Tennessee Bride

by Rosanne Bittner

  “To Texas?”

  “I do not know yet.”

  “You don’t really want to leave Mary and Grace and Peter or your father, do you?”

  He sighed deeply, pulling her close. “Not really. But I will if I have to. They say this place called Texas is filling up fast, and so far the country of Mexico is letting more and more settlers go there. The Cherokee have claimed a considerable amount of territory there for themselves.”

  “A place far away—that would be best, wouldn’t it, River? We would be safe there.”

  “From people here who might be hunting us—yes. But not especially safe. It is a wild, rugged land, Emma. I do not like the thought of taking you there. In such a remote, wild country, life is very hard, Emma, much harder even than here in the Smokies. And the land itself is completely different, hot and arid.” He kissed her hair. “We need not go running off to Texas unless we are sure it is the only choice left to us.”

  She stared at the log beams of the ceiling. “I already like it here, River. I like your family, too. I felt surrounded by love right away. I’ve never known that before. And I always heard that Cherokee women were mean to newcomers, sometimes beating on them and chasing them away.”

  He grinned. “Under the old customs, perhaps, if the woman was a captive from another tribe. Most of these Cherokee are Christians, Emma. And you can already see they live very much like whites. No one is going to cast you out. Besides, they know that I love you, so they love you, too. You are a member of the family now.”

  She met his eyes. “It feels so strange—to have people care.” She sat up again. “I’ll not let breakfast go by without helping, River. It’s bad enough that I missed supper last night.” She stood up. “Where can I go take care of personal things?”

  His eyes moved over her. “There is a place behind the cabin.” He tugged at her dress. “Tonight we will camp in the woods out back and take care of some other personal things.”

  She smiled and reddened. “Maybe.” She tossed her head and turned, and he grabbed her ankle. She let out a little scream and jerked at her foot. “River, let go! I’ve got to go!”

  He laughed lightly and released her to search for her moccasins. They were light and soft, much nicer than her old leather shoes. River had made them for her. As she pulled them on, he lay watching her, the covers pushed down below his waist.

  “Just maybe?” he asked.

  She stood up, drinking in his masculine perfection. “You know better,” she answered, giving him a sly grin. “I wish we were alone right now.” She turned and climbed down the ladder, already looking forward to the night to come. They had traveled hard and fast the last few days, aware that they were close to their destination. They had been too tired to make love.

  But now they were here. They were home. Already she felt the wonderful fire move through her at the thought of allowing River to take his pleasure with her again, and she was eager now to have their own cabin. Life was going to be good here. She was going to be happier than she had ever been.

  Chapter 14

  Emma felt as though she had been transplanted into a whole new world. She prayed every day and every night to the Maker of Breath that she and River could stay with these people whom she was quickly learning to love and to think of as her own family.

  In only days a cabin was erected, and she could not get over the fact that she had a little home all her own. It mattered little to her that it had a dirt floor. The threat of having to pick up and move at any moment kept most of the Cherokee from going to the trouble of laying wood floors. But at least the floor was hard packed. She had a stone fireplace for cooking and warmth in the cold weather, but now in warm weather most of the cooking was done over an open fire outside.

  The bed was homemade, the mattress stuffed with leaves and the softest trimmings from pine branches as well as feathers from ducks and geese. For the first time in her young life Emma was building memories that were happy. Mary and Grace had helped her sew and stuff the mattress, trimming branches, plucking fowl, and telling Emma stories throughout the chore, seeming never to mind the work. Stuffing the mattress was a time-consuming project, but Mary and Grace made it fun.

  “Did you know that the possum used to have a bushy tail?” Mary had asked Emma as she stuffed a handful of feathers into the mattress.

  Emma frowned. “What? How would you know?”

  “Oh, it is one of the many ancient stories of the Cherokee,” Mary answered with a sly grin. “The possum once had a fine, beautiful tail and liked to brag about it. Then one day his friend, the rabbit, who was jealous of the possum’s fine, long tail, came to invite the possum to a dance. The possum said he would go only if he had a special seat where no one would step on his tail and where everyone could admire it.

  “The rabbit agreed, then went to the cricket’s house. The cricket was a good barber. The cricket and the rabbit got together and plotted against the possum. The cricket went to the possum and offered to comb and trim his tail so that it would be the most beautiful tail at the dance. The possum agreed, and he lay down and closed his eyes and let the cricket groom his tail.

  “Then the possum went to the dance, going out onto the dance floor and bragging about his tail, turning in circles and showing it off. He could not understand why the other animals gasped, then started laughing at him. Then he turned and saw that the cricket had not groomed his tail, but had shaved off all the hair! And he was so embarrassed that he turned over and lay helpless, grinning and speechless.

  “That is why today the possum rolls over and lies still and grinning when taken by surprise. The possum’s tail hair never grew back, nor did any hair grow on the tails of his descendants. So, to this day, possums have no hair on their tails.”

  Emma had listened like a child. Then she grinned. “Mary, you’re playing a joke on me.”

  “Oh, no! The Cherokee really believe this! It is the work of the Maker of Breath. I can tell you about the race between the crane and the hummingbird, or about the magic lake, or about how the Milky Way was formed and why the buzzard’s head is bare.”

  Emma giggled and Grace shook her head. “Mary, those are Cherokee stories. Some we believe and some are for fun. You do not need to fill Emma’s head with them.”

  “Oh, but I want to know. I want to know everything that I can,” Emma answered. “Do both of you read? I saw some books in your cabin, Grace. I can read some. Perhaps we could read together and learn more. I want to read better.”

  “Yes, we read,” Grace answered. “The missionaries taught us, in the days when we lived at the foot of the mountains instead of at the top like we do now. Some of our friends and relatives live at New Echota, where they are building schools. Someday we might go there. But this is home to us and for now we are content here.”

  She looked up from her sewing to meet Emma’s eyes. “You are welcome to read the books, and if there are some things you do not understand, perhaps I can help. I am not sure I can read any better than you. We did not have many years to learn before we had to flee higher and leave our missionary teachers behind.”

  “I had a teacher for a while—a Mrs. Breckenridge. She was real nice,” Emma said. “And real pretty. She and her husband used to come around to the settlements to teach the children. I liked her an awful lot. But my stepfather sent her away.”

  She stuffed in a handful of the soft pine needles into the mattress.

  “Your stepfather was very cruel, Joe tells us,” Grace answered.

  Emma reddened. Had he told them Luke had sold her to Hank to be used like a harlot? “Yes. I don’t miss anything back there, that’s sure.”

  “And Joe is kind to you. He is a good man,” Mary said. “Soon you and he will share this mattress.…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “What is it like, Emma, to be with a man?”

  “Mary!” Grace said chidingly, and Mary blushed, obvious in spite of her dark skin. Emma felt the color coming to her
own cheeks, and she stared at the bright patchwork design of the material they had sewn together for the mattress.

  “I don’t mind,” she answered softly. “I used to wonder, too.” She swallowed. “It’s… it’s beautiful,” she said. “I never thought it could be like that, but it is.” She looked at Mary. “I hope you find somebody who makes it wonderful for you, Mary. You told me the boy Martin Crow wanted to court you. I bet he would be a good husband. I’ve noticed how he looks at you.”

  Mary smiled bashfully. “He wants to marry me.”

  “Mary! You have said nothing to us about this,” Grace said.

  Mary shrugged. “I was not sure what you would think.”

  “You know that we like Martin. You tell him that if he wishes to marry you he should be speaking to his aunt, who should then speak to me, since you have no aunt to whom she can go. Then we will set the bowl of hominy outside the cabin. It is up to you whether you give him permission to eat it when he comes by and asks.”

  “A bowl of hominy? What does that have to do with getting married?” Emma asked.

  “The young man comes by and asks if he may eat of it,” Grace answered. “If Mary tells him yes, it means she accepts his proposal of marriage. Then they begin living together. The man must prove his hunting abilities and the woman her cooking abilities. The man builds the woman a house, and she has one year to decide if she is happy being with him. After that she may leave him if she chooses, and the house is hers.”

  That had all been several days ago. Now the mattress was finished. Emma approached her new bed, leaning over and pushing on the mattress.

  “Looks inviting,” River said. He sat in a homemade chair at their pine table, smoking a corncob pipe.

  Emma turned to him. “Did you know that by Cherokee custom, I could kick you out after a whole year, and this house would be mine and we wouldn’t be married anymore?” she asked.

  He grinned slyly. “I know. I just never bothered to tell you. Are you already thinking of getting rid of me?”

  She folded her arms. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll give you a little more time.”

  He set aside the pipe, then rose to sweep her up in his arms and hold her over the bed. “Well, while you’re doing that, I’ll take advantage of my husbandly rights.”

  She laughed as he dropped her on the bed. He raised her legs and pulled off her moccasins, running his hands up her legs and over her hips, grasping her bloomers and pulling them off. “We have to try out this fine bed,” he said with a grin.

  “River! It’s the middle of the day. And I haven’t even put blankets on the bed yet.”

  He only grinned more as he unbuckled his weapons belt and slung it over the pine bed rail, then unlaced his shirt and pulled it off. She watched as he finished undressing, not really objecting to his sudden desire. She knew he was as happy as she was about their new home.

  Emma sat up and unbuttoned the front of her dress, pulling it off her shoulders, keeping her blue eyes on his dark ones as he sat down on the bed and reached behind her hair. He pulled out the combs that held it in a bun.

  “I like your hair long and loose,” he said. “Wear it free, like the Indian women.”

  He pulled a piece of it over the front of her shoulder, moving his hand down her hair until the back of his hand touched her breast.

  “I am so happy, Agiya. Every day you grow more beautiful.”

  She felt her senses come alive. “’If I do, it’s because of your love.”

  He bent down, kissing her shoulders, laying her back on the new mattress. He tasted her breasts, pushing up on them first to bring out all their fullness. He lingered at each breast, pulling forth her deepest passions with gentle hands and tongue and lips until her breathing deepened and her eyes closed in pleasure. His hands massaged her belly, then he pulled the dress over her hips and legs and pushed it aside.

  She reached up and moved her hands over the hard muscle of his arms. “I can’t believe I’m really here, River—your wife, lying on our own bed in our own house. A few weeks ago I had no future and I had never known happiness. Now here I am, River Joe’s woman. And Luke or Hank—nobody can hurt me anymore.”

  “That’s right,” he said softly, bending down and kissing her belly. She sucked in her breath as his lips moved to the tender crevices where her legs came together, only now they were parting, and she was still surprised that she could allow a man to be so intimate. But with River it seemed so right.

  She moved into a world of ecstasy, where all talking ceased and all worries vanished. These were things that one should enjoy with every nerve and every inch of skin and breath and heartbeat. She wondered if she would ever get over the feeling that everything that had happened to her was just a sweet dream—if she would suddenly wake up to find she was still a prisoner on Hank Toole’s boat, on her way to some strange man called Sam Gates.

  The thought made her sit up toward River as he moved back up to her breasts. She embraced his head, kissing his hair, feeling a trembling desire at his strength and the knowledge of how he could use it against her, but did not. It seemed incredible that a man could be this kind.

  “Don’t ever go away, River, not ever,” she whispered.

  He kissed her shoulders, her neck, met her mouth, parting her lips and exploring with his tongue while he pushed her back down on the new bed and guided himself into her depths.

  He needed no words to answer her, only this act. He pushed deep and hard, commanding her passion, ruling her body, just as he had that first time in the shed on her farm. Always he seemed to know just the right touches and moves that sent her reeling into a whole new realm of existence, where one knew nothing but joy and ecstasy, where passion was almost painful and desire was overwhelming.

  She felt the lovely pulsation building in her belly until again the wonderful, rippling climax swept over her, making her muscles contract responsively and tighten around her man so that she pulled at him, heightening his own passions and bringing a groan to his lips.

  He moved deeper, harder, with a wonderful flowing rhythm that left her limp as he rose to his knees and grasped her under the hips, pushing into her at will, lost in his own world now, his hands clammy against her warm bottom, perspiration making his dark skin glisten.

  He drew out the intercourse, bringing her the ultimate satisfaction. She didn’t care if he kept it up for hours, it felt so wonderful. But finally his powerful thrusts came quicker, until on one last push he held tight, and she felt the swelling throbbing that told her his life was flowing into her again.

  He breathed deeply then, staying inside her but relaxing as he ran big hands over her belly and came down to rest on his elbows, hovering over her. “You make me feel so good, Agiya.” He kissed her breasts, her shoulders, her lips.

  She ran her hands over his broad shoulders. “I’m so happy, River. I have a whole new family.”

  He grinned. “How does the mattress feel to you?”

  She smiled in return, reddening. “I was comfortable.”

  “So was I. We will get much use out of it.” He pulled away from her then and reached down to the foot of the bed, pulling a quilt over them both.

  “River, it’s too early to go to sleep.”

  “I know. We will just lie here awhile, enjoying our new bed.”

  She turned to face him. “River, did you know Martin Crow wants to marry Mary? If Mary tells him yes, she has a whole year to decide if she wants to keep him.”

  He grinned, kissing her nose. “Yes, you reminded me of that a moment ago. So how did I do? Do I get to stay in your cabin awhile longer? Will you let me keep sleeping with you?”

  She giggled then, reaching up to kiss his chest. “I’ll keep you awhile longer. You’re a fine-looking man. When I tire of you I’ll let you know.”

  His huge frame hovered over her. “Then I had better take advantage of the time I have left with you, woman.”

  She traced delicate fingers ar
ound his nipples, leaning up then to kiss the hair of his chest. “I suppose you should,” she answered. “I could change my mind anytime, you know.”

  “But I have not yet taught you all the ways to enjoy being with a man,” he teased, grasping her hand and licking her palm.

  “Teach me, then,” she whispered, twisting her hand to clasp his tightly. “Teach me everything, River.”

  They dug the hiding place none too soon. Everyone joined in digging a hole that would be covered with boards and then chunks of dirt, grass, and branches, where River Joe and his wife could hide if anyone should come looking for them, and it was only a month later when the Cherokee scouts came to River and Emma’s door. River was cleaning his musket, getting ready to go hunting, and Emma let the scout, Bear Paw, come inside.

  “White men come—only two,” he said to River Joe.

  Emma put a hand to her stomach, and Joe set aside the musket. “How much time do we have?”

  “Only a little.”

  “What do they look like?” Emma asked, her voice squeaking with worry.

  Bear Paw shrugged. “Like white men, except even from a distance, I could see one had very red hair. I never seen such red hair on a man before.”

  Emma felt faint. “My God!” she whispered, turning her eyes to River. “Tommy! Who else could it be, River! He must still be alive! And they know! They must know.”

  River Joe rose. “You know the plan,” he said to Bear Paw. “Emma and I will hide in the hole. Get my father over here, and an older widow woman who will pose as Gray Bear’s wife. They will pretend this is their cabin. My horses are mixed in with the others, and there are two other roan geldings with the herd. They have no way of proving any of them belongs to me.”

  Bear Paw nodded. “Come. Hurry!” He left, and River Joe walked around to Emma, taking her arm.

  “It is going to be all right, Emma,” he assured her, feeling her tremble.