Swift Horse

by Cassie Edwards

  Suddenly footsteps behind her drew Marsha quickly around. She found her brother there with the same sort of sappy look on his face that came with his having spent time with Soft Wind.

  Smiling, he took her hands in his. “Sis, I have something to tell you,” he said, searching her eyes.

  Marsha’s insides tightened, she was so afraid that her brother was going to tell her that he was in love with Soft Wind! Then she grew cold inside when he told her news even worse than what she had feared.

  “Sis, I’m going to marry Soft Wind,” Edward James said. “I’m going to marry her soon.” His smile faded when Marsha yanked her hands free of his and took a quick step away from him.

  “Edward James, how can you?” she gasped out. “How can you forget so easily that it was Indians who killed our parents? Edward, she . . . this pretty maiden Soft Wind . . . is Indian.”

  “I understand very well that she is Indian,” Edward James said, taken aback by his sister’s stunned behavior, for he suspected that she had to know about his feelings for Soft Wind for some time.

  Marsha had seen him and Soft Wind together many times. They had taken long walks together, and Marsha had even seen them kissing one evening.

  “Edward James, you are marrying this woman for all of the wrong reasons,” Marsha blurted out.

  “What do you mean?” Edward James said, forking an eyebrow. “What other reason than loving her can there be?”

  “I see you doing this as a way to secure protection forever from her chieftain brother,” Marsha said tightly. “Also, wouldn’t her marriage to you work in the behalf of her own people? Wouldn’t it be a way for her to be a source of information and advice for the chief? Wouldn’t she gain access to, and be in control of, the stock of trade goods? Wouldn’t it—”

  Edward James grabbed Marsha gently by the shoulders. “Stop it. Where on earth did all of that come from?” he said tightly. “Say nothing more, especially something you might regret later. All that you just said has nothing to do with my reason for marrying Soft Wind, or her marrying me. We are in love. And . . . we don’t want to wait any longer.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Marsha said as she yanked herself free of his grip. “Edward James, I am aghast at what you are planning to do. Let me remind you that men of this woman’s skin color murdered our parents in cold blood,” Marsha said dryly, as the horrors of that day again flashed before her eyes.

  “Sis, the murderer’s blood is not of Soft Wind’s blood,” Edward James said thickly. “She is all purity and sweetness. Her brother is a kind and gentle leader of his people, someone I would trust with my own life. You must change your mind about this, for I am marrying the woman and she will be brought into our house.”

  That thought sent a cold chill down Marsha’s spine, yet she knew that no matter what she said or did, her brother was going to marry this Indian maiden and she had no choice but to try to accept it.

  “Marsha?” Edward James said, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Please say that you understand and will try to accept Soft Wind into your life. She will be my wife, Marsha. She will be your sister-in-law.”

  Marsha swallowed hard, then flung herself into her brother’s arms. “I’ll try,” she sobbed. “Oh, Lord, big brother, I shall try my hardest to accept her into my life, yet . . . yet . . . it is so hard to forget that day, and that . . . that . . . Indians took so much from us.”

  “Renegades, sis,” Edward James said, correcting her. “Renegades who have no heart or soul. Just because they were Indian does not make all Indians bad!”

  “I know,” Marsha said, again thinking of the one Indian she could not remove from her mind, ever.

  Swift Horse.

  She knew that he was nothing like those who came out of the forest with death paint all over their faces. In time, she hoped to get to know Swift Horse better, which would be assured now that his sister was marrying Marsha’s brother. That thought made her realize that perhaps what her brother was doing was not all that bad after all.

  “You will be all right with this, won’t you?” Edward James asked, gently holding Marsha away from him, his eyes gazing intensely into hers.

  “Yes, I shall be all right,” Marsha murmured, then again hugged him. “I’m sorry I’ve been someone foreign to you since my arrival to Kentucky. I’ll try to be myself again.”

  “That will certainly be welcomed,” Edward James said, chuckling. “Yep, that will certainly be welcomed, little sister.”

  Chapter 4

  How calm it was!—the silence there

  By such a chain was bound

  That even the busy woodpecker

  Made stiller by her sound

  The inviolable quietness....

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Just as Swift Horse was about to leave his cabin for the morning council with his warriors, he stopped and listened.

  There it was again.

  His horses were restless and neighing. That had to mean that someone might be in, or near, his corral, for his horses were normally content, especially this early in the morning.

  Even his sister wasn’t at Swift Horse’s cabin yet.

  Most days she was up before Swift Horse, preparing their morning meal, but today’s council about the cowkeeper was to be held at daybreak so that nothing would interfere with the council.

  Although Swift Horse felt that he had finally made the cowkeeper realize that he meant business about the cows, it was Alan Burton’s belligerent manner that made Swift Horse think that there would more than likely still be confrontations with the red-whiskered man.

  He believed that warnings did not mean all that much to the cowkeeper, and plans must be made to stop him, once and for all.

  There!

  He heard it again! The horses were growing more uneasy.

  “Brother, what is causing the horses to make so much noise that it awakened me?” Soft Wind asked, walking into the cabin in her doeskin dress and moccasins, yawning and stretching her arms above her head.

  Then she stopped and gazed in wonder at Swift Horse. “And why are you up so early?” she asked, forking an eyebrow. “What troubles you, brother? You are dressed already, which means that you had to have been dressed before the horses began making those unusual noises.”

  “An early council is planned to discuss the cowkeeper,” Swift Horse said, looking past her and through a window.

  He tensed up when he saw a movement outside just past his pole corral at the back of the cabin.

  “What is it?” Soft Wind asked as she saw her brother’s eyes narrow as he grabbed his rifle, which stood beside the door.

  “Someone is out back,” Swift Horse said, turning and opening the door. He looked at Soft Wind over his shoulder. “Lock the door behind me!”

  Suddenly afraid, Soft Wind did as he said, then went to the window and gazed from it.

  She was stunned when she saw a man with black skin limping toward Swift Horse’s storage building at the back of the yard.

  Soft Wind gasped and placed a hand to her mouth when she saw deep, bloody-looking scars on his bare back, and the look of horror on his face when he looked over his shoulder and saw Swift Horse running toward him, shouting, “Stop.”

  Chapter 5

  I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.

  —Robert Browning

  “Stop!” Swift Horse shouted again, cringing when he saw the terrible deep and bloody scars on the black man’s bare back as he continued to limp toward the opened door of the storage shed.

  “Do not be afraid,” Swift Horse tried to reassure him. “You are among friends. My people do not have slaves. We do not believe in slavery!”

  Swift Horse was aware of slave trading among whites, and he had heard of runaway slaves. Swift Horse concluded that this black man must have run away.

  To Swift Horse all men were equal, whether their skin was white, black, or copper—even though he often saw the whites as inferior because o
f their ignorance of how things should be.

  But his beloved mother had taught him when he was just a small brave, that even whites were human beings, although some were heartless in so many ways, especially toward anyone other than their own skin coloring.

  And now he saw the true depths of their ignorance about black people.

  He continued to run toward the limping man. Then suddenly the black man stopped.

  He watched as the black man turned slowly around to face Swift Horse. Even though he must be in terrible pain and surely felt endangered, he showed that he was a man of dignity as he stood there with a lifted chin.

  “I am a friend, someone you can trust,” Swift Horse said again, in a friendly, hopefully reassuring, tone. Yet Swift Horse had never spoken to a black man before. He now wondered what language he spoke. Did blacks have their own language, as whites and red skins had their own?

  Swift Horse could speak both English and Spanish. Perhaps he could learn this man’s language, too, if needed.

  “Do you understand me when I tell you that I am a friend?” Swift Horse asked, lowering his rifle to his side when he saw how the man’s eyes darted back and forth between looking at the rifle and then at Swift Horse.

  Swift Horse wanted to place the rifle on the ground to prove that he truly was a friend; but seeing how large the man was, with muscles bulging at his arms and shoulders, he knew that it was foolish to give him a chance to overpower him.

  “I mean no one no harm,” the man finally said in a deep sort of booming voice. “I’se just needs food, water, and rest, then I’se be on my way.”

  Swift Horse was relieved that the man finally spoke to him. Cautiously, he took a step closer to him. When the man still stood there, and did not assume a threatening stance, Swift Horse stepped close enough to touch him on the arm. He could feel the man tense beneath his touch, yet he still stood there, his eyes wide, his body tight.

  “You have been terribly mistreated,” Swift Horse said softly. “Can I see the wounds on your back more closely? There is someone among my people who can doctor them if you will allow it.”

  The man stood there, rigid, silently watching Swift Horse, then gave a gentle nod. Swift Horse turned him and gazed at the gashes on his back. When Swift Horse saw the depth of the raw, bloody scars, he cringed. He could tell that they had been inflicted more than a day or so ago, but still they were oozing blood.

  He knew that they must be terribly painful, and did not want to think of how it must have been at the moment of impact by the whip, for he knew that was how those wounds had been inflicted. He had heard about how white slave owners used whips on their slaves, and it sickened him even to think about how this man had suffered from such mistreatment.

  He stepped around and faced the man again. “What is your name?” he asked thickly, realizing just how wronged this man had been at the hands of whites, as so many red men had been wronged and killed by them.

  “Abraham,” the man said in an even deeper, huskier voice than moments ago. “My mama named me Abraham from a character in my mama’s Bible.”

  Swift Horse was relieved to see that Abraham was obviously no longer afraid, but instead appeared to be grateful to be treated with a measure of respect and kindness, perhaps for the first time in his life.

  “Abraham, how far have you traveled on your bare feet and with such injuries?” Swift Horse asked, touched deeply by this man who was large, yet seemed to be of gentle nature.

  “I’se be from the tip of Southern Florida land, but I don’t knows figures or distances, but I do knows I’se traveled far, so far it hurts me to even think ’bout goin’ farther,” Abraham said. “I fled a heartless mastah after my wife and baby son were killed by the man for bein’ sickly and of no use to him anymores.”

  “I am so very sorry for your loss,” Swift Horse said, suddenly reliving the deaths of his own parents at the hands of heartless renegades. Yes, there were evil men of all colors.

  “Thank you,” Abraham said, humbly lowering his eyes. Then he looked quickly at Swift Horse again. “My mastah has been known to pay much money fo’ the return of escaped slaves. Will you return me to my mastah fo’ payment?”

  “I have heard that one captured runaway is worth a gun and three blankets to Indians who take runaways back to those who enslaved them. That is the equivalent of forty pounds of dressed deerskin,” Swift Horse said, seeing how knowing this made Abraham stiffen and his eyes to mist with tears. “I know that some would turn you in for such valuables. But I will not do this thing against you. I am a man who cherishes freedom for all men of all colors.”

  A look of utter relief washed across Abraham’s face. He gave Swift Horse a sudden, broad smile. “Thank youse, thank youse,” he blurted out. “Please let me stay with you. I’se be worth my keep.”

  Suddenly Abraham fell to his knees before Swift Horse. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gazed up at him. “I begs you to please lets me stay,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’se good in the fields. I saw your crops. I’se can tend to dem.”

  Swift Horse hated to see such a big man lowered to begging, especially since only moments ago there was such pride in his stance.

  He placed a gentle hand on Abraham’s shoulder. “Please stand,” he said, his own voice breaking. “And, yes, you can stay, but not as a slave, but as a freed man, a friend. When you are stronger and more able, you can help with the hunt alongside my warriors when they go on a hunt for deer or bear.”

  Abraham pushed himself up and stood tall before Swift Horse. “Thank youse,” he said, smiling as he wiped away his tears. Then his smile faded and he openly became tense all over again. “If I am seen with youse, an Indian, won’t whites retaliate agains’ youse?”

  “Whites do fear Indians and blacks interacting,” Swift Horse said thickly. “But they will not interfere in my decision to keep you, a black man, at my village. I will protect you from any harm.”

  “But what if my mastah hunts and finds me?” Abraham said, visibly shuddering.

  “Believe me when I say that I hate injustice—all injustices,” Swift Horse said tightly. “Like I have promised, I will do what I can for you. And I know how far Florida land is from here, so I do not see your, as you call him, ‘mastah’ coming this far to find only one runaway slave. And slave owners here in Kentucky would not dare interfere in what I have done. They know that I have strong ties with the white authorities at Fort Hill and that the colonel there would stand up with me regarding any decision I make about anyone, or anything.”

  “You are so kind,” Abraham said, again lowering his eyes. Then he looked up at Swift Horse again. “What Indian tribe are you a part of ?” he asked. “In Florida land, there are many who are called Seminole. What are you called?”

  “I am Chief Swift Horse of the Creek tribe,” Swift Horse said, squaring his shoulders proudly.

  “I am in the presence of a chief ?” Abraham said, obviously in awe of knowing this.

  “Yes, I am chief of my Wind Clan of Creek,” Swift Horse said, smiling. Then his smile faded. “I am sorry about your treatment at the hands of whites. It was a whip that caused the deep scars on your back, was it not?”

  “Yessah, it was a whip,” Abraham said, his voice breaking. “My mastah whips all blacks to teach obedience. Abraham . . . could not be . . . obedient any longer.”

  Swift Horse turned when he heard footsteps approaching. He saw that it was his sister, who had obviously seen everything from his back window. She had gone for their village conjurer, who was also their people’s shaman.

  He turned and saw how Abraham seemed suddenly afraid again. Swift Horse placed a gentle, reassuring hand on the man’s arm. “This is my people’s shaman, who to you might be called a doctor, since you were a part of the white world and that is how they refer to their healers,” he said. “His name is Bright Moon, and the woman is my sister Soft Wind.”

  Still Abraham stood stiffly, his eyes darting from Soft Wind to Bright Moon and then t
o Swift Horse.

  “As I am your friend, so are Bright Moon and Soft Wind your friends,” Swift Horse reassured. “Bright Moon would like to look at your wounds and study them so that he can know how to medicate them.”

  Bright Moon stepped up to Swift Horse’s side in his long robe with the paintings of many crescent moons on the buckskin. His gray hair was worn in one long braid down his back, and his old, dark eyes had lost much of their luster.

  “Let him see you,” Swift Horse again urged, taking one of Abraham’s arms and slowly turning him so that his back was to him and Bright Moon.

  The Shaman stepped closer and studied the bloody scars. “I have never seen anything like this before,” he said in his perfect English. “Whoever did this to you must not have had a heart. The scars still ooze blood although I can see they are some days old.”

  Swift Horse saw many coming from their lodges, and realized that word had spread about the black man that had come into their village. He was amazed at how many were there, for the hour was early, when only women should be up and adding wood to their cook fires. Even children were there with their mothers and fathers. They tried to get closer to the man who had a skin color most of them had not seen before.

  A small child stepped boldly up to Abraham as Abraham turned and saw so many people there, staring at him.

  Abraham looked down at the small girl as she stepped up to him and ran a hand across his stomach, then looked at her fingers. Everyone was quiet as this was happening.

  “Why does the black color not come off onto my hand?” the child asked. She gazed up without fear, but wonder, into Abraham’s black eyes. “Is the color not painted onto your skin?”

  Seeing how this might become embarrassing for Abraham, Swift Horse knelt down before the child, Pretty Star, and took her hand in his. “You do not see color on your skin from having touched this man because this color is his own, not painted,” he explained patiently. “This man’s skin is black like our own is copperred.”

  Pretty Star smiled at Swift Horse as he took his hand from hers, then ran back and stood between her mother and father.