Blackbird

by Henderson, Nancy

  And red paint had been dumped over them too.

  Katherine touched the shells. This was some sort of monument.

  But a monument to what?

  Katherine looked back toward the direction in which she had come. To her surprise, Adahya had not followed her.

  He would know what this monument was for.

  But she never wanted to see him again.

  Night fell and still Adahya had not come for her, and she began to wonder if he had given up on her. Her heart leapt at the prospect. If he had, she would have to find her way back to the mission alone. She could do it. She would do it come first light.

  Unsure of when she had fallen asleep, she awoke shivering at the base of the tree stump. The sun had not been up long, for the dew still lay on the tops of her moccasins.

  She looked down at them. The red and green beadwork reminded her of Mama’s Christmas quilt which was back at the mission. Homesickness struck her in a desperate, heart-wrenching wave, and she sobbed in loud, gasping hiccups until she was completely exhausted.

  The shrill cry of a blue jay sounded in the distance. She looked out over an ocean of dew-laden ferns. Standing in the center of them, arms folded over his chest, was her captor.

  “I want Mama’s quilt,” she declared.

  * * *

  FOR a brief moment, Adahya wondered if she were losing her senses. She just stared at him, her expression unreadable. He had spent the night only a few yards from her sight. The night of seduction he had allowed himself to hope for had been a disaster.

  He had spent the night wondering what to do. He and Katherine would probably never get along, he realized now, and he would be fooling himself to think otherwise. Perhaps he should take her back to Knox. He should do it today before he changed his mind. He could take her as far as German Flats and leave her with a trader’s wife. Someone there would see to it she got home safely.

  Something similar to grief filled his heart. He did not know when he had grown accustomed to this foul tempered, outspoken woman, and he wondered if her absence would hurt more than Song’s rejection had.

  Wearing a lethal expression, Katherine took hold of the tomahawk’s handle tried to remove it from the stump.

  “Do not touch that!”

  She struggled with the hatchet until she was struggling for breath.

  “Katherine, leave it alone.” His voice boomed with an air of desperation. “It is not yours.”

  No longer struggling, she looked down at the weapon and then at Adahya. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You made this.” She stepped closer to him. “Why?”

  The smell of black powder filled the air and smoke clouded the forest.

  Someone shouted, “Indian!”

  “I got him!” another voice echoed. “Henry, I think I got him!”

  * * *

  IT was then that Katherine realized Adahya had hit ground beside her.

  She dropped to her knees and scanned the area, but saw no one. With her eyes burning from acrid smoke, she crawled to Adahya. “Are you hurt?”

  He pulled her down and covered her body with his. “Shh!”

  She tried to turn to look at him, but he held her immobile. Footsteps moved past them.

  “Where is he?” a man asked.

  “It’s too quiet, Henry. There’s more of them. I can feel them watchin’ us.”

  “Let’s get out of here!”

  Running. Footsteps fading into the brush.

  After several moments, Adahya stood and helped her up.

  She made a complete circle, but the men were nowhere in sight. “Who were they?”

  “Trappers, most likely.”

  Katherine looked in the direction the men had run. They had tried to kill Adahya because he was an Indian. They had not even known she was with him.

  If they had, they surely would have helped her escape.

  All she had to do was scream. They could not have gone far. They would hear her and come back for her. Then take her back to the mission.

  She took a step in their direction.

  “How are you so certain they will not harm you?” he called to her.

  She stopped and pondered what to do.

  Adahya stormed toward her and yanked her by the arm.

  “Let go of me!” she cried.

  “I am tired of your games.” He jerked her back toward the meadow. “If you wish to whore with trappers, I can just as easily pass you around my own village for entertainment.”

  “You’ve been shot,” she said, seeing the blood on his shoulder.

  He kept walking.

  “Adahya, stop. You’re bleeding.”

  “What do you care?”

  What did she care? Katherine pondered his question. She should not care. After what he had just said to her, she should not care at all.

  She glanced back toward the direction of the trappers. All she had to do was yell. It would be so simple. They would take her back to the mission, and she could forget this whole nightmare.

  By now Adahya had released her and slowly walked away from her. Blood seeped from his shoulder.

  What did she care?

  She ran toward Adahya. “You have to sit down. You’re bleeding.”

  With his gaze fixed ahead, he pushed her out of his way and continued toward the meadow. “Leave me. Now is your big chance.”

  Blocking his path, she forced him to halt. A quick--if not a bit rough--inspection of his wound told the tale. The lead ball had entered just below his right collar bone. She dug a finger into the hole. When he cried out, she withdrew. “I think it’s gone clean though. You have to get some help.”

  “I’m going home.” He pushed past her. “You can do what you wish.”

  He started to sway, and she ducked under his arm to steady him and wrapped her other arm around his waist. “I’ll help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you to die.”

  Adahya stopped walking. He swayed, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Chogan--”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT was far into the morning and beginning to rain by the time Katherine had dragged Adahya back to the canoe. With great effort, she pulled his unconscious body into the canoe, being careful not to stop on the delicate bark as he had instructed her yesterday. She prayed he would not die.

  He had lost a large amount of blood.

  After rummaging through his fishing pack, she found a hank of cloth and used it to wrap the wound. In only moments, the cloth was saturated. She had no idea how much blood a man could lose and still live.

  Finding the paddle, she pushed the canoe in the water. Before she had mastered how to steer, she had it stuck on the opposite bank. Adahya might die because she could not figure out how to paddle a stupid canoe!

  Finally, she managed to get the canoe out into the middle and moving in the right direction. She prayed harder as she paddled. Said the Rosary twice. Even asked his Hawenneyu for assistance. But Adahya did not stir.

  She thought she knew the way back to the village. Gradually, certain landmarks became recognizable, and her nerves began to calm. Soon the stockade wall of the Mohawk village came into view.

  After much fumbling with the paddle, she managed to get the canoe to the bank. Her foot had punched a hole in the bottom of the canoe, as she rolled him out onto the grass. In little spurts, she dragged him steadily toward the stockade.

  Five fierce-looking Mohawks met her halfway.

  The largest one, Two Guns, his eldest brother, inspected Adahya.

  “He’s been shot,” Katherine said, trying to catch her breath.

  Two Guns did not answer her. The others spoke among themselves in their native tongue. Then, as if Adahya weighed but a feather, Two Guns slung him over his shoulder and carried him to the village.

  Two Mohawks roughly grabbed each of Katherine’s arms and followed closely. She fought to walk on her own, but they would not let
go. She tripped once, and they jerked her arms so violently she thought her shoulder would dislocate.

  Her panic grew. Adahya was taken one direction, while she was taken another. They pushed her toward the center of the village where three poles jutted up from the earth. One of them tried to bind her hands. She fought him, but the other one slapped her hard enough to make her teeth rattle. They bound her hands and feet and dragged her to the center pole, tying her to its base.

  The rope was so tight around her waist she could barely breathe. She fought against the knots, but her efforts were useless. She’d had every chance to escape, and had passed it up to save the very man who was her captor.

  Would Adahya die? Would they even tell her if he did?

  She looked up at the pole to which she was bound and then at the other two. Each of the three poles was at least ten feet high. All were blackened halfway up from the bottom. She glanced down at the ash she sat in. Her legs were filthy with it. Something had been roasted here. Something--

  These were burning poles. Bile rose in her throat. They meant to burn her alive.

  She frantically fought the ropes. “Help me! Someone help me, please!”

  People came to watch her as she screamed. They pointed and stared, but no one helped.

  * * *

  OWL had come. The mighty deliverer had spread his wings over him and flown his soul to the world of the Great Mother. Adahya called to his father Djisgadataha, Ghost Talker, and to his best friend, Teyohagwente, Hollow Voice, who had passed to this afterlife from taking a Colonist’s bullet last winter. Neither answered. Why did they not answer?

  Something poked him in the shoulder, and he winced. He felt searing heat, smelled flesh burning. Once he opened his eyes and saw the Faces upon him, the wise and respected Masked Society. He heard the rattles of their healing dance, smelled their bestowment of tobacco. He heard the voices of family and friends, the lamentations of Grandfather chanting over him, the tears of his mother.

  He did not hear the white woman. Often he saw her in the Dream World. He was in the mission, and it was on fire. Flames blazed all around her, but he could not get to her. He called to her, but she would not come. She walked further into the flames. Into Knox’s arms.

  Katherine had gone with the trappers and left him to die alone. Another woman had left him.

  * * *

  KATHERINE had never been so thirsty. She was not sure how many days she had sat there tied to the pole. Her wrists were now wet and slippery with her own blood from tugging so hard on the bindings. Her legs and feet had gone numb. Her back felt like someone had split it with a tomahawk.

  Leaning the back of her head against the pole, she closed her eyes against the scorching sun which baked her skin red. She wondered when they would kill her. Or perhaps they already were.

  Her thoughts again strayed to Adahya. She could not see his lodge from where she was tied, and wondered where they had taken him. Had he died? Her heart beat heavy in her chest at the thought that she might never see him again. She would never argue with him, never hear his stories of supernatural spirits and witches. Never apologize for wanting to kill him.

  He had sometimes scared her, often infuriated her, but she knew him. He was more than the hostile he first appeared when he came for Joshua. He had not the chance to fight for his convictions or raise a family. Or find someone special to spend the rest of his life with.

  Katherine raised her head, immediately recognizing one of the women who stared at her. It was Adahya’s mother, She-who-commands.

  “Please. Is he dead?” Katherine coughed, as her dry throat stung. She struggled with the ropes which bound her, and could not stop a torrent of tears. It was all her fault. If she had not run, Adahya would have never been spotted by the trappers who shot him. She pleaded with his mother, the stout old woman now blurred by tears. “Please just tell me if Adahya’s still alive.”

  She knew the woman had recognized her son’s name, but that was all. She-who-commands stepped toward her and said something in Mohawk.

  “I don’t understand.” Katherine fought the ropes harder. Warmth on her fingers was indication that her wrists had started bleeding again, but she did not care. “Adahya Hawenneyu?”

  The woman understood her. For a brief moment, her face softened. Then it resumed that stone cold look of indifference. She-who-commands said something to the two women at her side, and then she was gone.

  * * *

  SHE-WHO-COMMANDS watched her son as he slept in her bed. Again, she thanked Hawenneyu and the spirits of the Sky World for bringing him back to her. Too many times, her sons walked too closely to the path of death, and each close call affected her worse than the one before.

  Adahya had awakened this morning thinking the white woman had left him. If they killed her now Adahya would never know otherwise, and the white eye would be gone from her son’s life forever. The white woman would surely run from him eventually. It would be better get the hurt over with now. It would be easier on him in the long run.

  She brushed a lock of her son’s hair from his face. A separate lock of dark hair, a lighter shade than his own, had been braided into one section. She-who-commands frowned. She wondered why he had been so senseless in bringing a white woman here or what on earth he found attractive about her. He could have had his pick of the young girls in the village if only he had tried to pursue them. It was his lack of aggression toward the opposite sex that had led her to arrange Song’s betrothal to him.

  The white woman had brought Adahya back to his family. Adahya claimed a trapper had shot him and that this Katherine had nothing to do with his injury. She knew he was lying. The white woman must have shot him while trying to escape and that was reason enough for her to die tonight.

  Still, the white woman had asked her today if Adahya had died. Her Hodenosaunee was terrible and she pronounced her son’s name incorrectly, but she had displayed genuine concern. She had even cried.

  * * *

  DAHYA opened his eyes. This immediate thought was of Katherine and how she had betrayed him. He recalled her helping him walk, and then he had passed out. That must have been when she had run away.

  The all too familiar pain of rejection knifed him to the pit of his stomach. He had been so ignorant to think Katherine would stay with him, to think she was different from Song. They were all bitches, as the white man would say. The whole lot of them.

  His mother said everyone had looked for Katherine within a ten mile radius of the village. He thought of her alone in the forest. Katherine was headstrong enough to think she could take care of herself. She would not be able to find her way back to the mission. If British soldiers did not get her, other Iroquois parties would. He knew for certain that no other Hodenosaunee man would put up with her temperament.

  Adahya sat up, and a rage of pain shot through his shoulder and took the very breath from his lungs. After several failures, he managed to dress. He needed to find her. If she did not wish to stay with him, so be it. He would deliver her back to the mission. At least she would be safe.

  His brother, Zachariah, stopped him before he reached the door. He folded his arms across his chest and shot him that older brother glare. “You need to be resting.”

  Adahya gripped his brother’s shoulders and steadied himself. “How long did you search for her?”

  Zachariah looked at him as if he had sprouted horns.

  “How long?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Katherine!” he shouted. “I have to find her!”

  “Mother did not tell you?” His brother raised an eyebrow and caught Adahya as he started to sway. “That is not good.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Zachariah scowled, as if thinking, pondering what to do. “You are going to be angry.”

  With Zachariah steadying him by the arm, Adahya was led to the three poles in the center of the village. Part of him was horrified. The other part was elated. She had not left him. She had not
run at all.

  “She was the one who brought you back here,” Zachariah said.

  She had faced the people she feared most to save his own life.

  And his mother had planned to kill her for it. His mother had lied to him.

  Gingerly, Adahya crouched down in front of her, his shoulder throbbing with every breath. Katherine looked frail and small, and he wondered how many days she had been left there. Her body slumped awkwardly, and her head rolled to one side as if her neck were broken. He prayed she was only asleep.