by Vella Munn
"You are not joining them?" Winter Rain indicated the Negroes. "You spoke to them earlier. I thought—Do you not want what the army offers?"
He could tell her he'd spent the night asking himself that very question, or trying to. Morning had given him only one piece of wisdom. Here, for the first time in his life, he felt like a man.
"Don' worry yurself none 'bout it. I's here. That's all that matters."
"I am glad."
She was so much smaller than him that he felt like a giant around her. He'd always thought of her as a child, until the night at Fort Mellon when he grabbed her and insisted she hide with him. The moment his arms closed around her, he'd found a woman's body under the too-big dress. He'd been frightened the soldiers would discover the same thing.
"There'd be fewer mouths to feed iffen I was gone."
"You fill your own belly, Gaitor. And more. What did the others say? Are they disappointed you are not going with them?"
"They don' understand. They's tired o' runnin' en hidin'. They wants to rest."
"And that does not matter to you?"
"Sometimes a man's got to do things so he can go on holdin' his head high. Bein' sent someplace like I was someone's pet dog ain't gonna do that."
"Panther needs you. The Egret clan needs you."
He indicated his weapons. "That makes me feel like a man, providin' for folks. I..."
Something pulled her attention from him. Looking in the same direction she was, he spotted Calida, alone, watching the Negroes as they shouldered their belongings, and without looking back, began walking away. "Why is she not with them?" Winter Rain asked.
Maybe because she would rather be with Panther.
"I know why," Winter Rain continued before he could speak if he was going to. "She went to him last night."
That mattered to Winter Rain? The answer came to him in bits and pieces. She was always quiet when Panther was gone. A smile often touched her small mouth when she saw him, and she sometimes gave Panther berries and roots she'd collected. With a wrench, he recalled having to hold her prisoner that night at Fort Mellon because she'd been desperate to learn if Panther was safe.
"We cain't stop 'em from what they do."
"If she left—"
"She won't 'cause she cain't."
"Can't?"
"Reddin Croon would never allow her to go to Oklahoma."
Winter Rain blinked, then nodded. "Then she is like the Seminoles, trapped in Piahokee."
Winter Rain wasn't Seminole, not all of her. But neither was she Negro. Her black-skinned father, who was still with Osceola, had vowed to die before surrendering to General Jesup's troops. He considered himself Seminole, fought and spoke and was willing to die like one. Gaitor knew nothing about Winter Rain's mother, just that she hadn't survived a sickly season when her daughter was a young girl.
Winter Rain had spent her entire life with the Egret clan, was as much a part of them as he was. "We's gonna leave in the mornin'. We cain't stay here 'cause the army might make those darkies say where they come from."
"It does not matter," Winter Rain said on a sigh. "I have walked and run and hid for so long that I do not know anything else."
A few minutes ago he hadn't wanted to do anything except bury himself in hunting because that way he might not have time to think about Panther and Calida together or about the decision he'd made to stay here. He didn't want Winter Rain's emotions on his shoulders, but they were there. "You's gonna be all right, gal. I promise yous that."
"Do you, Gaitor? Can you?"
Tears spilled from Winter Rain's eyes. He'd never seen her cry before and could think of only one thing to do. Dropping his bow and arrow, he took her into his arms.
***
From where she stood on the opposite side of the clearing, Calida watched the two embrace. Winter Rain looked so small next to Gaitor, but instead of pulling back and trying to protect herself, after a moment the girl wrapped her arms around Gaitors solid waist and gazed up at him. Calida was too far away to sense what was passing between them. All she knew was that for a long, long time neither of them moved.
Barely aware of what she was doing, Calida ran a hand up and down her arm, finding goose bumps. The air was weighted with the threat of blessedly wanted rain; she wasn't cold. Still, she needed to feel something, anything. Human warmth.
Unable to watch any longer, she turned away from Gaitor and Winter Rain. Her gaze settled briefly on where she'd last seen the Negroes, but she didn't want to think about them either.
Little Pond's baby had died this morning. She'd been sitting beside the young mother, neither of them speaking, when the tiny chest collapsed for the last time. They'd waited, not breathing themselves, and when the infant remained still, they'd each bent over it, crying softly. She'd finally convinced Little Pond to hand her the dead baby so she could wrap it in a blanket and place the body in a tree in the Seminole fashion, the way Panther had done for Pilar. Then she'd held Little Pond while Little Pond prayed for her child's soul.
She'd needed to be strong then and had believed she'd been able to give Little Pond the strength and compassion she needed. But there hadn't been anyone to hold her either then or now.
Panther wasn't in the village today. He'd been gone by the time she got up this morning after a long and restless night. He wouldn't want to watch the Negroes leave; she understood that. It made it easier for her to know he wasn't studying her, remembering what had and hadn't passed between them last night.
Was he thinking about her right now? Was he remembering?
He didn't want her.
She didn't deserve him.
She'd been a fool to approach him last night.
Unworthy.
* * *
He'd seen miserable examples of flesh before, but this beat all. The niggers who'd been straggling into Fort Peyton over the past week were a sorry bunch barely worthy of a second glance. Why their owners had been so all-fired determined to get their hands on them remained a mystery to him. If one of them had been his, he would have shot him and put him out of his misery.
Still, Reddin continued to carefully scrutinize each scrawny, mosquito-bit black as he or she passed through the fort's gate, and if a soldier dared to say the slaves didn't look as bad as he said they did, he cut the man off. These ignorant boys didn't know how to judge flesh.
Calida wasn't among them. He'd hardly expected her to waltz in bold as she pleased, but even if she tried to disguise herself, sooner or later he'd spot her because he'd put himself in charge of getting everyone's name down. There wasn't a darkie around here who was going to be sent to Oklahoma without Reddin's first saying so.
Today's lot, four men and a woman, looked better than most. He didn't know how far they'd had to walk, or where they'd come from, but he was about to. After ordering them to line up so he could talk to them one at a time, he jotted down a physical description before asking the woman her name. Sara, she said, looking at him as bold as she pleased. She wasn't going to tell him the name of her former master. She didn't have to, she told him. She was free and going to Oklahoma. Stifling an urge to slap her until he'd gotten that uppity notion out of her head, he told her she'd be given two meals a day and a change of clothes. "The general's still working out the details of how you niggers are going to be moved, so don't go asking a bunch of stupid questions about when it's going to be, you hear me?"
"We was tole—"
"You weren't told anything because no one knows. Look, there wouldn't be any amnesty for you if it wasn't for me, so don't you be pushing me, you got it!"
Some of the arrogance went out of the woman's eyes. He guessed she wasn't as stupid as she'd first appeared. She wasn't bad looking—a little old—although maybe it was just the way she'd been living lately that made him think that. He'd have to work on her some, get her to thinking like a slave again, but that should be easy enough. Once she got it in her head that he was in charge and could make things as easy or hard on her as h
e wanted, she'd come around.
Pushing her aside, he studied the first man. After a minute, he wrote down his height, approximate age, and weight. The nigger was missing the middle finger on his left hand, which made any further physical description unnecessary. Unlike the woman, this man knew better than to look him in the eyes. Still, there was nothing subservient about him. "How long you been walking?" he asked almost conversationally.
"Seven days."
"Hm. Then you were a long way from here. No wonder it took so long for word of what's happening to reach you."
"Yes, massa."
Yes, master. Good.
"You're going to be taken good care of here," Reddin said, even though he didn't give a damn about that. "The President's given his word." He didn't bother to mention that Jackson's word was subject to change depending on how he reacted to pressure from slave owners. "Seven days, you say. Then you've been with a clan that wants to stay as far as it can from here."
"Yes, massa."
"And what clan is that?"
The woman, who'd been standing nearby, took a small step toward him. "Does we have to tell you that?"
"Of course you do. How else are we going to keep track of which clans have gotten word? You don't want other runaways not knowing what's happening, do you?"
The man he'd been talking to began shaking his head, but Reddin didn't take his eyes off the woman. He indicated the paper he'd been writing on. "As near as we can figure, more than half of the clans have been accounted for. That's good, real good. Now—" Pen poised expectantly, he waited.
"Egret," she said. "We was with the Egret clan."
Careful to keep his reaction to himself, he scribbled down the name as if it meant little to him. He told the woman—Sara—she was dismissed but that he wanted her to look him up as soon as she'd eaten. When she gave him a puzzled look, he told her he'd had a woman looking after his things, but she'd hurt her foot and was having trouble getting around. In exchange for a little bit of work, he'd make sure she got more than one dress to wear, shoes, first crack at the meals, maybe her own bed. He didn't say where that bed might be, and the look in her eyes told him she already knew. He didn't have to go at it this way. If he wanted, he could have forced things out of her, but if he did, he might have to answer to Jesup, and this was no one's business but his.
* * *
The word had come from Arpeika. Although the old shaman was too busy to personally bring news of what the army was doing, he'd made sure runners were sent to each clan. As a consequence, Panther knew that large numbers of soldiers were moving up the St. John's, Indian, Kissimmee, and Caloosahatchee Rivers.
He waited until the runner had left before allowing the news to sink in. Feeling weary, he leaned against a tree and studied what was left of the Egret clan. Five Negroes had left the first day. Although he'd hoped the rest would remain with him, a week later, three others had struck off. It had rained most of every day, which meant everyone had spent hours huddled under trees, their stomachs rumbling, while they waited for the downpour to end and animals to venture out again.
He'd barely spoken to Calida since the night she came to his bed, and she hadn't so much as looked at him. Because of the relentless heat and humidity, she often went about with her skirt rolled around her waist so that all except her upper thighs were exposed. Her thighs and calves had no extra flesh on them. The muscles stood out, evidence of how much time she spent on her feet. She never complained. Even when a meal consisted of nothing except boiled onions, she ate only as much as necessary to keep her body going, and she always made sure the children got enough.
He'd done it all wrong. He should have taken her that night. He'd wanted her; he wanted her to know that. But every time he searched for the right words, he wound up remembering that she'd almost fallen apart the night she'd confessed that she hated herself, and why. If he believed he could bring it up again without causing her too much pain, he'd make sure she understood he didn't blame her for what she'd done. He'd never been a slave; he'd never walked in her footsteps. But he knew what it felt like to lie helpless at the feet of the man who'd captured him. To no longer own his body, to be a woman deprived of holding her babies in her arms—
Forcing his thoughts on what he needed to do, Panther pushed away from the tree and strode over to Gaitor. He told him he intended to start for the St. John's before the day was over so he could see for himself the army's strength. He wanted Gaitor with him but said nothing because the offer should come from him.
"I wondered when you was gonna git 'round to it," Gaitor said. "We's wastin' too much time as it is. We's gots to know iffen we's still safe."
"Wait," Panther admonished when Gaitor reached for his spear. "First we must tell everyone what we are doing. If we have to run, they need to be ready."
Sober, Gaitor nodded. A few minutes later, they'd gathered the clan around them. As briefly as possible, Panther explained what he'd learned about the massing army from the warrior sent by Arpeika and what he and Gaitor were planning to do. He expected to be asked numerous questions. Instead, the others only regarded him gravely. Obviously they knew he'd told them everything he could. They trusted his decision.
He filled a bladder with water, took a few strips of dried fish, and slung his bow and arrows on his back. Knowing Gaitor would soon catch up to him, he turned to leave.
Calida was standing a few feet away. In her hand she held a bag that she said was filled with dried plums and persimmons. "Be careful," she whispered as she extended it toward him. "Please be careful."
He stared at her offering. "You need this. You have so little."
"I have time to look for more. You won't. Don't let them see you, please. Whatever you do, don't let them see you."
He took her gift, not sorry that their fingers brushed. It might be a long time before his flesh forgot what hers felt like. "I will be back."
"Will you, Panther?"
"You think different?"
"I don't know. When I heard you talk about getting close to the army I was so scared I could hardly stand. I'm sorry. I shouldn't tell you that. You need to think about what you'll be doing, not listen to a woman's foolish fears."
"You are not foolish, Calida."
"Aren't I?" It wasn't a smile really, more like a wistful sigh that had fought its way to the surface. "I want things I'll never have. If only I knew how to make the thoughts stay away." Straightening, she clamped her arms by her side. "May Panther Spirit walk with you today. May you see with his eyes, listen with his ears. Run with his speed. May his courage beat in your heart."
That was warrior talk. It pleased him that she'd learned the words and was handing them to him. He wished he could approach her with a woman's heart and words. That way, maybe, she would no longer carry sorrow inside her. She would forgive herself and go forward in life.
Life?
Did they have one, or would the army steal everything from them?
* * *
Neither Panther nor Gaitor said much all day. Communicating with gestures, they took turns leading the way first to and then up the St. John's River. A few months ago it had looked more like a stream than a river, but it had rained enough recently that the river now filled its banks. Duckweed, sawgrass, and pond-apple trees that had looked dead were coming back to life, and they saw fish each time they studied the river's depths. There'd been a downpour just before dark, and although Gaitor had felt half drowned by it, Panther had kept on walking, and Gaitor hadn't asked him to seek shelter.
Now it was the next afternoon. Listening intently, Panther tried to pull apart each sound to reassure himself that only things that belonged were here. A few feet away, Gaitor did the same. Panther was asking himself if they dared take time to fish when he heard a faint sound that chilled his blood. Crouching, he cocked his head first one way and then the other. The sound was repeated, leaving no doubt that he had indeed heard a horse whinny.
"Army," Gaitor mouthed. His eyes narrowed and his jaw cl
enched. Hatred flowed from him like sweat.
Army. Not bothering to nod, Panther sprinted away from the river. He didn't stop until he was certain shadows and thick brush hid him. Gaitor slid beside him, breathing deep and silent.
After determining that the sound came from upriver, Panther began walking again. He took care with every step, because silence could make the difference between life and death. He had no doubt that Gaitor would do the same, was driven by the firm grip on life.
The sounds became louder. Hoofs thudded into the ground like drumbeats. Birds squawked and then fell silent. Motioning for Gaitor to climb the closest cypress, Panther sprinted to another and scrambled up it. The mass of vegetation all around hid the approaching army until it was nearly underneath. Still, the sounds the men and horses made told him a great deal about pace and size. The enemy was moving slowly, as cautiously and silently as at least twenty horses could. Although he'd sometimes wondered what it was like to ride a horse, Panther wouldn't want to own one because their large bodies weren't made for speed in the thickly tangled, soft earth of Piahokee. Besides, horses were easily frightened.
Because of his position, he spotted the enemy before Gaitor did. He was right; no soldier walked. The horses were small and scrawny-looking things. Their pace, he now realized, was slow because the beasts were forced to carry so much. In addition to the riders, they were weighed down with muskets, sleeping blankets, food provisions. Two mules pulled a wagon. Straining to see all he could despite the heavy shade, Panther forced himself not to think about the threat these army men represented. As he was trying to determine who was in charge, he realized he'd been wrong; not everyone was on horseback. A woman, barefoot and tethered to one of the men by a rope around her neck, walked in their midst.
Features grim, Gaitor pointed at the woman. Motionless, Panther waited until she was no longer half hidden by the men. When he recognized Sara, his already tight belly knotted even more. A glimpse of her back made him physically ill. She'd been beaten. Her dress was shredded there, dried blood staining the once colorful fabric. Reddin Croon held the rope.
