Charmed

by Catherine Hart

  “Perhaps a silver neck band or a pair of hoops for your ears?” he suggested.

  “Save that idea for our first anniversary,” she told him.

  “What then?” he queried. “What would you consider a fair recompense?”

  Her smile was as naughty as his. “I’d accept the same thing. A picture of you, posed nude on that bear rug. My own personal memento, if you will.”

  His brow rose. “And where would you secure it, wife? You have no spirit bag.”

  “Maybe I’ll make one for myself,” she informed him blithely. “Surely, in such an equal society, that custom is not reserved solely for men. Can’t women have one, too?”

  “Some do,” he conceded. “Those who received guidance from the Spirits.”

  “And how does one go about contacting the Spirits for this counsel?” she pressed. “Do they go on a vision quest and fast and pray? I’ve read of young men doing that in other tribes.”

  “As do we,” he said. “However, there is no need to journey afar. The Spirits are all around us, Neeake. They are in the trees and the rocks and the beasts. In everything you see and touch. Among them is the Spirit meant especially for you, that closest to your soul. You need only open your mind to it, with a pure heart and body, and the Spirits will commune with you.”

  “Meditation,” she concluded. “Freeing your mind of all else so that you are more receptive and in tune with nature.”

  “The body must be cleansed as well, inside and out,” he reminded her. “One cannot entreat the Spirits and be unclean in any way.”

  “So we’re back to fasting, I assume.” Nikki wrinkled her nose. “Not that the notion is foreign to me. God knows, I’ve tried every diet on the market, though they didn’t do much good in the long run. My willpower always wavers in the face of chocolate, I’m afraid. Still, I’d be willing to give it a fair shot. It would only be temporary starvation, unlike some of the regimens I’ve been on. When can I try it?”

  “Whenever you wish, little one. I will prepare a sweat lodge for you.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Half a day, at most. Just long enough to erect it, heat the rocks, and purify it with herbs.”

  “Wait. Will all this fasting and sweating be bad for the baby?”

  “I foresee no problem.”

  “Great! But don’t start building it until tomorrow or the day after. We’ve got a football game to play today, and the dances tonight. And I want time to collect my wager from you afterward. Besides, it will be more peaceful around here once the others return to their own villages. I’ll be better able to concentrate properly then, and there will be less chance that someone will interrupt my meditation.”

  Nikki was surprised at how similar the Shawnee football game was to those to which she was accustomed. The field was only three-quarters the length of a regulation football field, seventy-five yards rather than a hundred, but there were goal posts at either end, just like back home—and the basic objective of the game was the same: to score a goal by kicking or carrying the ball across the opposing goal line. However, in this instance, the ball had to go between the goal posts, which were set only three feet apart. Each goal counted as one point, and the first team to score twelve would become the winner.

  The ball was made of rawhide stuffed with deer hair, but it was round and small, just slightly larger than a tennis ball. Also, the rules for the two teams were different. The men were only allowed to kick the ball while the women could pick it up and carry it, which served to even the odds somewhat. Here, old and young alike were invited to participate on both teams. Grabbing, tackling, and stealing the ball were permitted, though Silver Thorn assured Nikki that the men took care not to be unnecessarily rough with the women, just as all were mindful not to hit the children or elderly players too hard.

  “That’s good to know,” she said, “especially since there is a noticeable lack of helmets and mouth guards and shoulder pads for protection. I’m just glad we’ll all be wearing moccasins instead of cleated shoes. Those babies would really kill your bare ankles. Talk about bumps and bruises and cracked shins!”

  “Many of the players wrap their lower legs in metetawawa, hide leggings,” he informed her. “I will secure a pair for you, if you wish.”

  Nikki gave a vigorous nod. “I wish, and some elbow pads might not be amiss, either. It’s been a long time since I’ve played, but I’m sure I recall many a scraped knee and scabbed elbow in earlier games with my brothers. I even wound up with a black eye once, when Jack’s knee got in my way as I was scoring a touchdown. I wouldn’t have minded so badly, but that was just a week before my junior prom—an important dance at school,” she clarified. “I had a heck of a time trying to disguise the bruise with makeup so the colors wouldn’t clash with my gown.”

  Rather than a coin toss, the game began when a mediator tossed the ball into the air at center field. Naturally, the men, being taller and able to jump higher, gained first control of the ball. But not for long. Amid a flurry of thrashing feet, one of the women kicked the ball into the hands of a teammate, and the rush was on. She lobbed it to another, who tossed it to another, who promptly threw it into the hands of the opposing team.

  That’s when Nikki realized that boos and hisses were not exclusive to modern-day ballgames. Neither, it seemed, were those little victory dances players were prone to perform on scoring. When the men’s team scored first, the fellow who kicked the ball through the goal posts did a respectable imitation of any number of pro players Nikki could have named, hooting and kicking up his heels in a veritable jig.

  It didn’t take Nikki long to realize that there were far fewer rules in Shawnee football. Forward, lateral, and even backward passes and kicks were perfectly acceptable. There were no delays, no huddles, no time-outs, and the substitution system was chaotic at best. She noticed that whenever anyone tired, he took himself out of the game for a rest period and came back whenever it suited him. Others joined in whenever they took the notion to do so or quit altogether in the midst of play. The only problem in that was trying to convince the other players not to tackle you as you departed the field.

  What the game lacked in order was made up for in enthusiasm. Over grunts and groans and collisions, a great deal of laughter could be heard. Those on the sidelines cheered on their favorites, and those on the field encouraged their teammates, screamed at their opponents, and generally had the time of their lives. Good-natured ribbing was a highlight of the game. Nikki didn’t even have to understand the language to decipher most of it. She knew, when she pulled her elbow out of one man’s stomach, exactly what his complaint was. Just as the fellow who pushed her face-first into the dirt readily understood her hand gesture and facial expression as he helped her to her feet.

  After about an hour, the men were leading six to two. Nikki knew something had to be done quickly. She also suspected that organization of any sort would be an improvement. With no apparent rules against it and with Konah’s help, she began conducting quick huddles on the sidelines. Surprisingly, the women caught on immediately, with little debate over strategy. Under Nikki’s direction, with competent input from the other women, plays were decided and put into action. Soon the tide began to turn as the women scored the next three goals consecutively. Of course, it didn’t take the men long to figure out what was happening, and they were quick to initiate their own tactical sessions. That was when Nikki decided that, if all was fair in love and war, the time was ripe for the women to declare all-out war.

  As their self-appointed coach, she directed her troops. “Everyone needs to pick one man on the field and find a way to stop him, whether he has the ball or not. Those of you who are, er, bigger, should oppose the biggest men. Tiny women team up against the smaller men. Fastest against fastest, tall against tall, short against short. We need a front line of defense ready to trip any men who cross their path, most especially the one with the ball. Turtle Dove, you have a good throwing arm, and Konah, you’re good
at catching. The two of you should work together. Sweet Water, you’re the fastest runner, so you stand downfield to receive the ball and run for the end zone.

  Nikki turned to a huge woman who was built like a linebacker, right down to the space between her two front teeth. “You have a special task. Position yourself in front of our goal line and stay there. Don’t let anyone or anything past you, most especially the ball. Squat. Sit. Spread out your skirts or lie flat on the ground. Do whatever it takes, but stop that ball.”

  The woman gave Nikki a gap-toothed smile and nodded eagerly.

  “Okay, girls, pass the word to the others, and let’s give ’em hell! Get out there and gouge some eyes! Kick some butt! Scrape some shins! Squash ’em like bugs!”

  Nikki’s pep talk had great impact. The women charged onto the field, revved-up and smelling blood. A number of them kicked off their moccasins, not just for better traction but to add sharp toenails to their small cache of weapons. Even the youngsters found added motivation. They rushed into the fray, shrieking like a pack of hyenas and butting like little rams.

  Some of the women squared off against their own husbands, regardless of the contrast in their sizes, which Nikki at first thought was a mistake—until she caught on to their devious maneuvers. These women knew their husbands’ weak spots better than anyone else. One poor fellow was obviously so ticklish that once his wife got her fingers into his ribs, he was as helpless as a newborn kitten. Another woman had only to blow in her mate’s ear, and he stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her with a stupefied grin.

  Taking her cue from them, Nikki zeroed in on Silver Thorn. As they came face to face, she winked at him and gave a saucy little shimmy that sent Silver Thorn’s eyebrows rising. Because his attention was on her and not the ball, it sailed right past him—about the same time Nikki sidled up and wound her leg around his—and tripped him. He toppled onto his back like a felled oak. Nikki followed him down, planting her knee atop his solar plexus while the tip of her moccasin rested at his groin.

  Silver Thorn made an aborted attempt to roll her off of him, stopping when Nikki nudged his lower anatomy warningly with her toe. “Don’t even think about it, big boy,” she cautioned with a smug smile. “Try it, and the term football is going to take on a whole new meaning.”

  “Woman, you do not play fairly,” he complained, his glower all for show.

  “No kidding,” she retorted smartly. Seated astride his upper thigh, she ground her pelvis against him. The result was predictable and immediate.

  Silver Thorn stifled a groan.

  Nikki grinned.

  The crowd roared. The women had just scored another touchdown and the game was now tied at nine-nine.

  Though the men attempted similar tactics, it didn’t work nearly as well. Twenty minutes later, Sweet Water sprinted through the goal posts to score the winning run. The game ended with the women ahead by one point. They straggled off the field, tired and smeared with dirt and sweat and grass stains, but triumphant.

  Nikki sauntered over to Silver Thorn. Her tongue snaked out to lick at her lips, and she saw his eyes darken with desire. She gave a low, wicked chuckle. “Sweetheart, you are going to look sooo fine on that bearskin rug!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the rigors of the football game, Nikki wasn’t sure she would have the energy to participate in the dancing that evening. To her surprise, after sipping a sweet concoction Konah offered her, assuring her that it would do nothing to harm the baby, Nikki felt remarkably revived.

  She joined the other women in assembling the feast, which would be eaten all through the night. Roasted meats, an assortment of steamed tubers, corn cakes, and beans constituted the main fare. There were dessert dishes and candies, most of them made of varieties of berries, molasses, and honey. Beverages ranged from plain water to different types of juices and teas—flavored from fruits, leaves, and bark—to a potent fermented brew which Nikki assumed was comparable to corn liquor.

  “That’s all this world needs,” she commented to Konah. “A bunch of Indians drunk on their ears. And you say the dancing lasts all night? Does the last man standing get some sort of prize?”

  Konah laughed. “No, but he probably should. Do not fret, granddaughter. Our men will not consume so much that they will become unruly, especially with the general and his men here. Black Hoof would see them staked over anthills if they dared do anything that foolish.”

  Nikki had managed to brush most of the dirt off her dress and neatly French braid her hair. In honor of the occasion, she even applied a modicum of eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick. After weeks of toting wood, tending fires, pulling weeds, and gathering foodstuff, her fingernails were a mess. A quick manicure and a coat of pink polish helped disguise much of the damage.

  Upon seeing her, Konah and Melassa declared that they, too, wished to paint their nails and faces. Word soon spread; and before she knew it, Nikki found herself in the role of beautician as two dozen exuberant women argued and haggled over her meager supply of makeup.

  “Good grief!” she declared. “Now I know what those poor clerks feel like at a super-clearance sale!”

  She quickly adopted her teacher’s tone in an attempt to restore order. “Ladies, please! Let’s not quarrel and pull at each other! If you will all just sit down and be patient, everyone will have an equal opportunity to use the cosmetics. However, a little goes a long way, and I would suggest that you allow me to help you. Your husbands might object to wives who resemble a troop of circus clowns.”

  Using Konah as a model, Nikki demonstrated how to apply the cosmetics. She then paired the women off. “You will be partners, each helping the other with her makeup and hair. I will supervise.” Dividing her few shades of shadow, nail enamel, gloss, and lipstick, she doled them out with a droll admonition. “Share nicely, ladies, or none of you will get to play with my goodies again.”

  Between offering advice to the others, she French-braided Konah’s hair while a couple of the women carefully watched the procedure so they could learn to do it. Melassa decided she wanted the front of her hair fringed into bangs on her forehead. Another had Nikki help arrange her hair into an intricate twist, anchoring it to the back of her head with a silver comb so ornate that Nikki was stunned by the workmanship. It rivaled any she might have found at an exclusive jewelry shop in her own day and time.

  As she made the rounds, allotting a sprite of her travelsized hair spray where needed, she studied her students with a critical eye. The final results weren’t too bad at all, and the women were as pleased as punch as they admired themselves in Nikki’s small hand mirror. A dab of musk cologne for each, and they proudly scampered off—hot to trot, as Nikki phrased it—to glean compliments from their unsuspecting spouses. For her part, Nikki hoped the husbands would not be upset with their new and improved wives—or with her for instigating the make-overs. She certainly didn’t want to be the cause of any marital disputes, caused by a dab of paint here and there.

  She needn’t have worried. The men seemed quite enchanted with the new look their wives presented. Most particularly, however, they were intrigued by the sensual fragrance wafting from them. Though not normally so demonstrative in public, Nikki spotted many a man sniffing at his mate’s neck or wrist, just as Silver Thorn was at hers. “You smell wonderful,” he told her. “Good enough to eat.”

  While she relished the compliment, Nikki couldn’t help but giggle. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what they use to create the cologne.”

  His brow arched in silent question.

  “Skunk glands,” she informed him baldly. “I don’t know the precise procedure, but I do know that perfumes are made from the musk obtained from the testicles of certain animals, skunks among them.”

  “You are jesting,” he claimed.

  She shook her head. “I’m perfectly serious.”

  “How can this be? No skunk ever smelled this good. Even I, with all my powers, could not endow him with such a sweet sce
nt.”

  His expression was a blend of confusion, disbelief, and outrage, and Nikki had to chuckle. “As I said, I don’t know how they do it, only that they do.” She gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Don’t try to analyze it, darling. Simply enjoy it.”

  He scowled. “It would be much easier to do so if I could delete from my mind the thought that while I am smelling your neck, I might as well have my nose stuck up the ass-end of a skunk.”

  Nikki was pleased to discover that, while some of the evening’s dances were solely for groups of men or for women only, most included both males and females. In some, the steps were relatively simple. Others were more complicated. Several reminded her of dances she’d learned as a young child, with certain variations, of course. One highly resembled the bunny hop. Another was remarkably similar to the hokey-pokey. A third imitated a game of crack-the-whip. Many were a form of line-dancing. They varied from slow and sedate to fast and furious, following the beat of the drum and the commands of the head dancer. Sometimes the dancers lined up as couples and danced beside each other. In others, they aligned face-to-face, often with one of the pair dancing backward.

  Of those performed by only the women, including herself, Nikki favored the Dove Dance. Of the “couples” numbers in which she and Silver Thorn joined, she liked the Stirrup Dance—so named because the woman would loop her arm about the neck of the man and place her near foot atop his, using it as a sort of stirrup. Then, united in this awkward, three-legged position, they would follow a counterclockwise pattern around the dance area, stopping on cue to twirl in a circle. With so many pairs mismatched in height or weight, it was hilarious fun. Many a couple toppled over, others tripping on them and falling into a heap. There was much good-natured joking and giggling and horseplay.

  Of all the dances, Nikki’s absolute favorite was one she did not participate in, due to the intricacy involved. It was the Swan Dance, performed so beautifully and with such grace that it brought tears to her eyes as she watched. No ballet team could have displayed more elegance than these Shawnee dancers with their sweeping, flowing movements. Then and there, Nikki vowed that she would have Konah teach her the steps and that she would practice them faithfully so that she might take part in the Swan Dance at the next ceremonial meet.