Swift Horse smiled, for he was proud of his people’s alertness and inquisitive nature. That was how people learned, even after they had reached the midpoint of their lives.
He explained all about Abraham, why he was there, and how badly he was injured.
“Bright Moon will take Abraham now to his personal lodge and help lead the black man on to the quick path of recovery,” Swift Horse said, turning and smiling at Abraham, which seemed to help reassure him.
Swift Horse went up to Abraham. “It is all right to go with my shaman to his lodge,” he said. “He is an intelligent healer. When you leave his lodge, you will be without pain, and soon your back will heal only to scars that will surely be with you for the rest of your life. Perhaps it will be good that they will be there. They will remind you always of the cruelty of one man, while you are among those who are good—who are your friends, forever.”
Suddenly Abraham flung himself into Swift Horse’s arms, again thanking him, then stepped away from him and walked beside Bright Moon as everyone parted and made way for them to pass, then walked away themselves, to return to their homes and their duties of the day.
Soft Wind embraced Swift Horse. “You prove time and again how much a man of heart you are,” she murmured. “I love you and am so proud of you.”
“The man has suffered enough inhumanity,” Swift Horse said, stepping away from Soft Wind. He took her hands in his. “My sister, there are so many injustices that you are not even aware of.”
“I know,” she murmured. “Yes, I know. I plan to listen well to my white husband as I have always listened to you. By doing that, I will feel safe enough against such tyrants who harmed Abraham so terribly.”
“Yes, you will be safe as Edward James’s wife, for you will have him and your brother to look after you then,” he said, his thoughts wandering to someone else.
His sister would soon speak vows with Edward James Eveland. That meant he would get to see more of the beautiful, petite, golden-haired white woman who spent most of her days hidden away at the back of the trading post, where there were living quarters for her and her brother.
From the moment she had arrived at his village, he had only been able to see her a few times, and that was when she was at the trading-post store, helping her brother.
He had wanted to see her more often, even speak to her by name, yet thus far all that he had been able to do was get glances of her. But that had been enough to convince him that he wanted to know more about her, and be with her. He had not been able to get this woman off his mind from the moment he first saw her.
But he knew that she had been traumatized by people of his own skin coloring, when renegades had come out of nowhere and murdered her parents. He knew this because Edward James had explained the tragedy to Swift Horse when Swift Horse had questioned him about this woman who seemed to be so sad and withdrawn.
After Swift Horse heard the story, something deep within him wanted to make things right for her again. Yet . . . again . . . there was the fact that his skin was the same color as those who had brought this sadness into her eyes.
Could she ever see beyond his red skin and know that he was not at all like the renegades? That he was a man of kindness and good heart who wanted nothing but good for those he loved?
Chapter 6
I regret little, I would change still less.
—Robert Browning
The late-afternoon sun was twining its way through the multicolored autumn leaves. Marsha sat on a blanket beside her brother, who kept gazing at Soft Wind, who sat by her own brother’s side in the center of a circle of people who had come from other villages to make plans for the upcoming hunt.
The council was usually held in the huge council house, but the day of this meeting being so lovely, it was being held outside, instead.
Marsha felt awkward being there. This was her first time participating in anything with the Creek, but she felt she had no choice when her brother told her that now that he was going to marry Soft Wind, Marsha must involve herself in Creek activities that ofttimes included him because he was the resident storekeeper of the trading post.
The day had been long and Marsha was weary. Her back ached as she tried so hard to sit there trying to look attentive while first one warrior and then another, spoke his mind about the hunt, as their chief and people sat listening.
But now the council was drawing to a close. Marsha knew this to be so, because Edward James had told her that when the village shaman, Bright Moon, sat down before his chief and performed some sort of ceremony, the council would soon be over.
Bright Moon was there now, taking several things that Marsha did not recognize from his buckskin bag. Her brother had said that when the shaman did this, he was preparing medicine for the purpose of attracting deer for his chief and those who would be participating in the upcoming hunt.
She now knew, too, how important the deerskin trade was to the Creek. Slowly she was learning the ways of the Creek, which she knew was important since she was living among them.
While Bright Moon continued making medicine as everyone sat mutely quiet and attentive around him, Marsha again became lost in thought. Since her parents’ deaths, she had not wanted to mingle with any Indians, even though she was truly intrigued by Chief Swift Horse.
But today, for her brother’s sake, she had had no choice but to do as he had asked. He had told her that everyone who was attending the council must think positive at all times, for it was said that any negative feelings felt by anyone would keep the deer away. Marsha tried not to look too bored, or too anxious for this meeting to be over. She especially tried not to think anything negative.
She had to confess to herself that she had enjoyed having the opportunity to have a closer look at Chief Swift Horse, who intrigued her more and more every time she saw him. But someone else had drawn her attention more than once this waning afternoon. She looked again at the black man.
She had seen him yesterday before he had been given clean clothes to wear. She knew how terribly scarred his back was. This evening he was standing at the back of the circle of people, his dark eyes wide as he watched the shaman preparing his special medicine.
She could tell that his intrigue of this shaman, and perhaps the Creek as a whole, was as great as was Marsha’s of Swift Horse. She knew his name now. It was Abraham. And he was clothed today in clean, fringed buckskins, his shirt left open in front to keep the material loose from his back so that his injuries there would heal better.
He wore no bandages, but she knew that he had been doctored by Bright Moon, and that was surely why Abraham watched the elderly conjurer so intensely. It was apparent that he believed in the man now. He also seemed to be comfortable with the Creek, a people who had not only offered him kindness, but also a home.
She had seen him taken to a vacant cabin at the edge of town, which he now made his residence, and had watched several Creek women coming and going from the cabin, taking food, blankets, and furniture. She would never forget the look of awe in Abraham’s dark eyes as he had watched the procession of women bringing things to him.
It was apparent that during his lifetime he had never had anything of his own, nor anyone to treat him with even a measure of kindness.
As Abraham sat slowly down on the blanket that one of the women had given to him, Marsha turned her eyes away. She did not want him to catch her staring at him, even though she could hardly help it. She was in total dismay at how he had made his way so far from where he had been a slave. He had traveled even farther than Marsha, and she had found the journey grueling at times even though she had the comforts of a wagon.
He had traveled the full distance on his bare feet and with a back that had been terribly mutilated by those who claimed him as theirs.
It touched her heart deeply that Swift Horse had taken Abraham in and had vowed to protect him from any more harm.
This proved, too, that these Creek people were vastly different from those who had ta
ken her parents’ lives. The renegades’ lives were centered around murdering and maiming and wreaking havoc wherever they could get away with doing it.
She prayed often to herself that they would never make their way here, to this Creek village. She would hate to see things change from how they were now, a place where Marsha was finally beginning to feel at ease and at peace with herself. She knew how important this was since her brother was going to be bringing a Creek woman into their home, to stay.
She thought again about why the shaman was making medicine. For the deer hunt. Again she thought about the importance of not allowing anything negative into the village that might harm their hunt.
She had to wonder if Abraham’s mere presence, or her own, might bring something negative to the hunt. They were both new to the Creek.
She had noticed how some of the Creek people had looked over their shoulders more than once at Abraham, and some even at her. That had made her uneasy, for she could not help but think that those few might see both her and Abraham as an interference in their lives at a time when all should be calm and normal, and perhaps a danger to their livelihood—to their hunt.
She made herself forget those thoughts, for she knew that her brother was loved by everyone there, so surely they saw her as someone who was as kind and warm as well. She had spent as little time at the store as possible, going there only when her brother asked for her help. Otherwise, she had kept to herself. By doing that, however, might she have made herself look as though she didn’t like the Creek people, or did not trust them?
She realized now that she must do things differently in order to gain their trust, especially to gain Swift Horse’s admiration.
She glanced toward Abraham again, and saw how his head hung. He had fallen asleep, and she understood why. He was still surely trying to catch up on the rest he had lost while fleeing.
The thought of someone having actually held him imprisoned as a slave, and having actually killed his family, which was the true reason he had fled Florida, sickened Marsha. She had never believed in slavery and felt that all people should be free.
She admired Swift Horse for having taken a chance by allowing Abraham to stay among his people, when it was known, wide and far, that many Indians were now, by force, living on reservations. Those Indians, in a sense, were now no less than slaves themselves. She had to wonder if Swift Horse and his people lived in dread of this happening to them.
Her musings were interrupted when Swift Horse stood up, the shaman now walking away from him and past those who still sat. She gazed admirably at Swift Horse, again taken by his handsome appearance and his noble bearing.
In fringed buckskins and wearing a lone feather hanging from a lock of his long, raven-black hair, he stood tall over his people. With a straight back and lifted chin, he began talking to them about how the hunt had now been blessed and that the warriors would have a successful hunt for the white-tailed deer.
She caught him more than once look her way, then quickly look away again. When his eyes would touch her, it seemed as though he were trying to say something solely to her with them, and a sweet, strange tingle of sorts traveled along her flesh. She even blushed this last time he looked her way, smiling at him just before he looked into his crowd of people again.
Marsha realized that several of the women had noticed his attention to her, because they would look over their shoulders at her moments after Swift Horse had singled Marsha out with his deep, midnight-dark eyes.
Marsha could not help but blush at this new sort of attention from both this powerful, handsome chief and also the women who realized that their chief was surely infatuated with a woman of white skin, just the same as his sister felt for a man of the same skin color. But with no one voicing a negative opinion about Soft Wind planning to marry a white man, surely they would not say anything about a mere glance or two that their chief made toward the white man’s sister.
“This council is now over,” Swift Horse announced. “My brothers, the hunt will be good. There will be much fresh meat for our families, and much meat to put away to eat during the longest, coldest days of winter, which are fast approaching us. Go home now to your families. Enjoy this time with them, for soon you will be gone from them for as long as it takes to bring a good amount of deer meat into our village.”
There were many grunts and nods of approval, and then everyone stood up. Some adults lingered and talked among others for a while as the children ran from them, laughing and squealing as they suddenly fell into a game of tag, or other games that Marsha saw as intriguing.
“Marsha, it’s time to go,” she heard her brother say, bringing her out of her reverie as she had found herself watching the children with a strange sort of longing that she had never felt before. All of her life she had loved children, but had never, even for a moment, thought of having her own. Now, as she watched the merriment all around her as the children laughed and played and ran and jumped, she did feel something inside her belly that she knew must be a longing to have a child of her own.
Suddenly her eyes went back to Swift Horse. A blush grew hot on her cheeks when she realized just where her thoughts had taken her, and then to whom.
“Marsha?” Edward James said as he reached down and gently took her by an elbow. “What on earth are you doing? What are you thinking so hard about? Come on. It’s time to go home. The hunt council is over.”
Marsha shook her head to clear her thoughts, then hurried to her feet and tried to avoid her brother’s questioning stare. She realized just how oddly she had been behaving. She hardly recognized herself.
She walked with Edward James from the crowd, but could not help but take one last look over her shoulder at Swift Horse. Something within her grew warm and mellow when she saw his eyes dart quickly to her, their eyes locking and holding until someone said something to their chief, which drew his eyes away.
“I’ve never seen you act so strangely,” Edward James said, gazing in wonder down at his sister, who was one head shorter than he. “Marsha, I saw you staring at Swift Horse. I’m sure others saw you, too. Are you infatuated with the man? Or is it just because he is a powerful chief ?”
“Oh, Edward, I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself,” Marsha said, hurrying into the back door of their cabin, then turning to her brother when he stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
“Did I, Edward?” she asked, searching his eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I do find Swift Horse so fascinating.”
“You mean handsome, don’t you?” he said, chuckling as he went to the fireplace and lifted a log on the grate.
He brushed his hands on his pants and turned to Marsha. “I understand how you can be so caught up in wonder of that man,” he said thickly. “I have been around a lot of Indians, but none like Swift Horse. As you have been witness to more than once, he is many things good—noble, kind, caring, and charitable. You have to know by now that he nor any of his people are anything like those who murdered our parents.”
“Yes, I know, but . . .” Marsha said, feeling torn. She wanted to hate all redskins because of what had happened to her parents, yet she felt anything but hate for Swift Horse and his people, who had shown her nothing but kindness.
“Marsha, I have spoken with Swift Horse more than once about what happened to our parents and how it has affected you inside your heart,” Edward James said, gently taking her hands in his. “Sis, he said that now that our family will soon be a part of his, he will try to help find those who murdered our parents.”
“Truly?” Marsha said, her eyes wide with wonder. “He would do this?”
“Like I said, he is a kind man, and he hates all injustices, as you have witnessed by how he took in Abraham,” Edward said, lowering his hands to his sides. “You know I’m right when I tell you that you should hold no ill feelings toward these Creek people. They would never condone what happened to our parents.”
“Yes, I know,” Marsha murmured.
She recalle
d how she had looked at Swift Horse just after she had been thinking about having children. She marveled even now at the thought, for to have children, you must first love the man who would have a role in bringing these children into the world. A woman must truly and especially trust and respect the man.
Strange how it could happen this quickly, but she knew that her feelings for Swift Horse were those that came with not only being infatuated with a man, but loving him.
“Sis?” Edward said, taking her hands once more. “You’re gone from me again. What were you thinking about?”
Marsha felt the heat of a blush rush to her cheeks. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” she asked softly as she slid her hands from his. “Didn’t you tell me that you were to meet with Soft Wind after the council? Is she waiting for you?”
“Yes, and I truly must go,” Edward said. “I just wanted to escort you home since you were behaving so oddly.”
“I hope no one else noticed,” Marsha said, then again saw Swift Horse in her mind’s eye and how he had surely seen her infatuation with him those times their eyes had met and momentarily held.
“None know you as well as I, so they would not realize your behavior was different than usual—so, no, I doubt anyone noticed,” Edward James said, reaching for a leather jacket that hung on a peg on the wall just inside the door. “I’ll not be long, sis. I just so enjoy these special, stolen moments with my woman.”
“I’ll make a pot of chili for our supper,” Marsha said, already walking toward their kitchen. She smiled over her shoulder at her brother. “If you wish, bring Soft Wind to sup with us.”
“I doubt she would enjoy chili,” he said, laughing softly. “It is too different from what she normally eats, don’t you think?”
Marsha turned just as Edward James took hold of the latch on the door. “Will she cook when she marries you and moves into your . . . our . . . cabin, or shall I?” she asked, locking her hands behind her.
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