by Beth Trissel
She considered. “What does Wicomechee mean?"
"His father left him."
Her limited grasp of the language hadn't prepared her for this shocking disclosure. “Who changed your name?"
"Neegah, my mother, before she died."
"How odd, sad.” Charity turned bewildered eyes to his grandfather. “Pain fills him, Nimesoomtha."
The older warrior took a small wooden pipe from his buckskin pouch and lit it in the fire. “Much pain lies in Wicomechee's past. Mine also."
"And in mine,” she said.
"I see this."
"Why speak of the past? Perhaps ‘tis better left alone."
Eyes of the Wolf shook his silver head. “Wicomechee's past is in his future, and yours, Red Bird. Waupee's also is woven together with my grandson's."
"How?” Waupee asked.
"The same thread runs through you both."
"Again you speak in riddles,” Waupee argued.
"Perhaps. Yet it is Wicomechee's story I tell now.” Eyes of the Wolf drew on his pipe and sent a smoke ring drifting overhead. Another ring ascended. His eyes again targeted Wicomechee. “What do you remember of your father?"
Wicomechee's gut was taut and he looked away. “I have no wish to speak of Notha."
"Look at me, Wicomechee."
Reluctantly, he met his grandfather's long-sighted gaze. “You have thoughts of your father. Speak these."
"Notha was a big man,” Wicomechee said gruffly.
Eyes of the Wolf wasn't to be put off. “All men are large to a child. Yet you are right. You remember more?"
Memories tore at him, more than he could bear to speak.
Charity closed her fingers over his clenched hand. “Please, Mechee. I also wish to hear."
He forced himself to answer her. “Notha held me in his arms and spoke of places I do not know and people I have never seen. He wished to show me."
Eyes of the Wolf looked at him sharply. “You remember this? You told me you remembered little."
"When I found Red Bird, memories returned to me, like secrets.” He lifted the auburn lengths of her hair and let them fall. “Notha's hair was this same color."
Charity stared at him. “Your father was English?"
"Yes."
"An Englishman won your mother from Outhowwa?"
He smiled faintly. “Did I not say Outhowwa has no liking for red hair?"
Waupee's jaw dropped. “You might tell a fellow, NiSawsawh. I had no notion your father was English."
"When I was little, I only thought he was my father."
More smoke rings floated over the stunned gathering. “Wicomechee's father became Shawnee. I took him into my wickon, give him the Shawnee name, Scootekitehi. Do you know meaning of this word?” Eyes of the Wolf asked Charity.
"Fireheart."
"Good. You learn quickly. Scootekitehi was one with the Shawnee, yet he returned to the English."
"Why did he leave?” she asked.
"To understand this you must know more of Scootekitehi. When I first found him in the mountains, he was weak, lost. I cared for him, fed him so he had strength to travel to our village. My sweet Netathwe aided me with his care, yet soon I saw it was not as a sister he wished my daughter."
Resentment flared up in Wicomechee and a red haze seemed to float before his eyes. “Better if he had."
"Then I would not have you. And your mother wanted only Scootekitehi as her husband. What do you remember of her?"
A softer emotion tugged at him. “Her hands were gentle, her face beautiful, and sad. Always I remember her sadness."
"Yet she knew joy with Scootekitehi before the sorrow."
"I remember not the joy,” he said flatly.
"Then you forget much. Scootekitehi had desire only for Netathwe, and she would have no other husband. I told him he must learn to hunt, to fight, before I would give my consent."
"Notha must have done so,” Wicomechee muttered.
"He did well. Great was his joy to take Netathwe to wife and sleep no longer apart. Your birth soon followed in the harvest moon. In you, Scootekitehi also had much joy."
"For a time, perhaps. Notha abandoned me."
"He had no wish to. After Netathwe's death, Scootekitehi begged me to let him take you with him. I refused."
"Why must he go from us?"
"He suffered such pain he could live here no longer."
"So, he left his son to seek happiness with his people."
"He knew you were in good hands,” Charity reasoned. “If he couldn't bear to stay, he had no choice but to leave you."
Wicomechee gritted his teeth and shook his head.
"How did you feel when Red Bird lay near death?” Eyes of the Wolf persisted.
Wicomechee took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “I have no words to speak my pain."
"How are you different from your father?"
"Notha wronged me. He wronged Neegah."
"How did he wrong her?"
"He caused her much grief."
"Mechee, you said your mother changed your name to Wicomechee, yet she was already dead when your father left you,” Charity reasoned.
"Notha left many times before that final parting."
Eyes of the Wolf tapped his pipe. “Scootekitehi could not forget he was English. One day he said, “Notha, I love you. I love Netathwe and Kitate, but I long to see my father. He has no other son. I must go to him, yet I will return."
"You agreed to this?” Charity pressed.
"I would not bind him to prevent this journey. When Scootekitehi returned, the face of my daughter was only glad, his face also. He had much happiness to hold his small son again. He spoke his wish for another child as fine as you, Wicomechee, yet Netathwe carried no more for many moons."
"How was Neegah to conceive with her husband forever gone to the English?” Wicomechee demanded.
"When Scootekitehi was with Netathwe, he loved her well. I heard them in the night. Your mother was content until the time he was gone so long from her."
Wicomechee punched his fist down onto the bearskin beneath them. Fur muffled his anger, but Charity startled beside him. “How can I forget my mother holding to me, weeping her eyes red with fear Notha will come no more? He caused her death."
Eyes of the Wolf shook his head. “Sickness struck the village hard that winter. Netathwe fell ill. The child she carried came too soon. Weakness took them both."
"Grief first weakened Neegah. Her heart was broken."
"Yet Scootekitehi had no wish for this. When he came again, I learned sickness prevented his return sooner. Grief weighed him so heavily I feared he also would die. You gave him much comfort, Wicomechee."
"Still he left."
His grandfather looked at him sadly. “You never again spoke of your father."
"Notha is dead to me."
Waupee bent toward him, his blue eyes lit with fire. “Confound it, NiSawsawh, your father was heartbroken. I don't know as it makes any difference after all these years, but I think you ought to forgive him."
"You do?"
Waupee gripped his shoulders. “Damn right. I didn't know the cause of your brooding, but now that I do, I've half a mind to pound some sense into you."
"Is this a fight you think to win?” Wicomechee challenged.
"If I use all the moves you taught me, I'd say I stand a pretty good chance."
Wicomechee smiled slightly as he glanced down at Charity, her face pressed to his chest. “We've a woman between us."
She looked up at him with great liquid eyes. “I'm deeply sorry for all you've suffered, Mechee, but Waupee is right. You are being stubborn."
"This, from you?"
"Just because I'm stubborn, doesn't mean I can't see it."
"What will you do to alter me?"
"Pound you myself."
"You haven't the strength."
"I'll move aside and let big brother convince you."
Wicomechee clasped her to hi
m. “Stay, sweet one. I prefer your scolding to his punishment."
"Then bury your anger."
"It is not so simple. Yet I tell you this.” Huskiness thickened his voice. “I much loved my father."
"I know, or you would not love me."
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Chapter Twenty-One
Wicomechee stood beside his bed and watched Charity stir drowsily under the nest of skins and blankets. She'd bathed last night in his grandfather's brass tub and fallen asleep without her clothes. She sighed, the murmured exhalation of a contented woman. The subtle sound further aroused him. His groin was ready, aching, for her. It had been too long.
He whispered in her ear, “Red Bird."
She quivered, blinking shadowed lids, and then squeezed her eyes shut as though deeply asleep.
Little minx. Did she think to fool him? He smiled and slipped his fingers over her hair. “Of what do you dream? Me? My thoughts are all for you."
A smile touched her lips and a tremor passed through her.
"So sweet you are in my arms when I love you. Never have I known such joy,” he said.
The word seemed to catch her. “Never?"
He couldn't resist a chuckle. “Open your eyes, or do you prefer to pretend sleep?"
She looked up at him with endearing warmth. Reaching out her hand, she curled her fingers at his cheek. “Did you speak the truth when you said never?"
He entwined his fingers with hers. “I always speak the truth."
"Except when you tease,” she reminded him.
"I did not tease."
"Then you meant it?"
"All. More. I love you beyond any."
The piercingly sweet light in her eyes shot through him.
She sat up, the blanket slipping down over her creamy shoulders, and closed her arms around his neck, enveloping him in whispered softness.
"'Tis the best gift you could give me."
He held her to him. “I have another."
Her curiosity aroused, she asked, “What?"
"First, eat.” He took the steaming cup Apekonit held out. “Drink, before you feel ill."
Charity sipped the minty tea as he sat beside her. He handed her a chunk of corn bread. “Eat also."
She nibbled a corner then took a bite. “Very good."
"Apekonit will be pleased you like her bread."
Charity smiled her appreciation at the older woman who sat holding Mary Elizabeth. She nodded in response. “Where did Apekonit go last night?"
"To the wickon of her sister. She comes to cook and wash for Nimesoomtha."
"She has many mouths to feed with our coming."
"This makes her happy, especially the little one. Apekonit will have much joy to help with the care of our son."
"Will we be here then?"
He tensed, but answered evenly. “The army will come and go. By summer we will have returned."
"From where?” she asked.
He put her off. “Eat first. Speak later."
"Mechee, what are you not telling me?"
"We will walk to the river, speak there."
Charity ate in silence, and he let his gaze wander the lodge. Emma sat near the fire combing out Lily's hair. Eyes of the Wolf sat with them speaking quietly. Waupee was out seeing to his horse and had taken James with him. But it wasn't only the absence of childish exuberance that accounted for the sense of peace in this room. It went beyond simple quiet. Inner calm flowed out from Eyes of the Wolf, like ripples on a pond, encompassing all within his circle.
Charity's final swallow of bread needed more tea to help it past the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. She blinked at the moisture in her eyes. “I do like it here."
"Did I not say you would?"
"Yes. And now, I must dress. Where are my clothes?"
"I have new garments for you, Red Bird."
She brightened and the glow in her face pleased him. “What? Where?"
"Close your eyes and lift your arms."
"But my blanket will fall. I'm still bare."
Wicomechee wished he were too and that they were in this lodge alone.
"I will not look on you,” Eyes of the Wolf assured her.
She raised her arms and the blanket slid down the curves of her breasts while he pulled the intricately designed shirt over her head. He reveled in the feel of soft cloth slipping over her smooth skin. Rows of red, blue, and gold beads shone like tiny gems in the light. “Look now, Red Bird."
She stared down at her new shirt in wonder.
"This belonged to Neegah, my mother.” He opened his hand in near reverence to reveal the round silver brooch, its edges scalloped and a circle of hearts engraved in the center.
Charity was speechless as he fastened the pin to the fabric at her neck. “You also need the skirt.” He held out the blue folds of wool ringed with red and gold ribbons.
She stepped mutely from the bed into the waiting cloth. Like the shirt, it was made of the finest fabric. Wicomechee drew the ties at her waist and knotted a blue woven sash worked with white beads around her middle. He knelt to help her pull on elkskin leggings decorated with red and green quills and tied the blue garters just below her knees.
Holding to him for support, she pushed one foot and the other into fur-lined moccasins embellished with dyed quills. His mother had spent hours by the fire plying her needle. And he remembered his father giving her the cloth, beads, ribbons, and brooch. It was right that Charity should have them now.
She gazed into Wicomechee's tender approval. “I've never seen anything so beautiful."
"Neegah would be glad for you to have her clothes. Nimesoomtha thought to give you these."
"He did?” She flew from Wicomechee to Eyes of the Wolf and flung her arms around his neck. “Megwich."
He gathered her close in return. “Your heart is good, like my Netathwe. Go now. Wicomechee waits for you."
Wicomechee lifted his coat from one of the poles serving as rafters and pulled it on. Charity wrapped in a scarlet blanket and followed him out beneath the buffalo skin.
How was he to tell her what they must do?
Gold light spilled from a clear sky over the many lodges. Wicomechee took Charity's arm as they walked through the village, greeted warmly by everyone they passed. He nodded or lifted his hand, but did not stop to talk. Seemingly intent on inner purpose, he led her from the collection of wickons through trees to the Scioto. He walked farther along its bank, stopping beside a large flat stone. Shrubs shielded one side of the rock, and brown grasses grew around it.
"This stone is like my favorite place where you first saw me,” she said.
He laid his musket across the wide surface. “I thought this then. When I was a child, I came here many times."
He climbed up on the stone and helped her beside him. She sensed his need to speak, also his aversion to whatever it was he had to say. If only they could remain like this, suspended in time, but like the river, time flowed on.
He pressed his lips to her head. “Red Bird, you are the sun to me. How can I live without the light of your face?"
She felt ill. “Dear God. Will you have to?"
"I refuse to give you up."
"What's happened?"
"Before Colonel Bouquet will discuss terms of peace, he demands every captive be taken to Fort Pitt. There he holds Chief Black Snake and Black Hoof hostage, Delaware chiefs also. These he will not release until he is satisfied."
Charity's stomach tightened into a sick knot. “And if some of the captives do not wish to be returned?"
"Many do not. This makes no difference. Unless they are hidden away, they must go back. His soldiers will search. Each hour we delay puts us in danger of detection."
"Then we must away. Now.” She started to scramble from the stone, but he held her back.
"Nimesoomtha says we must stay for this day."
"Why?"
"I think he waits for someone."
"The
mystery man. Did he speak his name?"
"No. I fear to know it."
"So do I. What does Waupee say?"
"The same as I do, we must flee, yet he will not defy Nimesoomtha."
"Surely, Eyes of the Wolf would not place us all at risk?” Still, anxiety heaved in her like a stream overflowing its banks. “Tomorrow—do we leave tomorrow?"
"I cannot say."
Another thought occurred to her, one that had eluded her in the mad urge for flight. “Where will we go?"
"Back to the mountains."
She shrank at these tidings and the grim lines at his mouth. “Is there nowhere else?"
"I do not know how far the English will search, but they will not go there. It is a good place to hide."
"And die. To be forced on a long journey to such a bitter place with winter soon upon us. I'll never survive."
He gripped her tightly. “You will. Nimesoomtha taught me to build shelter, to hunt with my bow when powder and shot are gone. I know how to live in these mountains in winter."
Mountains in winter. The very words kindled dread. “How many hungry panthers and wolves await us, I wonder?"
"I have powder and shot from the supplies taken for any that threaten. Waupee has skill to help me hunt."
"He is coming with us?"
"Yes. He cannot return to the English and his wife will not leave him."
"What of the children?"
"We will take the baby. The others must return to their people. We cannot care for so many."
Charity took a shuddering breath. “It's so unfair."
"The English do not concern themselves with what is fair."
"No. But to leave Nimesoomtha and venture on this harsh journey seems unbearable."
"How else may we remain together? For me, will you bear this?"
Despite her mounting hopelessness, she nodded. “I prefer to die with you, than live without your love."
"Do not speak of death. You will live, Red Bird,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. He clutched her to him and closed urgent lips over hers.
Sensing the desperation behind his passion, she returned his near-fierce kiss. His hands slipped through her hair, under her blanket, and up her sides. He covered her breasts and released her mouth, pressing his lips over her neck. “I know a place I hid as a child,” he whispered, pointing to a hemlock with low sweeping branches. “We will go there, where none can see us."
