by Vella Munn
When the children recognized him, they stopped playing and studied him, awe and half-fear in the eyes of the youngest. He was used to that. Being war chief at a time when little except war mattered made him an object of wonder to those who didn't yet understand why the Egret clan had moved deep into Piahokee and why no man went about without a weapon, why the word bluejacket was spoken with hatred.
Nodding at the women, he moved through the village toward the healer's hut. He needed to call the clan members together, but until he'd learned whether the woman was alive, he couldn't put his mind to anything else.
The healer was nowhere to be seen. His heart twisted into a knot he didn't want to acknowledge. Then, recognizing Gaitor's powerful form hunched over something, he ducked his head to avoid the ferns that trailed down off the chickee's roof and entered. Gaitor looked up at him.
In the Negro's eyes, he found fierce determination and a pride that hadn't been there when, half dead from a whipping, Gaitor had been brought to the village by warriors who'd found him hiding in the swamp. Neither man talked about how Gaitor had begged him not to turn him over to his master. There was no need; the terrified creature he'd been that day had slowly disappeared, replaced now by a man.
"Yur backs early. I thought you'd be gone a lot longer."
Panther glanced over at the figure on the mat bed. The woman's scratches were already healing. Someone had cleaned her hair. Fever no longer painted her cheeks and neck with hot color. "She is better," he said.
"Faster 'en I thought she'd heal. Down deep she's a strong 'en."
Maybe that's why she'd freed him, because she'd sensed his strength. The woman had opened her eyes and was regarding him warily, comprehension as to who he was dawning slowly. "I learned things you will not want to know," he told Gaitor. "General Jesup's troops have been on the move."
"Where?"
"Near Withlacoochee Cove."
Gaitor's features clouded. The cove was no more than a four-day journey from here. "What happened?"
"The bluecoat came across some escaped slaves. They tried to run, but he captured them."
"How many?"
The woman was following the conversation intently. Without understanding why, he wanted to protect her from hearing this. "Many. A few days later the general and his men found where Osceola was staying. My chief and the other warriors escaped."
"Found!" Gaitor spat the word. "Jesup forced the slaves to tell em, jus' as someone was forced to lead the army to the cove."
Panther had no doubt of that. He'd seen what was left of a Negro once after the army was done with him. The woman looked as if she'd been struck. If she was this easily horrified, she wouldn't long survive this life. And yet she'd made it here alive.
"What happen' to the slaves?" Gaitor asked.
"I do not know. My chief said no one has seen them since they were led away."
Gaitor stood and paced as far as he could in the small structure, turned, and glared. "They's back with their masters bein' shown as 'samples of what happens to those what tries to scape. Osceola ain't gonna to try to free 'em, is he?"
When he'd first come here, Panther had thought the big black man might be slow-witted, but that, he now knew, had been an act. "My chief and the others had to scatter when the troops found them. By the time the braves gathered again, it was too late. The slaves were gone." Leaving Gaitor, he stepped over to the woman and stared down at her. She returned his gaze, a mix of fear and something else swimming in her eyes. The something else, he decided, was determination.
"How did you know where to look for us?" he asked her. If there was any chance her master had the same information, he needed to know that—should have found out before leaving the other day. Only, she'd been out of her head then.
"I didn't."
Her English was precise, almost as careful as his. "You simply headed into Piahokee?" He didn't try to hide the disbelief in his voice. "Did you not care whether you lived or died?"
"Piahokee?"
"Whites call this place the Everglades. It is Piahokee to us."
"I cared; I didn't want to die. But I knew he might kill me if I stayed."
Killed? A woman like her brought a great deal on the auction block but not because of her ability to work. Was that what she'd fled, Reddin Croon's bed? He dropped to his knees and leaned over her, glad to see her shrink away from him. Frightened, she might be incapable of telling him anything except the truth.
"I do not believe you." Gaitor had drawn close and was standing behind him, anger seeping out of him. His friend's emotion told Panther a simple truth: the Negro wanted to protect the woman. "Piahokee destroys those who do not understand it. The Croon plantation is several days' walk from here, and yet you found it. Found me. How is that possible?"
The woman glanced at Gaitor, then met his gaze. "My mother," she whispered. "She said to follow the river. I did."
So simple. Could it be the truth, or was she here because Reddin Croon had sent her? "When I saw you, you were half dead. You had no shoes."
"I lost them." She waved vaguely. "The first day. It might have been quicksand; I don't know."
Her voice sounded tight, as if she was trying to keep her emotions buried where she wouldn't be touched by them. For a heartbeat, he wanted to leave her to rest and recover. But his clan's safety might be at stake. "Follow the river?" he challenged. "Even I could not find a small village if that was all I knew."
Her chin started to tremble, but she clamped her lower lip between her teeth and stopped herself. A strange fierceness took over and turned her eyes even darker. "It didn't matter. All that did was getting away from him. Staying where he couldn't find me."
"Hm. What is your name?"
She blinked at the sudden question. "Calida. And you?"
"Panther."
"Panther. It was you, at Master Croon's plantation, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
Her sigh seemed to engulf her entire body. "He would have killed you," she said. "If I hadn't set you free, you would be dead."
"Maybe."
"No maybe to it, Panther," Gaitor said. He held up his hands so Panther could see that the torn knuckles and blisters he'd received while digging out of prison hadn't completely healed. The message was clear: If either man had remained at the plantation, he wouldn't be alive.
"My mother"—Calida took a deep breath—"my mother told me to look for you. That you would help me. I didn't—there was nothing else I could do."
Panther felt a rope tighten around his neck. He couldn't deny a word of what she'd said; he owed his life to her. Only, if she remained here, her presence would jeopardize everyone else.
* * *
Isiah Yongue stood in the middle of his daughter's bedchamber as he took in every inch of the frilly but dark room. His stiff, sweat-stained collar jabbed at the fleshy sides of his neck, but the old man seemed oblivious to his discomfort. He'd been here for two endless weeks, ever since a distraught Reddin had met him in St. Augustine to inform him of his daughter's untimely death at the hands of murdering Seminoles. Reddin had made sure news of the "attack" had spread throughout the town. As he expected, the telling and retelling had given the story validity. Still, he lived in fear that his father-in-law, his former and very wealthy father-in-law, would learn the truth.
For the first few days, both men had been busy arranging for Liana's funeral. Several of Major General Jesup's officers had stopped by to gather all possible information about the attack. Wearing his badge of grief like a banner, Reddin was forced to admit that he and his slaves were of little help. His beloved wife, restless because her father's visit had been delayed, had ordered her carriage man to drive her to the nearest plantation so she could visit the mistress there. If only he hadn't let her go, she might still be alive. But, sensitive to her disappointment, he'd relented. After all, there'd been no sign of any Seminoles for weeks. He hadn't known what had happened to his wife until the next morning when his foreman burst in with the horri
ble news.
Folding his arms over his chest, Reddin half believed that things really had happened the way he'd said. Certainly he'd just been getting up when his foreman arrived; no one would dispute that. He'd ordered Joseph's ugly old wife to say she hadn't seen him the last night of the carriage driver's life. Unless she wanted to disappear the way the horse had, she would talk to no one, especially not Mistress Liana's father.
"This room sure isn't much," Isiah muttered. "Things sure as hell changed after she got married."
Because she married an army man who didn't know how to properly manage her considerable dowry. Reddin didn't need to hear the words to know what his father-in-law was thinking. Ignoring the dig, the lie, he walked over to the window and looked out at what he could see of his land. Damn it, he'd like to see anyone do better in the two years he'd had. Corn, beans, and pumpkins were the primary crops. Although they were doing well, he needed to clear more land. Only how could a man do that with a mere handful of slaves? With more and more of his neighbors being burned out by the Indians, he figured he had several choices. He could move out while he still had his hair or take over the unproductive farms and plantations.
Or he could rejoin the army.
"She won't be coming back," Reddin said, not caring whether he kept irritation out of his voice. "I don't know how you can stand being in here. Every time I do, I feel as if I'm going to explode." To give weight to his words, he moved toward the door.
"Did she ever love you?"
Damnation! They'd been dancing around this for days now. He'd hoped to get Isiah out of here and back to his own plantation without things exploding. "What does it matter? She's dead."
"And you wind up with everything."
"Do you think I want it this way?"
Isiah hated weakness of any kind, and there was a delicate path to be walked between the so-called grieving husband and a spineless fool.
"The point is, Liana paid for this land with her life."
Liana had lost her life because she didn't understand a man's needs, not that he'd ever tell Isiah that. "Yes. She did." He tried to sound mournful. "If I could go back in time, don't you think I would? You didn't see her after—I did. There isn't a night I don't dream about that." Watching Isiah out of the corner of his eye, he was pleased to see that his words had had the desired effect.
"Where is she?"
"Who?" Isiah had a way of jumping from one topic to another that made it damn near impossible to keep up with him. When he first met the man, he'd thought him scatterbrained. Reddin now knew Isiah never stopped thinking; he just didn't always let folks know where his thinking had gone.
"My daughter's house servant."
"I told you, I don't know My guess, the Seminoles got her."
"Either that or she ran off." Isiah walked over to the window and pointed, not at cultivated land but at the wilderness beyond. "Her mama couldn't say."
Isiah had talked to Pilar? He'd done his damnedest not to leave the old man alone for a minute, but it hadn't been possible. "Her mama couldn't say what?"
"Whether Calida left of her own free will."
"Not too likely. Calida hates being outside. There's nothing like a snake or gaitor to send her to shrieking."
"You know her that well?"
Careful. "Just what Liana told me." He pasted back on his mournful look. "We'd talk about it sometimes, laugh about how scared the girl was of anything that crawled. Rescuing her's just one more thing I've got to concern myself with." He pressed his hand against his head as if trying to ward off a headache.
"Not just you." Isiah swung around to face him. The window behind him turned his form into a dark silhouette, but although Reddin could no longer see the older man's eyes, he still sensed them boring into him. "I've been concerning myself with things too."
Careful. "Such as?"
"Such as what's going to happen around here if the Seminoles think they can get away with murdering white women. I know what it's like around here. The Seminoles take in escaped slaves. Even marry them sometimes. What if—" He ran his hand over his chin. Reddin imagined the stiff whiskers poking into his palm. "What if this Calida had taken up with a Seminole? What if she told them when my daughter was going to be out alone?"
"You're saying—you're saying Calida was part of it?"
"What I'm saying is, I don't know. Damn it, Reddin! Your wife's dead. So far all I've seen you do is put on a show for the funeral and go back to looking after your land."
I'm just biding my time until you leave, you old fool. Only, Isiah wasn't a fool. "I talked to General Jesup's men. I told them everything I know."
"Which isn't a damn lot."
"I wasn't there, Isiah. How many times do I have to say it?" Liana's room smelled like mildewed wood. If he could ever get Isiah to leave it, he'd never enter it again. "I don't know what happened."
"Don't you?"
"No!" The word exploded from him. "Spell it out, Isiah. Right now and right here. You've been hinting at something ever since you got here."
"What I'm saying is, if it was me, I'd be riding after the Seminoles avenging my wife's death."
"You think I don't want to? Look, if it was just me, if I didn't have this place to look after, bills to pay, slaves to keep an eye on, if I wasn't thinking every minute how I'm going to protect my land, I'd already be gone."
"I'll do it."
Isiah had spoken so softly that for a few seconds the words didn't register. But Isiah had folded his arms over his chest, a gesture he used only when something important was on his mind.
"What are you saying?" Reddin asked.
"That I'll take over managing this place while you look for my daughter's killers."
You're staring her killer in the face. Laughing to himself, he walked back to where his father-in-law stood. "You've got your own plantation."
"Which doesn't need me around it all the time."
Because you've been a landowner a lot longer than I have. Because you're not in the wilderness and your slaves don't stop working the moment you turn your back on them. Go on, say it. But he kept his thoughts to himself, not because he was afraid of telling Isiah what he thought but because he hated this place. He was a soldier. He'd resigned because a soldier was never going to get rich, while becoming Liana Yongue's husband meant having wealth handed to him.
Only, Liana Yongue didn't need a husband anymore and the plantation was his.
"You mean it? You'd take over here while I make sure those savages pay for what they did?"
"Not just the Indians. Calida too if she was in on it."
Calida.
Chapter 6
The air smelled of pines and stagnant water, animal fat and cooking fish. At first those smells had only added to Calida's belief that she'd been forced into a nightmare world. But this collection of crude shelters surrounded by sawgrass and swamp had been her home for over two weeks. She still didn't understand it, but at least she no longer felt compelled to flee. Although his wildly painted face continued to unnerve her, she was grateful to the healer for extinguishing the fever she thought would consume her. Most of all she was grateful for the watery, pleasant-smelling mix of herbs and leaves that kept the mosquitoes away after she rubbed it on herself.
Ducking low so she wouldn't disturb the palm branches that hung down from the roof, she stepped out into the winter sunlight. The healer's wife had given her a brightly colored dress made from many different pieces of fabric to replace her ruined one. The garment was so loose around her neck that it was in danger of sliding off her shoulder. The skirt nearly dragged on the ground. It felt good to know her legs wouldn't give out under her. Still, this was the first time she'd ventured out on her own. Although the other Negroes seemed to be treated with respect, she didn't know if the same would happen to her.
Panther's presence was responsible. Panther, with his night eyes that watched her every move. Panther, who hadn't spoken to her since the day he returned from wherever he'd been. He w
as the village leader, that much she knew. He carried himself like a man comfortable with the mantle of responsibility and put her in mind of an overseer, except that he didn't carry a whip and no one addressed him with downcast eyes.
She didn't have to stare at the ground anymore. The realization had speeded her recovery and made it possible for her to get through the nights without her mother. She would have been able to explore, to savor this new feeling more fully if she hadn't always been aware of Panther.
She had saved his life. He hadn't asked why, and she'd been spared having to provide an explanation that had everything to do with knowing what it felt like to have her hands and heart bound.
She'd saved his life; he hadn't thanked her. Had barely spoken to her.
Looking around, she assured herself that Panther wasn't in sight. Many of the village's children had peered shyly at her while she was too weak to lift her head. Touched by their concern, she'd smiled at them with the result that they now greeted her as if they'd known her forever. Their parents were a little more reserved, but the big Negro who insisted on being called Gaitor had told her that being pursued by the army made them leery of everyone, even a half-dead runaway.
Following the aroma of cooking fish, she spotted a middle-aged Seminole woman hunched over a simmering metal pot. Sweat dripped off her forehead, and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her blouse. She looked up and gave Calida a tentative smile but didn't say anything. On still-tender feet, Calida wandered toward a younger woman with a coil of heavy, dark hair piled on her head. This one was pounding water-soaked corn kernels into a fine meal. Like Calida, she wore nothing on her feet, but hers looked so tough that she probably never felt discomfort. Mistress Liana had insisted her personal slave always wear shoes. Now, however, Calida had nothing. Maybe she'd never be anything except barefoot.
