by Vella Munn
Concern replaced the exhaustion that had been in Gaitor's eyes. "Where is she? She got back, din' she?"
Panther reassured him of that. However, she'd left again. Where she'd gone, no one knew. Gaitor's only reaction was to let his arms sag at his side. "The Freedom Trail," he muttered. "That's where she went. I hopes..."
"You hope what?"
Before Gaitor could answer, Winter Rain stepped forward and touched Panther's forearm. "I remember." Looking up at Panther, she spoke earnestly. "I was so relieved to see you that I forgot. But I remember now. She was pulling her things together, looking frightened, muttering that she had to go north."
"You didn't try to stop her?" Gaitor insisted.
"No! She wouldn't listen to me. She kept saying—" Winter Rain pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "She kept saying she had to get where her master couldn't find her."
"Her master." Gaitor made the words sound like a curse. "Panther, he done left 'fore I did. Said he had to git home, that there were things he had to do at his place. Iffen he's found her—"
"No!" Winter Rain interrupted. "She would not go back there. She is terrified of him. All she talked about was getting away. Panther?" She squeezed his forearm. "She is gone. When Reddin Croon learns she is no longer among us, we will be safe. He will have no reason to come after us. It is better this way. Much better."
He had to go to Osceola's village. As war leader, he knew his responsibilities, but his mind had filled with images of Calida stumbling through Piahokee as she tried to find her way to freedom.
Freedom? Would she ever find it or—
A baby sobbed, capturing his thoughts. Glancing in that direction, he spotted Morning Doe exposing her breast so her baby could suckle. He felt the others' eyes on him, waiting for him, but all he could think about was the Seminole mother and her infant, the unbreakable bond between them.
Calida wouldn't leave Piahokee without trying to take her mother with her.
* * *
The sound of pounding hooves spun Calida around. Her first instinct was to run to her mother's cabin, but she forced herself to remain hidden. As the sound came closer, she ordered herself to relax and accept. She'd been waiting for this moment for days now and shouldn't be surprised. Still, knowing Reddin Croon was so close that he could bring her down with his musket made thinking difficult. On hands and knees, she slipped as close to the clearing as she dared.
A beetle scurried away, but she didn't concern herself with whether there was another. Croon and several men wearing bits and pieces of uniforms were riding down the road leading to the plantation. Although it was only midmorning, sweat slicked their faces and the horses' bodies.
Instinct screamed at her to run, but she'd spent the last four nights ministering to her mother and wouldn't turn her back on love and responsibility. During the days she'd remained hidden nearby, hoping against hope that her mother would feel well enough to go with her. Although Pilar's fever had subsided, she still couldn't keep down much of what Calida tried to get her to eat and was content to spend most of her time in bed.
The squeak of leather coupled with the horses' loud breathing convinced her that they wouldn't hear any faint sound she might make. Taking advantage of that, she circled the plantation until she was as close as she dared get to the main house. By then Croon and the other men had dismounted, and Croon was yelling at the slaves to tend to the animals. When she looked over at the cabins, she saw her mother at the doorway, one hand tight around her throat, the other gripping the door so she could stand. Go, Pilar had insisted just last night. For sweet Jesus's sake, save yourself. Calida hadn't because one more day, one more herb gathered in Piahokee might have given her mother enough strength and they'd run together.
"What are you doing?" Isiah Yongue bellowed as he emerged from the house. He was barechested, his pants unbuttoned. Calida had no doubt that he'd been with the young house servant he'd brought with him. "You can't just ride in here and—"
"The hell I can't. This is my place, in case you've forgotten," Croon yelled back. The air between the two men seemed heavy and dark.
"Whose place?" Yongue taunted. "In case you've forgotten, my daughter's dowry is what paid for it. I've been making sure it doesn't—"
Croon silenced him with a curse. Calida couldn't tear her eyes from her master. She hadn't noticed this at Fort Dade, but he seemed less loose and sloppy, more like a military man than he had in the past. His belly no longer hung down over his pants. She'd always been afraid of him, and despite herself, that feeling increased today.
"If you will shut up for a minute," Croon said, "I've got something to tell you. This so-called treaty General Jesup tried to shove down everyone's throat is blowing up in our faces."
"What are you talking about?"
Calida was afraid the two men would go inside where she couldn't hear, but although that was obviously what the older man wanted, Croon made an insistent gesture to the watching slaves. Obeying, they slipped closer. He waited until all except for the distant fieldhands were within earshot before speaking. From where she crouched, Calida ignored the insects buzzing around her and prayed Croon wouldn't notice her mother's agitation. If only Pilar would stop looking around her, if only she would drop her hand from her throat.
Not that she blamed her mother because at any minute someone might spot Calida.
"I'm talking about that insane document Jesup got the Seminoles to sign," Croon said, his voice carrying. "Not that it matters because he's changed his mind. Finally."
Once again Isiah insisted he get to the point. Croon laughed then leaned close to his father-in-law, speaking so low that she couldn't hear. Frustration ate at her because whatever they were saying had everything to do with the war with the Seminoles, with Panther.
Panther. She'd fought his memory during the day, but at night while she lay beside her mother, her mind had filled with images of him.
"The Seminole leaders, do they know?" Isiah asked.
"If they don't, they will soon enough."
Risking everything, Calida inched closer. If everyone's attention hadn't been riveted on the two men, someone probably would have spotted her.
"What's going to happen then?" Isiah insisted. "If the Seminoles refuse to give up their slaves—"
"Some of 'em will; some of 'em don't give a damn."
Isiah nodded. "In other words, this is going to divide the Seminole nation. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"
Croon shrugged. Calida guessed he was doing that to frustrate his father-in-law, but it didn't matter. All that did was that what she'd feared would come true had. Because of pressure from slave owners, the runaways wouldn't be allowed to go to Oklahoma with the Seminoles. Croon was right. Some of the clan leaders would put their people first and not care what happened to the Negroes. But Panther—
Panther would never turn the Negroes over to their former masters. As a consequence, the Egret clan, those who stayed with Panther at least, would become fugitives.
It didn't matter. She had to save her mother. That was the only thing she dared think about.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she looked over at her mother's cabin. Pilar, her eyes wide with fright, stared at her.
Don't. Please! If Croon sees you—
Chapter 12
Calida felt a branch give under her foot. Thanks to the spongy ground, it made no noise, but she might not be so lucky the next time. Inch by careful inch, she backed away from where everyone had assembled. Croon had ridden in with ten soldiers, but they grew in number in her mind until she felt as if she was looking at an entire army. They would hunt her down like dogs hunted wild animals. If she was lucky, they'd tear her apart, and if she wasn't, Croon would pull them off her, and she'd be forced back into the house, where—
There'd been a dog with Croon and the soldiers, but she'd paid it little mind. Where her former master had gotten it didn't matter; she couldn't let herself think about what use he might put it to.
Shaking herself free of the name, the memory, she forced herself to take slow and careful note of her surroundings. She could no longer see the open and cultivated land that surrounded Reddin Croon's house, but she could still hear the murmur of voices. Croon and his father-in-law were continuing their argument. The soldiers had joined in, each of them announcing their reaction to the change in policy. She shouldn't have panicked. At the moment, no one cared about or even gave her a thought.
No one except for her mother.
She couldn't leave. Once, because she'd had no choice, she'd fled this awful place, but she wouldn't do that again because her mother was all she had.
Angry at herself for letting love and fear cloud her need to make decisions, she slipped even farther into the dense brush. Unless a great deal had changed about her former master, he would spend the rest of the day attending to his physical comforts. Once he'd cleaned up and had something to eat, he would start to drink. No. There was a new female house servant, the one Isiah Yongue had brought with him. It didn't matter who the girl belonged to, Croon would demand to use her, and Isiah might not care. In fact, he might decide that his son-in-law would be in a better frame of mind for thinking once certain needs had been tended to. As for the rest of the soldiers, they would probably content themselves with the women fieldhands.
Furious at the thought of how little say the slaves had in this, she clenched her fists until some of her anger subsided. Pilar would know freedom! If it took the last breath in her, she would make sure her mother discovered how sweet freedom could taste.
The Freedom Trail. North.
Not back to the Seminole village because their presence would jeopardize the men, women, and children who'd given her shelter when she would have died without them.
Not back to Panther because—
Images of his strength and courage lapped around her and threatened to distract her from what had to be done. She would wait until night, until she was certain that Croon and the other whites had passed out from drinking or lust or both. Then she'd slip into her mother's cabin and insist she leave with her—carry her on her back if that's what it took.
Filled with resolve, she headed toward the far side of the quicksand area where she'd made a shelter of sorts for herself. Bit by bit over the past few days she'd accumulated food, clothing, even another knife to sustain her mother and herself during the long journey north. She'd spend the rest of the day getting those things together.
Tonight—
A sharp, distant braying sound splintered her thoughts. As she listened, the howling became louder and more frantic. Heat washed through her but was immediately chased away by a chill that reached clear to the middle of her bones.
Wondering if the dog had picked up her scent, she forced herself to concentrate. The beast could simply be after a deer or rabbit. That hope died when she heard hoofbeats and Croons sharp voice urging the dog on.
Then Croon called out her name.
He hadn't seen her, but maybe the hound—what did it matter? Run! She had to run!
Piahokee stretched out beyond her, a vast wilderness capable of hiding entire Seminole villages. But the dog was getting closer and Piahokee couldn't shelter her unless she headed into the quicksand, and the quicksand did to the dog what it had done to Mistress Liana's horse.
Fear surged through her even as she jumped to her feet and began running. She'd spent enough time around the quicksand in the past few days that she'd begun to learn where it was safe to step and what was bottomless and deadly. Did she know enough?
Forcing herself not to panic, she kept her pace at a fast trot so she could concentrate on where she was going. Croon had talked long and often about how keen a good hound dog's scent was. They were fast. There was no way she could outrun this one. Her only chance—
Only chance.
Mud gripped her right foot. She pulled free and plunged ahead. The dog. She had to stay in this slime until it trapped the dog. Less than a minute later, it happened again. Planting her weight on her left leg, she concentrated on yanking her trapped foot out of the warm ooze, but there was no safe place to stand, nothing solid. The panic she'd denied herself reasserted itself. Once, a thousand years ago it now seemed, someone had told her that if she didn't yank but slowly, calmly worked against the mud, she wouldn't become trapped, but how did one remain calm?
Looking down, she saw that both feet were now covered halfway up her calves. She wanted to shriek in terror, but there was no one—only the dog, and with it, Reddin Croon.
Mama, I'm sorry! I tried. Oh sweet Jesus, I tried.
No! She wouldn't give up like some speared fish! Working with her anger, she tried to stretch out on her belly. If she spread out her weight, it would slow her sinking. The stench of things rotting filled her nostrils, but she ignored it. Her mother needed her. She wasn't ready to die.
She wasn't!
By wrenching her body around, she managed to lower herself to her knees. She tried to stretch out, but the quicksand refused to let go of her feet. When she placed her elbows on the ground, warm, wet fingers of ooze instantly gripped them.
Don't panic! Oh god, don't panic!
"Calida."
Deep, calm, urgent and reassuring. She absorbed all that and more in the single word. Panther was half shadow, half reality. Later, if there was a later, she'd ask him how he'd found her, but for now, nothing mattered except staring at the thick stick he'd extended toward her. The braying echoed against the trees and slammed into her ears. Propelled by the sound, she wrapped her fingers around the stick and willed herself not to kick at the imprisoning slime. Panther's pull was relentless, and it was all she could do not to lose her grip. When slop sucked at her thighs, instead of allowing herself to think about how much more of her had become trapped, she looked up at Panther. Fixed her entire attention on him.
"Do not fight! Hold on. Just hold on."
She did because he'd told her to and she would do anything for him. Her skirt's hem felt weighted, but Panther, standing on a finger of dry land, continued to pull her toward him. It seemed to take forever. The awful howling grew, held—held. Turned into a frightened yowl.
"He is caught," Panther whispered. "Hold on, Calida. Hold on."
She couldn't feel her feet. Knowing what had to be done, she stretched out on the stinking mud. She felt bathed in it. And then her right knee touched solid ground. Teeth clamped against the scream that needed to break free, she waited while Panther released the stick, reached out, clamped his hands around her wrists, and pulled.
She was free! Dripping filthy water and ooze but free!
Blind to any other emotion, she scrambled to her feet and clung to him. His arms were around her, gripping so tight that it should hurt—would have hurt if she'd been capable of thinking about such things.
"You're safe, Calida. Thank you, Panther spirit. Safe!"
This was a clan tastanagee? He sounded as frightened as she felt. She wanted to look into his eyes to see if they mirrored what she'd heard in his voice, but she'd pressed her cheek against his chest. His warmth flowed into her; she couldn't get enough of it.
He'd saved her life. Come to her like some protecting angel and saved her life.
"Calida. Calida. I thought—thought... We have to leave. Now."
Of course. Why had she allowed precious seconds to pass before realizing that? The dog hadn't stopped howling—screaming, really. She heard the distant bellow that was Croon's angry voice and guessed he was trying to free his animal. If he was careless—please let him be careless—the quicksand would capture him as well.
"How—" Panther pushed her away from him, and for a moment the loss felt so intense that she couldn't think. "How did you find me?" she finally remembered to ask.
"I have been watching you."
"Watching? I don't—"
"Later. Now we run."
* * *
When, finally, Panther believed they'd put enough distance be
tween themselves and the plantation, he stopped beside a creek so Calida could wash off the sticky mud that had come close to killing her. After scrubbing her arms and legs until her skin was chapped and red, she stood at the edge while she wrung water out of her skirt. The effort exposed her upper thighs and showed the muscles in her arms. He couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't kill the image of her plunging into Piahokee when she realized the dog was after her and then her desperate and yet controlled struggle to free herself.
If she'd gotten any farther into the quicksand, or if he hadn't been so close, she would be dead.
She turned toward him, eyes big and dark and without the fear that had ruled her when he came across her after she'd fled her master. This was his land, the world he'd always known, but she was no longer a stranger in it.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice soft. "I heard Croon talking about—there won't be a peaceful surrender."
"No. There will not be."
"Then—" She shook out her skirt. He watched the still wet fabric as it traced the outline of her legs. "What are you doing here?"
He couldn't tell her everything, not when he didn't understand himself. "I knew you would not leave without your mother."
"And you came looking for me?" She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. For a moment she let them dangle at her sides, then she pressed one against her waist while the other played with her dripping hair. "Panther, why?"
Why? "Maybe so I would know whether you were leading Croon back to us."
She tensed at that, and her eyes became like a building storm. But although he hated seeing her reaction, that had been part of his reason. He wouldn't lie to her. "I wouldn't," she insisted after too long a silence. "He'd have to kill me before I betrayed your people."
