‘I said she was nervous. She has been running from us all morning. She does not like us either.’ Tecumseh turned to me. ‘What about our little witch: do you have a way with horses as you do words?’
‘I’m not a witch,’ I grumbled, ‘and no, I absolutely do not have a way with animals – I’ve only ridden a few times and very badly.’
Little Turtle glanced at his brother then picked up the bridle and passed it to me. ‘Show us,’ he coaxed.
‘It’ll be a waste of time.’
He just smiled in that unflappable way of his. I took the bridle, intrigued by the two brothers’ patience. From what Tecumseh had said to Kanawha, they had been at this all morning and failed to get anywhere. Most English horse-breakers would have been in the paddock with a whip and spurs by now, forcing the horses to submit. The Indian brothers appeared unruffled, content to feel their way to a solution.
‘I might as well give it a try then.’ I jumped the fence and walked slowly towards the horses. The two honey coats galloped away as soon as they spotted me; the piebald tried to stare me out as she had Kanawha. Close to, she seemed much bigger than she had from the other side of the fence – all muscled limbs and hooves. Her smell brought to mind the sensation of falling from the grey at Boxton – not the landing but the feeling just before I parted company with the creature – a sense of being completely out of control. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping I wasn’t about to lose face in front of my new friends. Perhaps it didn’t matter because they couldn’t hear what I was saying. I held out the bridle.
‘Right, you mean old thing, I don’t want you to take a step nearer. Just make it look as if I’m trying, all right?’ I jiggled the bridle. ‘That’s right: keep on staring at me like that. I’ll give it a few more seconds then give you up for a bad lot.’ I held out my hand as Kanawha had done. ‘There, you’re not going to cooperate, are you? That’s fine by me . . . no!’
I smothered a yelp as the horse trotted forward and lipped my fingers. I swear that she was eyeing me mischievously, fully aware of the panic inside me.
‘Good!’ called Tecumseh. ‘Forget the bridle. Try lying across her back – get her used to the weight of a rider.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ I muttered.
If I was reluctant, Sasakwa certainly wasn’t. She moved alongside and gave me a disdainful look.
‘You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?’ I muttered as I stroked her neck. ‘Flirting with us, playing hard to get.’ I reached over her back, wondering just how I was going to get up. ‘You’re only letting me do this because you know I don’t want to.’
The mare snorted and shifted her hooves.
Taking that as a final challenge, I jumped and used my arms to lever myself up so that my head was hanging over one side, my legs the other. Sasakwa began at once to trot, bumping me up and down like a sack of meal on the miller’s pony. After ten paces, the inevitable happened and I slid off, ending up sitting in a pile of recent manure.
Breaking her in? You must be joking: she was totally in control of this.
Little Turtle ran to my side and helped me up.
‘Good. I had theory, I was right,’ he said, very pleased with himself.
‘Theory?’ I stared grimly at the mare who was watching me from a few paces away.
‘Sasakwa was broken by a Scotsman in Florida. I think red hair reminds her of him and tells her who is master.’
Yes, she knew full well who was master, but it wasn’t me.
‘Try again. This time I’ll help you sit on her back.’
‘No, really, I think I’ve had enough –’
‘No, no, now is time to build on your success.’ He dragged me over to the fiendish mare, who stood waiting good as gold. The little coquette.
‘Ready?’ Little Turtle seized my waist.
‘But there’s no saddle!’ I protested.
‘We do not use a saddle,’ he replied, hoisting me astride the creature.
I grabbed a fistful of mane. Sasakwa tossed her head and began to trot again; I could feel myself sliding all over her back. I gripped with my knees. It was easier than side-saddle; at least I was in touch with what the beast was trying to do: she was trying to unseat me.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ I muttered.
She began to buck, throwing me forward. I lurched to grab a hold round her neck, by no means in charge of the situation, but at least I hadn’t been dislodged. Sensing she wasn’t going to get rid of her limpet that way, Sasakwa sidled into the fence, squeezing my leg against the top bar. I was angry now; she was a vicious little thing and I was blowed if I was going to let her get the better of me. I clung on, gritting my teeth. Next she tried a gallop across the field; that almost proved the end of me, but anyone who has clung to the shrouds in a gale is well trained to keep hold on to a horse. Finally, she slowed to a trot and bent forward nonchalantly to crop the grass, as if nothing had happened. That undid me. I slid forward and ended up lying on the ground, staring up into her mouth. She snickered and lipped me again, her teeth knocking my forehead. As she hadn’t taken the chance to trample me, I think that meant we were friends.
I think.
SCENE 2 – ADOPTION
My afternoon of being broken in by Sasakwa turned out to be time well spent. When Tecumseh reported my ‘success’ to the chief, it helped swing the clan’s opinion in my favour. I was to stay, at least until the horse was properly trained. And that, Reader, promised to be a very long time indeed for that devil of a pony.
When the verdict was announced that evening at the chief’s house, I expected the purser to explode. But he didn’t: Maclean just nodded his head once and left the room. That put me on my guard immediately – it was so out of character. I would have preferred it if he had cursed and raved as that would have been a sign of his frustration. He left the village the very next day, promising me that he never wanted to lay eyes on my miserable face again. The feeling was mutual but it seemed too good to be true. Was I really so easily rid of him? I hardly dared believe it, but he was indisputably gone, last seen heading downstream for a trading post.
The other person who seemed less than happy with the decision to keep me on as horse breaker was Kanawha – not that I was staying, but that I had been given the task she wanted. She watched me leave each morning with undisguised resentment as all she had to look forward to was another day of plant collection. I would have loved to swap the bruises I was gathering for her basket of herbs, but no one would hear of it.
Four days into the horse training, Grandmother Bee came to watch. She stood with Tecumseh at the edge of the paddock, a little figure in a vivid red shawl, shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare. Sasakwa had decided that my lesson for the day was to learn how to take humiliation. She allowed me on to her back now but only so that she could dump me with greater effect in front of my audience. Grandmother found this highly amusing. She said something to Tecumseh, tapped his arm, then disappeared into the forest.
I groaned, wondering how much more of this my poor bones could take. Tecumseh helped me to my feet.
‘What did she say?’ I asked as I hobbled on his arm to the fence. The pony smirked at me from the far end of the paddock, chewing a mouthful of grass.
‘Grandmother say that Sasakwa is your spirit sister.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘She is stubborn and does not do what she is told. With blood like that she will be a good breeding stock – make our herd strong.’
I let go of Tecumseh’s arm. ‘I’m sure she will. Perhaps you should get someone else to ride her now. I think I’m only teaching her bad habits.’
He shook his head. ‘No, our chief say that only you will do.’ He smiled and patted my shoulder. He had kind eyes, deep brown like his sister. ‘You are happy here, Girl Cat?’
I wondered at the change of subject. ‘Happy enough, though I worry about my friends.’
‘But you have new friends here?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘Yes, I suppose I do, but as soon as I can, I want to find my old ones. They’re like family to me; I belong with them. In fact, two of them live in Philadelphia. I don’t suppose there’s a coach or even a boat that I could take to reach them?’
Tecumseh laughed and pointed to the north into the forest. ‘Philadelphia: that is far, far away. I have never been half that distance. Even if you found a vessel to take you, you would still need a lot of money to buy a passage and it would take many weeks.’
‘And if I walked?’ I asked hopefully, encouraged that he had at least heard of the place.
‘Impossible. There are thousands of rivers and many mountains between us. You would not manage that journey.’
I groaned in disappointment. The vastness of America was something I had heard much about but now, for the first time, it struck home. I couldn’t just jump in a carriage or on to a barge to get to my destination in a few days or weeks as I had been able to in England and France; I was trapped by the wilderness. A wave of panic swept over me.
‘Come,’ said Tecumseh, patting my back consolingly. ‘Let us teach Sasakwa to respect her rider.’
I clenched my fists, trying to get a grip on my emotions. There was no point in giving in to my fears; I could not afford to show weakness if I was to survive. Far better to concentrate on the task at hand and earn my freedom by completing Sasakwa’s training.
With Tecumseh’s help, I was able to remain in contact with the pony’s back for the rest of the session. In my own humble estimation, I was beginning to get the feel for riding and no longer sat rigid with terror anticipating disaster. I even began to enjoy it.
‘We made progress,’ Tecumseh noted as we left the paddock. ‘You will be a rider yet.’
‘Why not?’ I said, filled with the optimism of the amateur. ‘After all, I’ve been a dancer and a sailor – why not a horsewoman too? Frank always said I could be whatever I wanted.’ I felt that now familiar pang of homesickness again: where was Frank now? Had he and Syd kept Pedro safe in Jamaica, out of his old master’s hands – if that was where they were by now? And had he been able to persuade someone that he was the son of the Duke of Avon?
Observing my change in mood, Tecumseh put an arm around my shoulders. ‘Do not worry, Girl Cat: you will not feel that you are a stranger forever. You will soon feel at home.’
I didn’t want to feel at home: I wanted to be at home. The Wind Clan was a fine family, but it wasn’t mine and never would be. I tried to put this into words.
‘I’m sorry, Tecumseh, but I’ll never fit in here. I’m like . . . like a bird that is just passing through on its passage from one country to another.’
He shook his head. ‘No, you nest here now. I will speak to our chief and Grandmother. We will make you one of us and then you will no longer pine for things you cannot have.’
I reached the cottage still mulling over what Tecumseh had said and found Kanawha practising with her bow. She had been cool towards me the last few days, but seeing me so unhappy seemed to melt her mood.
‘Come, Cat, you must learn how to hunt,’ she called from the field behind the house. She had set up a target – a flour sack strung from a pole – and was hitting it faultlessly despite its pendulum motion. I was impressed.
‘Now you try.’
She handed me the bow, showing me where to hold it, how to fit the arrow to the string, the movement needed to pull it back. It was far tougher than I had imagined. I loosed a shot – the arrow ploughed into the earth well short of the target. Kanawha broke into a peal of laughter.
‘Again!’ she said, scooping the arrow up. ‘I will keep the target still for you. Remember, think about how the arrow flies.’ She sketched a graceful arc in the sky. ‘Aim higher.’
The next arrow fell from the string before I even had a chance to release it. The third disappeared into Grandmother Bee’s vegetable patch, provoking a squawk of indignation from the hens that were rooting for grubs. On my fourth attempt, the arrow sailed past the target, far too high. Kanawha charitably took that as a sign of improvement.
I put the bow aside. ‘I’m pretty useless, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you are,’ she agreed, rather pleased by this discovery.
‘And you’re so good at everything: fishing, hunting, running.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Kanawha stretched her arms above her head, flexing her strong, capable muscles. ‘But this was how I was raised. You must be able to do something that I cannot. What were you taught?’
Indeed, what had I learned in my hand-to-mouth existence backstage at Drury Lane? Not much that made any sense here.
‘I can read and write.’
She shrugged.
‘Speak Latin.’
‘What’s that?’
I didn’t think it worth the trouble to explain it was a language no living civilization spoke. What else could I do?
‘That’s about it really,’ I admitted.
She looked disappointed, and I felt I had let Drury Lane down with my utter failure to impress her. But the swinging target gave me an idea.
‘No, no, wait. I can do this.’
I had spent months last year training as a ballerina; it might just make an impression on Kanawha. I ran to the fence, hopped out of my shoes, and began to warm up.
‘What are you doing?’ Kanawha asked.
I grinned. ‘You’ll see.’
Once prepared, I climbed on to the fence, gained my balance – easy when you’ve practised up a mast with a thirty-foot drop below – and began a series of ballet steps, moving fluidly through the positions, rising to tiptoe. I admit, Reader, standing on the beam was unnecessary but I was showing off. I didn’t think Kanawha would be astounded by my skill unless I made it more dramatic.
‘What is that?’ she wondered, staring at my feet.
‘Try it, it’s harder than it looks.’ Humming the tune I had danced to in the Paris Opera, I pirouetted on the beam. Kanawha attempted to copy me but ended up tumbling from the fence.
‘See? I told you it was hard.’ I leapt down lightly and helped her up. ‘That is something called ballet – a sort of tribal dance we perform back home. People come to big houses and watch us do it.’
She frowned, trying to comprehend the world I was describing. ‘Why?’
‘Because it is beautiful – because they enjoy it – I don’t know – many reasons.’ Explaining made me feel foreign again.
This time with feet on the ground, Kanawha repeated the moves clumsily. She would need a lot of practice if she wanted a job in the chorus line.
‘You should dance at the ceremony,’ she said.
‘What ceremony?’ I corrected her posture as my teachers had so often done for me.
‘Your adoption. The chief has decided you are to become one of the Wind Clan.’
I froze. ‘What!’
‘Yes, it was settled this afternoon.’ Kanawha abandoned the ballet with a shrug and took up archery again, eyes fixed on the target rather than my shocked face. ‘It is good news, no? It means Mac Clan can never take you away.’ The arrow flew from her fingers and hit the target spot on.
Good news? Not for me. I had always wanted a family, but it had never occurred to me that it might consist of Indians in a remote part of America.
‘But will you let me leave after that?’ I asked, squeezing my feet back into my worn shoes. ‘Will I be free to come and go as I wish?’
A second arrow pierced the swinging sack in the centre. She lowered the bow. ‘You will not be a prisoner, Cat, but once you are married you must stay with your husband.’
‘Married!’ This was getting worse and worse.
‘Of course. I am to be married to McGillivray’s son at the Green Corn Festival and someone has already asked for your hand. We can be betrothed at the same time.’ She smiled at me, clearly expecting me to be pleased.
I appeared to be the last person in Chickamauga to know the plans for my future happiness.
‘And do I get any say in
the matter? Who wants to marry me?’ I took up a stick and beat the fence in frustration.
Kanawha was surprised by my reaction. For an Indian girl, marriage was the event they all looked forward to; she really thought she was the bearer of glad tidings. ‘My brother,’ she said tentatively, trying to work out what was wrong as I lashed the gate. ‘You do not like him?’
I paused in my whipping, taken aback. Tecumseh wanted to marry me? He was very handsome – I was flattered despite myself – but he had not shown the least sign of romantic feelings towards me in the time we had spent alone together.
‘Of course I like Tecumseh.’
Kanawha laughed. ‘No, no, not him. He is to marry the chief’s daughter. No, I am speaking of Little Turtle. Tecumseh suggested you would be a good match for him as he is too shy to ask one of the village girls. You will be his first wife.’
Wonderful: I was to get the bashful little brother – the one named after a creature normally made into soup – rather than the tall, dark and handsome leader.
Not that I wanted to marry anyone.
Aargh!
I took a deep breath and gathered up the fragments of stick that had borne the brunt of my frustration. Kanawha was looking at me as if I had gone mad.
‘What is wrong, Cat?’ She seemed genuinely upset that I was not ecstatic.
‘Everything.’ I slumped to the ground and threw bits of wood disconsolately at the hens that had the ill judgement to come near me. ‘I’m really grateful to you all but I don’t belong here. I’m Cat Royal from Drury Lane, London. I don’t want to stay here: I want to go home.’
Even to myself I sounded like a whining child asking for the moon. How was I going to go home? I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with no money or prospect of getting away. These kind people were making me part of their community and I was being ungracious. I hadn’t forgotten that the other two options for captives Tecumseh mentioned had been death or slavery – I had got away lightly.
Kanawha took the remaining sticks from my hands and squeezed my arm. ‘After tonight, your past will be behind you. Little Turtle will make you a wonderful life partner: he is kind and generous. You are very fortunate.’ She said the last words wistfully – I wondered why.
Cat-O'nine Tails Page 16
