by Beth Trissel
"Who are you going to wed then, Posetha, Chaka?"
Charity recoiled. “How can you even suggest Chaka?"
"I wasn't being serious about him, but captive women who don't wed within the tribe can end up as some sort of slaves. And women in the village will treat you badly if you haven't got a husband. Colin told me."
"Would she be like Jenna?” James asked in a shocked whisper, referring to the Negro purchased by a valley family. “She got whipped real bad."
Lily looked around in drowsy confusion. “Who's Jenna?"
"Never mind. I'm not going to be anyone's slave,” Charity said. “Colin won't let that happen. Or Mechee."
"But if you've offended him, who can say what he'll do for you?” Emma asked.
"I didn't mean to offend him. Oh, Emma, he asks too much."
"Calm down. No one's forcing you to marry him. But consider carefully. Some captives are sold to the French."
"Dear God.” Charity stood and did what she normally did whenever life became too overwhelming—walked, or ran, away. “I'll go and see what else I can find to eat."
"Don't stray. The warriors won't approve,” Emma warned.
"I won't.” Charity left the trio in a shower of yellow leaves, Weshe at her heels. If nut trees weren't at hand, she'd peel black birch bark and strip the inner layer. It was nourishing and tasted of wintergreen. Wicomechee showed her.
She stepped across knobby roots and rocks, wet branches brushing her shoulders. A likely tree emerged in the haze. Remembering his caution, she snapped a twig and sniffed the disappointing whiff of bitter almond. Wild cherry was poisonous.
A trace scent of wintergreen wafted up from beneath her feet. She looked down. A few partridgeberries clung to the waxy green leaves creeping across the trail. Weshe nosed in the undergrowth as Charity sank down onto the fragrant mat and plucked every berry, devouring her find like a famished deer.
Fat raindrops spattered her cheek. Slipping cold hands inside her cloak, she got to her feet. “Come on, Weshe."
The beagle stood as if rooted to the trail, staring into the foggy pine boughs. Tiny chipmunks scurried over the leaf-strewn earth. Nothing appeared amiss. Yet the dog growled from deep in his throat, and the fur on his back bristled.
"Weshe,” she summoned, turning away. Whatever it was, they'd leave it behind—
A snuffling sounded behind her and she spun back around. The lower boughs of a massive evergreen whipped about like the last leaves of autumn in a late-season storm. Needles sprayed down as two large branches spread with the wet crack of living wood. A black nose nearly as big as her fist pushed between the broken limbs. Another rough snort and the broad snout and huge hairy head forced through the opening. Then an enormous brown bear heaved its thickly pelted bulk out of the trees right in front of her.
Charity staggered backwards with a gasp. Beady black eyes inspected her coldly without any evidence of surprise. She stood frozen in place, but her mind raced; run, don't run, play possum, climb a tree—wait—couldn't bears climb?
Weshe charged forward barking madly. The bear snarled and struck out at him with a big claw-studded paw. “Weshe!” Darting back and forth, the little dog kept just out of reach.
The annoyed bear swiped again at Weshe, then reared up on his hind legs and roared, exposing a great mouthful of wicked-looking teeth. Charity's paralysis broke. Bolting past the ferocious creature, she raced off the trail into the trees. Branches snagged her skirts and her hair as her hood flew back, but she tore free and ran on.
Trunks loomed out of the mist ahead of her and just as quickly disappeared behind. She had no idea in what direction her desperate flight carried her. The wet leaves threw her off balance and she latched onto a sapling for support. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sprang away again.
Weshe's baying faded as she rushed headlong through the woods. She thought she heard a musket fire from somewhere behind her, but couldn't be certain. Her chest drummed and her ears pounded.
Not slacking her speed, she shot out from the trees into a rocky clearing. She skidded to a halt, sliding on the loose pebbles underfoot. The ground fell away before her into a deep unexpected ravine. A few scraggly trees and undersized brush grew among the large gray boulders that led up to the brink. Sides heaving, she picked her way to the edge.
Cold rain stung her cheeks and the wind thrashed her skirts as she peered down into the yawning chasm. Clouds shrouded the lofty swells on the other side. Only a bird could bridge the gulf between them. Rivulets of water ran down the sides of the ravine and into the misty hollow below.
Unlike the overlook Wicomechee had shown her, this drop wasn't immediate. Rocky outcroppings interspersed the sparse trees for a hundred yards before the stony grade dropped off into a tremendous slide. Not a plunge she cared to take, but which was worse, her fear of heights or of bears? Yellowed fangs and enormous claws glinted in her mind's eye.
Grasping a twisted branch, she scrambled over the side, buffeted by the wind. She clung to the slippery bark with one hand and strained toward the next branch, scrabbling at the rocky ground with her shoes. Just a bit farther and she could wedge herself in among the stones. With any luck, the bear wouldn't see her or risk searching down here.
She stretched a little farther, reaching. Her foot slid out from beneath her, the limb slipped out of her grasp and she spilled down the slope, slamming onto the ledge. She bit back a shriek at the pain knifing through her ankle and pulled herself into the narrow space between two jutting stones. Tortured moments passed. No ominous growls carried over the constant wind. Weshe had grown silent.
Shielding her face with her hand, she looked up. No snarling mouth greeted her fearful gaze. Had she fought shy of the bear? Had Weshe? Heart in her throat she waited, every overtaxed muscle in her body shaking.
Even if she'd successfully escaped its jaws, she'd freeze to death wedged among these rocks. No one knew she was here and she couldn't make it back up the side of the gorge unaided. Teeth chattering, she wriggled further into her crevice to break some of the wind's force. More raindrops spattered. The heavens might open up at any moment and drench her to the skin. Groaning, she buried her face in her arms.
A whimper overhead snapped her back to wide-eyed alertness. Bears didn't whine, but distressed dogs did. Squinting against the rain, she looked up.
Her heart leapt in her throat. Wicomechee stood at the edge of the drop off with Weshe in his arms. She couldn't clearly see his expression but he didn't seem equally pleased to see her.
"Mechee! Thank God!"
He set the beagle down. “Stay, Weshe."
Grasping the same slim limb she had, he swung over the side. He seized the next branch and dropped nearer, his moccasins finding toeholds in the rocky grade.
"I was afraid no one would find me."
"The trees have eyes, Charity."
Wicomechee climbed down the rocks and caught hold of the tree limb above Charity. There she sat, huddled among the stones like a forlorn dove. Why could she not remain where she was told for once? It was well he'd kept a furtive watch over her. One this impulsive needed continual guarding and his brother had let her slip from his sight.
Resentment at the hold Waupee seemed to have on Charity gnawed at Wicomechee. The gladness in her face upon sighting him stirred fresh hope, but that might just be relief at her rescue. She might have been just as glad to see Posetha or Muga; no doubt particularly overjoyed had he been Waupee.
Annoyed again, he braced himself with his feet and bent toward her. The hazy ground lay far below. He stretched his free hand out to her.
She reached toward him. Misting rain wet their fingers—mustn't let her slip. He clasped her chilled hand. “Come."
Secure in his hold, she scooted from her nook and started up the cliff. “Have care,” he cautioned. “The stones are slick."
"That's how I came—” she broke off as her foot slid. She dug in her toes and her ankle buckled. “Oooh—"
He br
aced himself to prevent them both from falling and held on. She sucked in her breath and glanced down. “Mechee!"
"I have you."
She turned her face toward him. Tears filled her eyes.
"What have you injured?"
"My ankle,” she gulped.
He hoped she hadn't broken it. “Look only at me."
Gripping her hand, he climbed to the next branch and pulled her up onto the stone slightly beneath him. He grasped the next limb and hoisted her into the crevice at his side.
"Almost there.” He saw her try not to look down as he towed her along step by step.
One of the stones slid beneath his moccasin. Another gasp sounded from Charity. But he quickly recovered his balance and worked his way to the limb nearest the top.
Breathing hard, he heaved her over the side, muddied shirts and all. She crawled shakily away from the edge and collapsed on the hard, wet ground. Weshe licked at her face.
Wicomechee pushed the dog out of the way and knelt beside her. “Let me see.” He ran his fingers over her stocking-clad leg and gently felt along her ankle.
She winced as he carefully rotated her foot. He hadn't meant to cause her pain. “I think you have only turned your ankle. A poultice will take the swelling down."
He stood and drew Charity to her feet. “Lean on me. I will help you to camp."
She lifted her face, uncertainty in the wash of emotions in her eyes. Again, he saw that mixture of wanting and wariness, of reaching out and pushing him away just as he had this morning. Would she ever fully accept him?
The branches ahead of them parted and Waupee appeared. His brows arched in marked surprise. “Charity, what on earth?"
She left Wicomechee and staggered toward him. “I twisted my ankle going over the side."
"Why in God's name did you do that?"
Giving a short cry, she went down on one knee.
Waupee sprang to her side and drew her up, closing ready arms around her. Shoulders shaking, she burrowed into his embrace. “There, there, dear heart. You'll be all right."
Anger roiled through Wicomechee like storm clouds and red haze colored the gray mist.
Waupee regarded him with a puzzled squint. “What happened, NiSawsawh?"
"Let her speak. She prefers your ears, your arms,” he ground out.
For once, Waupee seemed at a loss to reply.
Without another word, Wicomechee strode into the trees.
The stone ledge protruding from the side of a less hostile ridge kept the rain from Charity as she huddled in the blanket, but cold breezes found their way beneath her skirts. And this was only the beginning of foul weather. Plenty more lay ahead as the autumn days shortened and frigid nights grew longer. Beyond that, winter storms lurked like thieves lying in wait.
Such morose thoughts did nothing to lift her spirits, nor was she cheered by the pleasant company. Careful not to arouse further suspicion, she sat well back from Colin and consequently Emma. James and Lily also snuggled near their Uncle Papa, as the children affectionately called him. Muga and an amiable warrior called Hoskasa enjoyed the Englishman's wit and cast appreciative glances at his wife. Even Weshe left her to go sleep by James. No one had seen Wicomechee since their terse encounter at the cliff.
Laughter rose from the circle, the merriment lost on Charity. Only snatches of the conversation reached her as Colin translated portions to Emma. She spied Rob beyond their rocky shelter, squinting at her through the rain. Outhowwa came up behind him. Seeing where Rob's attention lay, the chief seized his arm and sped him toward another outcropping.
Chaka stepped from the mist, pausing outside her overhang. “Waupee,” he grunted. “Muga, Hoskasa."
The three men nodded a greeting. Chaka's eyes swept past them and fixed on Charity. After an unnerving moment, he proceeded in his father's direction. Posetha ducked inside her ledge, his glum manner so unlike the friendly brave she'd first met. He picked up a blanket left on the dry leaves beneath the stone and sat beside Muga.
"Posetha, will Mechee come?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Hard rain may bring him."
"Are you pining for my brother?” Colin asked.
She swiped at a tear. “I just wondered. That's all."
"Then why are you weeping?"
"My ankle.” It still ached despite the poultice, though that wasn't what really troubled her; she had no idea how to ease the throbbing pain in her heart.
Wicomechee stooped under the overhang where the others sheltered. Rain ran down his face and his shirt clung to him beneath his vest. He could take the wet and the cold. This burning anger and sting of betrayal was far worse.
"NiSawsawh, you decided to join us,” Waupee said by way of greeting. “I suppose you prefer our company to Chaka's."
"To Chaka? Yes.” Barely glancing at his English brother, or Charity, just visible in the murky light, Wicomechee laid his musket down and settled near Posetha.
He detected a sniffle from behind him, but was determined to ignore Charity's tears. Likely they had to do with that thieving Waupee who clearly wanted both women. And why not? His golden haired wife was great with child. Charity would do well to slake his lust until Emma was fit for his ardor.
If she wanted Waupee so be it. Wicomechee had done with her, he vowed, angling a glance in her direction. He slipped his powderhorn and shot pouch from his shoulder, untied the bedroll at his back and draped the blanket around his shoulders. She could huddle in her corner for all he cared.
She turned her face to the stone as if to hide her weeping from him, but stifling sobs seemed no easy matter. Bent on release, they escaped her as jarring hiccups.
"You sound like a sow with a bellyache,” Waupee told her.
The children giggled and even Posetha chuckled, but Wicomechee kept his stony silence.
"Here, gal. I was saving this, but you need it more.” Waupee held out a pewter flask.
She turned toward him. “Mustn't take your last drop. I'll get a drink from the stream."
"Now?” Waupee asked, voicing Wicomechee's disbelief.
Rising unsteadily, she cracked her head against the low ceiling. With a cry, she stumbled and sprawled across Muga.
"You beat all, girl. For heaven's sake, NiSawsawh, help her,” Waupee said.
Wicomechee stayed as he was. “She does not want my help."
Colin threw his hands up. “Oh, don't be so bullheaded."
Muga gently righted her. Posetha made room and the big warrior tucked her in between the two of them. Again, Waupee extended the open flask. This time she took it.
"Wicomechee, I swear, you're as stubborn a fellow as I ever saw, sitting there brooding while Charity goes to pieces,” Waupee chided him.
He bit back, “She is yours to trouble with now."
Charity tilted the flask and gulped, choking, on the potent brew. “Sip, don't gulp,” Waupee cautioned her then bent toward Wicomechee. “You don't mean that."
"You want two women. I give you mine."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Heat flared in Wicomechee's gut. “I saw you hold her."
"For pity's sake. Was I to offer the girl no comfort?"
Wicomechee crossed both arms over his chest. “Offer her all you like. I care not."
"I do not mind to comfort her,” Posetha said.
"Naga,” Wicomechee growled at him.
"If you do not want her—"
Charity convulsed into a coughing fit.
"Posetha, enough,” Waupee admonished. “NiSawsawh, your heart is full for this girl and you know it."
"Her desire is for you."
"I'm not the one she's weeping her eyes out for."
"I'm not—weeping,” Charity argued in a strangled voice.
"You're every bit as stubborn as he is, little sister."
Wicomechee sat bolt upright. “She is your sister?"
"Not an official adoption. It doesn't make her yours. It's just how I feel about
her."
The fury drained from Wicomechee like water from a damned up creek and he turned his attention to Charity. “Always you seek a brother. Is this what you want from Waupee?"
She nodded and managed a quavering, “Yes."
He reached across Posetha and touched her damp cheek, tracing her tears with his fingers. “Why do you weep?"
"You wouldn't come. Wouldn't speak to me."
"We speak now?"
Waupee waved him on. “Go. Give the rest of us a moment's peace."
Wicomechee got to his feet. Keeping his head low, he reached down and helped Charity up. She staggered, clutching his arm, and leaned on him as she hobbled to her former solitary corner. “It's all the fault of that bear, chasing me toward the ravine,” she got out between winces.
"If you stayed by my side I would shoot the bear before he gave chase."
"I thought you no longer cared for me."
If that were true his life would be far easier but cheerless as gray coals. “My caring is all for you."
She sank onto the leaves and didn't seem to know what to say or do. Lifting the flask, she took another pull.
"Will you drink until the whiskey is gone?"
"'Tis warm and soothing. How do you abide the chill?"
He sat beside her. “Shawnee dip their children in the river each day, even little ones, to make them strong."
"No wonder you aren't shaking. I hate being cold."
"I do not prefer it.” He peeled off his shirt and closed his dry blanket around them both. “This is much better. Yes?"
"Yes,” she agreed, and held the flask to his mouth.
He drank and wiped his lips. Reaching into his pouch, he took out a handful of shelled nuts. “You like these?"
"Hickory? How did you find them?” She scooped some into her mouth, crunching the nutmeat.
"The same way I found you at the cliff. Searched."
"I wish you had found me sooner."
"I am here now. Are you glad?"
She leaned against his shoulder. “Very glad.” The whiskey must have loosened her tongue.
"When I am away from you, how is your heart?” he pressed.
"Like this stone,” she conceded.
