by Vella Munn
Casting off the kind of thinking that always brought a surge of terror, Calida stepped closer. The woman looked up and regarded her unsmilingly. If she'd known any Seminole, she would have tried to strike up a conversation. Only, this young woman didn't look Seminole, not entirely. Her features were a mix of Indian and Negro. One of her parents must have been a runaway. What did this near-child consider herself?
Panther spoke English. Where had he learned, and why?
The young woman said something to her. She shook her head and smiled. The woman repeated herself, then rose and extended her hand, which held a mound of damp corn mush. Grateful for what she hoped was a gesture of kindness, Calida placed it in her mouth. She expected it to be tasteless, but it was surprisingly sweet. She made a show of rubbing her stomach, which made the young woman laugh.
"I want to know so much," she said impulsively. "I feel—I don't know what I feel. No one talks to me. Just Gaitor, and he isn't around that much."
The woman tipped her head to one side, but she didn't speak, and Calida guessed she hadn't understood a word of what she'd said. But if one of her parents had been Negro, maybe she was pretending ignorance, holding back until she'd decided whether she could trust the newcomer.
The army men who visited Master Croon had kissed the back of Mistress Croon's hand. She did that to the girl, surprising herself as much as she must have surprised her. Releasing the girl's hand, she tapped her own chest. "Calida. My name's Calida."
After a moment, the girl pressed her hand over her small, high breasts. She said something Calida didn't understand. "What? I'm sorry. I don't—"
"Winter Rain."
Winter Rain. What a lovely name. Before she could tell her that, she realized Winter Rain had spoken without a trace of an accent. Why was the girl pretending they couldn't communicate?
If she stayed here, she would have to learn to speak Seminole.
If? Where else could she go?
Winter Rain dropped to her knees, picked up a long, narrow rock, and began grinding meal again. She glanced up at Calida, then as if dismissing her, hunched over her work. Feeling lonely, Calida continued her aimless wandering. Everyone, except for her it seemed, had something to do. As far as she could tell, all of the men had rifles. Just the same, two were skinning thin branches. Because she'd watched them earlier, she knew they were making arrows. Rifles? Arrows? Were they expecting trouble? A number of women and children were in the cornfield digging at the earth with long, pointed sticks. She wanted to make herself useful, but how could she ask to be put to work if no one understood her?
The sight of a tall, skinny Negro reminded her that she could talk to others like herself. She wasn't cut off after all. If the Seminoles had welcomed other runaways into their midst, certainly they'd do the same with her.
Why then did it feel as if most of the adult Seminoles avoided her? If they were acting on Panther's orders—
Questions without answers were giving her a headache. Firmly placing them in the back of her mind, she continued her walk around the village. She was careful not to get so close to any of the houses that people might think she was intruding. Still, she hoped she would be forgiven for staring at them. This was her world now.
But did she belong?
The reality of everything that had changed in her life hit her with the force of a blow. The Seminoles had set up their village in a small clearing that stood a little higher than the surrounding country. She didn't think the wilderness grew any closer here than it did at Master Croon's plantation, but it was hard to look at that awful unknown and not feel overwhelmed by it. She'd survived days and nights lost in that wet, creeping, crawling, stinking place—-just barely. She should feel less intimidated now, but she didn't. Maybe, she admitted, it was because so much distance existed between where she was and her mother.
Thoughts of Pilar wrenched her stomach in yet another knot. She tried to distract herself by watching the antics of a couple of boys wrestling at the edge of the trees, but the diversion lasted only a few moments. Pilar been right. With her bad leg, she wouldn't have survived the journey here.
Would she ever see her mother again?
Hatred for Master Croon washed over her with such force that it replaced all other emotions. He was responsible for this! He had killed his wife—would kill her if he ever got his hands on her!
Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, she took a few deliberate steps closer to the giggling boys. Only then did she realize that one was Seminole while the other was Negro. "Enough! Ya makes 'nough noise ta brings gaiters!" a woman chided them.
At the woman's warning, the two boys broke apart. Their naked bodies were caked with mud. Laughing, the Seminole boy scampered away. Face downcast, the other shuffled toward the woman. A giggle escaped his lips. He clamped a dirty hand over his mouth, but it was too late.
The Negro woman carried a baby in her arms. It was nursing. In the silence following the boy's giggle, Calida heard the baby suckle loudly. As the sound died away, she fought to draw more air into her lungs. It didn't help. On legs that threatened to give out under her, she spun around so she no longer had to look at the mother with her innocent, trusting infant. Half-blinded by tears, she paid little attention to where she was heading. All that mattered was that she no longer see, no longer feel pain so intense it threatened to destroy her.
"Calida."
The voice came to her as if from a great distance, and for a moment she thought she could escape it. But then Panther called her name again, and she was forced to face him. His eyes never left hers as his long, powerful legs swallowed the ground separating them. Many of the Seminole men wore colorful dresses like the women, but she'd never seen Panther in anything except a loincloth. He intimidated her looking like that.
"You are well?" he asked.
"Yes. Finally." She prayed her tears had dried. "Panther, thank you. I would have died out there if it hadn't been for you."
"I owed you a debt. I have repaid it."
Was that all she was to him, a debt repaid? Telling herself that was how she wanted it, she gathered her courage for the rest of what she had to say. He hadn't been around much while she was recovering. The possibility that the army might find the village was a constant worry. Obviously, Panther spent most of his time concerning himself with that. "I, ah, I have to talk to you about something," she managed. "About what's going to happen to me now."
"I have been thinking about that too."
He had? Of course he had. The other women knew how to prepare food, while she didn't have the first idea how to gather it, let alone make it eatable. Forcing herself to go on meeting his eyes, she asked if she was welcome here. "I talked to Gaitor about that," she explained. "He wouldn't say much except that this is Indian land, and the Negroes who live with them do so because the Seminoles are willing to give shelter to runaways. That's what I am. A runaway." She thought the admission might make her shudder, but she remained calm. It was, after all, the truth.
"You are more than that, Calida."
Sensing this was why he'd sought her out today, she told him that she'd been a house slave and knew nothing about working the land, about anything that was necessary if one was going to survive in—what did he call it?—Piahokee. "But I can learn. If someone will show me, I can learn."
By way of answer, he grabbed her wrists and turned her palms upward. Feeling trapped when freedom now meant everything to her, she forced herself to wait him out. "Soft hands," he said. "Worthless hands."
Master Croon had been fascinated by her smooth skin. She'd hated her hands because of that, but until now she hadn't thought about how worthless they were. "I'll work. That's all I want, a chance to prove myself."
"Why do you not pull away? You hate my touch. Why do you not put an end to it?"
"I'm—was a slave, Panther. A slave. Do you know what that means?"
"Yes."
"Do you?" She indicated their lush surroundings. A breeze blew today. Erratic and yet i
nsistent, it pushed the treetops first one way and then the other. "No matter what my master wanted from me, I had no right to say no. He owned me. My body was his to do—to do what he wanted with."
"And that is why you ran."
She already felt exhausted by the little she'd told him about her life with Master Croon. She could simply agree with what he'd said and be done with it, but he'd released her hands and she felt stronger now. She refused to admit that maybe his touching her was what had given her strength. "No. Not all of it."
"Tell me."
It was an order, and she'd been taught to never disobey an order. With him listening to every word, she told him about the day Master Croon killed his wife. "She brought a sizable dowry to their marriage. She told me that. I—"
"A dowry?"
"Money. She always said she had more money than him, that it was her family's wealth that made it possible for him to have his plantation."
"He killed her. Will her wealth now become his?"
"Yes. Unless—"
"Unless what?"
She'd been debating whether to tell anyone this for so long. At first her brain had felt too muddy to deal with the question. When she could finally think, she still couldn't make a decision because that meant telling people why Mistress Liana had become so angry. Her role in the argument. "Unless her father finds out the truth."
"The truth." A cold smile touched Panther's lips. "I will tell you the only truth that matters. Reddin Croon tells all who listen that Seminoles murdered his wife and carriage driver."
Seminoles? It all made sense now. That's why Master Croon had driven the carriage over his wife's body, why he'd thrown a knife at sweet Joseph. "Indians didn't have anything to do with it. He killed her. She died at his hands, her neck broken."
"You saw?"
Panther's tone captured her full attention. She stared up at him and tried to read his expression, but he'd shut his thoughts off from her. "Yes."
"Tell me, Calida. How much does he want you back?"
"I don't know."
"You must."
He'd spoken in a whisper, and yet there was an intensity about him that frightened her and held her in its grip. "I don't know," she repeated, then, taking a steadying breath, she told him about the fear she'd been fighting for too long. "I'm the only one who knows what really happened."
"You are a slave. Why would anyone listen to you?"
"Mistress Liana's father doesn't like Master Croon. Master Croon resents that Master Yongue has so much land while he would have nothing if it hadn't been for the dowry. Master Yongue never lets him forget it. If Master Yongue knew how his daughter died, he would have Master Croon thrown into prison. Maybe killed."
"This Yongue would believe you?"
She nodded.
"But if you were dead, the truth would die with you."
She'd been lost inside herself for the last several minutes. Panther's simple but not simple words forced her to focus on him. "Yes."
He nodded, the gesture short and economical. He kept studying her, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to dissolve into tears or beg him to protect her. She did neither. Being alone in Piahokee had done something to her, brought her closer to herself. Always before, she'd had her mother to talk to. Maybe Pilar couldn't protect her from what life handed out, but her mother's presence, and the presence of the other slaves, had made her feel not quite so alone. She'd spent most of a week in isolation until terror turned into acceptance.
"I know him," Panther said.
"Master Croon?" She couldn't help blinking at this sudden change in the conversation.
Panther nodded, reminding her of how graceful, how right his body was for the life he'd been born to.
"What do you mean, know?" She hadn't asked him how he'd come to speak English. She wanted to, but other things kept on being more important.
"He was in the army then. I was with John Blount, waiting to be moved to a place called Texas."
John Blount was a Creek Indian. She'd heard Master Croon and General Jesup talk about him. "Texas? How did you get back here?"
"I never left my home," he said and then, eyes expressionless and by their lack of emotion revealing a great deal, he explained that Master Croon had been with the troops who'd been watching the Creek Indians while they waited to be moved. "They were still in their village because it was time for the corn harvest. They could not leave without food for the journey. The army was impatient; they wanted to be done with this. They had to wait for word from their government men and that too made them impatient."
"Why were you with them? The Creeks aren't your people, are they?"
"I am Indian. They are Indian."
There was more to it than that; there had to be. After another of those silences she wondered if she would ever get used to, he told her that Osceola had sent him to the Creek village to try to convince John Blount to remain here. "Even then, my chief and I did not trust the white soldiers. They said that all Indians who agreed to this reservation would be treated well and given enough land for their families, cattle, and crops." He ground his heel into the earth. "This is our land. We came from it and it is our mother. Our hearts do not know this place called Texas. Blount believed as I do, but his people were weary of fighting. They wanted a place of safety in which to raise their children."
"Did Master Croon discover what you were trying to do?"
"It does not matter."
"Not matter?"
"Lieutenant Croon and his men were greedy. All they thought of was themselves."
Panther called Croon a lieutenant, not master. Looking at him with the wilderness green and alive behind him and the wind making his hair look wild, she realized how different they were.
"Croon wanted the village's cattle. He stole them."
"No one tried to stop him?"
"Yes," Panther said, and in the simple word she realized he'd been one of those who resisted. "He wanted more than cattle. There were also Creek women."
Knowing what her master, her former master, was capable of, she couldn't suppress a shudder. "What happened?"
"The army men surprised some women and children while they tended cattle. They killed the cattle, beat the children, tried to take the women. Several other braves and I heard the children screaming."
She tried to imagine the scene. "How did you know it was Croon? It must have been chaos."
He frowned at the word chaos, then nodded. "He had ahold of a woman, was forcing her under him. I stopped him."
"How?"
He touched the knife at his side. Staring at it, she thought about the scar near Croons ribs. She touched that spot on her own body. "You stabbed him there?"
"Yes."
"And—Do you think he recognized you?"
"That is why he did not simply kill me when I came to rescue my friend."
She knew what Master Croon was capable of; his punishment of runaways was horrible to watch—and every slave, her included, had been compelled to watch.
"I thank you," Panther said. "If you had not freed me, my death would have been slow."
His simple words shook her to her soul. "He isn't finished with me," she whispered. "He wants me silent so I can't say anything to Mistress Liana's father. He—he might cut out my tongue. Maybe he'll kill me. He also wants me because... because I have always pleased him."
No expression touched Panther's features. "Does he know you are here?"
"No. No," she insisted, although there was no way she could be sure of that. "My mother told me to follow the river. That that way I might find you. I didn't speak to anyone else, and she would die before she said anything."
He hadn't once turned his attention elsewhere. She was aware of movement around them, guessed that others were watching them, but Panther made the decisions for the village. He was the one she had to talk to, the one she had to be honest with. "Do you want me to leave?"
So motionless she couldn't tell whether he was breathing, he conti
nued to stare down at her. He made her aware of her slight build, her slender legs in contrast to his long, powerful ones. His hands could and had brought down wild animals. They'd thrust a knife into Master Croon and maybe killed other white men. He was the war chief, a man of violence. "Yes."
Yes. She tried to make sense of the word.
"But it will not be. You saved my life, Calida. You will have shelter here."
"Even if my presence jeopardizes everyone's safety?"
"The army seeks us, Calida," he said. "We remain out of their grasp. Reddin Croon is only one man."
"He used to be in the army. Maybe he'll join again."
"He would leave his plantation?"
That made her laugh, almost. "He hates it. Having it brought him prestige, and he has succeeded where others failed, but he hates it."
Although Panther remained motionless, she knew he was thinking over what she'd said. Her future, her life even, lay in his hands, and she couldn't do a thing except wait. "Alone, you will die. I cannot turn my back on you."
She thought relief would flood through her, but it didn't. He was risking so much, for himself as well as the village, by allowing her to remain here. "Panther?" Her voice broke, and she tried again. "Mistress Liana taught me how to read and write. She was lonely much of the time. She wanted someone to talk to about books." Memories of the hours she'd spent at her mistress's side as a new world opened to her briefly clogged her throat, but she forced herself to continue. "Someday you may need my skill. Maybe I'm not useless after all."
"Maybe."
* * *
Winter Rain sat with her back to the sun. It had rained last night, and the heat felt good. She should go back to grinding corn. After all, she was a woman now and as such expected to take care of her own food. Still, she didn't take her eyes off the pale-skinned Negro woman and Panther. What had she called herself, Calida? It didn't matter because Winter Rain had no intention of befriending her.
