shoulders and tossed the rank hide aside before hugging him fiercely. She wanted to never let him go. She wanted him by her side every moment for the rest of her life. To love him forever and ever.
He kissed her as though it were their first kiss—gently at first and then with a passion as wild as the wilderness itself. Then they both ran toward the children. Stephen untied and picked up both girls, hugging them against his chest as she repeatedly kissed their faces. Bear helped Jane quickly untie Little John and he carried the boy over to John, while she ran to retrieve the painkiller the child would need. Sam and Catherine assisted John. William untied Kelly and putting his arm around her still shaking shoulders, guided her to a seat by the fire.
As she came back with the medicine, Jane observed her family, her heart filling with gratitude that they were all unharmed. After getting Little John and the girls settled and comfortable again, she slipped her arms around Stephen’s waist. Suddenly overwhelmed by the torment of the last few hours, she smothered a sob against his chest.
He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. He ran his hand lovingly over the spot where he had just cut her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Jane said, “but not about the hair. About ever doubting you. About causing you even more heartache. About even a small part of me not forgiving you.” Gazing up at her husband’s eyes, conveying all the tenderness and compassion she felt, she truly and completely forgave him, and herself.
A cry of relief broke from his lips. “I love you,” he whispered.
There would be no more heartache. Only love. She yielded to the sobs that shook her and wept for joy, encircled in his strong arms. She had him back and she would never let go.
Tonight there would be no shadows across her heart. Only the light of love.
With a weak smile and his tired eyes glistening, Stephen presented her with the meat he had fought so hard to keep. “For you,” he said, “always for you.”
They collapsed to the ground together hugging and crying, the salt of their healing tears seasoning the fresh meat.
As he held her against him, an amazing sense of completeness filled him. He was now sure of himself and his rightful place—beside his wife on the Wilderness Trail. A trail that would lead to a lifetime of passion and love.
EPILOGUE
1797, The Wilderness Road, Kentucky
Little John, who sat in his father John’s dusty lap, asked, “What does the word Kentucky mean Uncle Sam?”
Sam glanced up from the wheel he rested his back against. “It’s an Indian word—Ken-ta-ke—that has more than one meaning. My favorite meaning is Land of Tomorrow.”
“That’s poetic and beautiful,” Catherine said.
“What’s the other meaning?” William and Kelly both asked.
“The Dark and Bloody Ground,” Sam answered.
“I much prefer the first meaning,” Jane declared, shifting the emerald lights of her eyes to Stephen.
“Aye,” Bear agreed.
Stephen gazed at his beloved wife and took her hand in his, caressing the top of it with his thumb. Her warm eyes were full of love. “Indeed,” Stephen agreed. “It will be our land of tomorrow.”
The look Jane gave him was so trusting it sent a shudder through him. He would do everything in his power to keep her trust. As usual, her nearness kindled feelings of fire. He ached to reach over and pull her close, cover her body with kisses, but it was time for them all to get moving again. The animals had rested and watered long enough.
The further into Kentucky they traveled, the more Stephen found it to be a country of extraordinary beauty—lush seemingly endless meadows carpeted abundantly with great patches of clover and tall thick nearly blue grass, incomparable to any they had seen before in color and beauty. Numerous sparkling creeks flowed steadily, often climaxing in picturesque waterfalls. In other areas, clear cool pools of water sweetened by ancient beds of limestone collected around springs shaded by huge sycamores.
Deer or buffalo grazed peacefully nearly everywhere he looked. On their third day into Kentucky, he saw a drove of several hundred buffalo. Martha and Polly delighted in watching the young calves play and skip about like children at play. It was good to see his girls happy.
Despite all the hardships on their journey, Stephen’s heart remained strong. He would find what he had come for. He looked back at his young bull and two heifers, which had faithfully plodded alongside them for more than a thousand miles. They had grown quite a lot on this long journey, closer to the maturity needed to be the foundation of his new herd. He had matured too. He was wiser now, and stronger. And he loved Jane even more.
“Do you think we’ll find what you’re looking for in Boonesborough?” she asked him the next morning, as they all shared breakfast together near a blue-green meadow. “Or will we have to keep going?” She studied his face as she waited for him to answer.
He recognized that Jane was beyond tired of traveling and he wanted to find a home for her soon. He sincerely hoped reaching Boonesborough would be the end of their journey.
“What are you looking for?” Little John asked before Stephen could answer.
All eyes focused on him. All ears waited for his answer. They had come so far together, endured and lost so much. He reached inside his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the pouch of soil he had placed there before they left New Hampshire. The soil from the mountainside that held his father’s grave had been a long time getting from there to here. But the trip had taken much more than time from them.
He gazed down at the pouch of precious soil, remembering the love of the land he learned from their father, as fathers and sons had for generations whose time had already come. He hoped future generations of their family, whose time was yet to come, would honor that past as they learned to love the land too. When it was their turn to live and to love, he would be gone. Their chance for a better future would remain.
Stephen returned the pouch to its pocket and looked at Jane, who stood at his side. He reached for her hand. As much as he loved the land, he loved her so much more and, at long last, she believed that he did.
Their love, tested in tragedy and forged in forgiveness on this difficult journey, emerged stronger and deeper than ever.
In the future, their marriage would be measured by more than just years—it would be measured by living, by laughter, and a dream they shared.
He swallowed the knot rising in his throat. Ready now to answer the boy’s question, he glanced down at Little John. “For God’s own pasture, son, I’m looking for God’s own pasture.”
“Will he share it with us?” Martha asked.
Stephen smiled at his oldest daughter, happier
than he had ever been. “Yes. He will. Look at that Kentucky grass,” he marveled, “with good rains we’ll raise a fat cow on one acre on grass like that. We’ll have a large herd in no time. Right Jane?” He pulled her into his arms. The nearness of her gave him comfort.
“Right, my husband.”
He cupped her face gently in his hand as he looked into her beautiful eyes—the same dazzling color as the meadow that stretched out before them. “I promise you and the girls a better future here in Kentucky,” Stephen said and then sealed his vow with a tender kiss, a kiss as light and warm as the summer breeze on his face.
He took in a deep breath. The meadow smelled glorious, like Jane’s skin after she’d bathed, intoxicatingly fresh.
And like Jane, the sight of his future made his heart beat stronger.
We hope you enjoyed reading
American Wilderness Series Romances Book One
WILDERNESS TRAIL OF LOVE
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Titles by Author Dorothy Wiley
Book One
WILDERNESS TRAIL OF LOVE
The story of Stephen and Jane
Book Two
NEW FRONTIER OF LOVE
The story of Sam and Catherine
Book Three
WHISPERING HILLS OF LOVE
The story of William and Kelly
Book Four
FRONTIER HIGHLANDER VOW OF LOVE
The story of Bear and Artis
Book Five
FRONTIER GIFT OF LOVE
Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) Page 28
